Order of Truth," into which none should be admitted who had been heard to utter the slightest falsehood for a month and a day. The rivals of the banished Sir Raymond unanimously applauded the donna's proposal, especially as some gentle hints were given that from the intended order her future partner should be chosen; and the duke caught at it at once, for the thing was after his own heart, and he proceeded to found the order according to the ancient institutions of chivalry. Numerous were the candidates for the new distinction, as soon as the duke's intentions were known. Half the nobles of Spain crowded to his court, but alas, there were few among the multitude against whom rivals or enemies did not prefer some well substantiated charge which rendered them ineligible: one had broken his vows of love, another had slandered his rival, a third had embellished his own exploits, and a fourth overrated the cost of his armour; and at length, after the most diligent search, only six knights could be found in all respects worthy of admission. The first was Don Bernardo, of Castile, a knight of most noble lineage but of small estate. The second Don Armando, of Navarre, with a princely fortune, but a mushroom family. The third was Sir Cosmo, of gay Seville, who never told the number of his years; his locks were gray, but his heart was green with the shadow of youth, for the knight was still unwed. The fourth was named Count Florimer, of Granada, whose lady love had left him for a turbaned emir. The fifth was Sir Isadore of Biscay, who never had a lady love at all, for nature in the general distribution of beauty had entirely forgotten him. Don Alphonsa himself was the sixth and the grand master of this veracious brotherhood, which was duly constituted with the usual ceremonies; the decoration, a snow white ribbon, and the device of "Truth shall prevail," embroidered on badge and banner by the still more spotless hand of the Donna Ellenora. When things had reached this state of perfection, the duke thought it incumbent on himself to give a princely banquet in honour of the institution, (for the power of feasts was known in the days of tilt and tournament as well as in our own,) after which it was agreed, that each brother should go forth with horse and armour as a knight errant of truth throughout the world, to correct all who might oppose it, by either his sword or example. The guests were met, and the feast was spread. Knights of valour and dames of beauty, the flower of all the Spanish nobility, in the gay and gorgeous trappings of the times, crowded the hall of Alsa; some mingled in the measures of the joyous dance; some sat in scarce less joyous converse or listened to the lays of the minstrels as they sang of love or war; but every eye would turn towards the Donna Ellenora as she appeared in all the splendour of a princess, surrounded by her father's new made knights, they the envy, and she the admiration of all the other gallants, and the duke himself, from his regal seat, casting many a tender though stealthy glance on Signora Catherina, who sat among the dames of her own degree at the lowest end of the hall. The "Brothers of Truth" seemed to be aware that the present opportunity was not one of every day occurrence, and each endeavoured to improve it after his own peculiar fashon. Don Bernardo interspersed his compliments with delicate allusions to his own exalted origin; and the knight of Navarre did not forget to let fall some passing hints regarding the extent of his possessions. Sir Cosmo assumed his most youthful tone, and that he could have made such gallant speeches without infringing the fundamental law of the order, remains as a standing proof that the gifts of knights in that respect, at least, equalled his graces. The Counts of Granada and Biscay also did their best, and the Donna listened and smiled, as though the name of Sir Raymond had passed from her memory like a shadow from a quiet lake; but at length addressing Don Bernardo, she said, "I trust, Signor, that the castles and estates which your noble ancestors won from the Moors have descended to you, as well as their illustrious titles, for nobility without an estate is like a knight without armour." The Count sat for a moment as if uncertain how to answer; but the Donna's last words still rang in his ears, and with a reddening cheek and hurried tone he replied, "True, true, fair lady; but I have cause for gratitude to my ancestors who have left my fortune and honours equal to each other.' 66 It is well, Sir Knight," said the Donna, "but no fortune can equal the honours of a noble house whose ancient line ascends to remote antiquity." Then, turning to the knight of Navarre, she said, "Tell me, Don Armand, was the griffin which is borne on your shield ever the arms of your house, or why did they adopt the symbol?" The Knight's colour deepened, but he answered-"The cause of its adoption, most noble Donna, is lost in the obscurity of ages; I know not if there be any herald on earth who understands it, for he that was best skilled in the story of my family died about the time of the siege of Granada." "A time when many a brave knight fell," said Donna Ellenora, "but it was a great and glorious event that broke for ever the Moorish sword in Spain. Doubtless, Sir knight," she added, addressing Sir, Cosmo, "you well remember it?" "I remember it!" cried Sir Cosmo, without either blush or hesitation, "Pardon me, fair lady, by the cross I was not then out of my cradle clothes." "Well, Sir Cosmo," said the Donna, with one of her sweetest smiles, "we ladies do make sad mistakes. But perhaps you may remember the long grief of the valiant Count Florimer, when forsaken by the fair Rosalta, who left his love and her Christian faith? Fie upon the false dame, to wed a Moorish knight!" "On the faith of a true knight, fair Donna," cried Count Florimer, "I never sighed for dame or damsel, save the sweet lips, which the world's fame hath decerned, though it could not sully, by this false tale." 66 It is, indeed, a false world, Count," said the Donna, still smiling, "Yet report hath not assigned to you so dark a lot as to the noble Isadore of Biscay, on whom it is said no maiden hath ever smiled." "Believe it not, fair lady," cried the Biscayen, with eagerness, to which Sir Cosmo's haste was like a valley stream compared with a mountain torrent, "Believe it not; this vain report takes its colour from my modesty, for as I am a Christian knight, more proofs of ladies' favour have been showered on me than ever were enjoyed by prince or peer since the days of the noble Lancelot, but I hold it unfitting to boast of such things." The last of Count Isadore's speech was concerning a French princess, who threatened to fling herself into the sea, because he would not return the passion which his beauty had inspired; but unfortunately the greater part of what he said was lost in a grand burst of music, which now called the brave and the fair into that wide palace hall to join in their country's fandango, then the dance of those who sat in the high places of Spain. Old and young, grave and gay, rose and responded to that mirthful call, and Donna Ellenora stood for a moment beside her father; but he saw her not, for his eye was fixed on Signora Catherina, as she swept by in the rapid maze of the fandango. Fair as the lady was, Spain had many a more graceful dancer; but the young Signora had set her heart upon excelling in that also, and woe be to him who would gainsay her claim by word or glance, for mighty is the wrath of vanity. "Tell me, my noble father," said Ellenora, lightly touching Don Alphonsa's hand, "Tell me whom think ye the best dancer in yonder gay group." The Donna's words reached the ear of Catherina, who gave her castanets another twirl, and glanced half keenly half imploringly at the Duke: the die was cast, and the Grand Master of the Order of Truth at once answered," Signora Catherina is the best dancer in the hall." "It is well, Don Alphonsa," said Ellenora; adding in a whisper which reached no ear but her father's, " yet there was a knight of noble lineage, of stainless valour, and of friendless youth, banished for ever from the court of Alsa, for vain words lightly spoken in praise of one on whom he looked with the eyes of the warm and the young, and this hour six Spanish knights of high and approved integrity, chosen for the holy brotherhood of Truth from all the peers of the land, have told as false a tale." The banquet was gay, and the revel long, but it passed away as brighter scenes have done, and the next morning six more white ribbons and a stainless banner were laid upon the altar in the palace chapel where the knights had kept their vigil. The brothers of Truth returned to their respective homes, but their steeds and armour were brought forth only in the service of the tournament; and when the spring returned, a gayer banquet was held at the ducal hall to celebrate the bridal of Sir Raymond of Gascony and Donna Ellenora. Old lords have said that the knight became Duke of Alsa and father of the famous general who laid waste the Netherlands, for Don Alphonsa never wedded, but grew old gazing on Signora Catherina, nor ever again attempted to establish the Order of Truth. AUGUST. BY EDMUND OLLIER. Earth, sky, and air, and man, and ocean old, Joy at thy coming, bounteous August. Earth, Is one wide undulating sea of gold. The sky-a blue domain for Phœbus bold Through clefts of Alp-like clouds laughs warm and clear; Creeps dreamily. The sea is peaceful-soul'd, Throbbing with gentle pulses on the sand; A season rich to overflowing,-grand STRANGE INCIDENTS FROM REAL LIFE. BY GEORGE RAYMOND. THE failure of a long established Baltic house at Kingston uponHull, fell heavily on its respected master, a man approaching seventy years of age. This occurrence took place in 1805-a period distinguished from our own, rather by those mutations the social world has since undergone, than by any great chronologic remoteness; and our recent generations appear as abruptly to have put off one set of dress and manners for another, as a drama takes up or disposes of a scene in a far country, by the mere shifting of the canvass. But this sudden downfall, though administering largely to the bitter cup which fortune had already placed in the hands of Mr. Hussey, had not yet filled it to the brim-hope had not quite abandoned him, and he had still a wish to live;-filial ingratitude completed the measure of his earthly woe. Such was the event-the causes thereof it will be necessary briefly to retrace. Mr. Hartop, senior clerk in the house of Hussey and Co. at the time of the above failure, had been originally drafted from an entomological swarm of "grey coated" parish urchins, by a certain long-sighted attorney, and thereupon taken under the protection of his professional wing. The boy's duties were to turn his hand to any thing-a term which soon explained itself into every thing-a kind of universal agency, in which the little Crichton won all the reward which applause and promises are apt to bestow. His pay, otherwise, was but small; yet there was always something in his very occupations which produced a sense of remuneration in the mind of the lad; for he could not but perceive his master was unapproachable in chicane; that he could find the blind side even of an eagle, and that a needle's point was in fact no prototype of his practice. These observations sweetened wonderfully the labours of a youth like Hartop, who when at " the school," would always prefer cheating a companion out of sixpence, himself, to receiving a shilling from his godfather, the publican, who had only cheated others. But great men are sometimes the sport of little accidents, as the illustrious Marcellus, who after achieving many mighty projects by dint of hard fighting, was at last overthrown in fancied security. In such wise, was the check-mate of Hartop's first master; for he who had been able to beat the parson at quarter sessions in the morning, and prove more than his match at "put" in the afternoon, was at length detected in receiving one sum of money and paying over another, in the course of some professional transaction-a piece of every-day malversation and scarcely above the dexterity of a country appraiser. But amongst those more particularly awakened to a sense of virtuous indignation at the above event, was the boy Hartop-his astonishment far surpassed that of any other person in Hull, and the interest he felt in those who might have been victims to the long practised frauds of the attorney, was excessive. Having, however, about this very period, transacted some little roguery on his own account, (the amusement of his leisure hours,) in which a plain sea-faring man was the dupe, he contrived to shift the brunt to the shoulders of his ex-guardian, which could not possibly make much difference to one already bowed low by the weight of infamy, while to himself it was a most incalculable relief. Here, then, terminated the first stage of Hartop's progress—but his abilities, and what was still more incontestable, his address, offered such strong appeals to public commiseration at his bereavement, that he was not long without new friends, and amongst them Mr. Hussey, who, as he was now making rapid advances into the vale of years, would fain assign the up-hill path of business to some one more vigorous than himself. No one could be better fitted to the old gentleman's purpose than the stranded Hartop; in fact, they agreed that Providence had clearly made a special interference in the matter. An engagement was the result, and the houseless boy introduced forthwith into the counting-house of the first merchant in Hull. Mr. Hussey was a widower, having but one child, a daughter, who was about Hartop's age. Margaret was decidedly a handsome girl—a dark, striking beauty-a "demarche aisée, port noble, pied petit "the banks of the Tagus could scarcely match her;-one who paused not to cheat you of your heart, but at once robbed you of it, which having appropriated, like all il-gotten wealth was speedily abused;—a rare and costly edition of that sex, more agreeably studied in humbler copies of the work. Hartop found his way almost as soon into the confidence of the merchant, as into his counting-house. Alike distinguished for observation, assiduity, and despatch, he was invaluable, and so punctual in his movements, that those of the town clock might have been regulated by them. The direction of the firm in a short time devolved absolutely on him-he represented its credit and prosecuted its claims, so that at length, the only person known or thought of in the house of Hussey, was Mr. Hartop. In the service of his late master, our adventurer had had various opportunities for forming an acquaintance with the affairs of his neighbours, and amongst them, the real state and condition of a burly grazier, who had been accounted mavellously well to do in the world; a report which turned out by no means incorrect, although he had been for some years a client of the unrolled attorney. His wife had just found leisure to bless him with one child-a daughter; for with the exception of a short absence from domestic affairs, which the event of a lying-in usually exacts, the good woman had scarcely been out of the kitchen four hours together since her wedding day. The above inquiry being thus satisfactory, it forcibly struck Hartop he should have no objection to make the young lady his wife. True he did not love her, but in all probability she would be wealthy, and in that case he should love her; while the affection which riches begets would have the virtue of constancy, which is far more than beauty or accomplishments could have any right to expect, as the first will fade and the operation of years render the latter monotonous. Besides which the lady, as he had understood, was sickly; any neglect therefore on his part, Providence, in all probability would step in to requite, and by taking her entirely to itself, assign to her a better alimony than either he, or indeed this world, could presume to promise. Having therefore attended a short consultation with the most vigilant friend he had in the world, namely himself, he went so far as to settle |