When the trumpets ceased, Denis and his hackbutt men retreated for a short distance. Then, halting, a herald-at-arms proclaimed in a loud voice, that " In the name of the King, admission had been demanded-that the King's warrantry had been despised and that Michael de la Pole had refused to surrender when impeached for treason; and that he, and all who assisted in defending him from the royal authority, were themselves guilty of high treason against the King." When he had finished speaking, the herald pricked his horse into a gallop, and with the sergeant and men-atarms rode away with speed.

Nay," cried Michael; "the sorry knaves escape not so easily. Fire, my men, to let them see we fear them not."

Instantly the men obeyed, and raising the heavy carbines to their shoulders, fired a volley. The men-at-arms advanced, however, in their course, and although the volley was repeated, they halted not.

Yet, suddenly, the men stayed, and the sergeant and herald conversed eagerly together. Then two of the troopers rode around a small copse of brushwood, and presently dismounted from their horses. They appeared to creep cautiously along the path which led amidst the tangled mass, and, baring their weapons, entered the thicket. The next instant a loud shout was heard, and the men reappeared, dragging along two other men, one of whom, of gigantic stature, made desperate resistance, while the other seemed to be totally unconscious.

When the sergeant, the valiant Denis, perceived the fruits of his vigilant scrutiny, and moreover there being but little to be feared from an unarmed man, he rode boldly forward, demanding, in a haughty tone, the name and business of his prisoners.

No answer having been returned to his repeated questions, the sergeant grew impatient, and drawing still more near, seized a lighted torch from the nearest soldier, and letting the light fall upon the faces of the strangers, he shouted out

"By the cross of Paul's, but this is fortunate. What! Sir Hangdog Knave, Nick Sherrin-well met-well met; thou shalt

66

not again defraud the hangman. What, oh!' he cried, to the men-at-arms. Hang up this foul traitor to the boughs on yon spreading oak. Yet, stay; whose carcass is this ?" And with his long sword he struck the body of the other prisoner, which lay motionless upon the ground. "What!" he said, as though surprised; and leaning forward, he gazed on the prostrate figure. "What!" he said again: "Spanish ruff, velvet doublet-jewels, too. Now, by my troth, but this is strange. I warrant me, some noble gentleman waylaid and murdered by yon sorry knave. Let me look on his face," he continued. And when the soldiers raised the body, and the light fell full upon the features, he shouted out, with even greater energy than he had used on seeing Sherrin, "Now, by St. Peter, this is too much. Another traitor, and so vile a hypocrite to boot. That archtraitor, Quartermain, of all others!He said no more; for Sherrin, releasing himself by a powerful effort from his captors, sprang towards him, and, seizing him round the waist, hurled him to the ground. At that instant the loud fanfares of trumpets and trampling of horses stayed the soldiers from the summary vengeance they would, perhaps, have inflicted for so daring an offence; and around the winding road a gay company was seen advancing, led, or rather preceded, by a number of men bearing flambeaux-these being closely followed by a party of the nobles of the Court in the masquer's habits, together with the King himself, and the stalwart Brandon, Duke of Suffolk. They were escorted by a party of archers, having in their custody three prisoners-Nathaniel Scrivener, Cordwell Colner, and the verger of Paul's. they came, scarce halting to hear from the captain of the guard the strange unthought-of capture that had there occurred. Yet when he ceased, the King bade him lift the prostrate Quartermain: and, giving directions to the men-at-arms to bear him on to Wansted. Hall, he dispatched a messenger to Pleasaunce, to command the attendance of his own physician. When the bonds of Sherrin had been loosened, the King bid the men march on to Wansted Hall.

On

At length they stood before the battlemented gateway. The courtyard was still deserted, as it had been left by them: yet lights were seen, and dark shadows flittered across the casement, whilst on the roof of the donjon stood Michael, with a small company of men. He still wore the ridingdress in which he had been present at the execution of Quartermain, standing bareheaded, and unarmed, save by a slight rapier.

Instead of halting, on entering the courtyard, the King commanded the men to surround the building, and prevent all egress; while he, with the few nobles who accompanied him, and a score of hackbutt men, skirted the wall of the building to the postern, near Shooter's Hill. This they found open and unguarded, and passing through, entered the long avenue leading to the rear of the building. No sound was heard no human figure could be seen. The moon hid her silvery face in the black clouds, which were hurried on by the night-wind.

near

They quickened their pace as they drew the building; then, dismounting, passed close beneath the walls to a small private entrance. This was also unclosed, and they entered the dwelling.

The passage they now stood in was totally separated from the upper portions of the mansion, and communicated only with the great hall. To that place, accordingly, they bent their steps, lighted by the torches which they carried, and which cast a sombre light upon the roughly-hewn walls and quaint carvings.

When they arrived at the entrance to the hall, they were suddenly stayed, for, springing forward, came half a score of mail-clad figures, who completely blocked their path.

"On-on!" cried Henry. "Down-down; give way, ye rebels-give way!" And striving to force their way, these new enemies fell back before them, and retreated to the hall. But when the King and his company had entered, they perceived even a stronger party of men than they had expected, and who, without waiting for a word or sign, fired a volley.

Two of the hackbutt men fell from its effects, and a sharp conflict ensued; swords flashed in the ruddy light, and cries and groans, yells of death, and the clash of weapons, succeeded; one by one the torches were extinguished by the fall of those who held them, and now but few remained, which cast a flickering and fitful glare on every object.

Michael de la Pole at length appeared, and seeing the ill-condition the King's men had been reduced to by the fire of his men, and finding that they were evidently retreating, he seized a huge cross-handled, doubleedged faulchion from the oaken panels, and, springing forward, dealt so furious a blow at King Henry, that it would undoubtedly have caused him to sleep with his fathers, had not at that instant the great doors of the hall given way, and, rushing wildly in, like a furious torrent released from its wonten bounds, the hackbutt and pike men came rushing, with Sherrin at their head.

Michael and his men now retreated, closely pursued, to the steps up the small and narrow staircase which led to the "A hundred crowns," donjon. cried Henry, "to him who arrests this Michael de la Pole, living or dead."

At that moment a cry was raised from those below that the building was on fire, and at the same time Cordwell Colner rushed in, pursued by the men-at-arms.

"Give way-give way!" he cried; "I'll seize this Michael de la Pole-give me but room." And, bounding up the staircase, he was soon lost amidst the serving-men of Michael.

Michael himself fled at his approach; an undefined feeling of dread oppressed him at the sight of that man, and he fled before his unarmed foe. Up he went-up up the winding stair which led to the donjon.

The fire increased every moment. Thick and dense bodies of smoke spread over the building, and in various parts the flames burst forth, casting showers of sparks around, and mounting continually upward. This new and unexpected adversary produced at once a cessation of hostilities.

Higher and higher spread the flames,

"How now?" cried Henry. "Some one is confined within yon dwelling. Speak, knaves," he said, turning to Michael's serving-men, who, finding resistance useless, had surrendered; "and if ye would preserve your necks from the hangman's noose, declare if any one is there detained." “I, your Highness," said the verger of Paul's, "will declare it all. In the second story of the northern wing lie prisoners three persons: the first, a fair maiden, daughter of the Alderman Keble."

"My daughter!" cried the alderman; my daughter! Oh, save her! A thousand crowns to him who brings her forth."

But it was now, indeed, a dangerous exploit to enter the building; for, surrounded with flames, it stood-the only portion yet free being the tall donjon, on which two figures might be seen struggling violently together. Heedless, however, of all danger, Nick Sherrin sprang into the great hall, and forced his way amidst the burning mass. Presently he reappeared, bearing in his arms the apparently lifeless form of Alice Keble. Her long and sable locks hung down upon a neck of snowy whiteness. Her head had fallen back, and with her calm and placid features, she seemed more like some beauteous statue from the sculptor's hand, than a living and breathing soul; and there, upon her hand, appeared the lost ring-the signet-ring— given on St. John's Eve by Henry to Quartermain. Behind him came the trumpeter, whose lusty lungs had saved the rest, supporting the old priest.

It was a work of difficulty and danger to escape from the burning mass; but it was done at length, and they stood in the open air, gazing on the conflagration.

roar that seemed to shake the very earth: the donjon trembled, and, with a loud and terrible crash, the whole mass fell!

Yet this only added fresh vigour to the flames; for now, the whole mass was shrouded in one sheet of flame, that cast its bright and livid light for many a mile around. The King waited to see no more; but, assembling the men-at-arms, bid them secure the prisoners, and make ready for the march. This was soon done, and, leaving a few of the hackbutt men to guard the spot, the word was given, and the martial train swept onward to Pleasaunce.

CONCLUSION.

"Joy, joy in London now."-SOUTHEY. WELVE days elapsed, and London's

TWEL

multitudes poured forth again from the banks of Father Thames. The bells from every City church rang forth in merry peals. From brazen throats, too, came loud salutes of ordnance, whilst flags and pennons played with the passing breeze, and Sol looked down with a beaming face on the gay and glittering scene.

Ay, in truth, it was a glorious sight to gaze upon : the multitude shouting at every indication of the coming show, and tossing their caps into the air, as if their owners had no further use for them, as every one whose dignity or office called them to take part in the day's pageant appeared.

The quays, wharfs, barges, warehouses, and every spot near the Thames, were crowded by the mass of human beings; whilst on the Bridge the crowd was so im mense, that one who liked it might with ease have walked on the heads of the people from Southwarke to the City.

-West Chepe, Stocks Market, Cornhill, and Gracious Street-in order to preserve a passage for my Lord Mayor, Sir John Rest. And right joyously the bells rang, forsooth joyously the populace replied. Such loud, such lusty shouts arose, as ne'er before or since the Chepe hath echoed.

When the huge clock of Paul's chimed forth the appointed hour for the commencement of the pageant, a glittering company issued from the house of Sir John Rest, preceded by a body of archers, their bows bent, and shafts of arrows by their sides. Then came the whole court of aldermen, in their scarlet robes, and mounted on chargers. Then the sheriffs, also mounted, and properly attended and escorted by a party of billmen, in aprons and helmets of steel. Then the City musicians, in grotesque habits, and who sounded fanfares, and beat on the sheepskin with more vigour than taste. Next, the sword-bearer, in stately armour. Then came the Mayor himself, in all his pomp and vanity, escorted by a strong detachment of six hundred substantial cits, in dresses of cloth-of-gold.

On, amidst the shouts of the assembled thousands, cometh the stately pageant down the West Chepe, through the Stocks Market, up Cornhill, with its quaint houses and twisted chimneys, so into Gracious Street, past Fenchurch and East Chepe, to the Bridge.

There lay the stately barges, with their gilded emblems of civic dignity. There lay the very barge in which John Norman rowed to Westminster in 1454. See-they go down-embark; the long oars, splashed in the water, cast up mimic fountains at every stroke. Gently the prows glide through the waves, amidst the shouts of the populace, and the ringing of the joy-bells.

Down Thames they went, in order to precede the King from Greenwyche-such being the duty of the chief magistrate as conservator of the river. Hark! how the people shout, as in all their bravery the City trained-bands perform their evolutions. Hark! how the cannons roar from the bulwarks of Cæsar's Tower.

But, when the stately barges were lost to view, the people soon grew weary of the

valiant puissance of the trained-bands, and so began to adjourn to the neighbouring hostelries, there to await the return of the pageant. So, when the valorous City knights found that their company had departed, they rested from their labours, and also condescended to partake of refreshment, bestowed by the sight-seers-except one, whose stature was certainly diminutive, differing widely from his bearing and pretensions. He was mounted on a stately charger, trapped right nobly; whilst himself was so bedecked with bunches of flowers and streamers of ribbon, that he was a perfect marvel to behold, with his long sword and triangular shield. This puissant knight was the lieutenant of the trained-bands-no less a person than that hang-dog knave, Stephen Studeley. And how could he drink and make merry with the canaille-how could so worshipful a gentleman associate with commoners? He who at the riots had led them on-he whom they had liberated from gaol-had now retired from their company, disdaining their acquaintance.

But, see! a detachment of the Yeomen Guard approaches, in their scarlet tunics, and flat caps bound round with partycoloured ribbon. But who is that at their head? What- -No-it cannot be. Yes, though it is no other than "Old Nick" (not Sathanus), but Nick Sherrin, you know. Once, but only for once, to exhibit his loyalty to the citizens, he hath donned the royal livery—his first and only appearance in that character. And Sherrin and Studeley met, and held converseThey spoke of divers weighty matters, in which no treason mingled.

"Knowest thou aught," quoth Studeley, "of one poor idiot-Aubrey, by name-he whose sudden disappearance from the ‘Tabarde' caused such strange confusion ?"

'Aye, aye," replied Nick. "Deeply buried beneath the ruins of Wansted Hall, his body was discovered."

"And Cordwell Colner-what of him?" "He perished in the flames, encircled by a deadly embrace from Michael de la Pole, whom to the heart he had stabbed on the donjon-roof."

"The first I know not; the other hath returned to his ancient business of verger of Paul's. But, hark! the bells chime forth again—the gunners are at work-and the trumpeters' lungs are on duty: the trained bands have formed. I cannot stay-farewell!"

On they marched, the Yeomen Guardtheir halberds flashing in the light, and Nicholas Sherrin at their head.

Again the banks of Father Thames are crowded-again the bells ring out. The cannons are discharged, and the stately pageant approaches slowly, majestically. On, on—with gilded prow and canopycometh the barge of my Lord Mayor. Then, large flat-bottomed boats, filled with monstrous wild men, who continually spouted forth fire; then, the barges of the City companies and King's attendants. Then, the barge of Wolsey, with the arms of the King and his own emblazoned together on the figure-head; while he, clad in his golden robes and Cardinal's hat, stood forth in the view of the concourse; and, lastly, the royal barge, containing the chief officers of state, with the Duke of Suffolk (Charles Brandon), the Bishop of London (Stokesley), Cholmondley (Lord of Wansted, clad in his priestly vestments), with Ambrose Wansted, and his bride, fair Alice Keble, and the worshipful Alderman himself, Sir Miles Partridge, and divers others; whilst, at the stem of the vessel, stood the King and royal consort, with the ladies of the court, clad all in sumptuous habiliments; and the Earls of Norfolk, Arundel, and Essex-together with the heralds and pursuivants.

The stately show advances, passing the Towers of Bermond's Eye and Cæsar's

The Cardinal, Wolsey, and Sir John Rest enter the royal barge together; and there, in the presence of that vast concourse, the charters of the City are restored.

Hark! hark! how the cannons roar ! Hark! how merrily and joyously the bells are chiming! And, amidst the clang of martial music and the shouts of the multitude, the stately pageant hies upon its way. But hark, again, to the voice of Nick! Shout, my lads," he cried; "shout for his Highness." And right lustily the people did shout—one for the King, another for the Cardinal-a third and fourth for the City of London.

For threescore years and upwards subsequent to this Festival, that portion of the ancient City denominated East Chepe retained with the 'Prentices its popularity. For the smithy was still there, and Nick, who had returned to his old employment, might there as surely have been seen, if you had happened to pass that way, as the golden vane on the top of the church hard by. Yes-his stout sledge-hammer, for threescore years, rung merrily within the ancient smithy; and at evening-time a group was certain to assemble around the jolly forge, to hear Nick chant his many ballads, or tell a tale of bygone days, "when he was a boy."

A judge and umpire he was, moreover, in all disputed points of quarter-staff or single-staff, of which he was ever a renowned professor. He never became

wealthy for that he cared not a groat; but continued still, as he had ever been-the Blacksmith of the Chepe.