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in his doublet, he called to his men, and spurred on to the fray.

What a scene did that court-yard present! Men and horses lay about on every side. A trooper in cuirass and helmet lay weltering in gore. A rioter, who had regaled too freely on the wines which the place afforded, lay beside him. The captain of the arquebusiers had fallen to the ground, whilst some dozen rioters stood around with bared weapons, madly thirsting for his blood. A vast concourse filled the court-yard; two men were posted at the entrance of the mansion, armed with cleavers, to oppose the entrance of all whom they desired to exclude. Sherring, mounted on a sable steed, cleft his way amidst the crowd, like one possessed. Bills and blades flashed in the light of the torches. The flagged pavement of the court-yard was wet with blood, and strewn with slaughtered victims; whilst behind arose the tall towers and stately pinnacles of the ancient mansion, red in the torchlight, against the inky sky.

Perceiving the dangerous situation of the idiot, Quartermain called loudly to Michael to desist, yet to this no attention was given, and a Spaniard raised his blade on high. Ambrose dashed forward to the portal, sprang on the ground, and rushed towards the battlements.

The blow had been given by the trooper,

and a severe wound had been inflicted on the idiot, who, however, still retained his hold. Seizing the upraised arm of the trooper, 'Desist," he cried, "from this cowardly attack!" then aided the nearly exhausted idiot to the battlements.

"What!" shouted the Spanish knight, "would'st thou dare? What, Master Quartermain, might be the object of thine errand? -to disperse yon yelling multitude, not to command my household!" Then thrusting him rudely aside" Go, sir, to your duty." "This I will not endure," cried Quartermain; 166 no one shall dare"Dare!" repeated Michael, springing and drawing his long sword from the scabbard. Their swords crossed.

At that moment, a loud cry was raised from those below that the building was

on fire; thick volumes of smoke came rolling up, obscuring everything around. The uplifted arm of Quartermain was stayed; his adversary had departed; but he who seized the arm of Quartermain was no other than the idiot, Erkinwald Aubrey. Every instant the fire was increasing; the cries of those below grew louder and more loud; the clang of arms, the shouts of the victorious, and groans of the wounded, all added terror to the scene. Quartermain sprang down the stairs and through the long suite of rooms crowded by the rioters, plundering what attracted them, destroying all the rest. Wild and flushed was every face around; bodies of smoke came pouring through the chambers; the crackling of the burning timbers could be distinctly heard; whilst around, a bright flame burst forth, illuminating the scene.

The oaken steps which led into the open air were totally destroyed, and a yawning abyss of fire prevented all escape, save by the windows. With one bound he sprang into the court-yard. The strife still continued unabated. He turned to gaze upon the burning pile, unheedful of the combat that raged around, and Aubrey, who had followed him for some distance, was now nowhere to be seen.

From every window of the lofty and beautiful structure bright flames dashed forth, hissing and crackling as they caught upon the neighbouring timbers and rich sculptures of an early age. A black cloud overhung the devoted pile, whilst every object was illuminated by the ruddy light that told of death and destruction!

Suddenly the fire sent forth a dreadful roar, the huge pile seemed to tremble; then. with a crash so loud and terrible that the earth beneath it seemed to shake, the roof fell in, appearing for an instant to subdue the flames, when they burst forth afresh with renewed vigour, bounding and leaping upwards as though at merry gambols, turning the black sky blood-red.

A terrible scene succeeded. Groans and cries arose from those buried beneath the ruins. Some poor wretches, with bodies half concealed beneath the massive timber, lay there in their death-agonies, crying for

help where no help could be afforded; and some who, but a moment before, were strong and full of health, lay mutilated corpses on the ground!

The bright and vivid flames arose from the building fired by the rioters. The warehouses in the Steel-yard, the dwellings of the Lombard merchants, the mansion of Sir Michael de la Pole, the house of Mutas, and from St. Martin's-le-Grand and Queenhythe, all sent forth bright sheets of flame, darting upwards towards the black sky; and the Thames reflected back those flames that rose so near its bank, and flowed along like molten lava; and sheets of vivid fire darted from the White Tower, The loud and incessant pealing of the alarm-bell from every

The vast multitude retreated as the fire increased, yet fighting as they went, trampling their companions down. The clatter of hoofs was heard in Eastchepe; the jingling spur, the clashing steel, announced them to be troopers, and soon a body of men came wheeling into the court-yard, with Denis in the rear, shouting out his war-cry as they came along. "Denis and his hackbut men!" shouted city church, the crackling of the timbers,

the men.

"Down with them-down!" cried the sergeant, setting spurs into his horse's flanks, and galloping to the centre of the troop; but from this position he was driven by a sudden rush of the multitude. In an instant they seized on the affrighted Denis, and hurled him to the ground.

A dozen swords gleamed in the light of the cressets and torches, and pistols and carbines were levelled at his breast. At that instant Nick Sherring, mounted on his sable steed, came rearing and plunging amidst the throng. Wielding his stout sledge he soon dispersed the intended executioners of the sergeant, and having assisted him to rise, dashed his spurs deep into his horse's flanks, and rode away.

Driven and closely pursued by the troopers, the rioters fled towards the bridge. The fire had now somewhat subsided, yet cast e dull red light around, and exhibited the mail-clad veterans assembled near.

Hotly pursued, the rioters retreated yelling, and disputing the ground inch by inch, and displaying by the torchlight the quaint carvings and sculptures in the antique dwellings. On they went across the Chepe towards the bridge, the clatter of hoofs behind them.

"To the Mint-to the Mint!" shouted the mob. "To the Friars-to the Friars!" And so they hurried onward, with bared and clashing weapons, passed the little Church, where the Monument now stands, to the bridge.

The river, crowded by vessels of every description, presented a singular spectacle.

the roar the mighty roar of the devouring element, the yells of the 'Prentices and servitors, the fanfares of the trumpets, and the clash of the steel harness, and the groans of the wounded, all added terror to the scene, as the rioters sped towards the ville of Southwark, to join the boys of the Mint; whilst a vast body of the valiant 'Prentices came dashing along Cannon Street, led on by the puissant slaughterman, fresh from the shambles of St. Nicholas. Waving huge cleavers high in the air, they attacked the pursuing troopers in the rear, and then fell back on either side to give them way. On-on-they pressed-reeling, shrieking, bent on further mischief—ready for any deed of shame or violence.

Suddenly the troopers dash forward like demon horsemen of the Hartz; wildly they dash across the bridge, amidst the yells of the assembled multitude. A bright sheet of flame darts forth from Cæsar's Tower, and half a score of deadly messengers come whizzing through the air; they strike the house of a wealthy mercer, firing the rich and costly wares.

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The multitude press vigorously onwards, and the shout, "To the Mint, to the Mint!" arose again.

lusty shout, and ane suggested firing the bridge.

For an instant a dead silence ensued; then was heard the voice of him who led the troops. "Forwards !" he shouted, and on dashed the trained bands, rearing and struggling amidst the mighty multitude.

Within a comparatively short period, the bridge was cleared of rioters, the fire at the mercer's house extinguished, and by six in the morning, peace was restored to the

Yet what maketh the vast body to halt so suddenly in their course? The city gates are closed, no help can be had. The flames burst forth from the mercer's house, diselosing every object around, and there, high up, upon the castellated roof of the Gatehouse, amidst the traitors' heads and trophies, are stationed a body of carbineers, with their pieces levelled; a volley succeeds, and the 'Prentices and servitors, slaughter-city. men, and the whole multitude, retreat before it, and rush again towards the city; but at the further extremity of the bridge the trained bands, in full array, are planted. A loud yell was raised by the mob-a yell só piercing, as to put to shame the warwhoop of the Indians.

"Surrender!" cried the captain of the guard. "Throw down your arms, I command ye, in the king's name."

" Never, never!" shouted the mob. "Down with the French, Lombards, Spaniards down!" And then they raised a

The day which followed was wont to be a high festival with the citizens: that day, however, was one of sorrow and of mourn. ing. The huge shafts of the Maypoles hung neglected on the walls of the churches. The trained bands patrolled the streets; sergeants-at-arms were busied all the day arresting those engaged in the rioting of the previous night; the shops were closed, the prisons crowded, and the streets deserted; the whole scene was one of sorrow and of mourning: and so passed the festival of May-day, 1517.

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DWELLERS IN THE DEEP.

BY GEORGE ST. CLAIR, F.G.S., &c.

CHAPTER VII.-OYSTERS, SCALLOPS, MUSSELS, &c.
(Class LAMELLIBRANCHIATA.)

BEFORE serving up the dish of "natives,"

and setting out the array of goodly pearls supplied to us by the Lamellibranchiate molluscs, it will be proper to give a few moments' attention to the Pteropoda, or class of wing-footed animals. This little group is distinguished by the possession of a pair of fin-like organs, or wings, on the sides of the neck, by the aid of which the creatures can swim rapidly. To the naturalist ashore they are almost unknown; their entire life being passed in the open sea, far away from any shelter, except what is afforded by the floating gulf-weed. The voyager on the great ocean-whether in the tropics or the Arctic seas-meets with them in shoals so enormous as to discolour the water for leagues. In high latitudes they are the principal food of the whale, and of many sea-birds. Their shells, though rarely drifted on shore, are obtainable by the dredge, since they abound in the fine sediment of the deep-sea bottom. They are very light and delicate, seldom covering more than the hinder half of the body, and by some species being dispensed with altogether. The head of these animals is usually prominent, possessing eyes and tentacula (or feelers), and their organization is very complex.

One of the best-known pteropods is the "Clio," often called "whales' food," and said to be so abundant sometimes that the whale cannot open his mouth without ingulphing thousands of them. Clio himself has previously fed upon still smaller creatures, and is provided with an extraordinary apparatus for seizing his prey. The microscope shows that each of his six tentacles (feelers) bears 3,000 sheaths, each sheath containing 20 suckers, all of which can be fastened on its minute prey; while a couple of many-toothed jaws, and a tongue furnished with sharp spiny hooklets, curved backwards, are waiting to complete the work.

The Lamellibranchiate mollusca are the ordinary bivalves, or creatures with two shells, like the oyster; including, however, a few whose shells are multivalve. The shell is composed of chalky matter, exuded from the surface of the animal's mantle (or covering membrane), and contained in the cavities of cells, or between layers of membrane. By means of acids the chalky matter may be dissolved away, leaving the membranous matter by itself, soft, but still of the original shape of the shell. An oyster shell, if examined, will be seen to consist of a number of layers, the inner one projecting beyond the one that covers it; and this is the case with other bivalves, though the layers may be more compact. The shelly matter is thrown out at intervals from the surface of the mantle, and as the animal grows larger, he not only adds a new layer to the interior of the whole previous shell, but extends it beyond the former margin. The valves are jointed by a hinge, the character of which you will best understand by getting an oyster or a cockle, and examining it. Near the hinge is an elastic ligament, which not only binds the valves together, but tends to keep them a little apart, which may be regarded as their natural position; but there is also within the valves, and fixed to them at some distance from the hinge, a muscle called the adductor, which enables the animal to draw the valves closely together.

Among the bivalves, as among the seasnails, we find great beauty of colouring, great variety and elegance of form. Among the most valued is the "Spondylus," found in the tropical seas, and distinguished by its long thorny excrescences as well as the brilliancy of its colours. A Parisian professor once pawned all his silver spoons and forks, to make up the sum of six thousand francs, to purchase a Royal Spondylus; but

on returning home was so warmly received by his lady that, overwhelmed by the hurricane, he flung himself on a chair, when the terrific cracking of the box containing his treasure reminded him that he had concealed it in his skirt-pocket. Fortunately, only two of the thorns had been broken off, and the damage admitted of repair; his despair, however, was so great that his wife had not the heart to continue her reproaches, and in her turn began to soothe the unfortunate collector.

The size of some of these shells is quite as remarkable as their beauty. The Republic of Venice once made a present of a gigantic "Tridacna " to Francis I., who gave it to the Church of St. Sulpice, at Paris, where it is still made use of as a basin for holy water. The two valves together are said to weigh 500 lbs. ; sometimes they attain a diameter of 5 feet, and the animal itself weighs 20 or 30 pounds. The shells are occasionally used as fonts in the village churches of England, and hence have received the name of font-shells. Mr. Darwin says that if a man put his hand into the opened shells of one of these creatures, he would never be able to withdraw it as long as the animal lived. If our London readers should be visiting the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, they may see a very respectable pair of valves of the tridacna, measuring 2 feet 10 inches across, and weighing together 165 lbs., while a single valve of another weighs as much as 143 lbs. Many of the bivalves form for themselves an organ called a byssus, an elastic rope of slender threads, by means of which they attach themselves to stones, rocks, and other objects. This is the case with the common mussel, which is occasionally found in immense numbers fastened down to the surface of the rock. In the case of the bivalve called "pinna," the filaments of the byssus are sufficiently delicate to be used for the same purposes as silk. In the Great Exhibition of 1851 a variety of products manufactured from pinna silk were exhibited in the Neapolitan department. A purse and other articles formed from this material are exhibited in the animal product collection of the museum at South Kensington,

A feature of the bivalve mollusc " conspicuous by its absence" is the head; that is to say, the mouth is not situated upon any prominent part of the body, nor assisted in the choice of food by eyes or other organs of sense, but is buried between the folds of the mantle. The gills consist of four ribbonlike fringes, fixed to the mantle along the edge of the shell, on the side where the valves open, and are covered with little threads called cilia, which by their movement establish currents in the water, a necessary thing for the breathing of the animal, and for bringing it fresh supplies of food. Fortunately, the waters of the ocean contain such multitudes of microscopic animals and plants that the appetite of the bivalves never goes long unsatisfied, although they have little power of moving about, and no capability of attacking prey.

Let us come to Oysters. Professor E. Forbes considers that the world is mainly made up of oyster-eaters, who take no interest in the animal's history, but thinks that if we could persuade them to hesitate to listen for five minutes-they would live and die wiser and happier men, without the slightest diminution of the keen relish with which, in the days of their darkness, they enjoyed their testaceous prey.

How starts the infant oyster forth into the world of waters? Not, as unenlightened people believe, in the shape of a minute, bivalved, protected, grave, fixed, and steady oysterling. No; it enters upon its career all life and motion, flitting about in the sea as gaily and lightly as a butterfly or a swallow skims through the air. Its first appearance is as a microscopic oyster cherub; it passes through a joyous and vivacious juvenility, and skips up and down as if in mockery of its heavy and immovable parents. It voyages from oyster-bed to oyster-bed, and if in luck, so as to escape the watchful voracity of the thousand enemies that lie in wait, or prowl about to prey upon youth and inexperience, at length, having sown its wild oats, settles down into a steady, solid, domestic oyster.

An undisturbed oyster-bed is a concentration of happiness; dormant though the congregated creatures seem, each individual

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