Yorkshire Family Romance.

SIR JOHN HOTHAM.

YORKSHIRE FAMILY ROMANCE.

BY
FREDERICK ROSS, F.R.H.S.,
AUTHOR OF
"CELEBRITIES OF YORKSHIRE WOLDS,"
"PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION,"
ETC.

HULL:
WILLIAM ANDREWS & CO., THE HULL PRESS.
London: Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent, & Co., Limited.

1891.

Contents.

YORKSHIRE FAMILY ROMANCE.

[The Synod of Streoneshalh.]

NORTHUMBRIA was at peace, after a long period of anarchy, bloodshed, battles, and murders. Christianity had been restored by St. Oswald, King and Martyr; York Cathedral, commenced by King Eadwine, had been completed; the great Abbey of Lindisfarne had become a centre of Christian light and civilisation; and several other churches and religious houses were growing up over the length and breadth of the land. Oswy, a wise, vigorous, and warlike King, one of the most illustrious of his line, ruled Northumbria in its integrity; held northern Mercia under his sway; had subjected the southern Picts and Scots to his authority; and was Bretwalda of the Heptarchy. This position, however, he had only gained, and this peace firmly secured, after a great struggle and the shedding of much blood, and, it must be added, after the perpetration of an atrocious crime. When Paulinus, under the patronage of King Eadwine, had introduced Christianity into Northumbria, Mercia was ruled by Penda, a ferocious Pagan, who made a vow to Woden that he would exterminate the new heretical faith or lay down his life in the attempt. Accordingly, he entered into a compact with Cadwallon, a British Prince of Wales, and together they invaded Northumbria. Eadwine met them in battle and was slain; Paulinus and the Queen, with her children, fled to Kent, and the kingdom was harried by the victors, who sought out the Christians and put them indiscriminately to the sword. Cadwallon remained as ruler of the kingdom, and under his barbarous measures Christianity became almost, if not altogether, extinct, whilst the altars of Woden were re-established in every direction. Osric and Eanfrid, grandsons of Ælla, first King of Deira, after the death of Eadwine, were raised by the voice of the people to the thrones of Deira and Bernicia. They had been baptised at the court of their uncle by Paulinus, but now, as they had no Christians to govern, they apostatised and relapsed into the faith of Woden, but their reign was short; they laid siege to Cadwallon in York, were defeated, Osric slain in the battle, and Eanfrid put to death afterwards; and Cadwallon continued to rule the Northumbrians with an iron hand. At this time there was a young Prince, an exile in Scotland—Oswald, son of Æthelfred, King of Bernicia—who had fled thither when a youth, and had been instructed in the principles of Christianity by the monks of Iona. He heard of the deaths of the two Kings, and of the misery to which his native land was subjected by the tyranny and oppression of Cadwallon, and determined upon going thither and attempting to drive out the usurper. On his arrival the people flocked round his standard, and, with a cross borne in front of his army, he met Cadwallon at Deniseburn, near Hexham, and defeated him, Cadwallon falling in the fight. He established his Court at York, as King of Northumbria, and eventually became Sixth Bretwalda, extending his territories beyond the Tweed. He restored Christianity, by means of missionaries from Iona, completed the church of York, commenced by Eadwine, and founded other churches and some monasteries, leading a life of usefulness, beloved by his people for his piety and good government. But Penda was still living, as bitter as ever against Christianity, and intelligence reached the Court of York that he was preparing for a second invasion of Northumbria, again to trample out the nascent Christianity. In order to be beforehand with his enemy, Oswald invaded Mercia, where the Pagan King was again victorious, and Oswald slain at Masserfield, which came, in consequence, to be called Oswald's-town, corrupted in modern times into Oswestry. Penda caused his body to be torn limb from limb and cast abroad to be devoured by wild beasts, then crossed the border into Northumbria, and ravaged the land with fire and sword.

When the Mercians had retired, Oswy, an illegitimate half-brother of Oswald, was called to the throne of Northumbria in the year 642; but two years afterwards, Oswin, son of Osric the Apostate, disputed his right on the ground of his illegitimacy, and being backed by a numerous body of friends, Oswy agreed to a compromise, he taking Bernicia, and Oswin Deira. Seven years after, a dispute arose between the two Kings about the boundaries of their territories, and they took up arms to settle the question by the sword. The two armies met at Wulfer's Dun, near Catterick, when Oswin, perceiving the enemy's forces to be much more numerous than his own, and reluctant to shed blood recklessly, dismissed his men and went to the house of his friend Count Hudwold, at Ingethlin (Gilling), to conceal himself for the present, with a view of entering a monastery; but Hudwold betrayed him, and Oswy sent Ethelwin to murder him, who faithfully executed his mission. Eanfleda, Oswy's Queen, a daughter of King Eadwine, afterwards, with the consent of her husband, founded a monastery at Gilling, where prayers should be offered up for the soul of Oswin, and for the pardon of Oswy. The people of Deira refused to recognise Oswy as King; drove him back across the Tees when he came to take possession, and elected Æthelwald, a son of Oswald, for their King.

The hoary-headed old Pagan, Penda, although now well stricken in years, could not witness the advance of Christianity, under Oswy, without pious emotion, and he resolved upon still another invasion of Northumbria in the cause of Woden. He entered into an alliance with Athelm, King of the East Angles, and Æthelwald of Deira—the latter incited by motives of policy—and the confederates marched against Oswy. A great battle ensued at Winwidfield, near Leeds, when Æthelwald, who was a Christian, repented of having entered into a league with the enemies of that faith, and stood aloof. After an obstinate fight, Penda and thirty of his chief officers were slain, and the greater part of his army cut to pieces. This was the last struggle in England between Christianity and Paganism.

Thus there was peace in the land after the scenes of violence and bloodshed occasioned by the fanatic fury of Penda, and Oswy found himself in a position to carry out his views for establishing Christianity on a sure basis. Before the battle of Winwidfield he had made a vow that he would build a great monastery at Streoneshalh, endow it with the twelve manors of Crown property lying round the White Bay (Whitby), and that he would dedicate his daughter Eanfleda to perpetual virginity and the service of God in the monastery, if he should, by the blessing of God, be successful over his Pagan enemy.

The Cathedral of York was now finished, and he sent the masons and other workmen to erect the monastery and church on the lofty cliff overhanging the outfall of the river Esk into the White Bay, and its walls uprose with marvellous rapidity. As soon as it was completed it was opened for monks and nuns of the Benedictine order, a colony of whom migrated from Hartlepool; and the Princess Hilda, a woman highly esteemed for her learning, virtue, and piety, was placed at the head as Prioress. At this time there were two bodies of Christians in Northumbria, antagonistic to each other on many points of doctrine and ceremonial, the most important being the question of the proper time for the celebration of the Easter festival, and most important was it deemed in these primitive times, for both parties firmly believed that the soul's salvation was imperilled by its non-observance on the right day. The antagonistic sects were the priests and monks from Iona, representatives of the primitive British Church—which had been planted in the island, it was said, by Joseph of Arimathea—with their converts, comprehending the greater portion of the Northumbrian Christians; and on the other side, the ecclesiastics who had imbibed their faith at the feet of Romish teachers.

The origin of this antagonism of opinion came about in the following way. Christianity had been extirpated in Northumbria by the sword of Penda, and the people had relapsed into heathenism, very few remaining who still clung to the faith as taught by Paulinus. This was the state of the country when Oswald came to the throne. He had imbibed the tenets of Christianity in the schools of Iona, and sent thither for missionaries to re-convert his people, and founded the see of Lindisfarne, which became the focus of religion and civilisation in his kingdom. Thus, when Oswy ascended the throne, Christianity of the ancient British type prevailed in the land. But there were others who had been educated in Southern England, France, and Italy, who held to the faith as promulgated by Augustine, Paulinus, and other Roman missionaries, and a great deal of controversy, disputation, and even quarrels on tenets of belief and religious observances, took place between the two divisions of the Church. First and foremost, as stated above, was that of the proper time for observing the festival of Easter. The British Church celebrated it on the day of the full moon next after the vernal equinox; the Romish, not on the day of the full moon, but on the Sunday following. The former claimed St. John, the beloved apostle, and the usage of the Eastern Church, as their authorities; the latter, the example of Saints Peter and Paul, backed by a decree of the council of Nice, and they branded as schismatics all who refused to conform to their mode; whilst the British condemned to hell-fire all who deferred the celebration until the Sunday after the full moon. Bede said "It was not without reason that the question disturbed the minds of a great number of Christians, who were apprehensive lest after they had begun the race of salvation they should be found to have run in vain." This state of things caused great confusion, one section of the Church humbling themselves in abstinence, prayers, and tears, whilst the other were lifting up their voices in joyful celebration of the Resurrection. Even in the King's Palace there was disunion, Oswy, who had been educated in Scotland, and Eanfleda, his Queen, who had been taught in Kent, observing the festival, one on the one day, the other on the other.

It was obvious that something must be done to put an end to these disputes, and Oswy at length determined upon calling together a Synod to settle the matter once and for all. There was also another question on which the two sections of the Church were at daggers drawn, that of the tonsure, the Romish monks shaving the head all round, emblematic of the crown of thorns; the British only in front as far back as the ears; but this was not looked upon as a vital question, and was easily arranged after the great Easter dispute was settled.

The King decided upon holding the Synod in his new monastery of Streoneshalh, and had summoned all the most notable ecclesiastics on both sides to discuss the question. It was a picturesque spectacle to see the Royal train and the monks and priests winding their way up the steep hill from the valley of the Esk and entering the portals of the priory on the summit, where it stood overlooking the expanse of sea, with its rounded arches and stunted pillars, radiant in the sunshine, and glitteringly white in the freshness of its architecture. The disputants assembled in the great hall, the King taking his place on the dais as president, with the prioress Hilda by his side.

On the Scottish side were ranged Hilda, who, although she had been baptised by Paulinus, had been instructed at the feet of Aidan, the Ionian Bishop of Lindisfarne; Colman, Bishop of Lindisfarne; Cedd (a Northumbrian), Bishop of the East Saxons; and a train of monks and priests from Icolmkill and Lindisfarne. On the Romish side were Queen Eanfleda; Prince Alfred, son of Oswy; Wilfrid, Abbot of Ripon, who had been educated in Rome, a most able, eloquent, and learned man, the first Churchman of his age; Agilbert, Bishop of Paris, formerly of the West Saxons; James, the deacon who had been left by Paulinus in charge of the infant Northumbrian Church; Ronan and Agathon, priests who had been educated in France, and others who had received instruction from Italian priests and monks.

Oswy maintained a neutrality as president, although he adhered to the British mode; and Cedd acted as interpreter.

The King opened the Synod by briefly stating its object, the necessity of conformity in so important a point as that it was called together to discuss, praying the Holy Spirit to guide them in the debate; and concluded by calling upon Bishop Colman to open the discussion.

The Bishop said that Easter, as observed by his Church, was derived directly from the Apostles, not from a Romish bishop or a council of fallible men. Bishops Finan, Aidan, and Columba had so observed it; but their authority, though eminently holy men, was not sufficient. Their warrant was based on the custom of St. John, the beloved disciple of Christ, therefore, recognising his high authority, and the fact that it was so observed by the Eastern and eldest-born Church, no one could dispute its being the true method.

Bishop Agilbert was called upon to reply, but excused himself, as not knowing the Northumbrian tongue sufficiently well to make himself understood. Wilfrid, the Abbot, the great champion of his side, whose name was afterwards known from Rome to York, and who became Archbishop of York, thereupon rose and said, "Easter, as we observe it, is the same as we ourselves have seen it observed at Rome, where the blessed apostles, Saint Peter and Paul, lived, preached, suffered, and are buried; and as, in our travels through Italy and France, whether for study or pilgrimage, we have always seen it observed. We know also, by relation, that the same obtains in the Churches of Asia, Africa, Egypt, and Greece, nay, among all the churches of the world, excepting in this remote and obscure island, where a few obstinate Britons pretend to dispute the affair with the whole world."

At this taunt Bishop Colman said, "I marvel, brother Wilfrid, that you call ours a foolish contention, when we have for our pattern and guide so worthy an apostle as St. John, who alone leaned upon our Saviour's breast."

Wilfrid, touched with compunction at having spoken too harshly, replied, "God forbid that I should accuse St. John," and entered into a learned statement of the early Christians accommodating their rites and ceremonies in accordance with those of the Jews, and that St. John, who kept the laws of Moses literally, thus celebrated the feast of Easter on the first day of the Jewish Passover, whether on Sunday or any other day. But St. Peter, knowing that Christ rose from the grave on a Sunday, celebrated the feast on that day of the week, in accordance with a command which he received from our Lord, which is certainly a higher authority than that of St. John; and the decree of the council of Nice, in 525, was but a confirmation thereof. Colman replied, "Athanolius, so commendable for his holiness, and Father Columba, whose sanctity is proved by miracles, kept Easter as we do, and I do not deem it wise to depart from their method."

"Their holiness and miracles," responded Wilfrid, "I dispute not; but I have no doubt that when, in the day of judgment, they say, 'Lord, have we not prophesied, cast out devils, and wrought miracles in Thy name?' He will answer, 'Begone; I know you not.' Can you compare Columba with the most blessed of the Apostles, to whom Christ said, 'Thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it; and to thee I give the keys of the kingdom of heaven.'"

"Did our Lord speak this to St. Peter?" asked the King, of Colman.

"Most certainly," was the reply.

"Hitherto," continued the King, "I have observed the rule of St. John, and in ignorance, but now mine eyes are opened. You both agree that the words of our Lord, quoted by the Father Abbot, were spoken to St. Peter, and I deem it not wise to withstand or gainsay so potent a person as the doorkeeper of heaven, lest when I come thither I find them closed against me; and I should recommend this assembly to decide upon celebrating the festival after the mode of St. Peter." The result of this speech was that several went over from the British to the Roman side, and, after a few other speeches, the question was put to the vote, and decided almost unanimously in favour of the Romanists. Cedd, Bishop of the East Saxons, was one of the converts, but Colman declined submission, soon after resigned his bishopric, and with his monks and priests returned to Iona.

Ultimately, however, all the branches of the Church conformed to the rule of St. Peter—the Picts in 699, the Scots, comprehending the monks of Iona, in 716, and the Britons or Welsh in 800.

[The Doomed Heir of Osmotherley.]

THE Vale of Mowbray is one of the many beautiful pieces of landscape scenery with which the county of Yorkshire abounds; a favourite sketching-ground for artists, and often seen, in detached portions, on the walls of the Royal Academy. An equal favourite, also, is it with the tourist and worshippers of natural beauty. If Dr. Syntax, when he mounted Grizzle to go in search of the picturesque, had come to the Vale of Mowbray, we may fancy that he would have considered his quest at an end, and his purpose accomplished.

In the Saxon era it presented a somewhat different aspect from what it does now; more strikingly magnificent and grand in its wild, natural beauty. Instead of cornfields, pastures, hedgerows, churches, mills, and mansions, it was one expanse of forest, with towering oaks, elms, and poplars; and, beneath a tangled undergrowth of brushwood and briar, the home and haunts of the antlered stag, the wild boar, the wolf, and innumerable other wild creatures, four-footed, on the sward below, or pinion-borne amid the foliage above. It must not be supposed, however, that the vale was given up entirely to these denizens of woodland, and destitute of human inhabitants. The Lord of the valley was Earl Oswald, a Saxon, or, to speak more accurately, an Anglian nobleman—the greatest landed proprietor for many miles round. His mansion was seated on a gentle slope of the Hambleton Hills; a one-storied edifice, consisting of a large hall, where he, his retainers, and domestic servants, partook of their meals, and where the latter slept by night, on straw or rushes spread on the floor, with some smaller family sleeping and guest rooms, a kitchen, brewhouse, and other necessary appliances of a nobleman's household, including a chapel with open, round-headed doorway, draped with a pair of woollen portieres, generally looped back, and displaying in the interior some roughly carpentered benches, and a lamp pendant from the roof.

Around the mansion was some arable land, with granaries and stacks; pasture land for horses, oxen, and sheep, protected by stockades from the incursions of wolves and other beasts of prey; an orchard and a vegetable garden. Scattered about in clearings of the forest were the homesteads of the class correspondent with the modern tenant-farmer, with their oxen, swine, wains, and rude implements of husbandry; and, nestling around the mansion, an aggregation of wattled and mud-built dwellings, the abodes of the villeins or serfs, hence denominated a village, in the centre of which stood the church, a very primitive structure of wood, consisting of nave and chancel only, without side aisles, transept, or tower.

Earl Oswald was a young man of five-and-twenty years, comely in aspect and benign in manner; and was a considerate overlord and kind master. He had not long been in possession of his estates, his father having died only twelve months previously, his death having been occasioned by an accident when pursuing the wild boar in the forest. The present Earl was the last of his race, having no brothers or other relatives to inherit the earldom, which would become extinct in case of his death without issue; consequently it behoved him, in order to continue the succession, to look out for a wife. But at that time the choice was very limited; it was essential that he should marry a lady with some pretensions to aristocratic birth, in order to keep up the dignity of his family; and as people, even nobles, did not then travel far away from home, visiting only such families as resided within a moderate distance, his choice was rather restricted. It happened, however, that one day, when hunting in Cleveland, he met with a Thegn, one of the lower order of nobility, who invited him to his house to spend the night, as he was some distance from home. At supper he was introduced to the Thegn's daughter, Gytha, a beautiful young maiden, some three or four years younger than himself, and was so charmed with her beauty, amiability of deportment, and sensible conversation, that he became enamoured of her, and mentally resolved that if there were no obstacles in the way he would make her his countess and the mother of his heir. He made no declaration on that occasion, but finding the hunting round the bases of the great Cleveland hill, the Ottenberg, now called Roseberry Topping, fruitful of sport, he came again and again, seldom letting a week pass without one or two visits, and never failing to call at the Thegn's house, where he was always cordially welcomed by Gytha and her father. The friendship thus commenced soon ripened into intimacy, and when the Earl found that his attentions had made an impression on the heart of the fair maiden, he began to whisper in her ear the tale of love. As maidens, in those practical, unsophisticated days, knew not the art of coquetry, and were not apt at disguising the feelings of their hearts, Gytha listened with pleasure to his flattering tale, confessed at once that she reciprocated his love, and without any needless circumlocution or affected bashfulness consented to become his wife, which met with the full approbation of her father, and a month afterwards he bore her away to become the mistress of the mansion in the Mowbray Vale, and, it was hoped, the mother of the future lord of the domain.

Months past along—delicious months—one succession of honeymoons; the happy pair never tiring of each other's company. In the mornings the Earl would go forth to superintend the operations of ploughing, sowing, or harvesting, or to look after the careful tending of his flocks and herds; and occasionally, for pastime or for the benefit of the larder, would penetrate the recesses of the forest, hunting-spear in hand, and surrounded by his hounds; whilst the Lady Gytha directed the domestic affairs of the house, or occupied herself in her bower, with her handmaidens, embroidering a set of arras for the adornment of the hall; but they always spent the after-part of the day together in caressing converse.

The months thus passed along, and began to resolve themselves into years, but still the great hope of their lives was not accomplished, that of giving an heir to carry downwards the honours and possessions of the family. For a long time they flattered themselves with this hope, despite the length of time that had elapsed since their marriage; but when three or four years had gone into the past without any fruition of their hopes, they began to despond. The Earl became moody and melancholy in contemplating the probable and almost certain extinction of his race; and his lady wept and mourned in secret, at the bitter disappointment her husband experienced, no less than at the denial to herself of the delights and pleasant anxieties of maternity.

Another year or two, with their wintry storms and summer sunshine, went by, and the Earl had sunk into the depths of despair, when, after all hope had departed, a gleam of sunshine shot athwart "the winter of his discontent," heralding the coming of a glorious summer. The probable birth of a living child, and, it might be, heir, was announced to him, and he immediately became a changed man; from the slough of despondency he sprang up, radiant with expectancy, buoyant in spirit, and gladdened at heart; and the Lady Gytha underwent an equal change, from tears and brooding to the delicious anticipation of fondling on her breast and presenting to her husband, as the outcome of their loves, an heir to his lands and dignities.

It was a proud day for Earl Oswald when the women of his household brought him news of the birth of a male child, healthy and well-formed, with promise of developing into vigorous life, indeed, in the nurse's opinion, it was one of the most wonderful infants that ever came into the world, and he was further gratified to learn that the mother was doing well, whom he waited upon as soon as the feminine portion of the community, who ruled supreme at this interesting crisis, permitted, to congratulate her on the auspicious event. Nor did he confine himself to mere gratulations and expressions of rejoicing; in demonstration of his gratitude to Heaven for his long-hoped-for heir, every day, for the succeeding week, he sat at the entrance door of his mansion and administered, with bountiful hand, food and stycas to all mendicant wayfarers, dispensed gifts to his servitors and slaves, and bestowed liberal donations on the Church and the monastic fraternities, with a stipulation in the latter case that they should pray for the welfare of the newly-born Christian child.

The infant throve apace, and waxed more beautiful every day, with his blue Saxon eyes and fair flaxen hair, the darling of his mother, the cherished hope of his father, and the petted plaything of all the household. He had attained the mature age of twelve months, when a terrible calamity befel the family, a calamity, however, which was common enough in those days of turbulence, bloodshed, and war. It was the time when the Danish Vikings were most active in making landings on the British coasts, ravaging the country, and massacring the people who opposed them, and then sailing homeward with the spoils of the plundered villages and monasteries. Northumbria lay especially open to their incursions; Ravenspurn, Flamborough, and Lindisfarne, were their principal landing places, and the Humber, the Tees, and the Tyne, their high roads into the interior. They had, indeed, established a permanent encampment on the headland of Flamborough, and intrenched themselves by enlarging a natural ravine, deepening it, and throwing up earthworks, so as to constitute it a formidable defensive barrier stretching across the peninsula, which still exists, and is popularly known as "Danes' Dyke."

News reached Earl Oswald that a large fleet of vessels had arrived at Flamborough, and that the Danes, in great numbers, were marching with sword and firebrand across the Wolds, and in the direction of his home. The news was sent by the leading men of the district, who were gathering their vassals and slaves together to resist the invaders, and he was requested to come to their assistance with all the men he could muster. He lost no time in obeying the call, and after bidding an affectionate farewell to his wife, and exhorting her to great watchfulness and care over little Oswy, who, said he, is the only hope for the continuance of my race in case of any mischance to myself—he went forth at the head of his retainers, and joined the army, which had assembled in the neighbourhood of Driffield, to check the progress of the enemy.

About a couple of miles to the north-east of Driffield, there was a valley running east and west, along which it was anticipated the foe would come, and here the Saxons decided to await their approach. They took up their position on the southern slopes, and threw up some rough earthworks to protect their front, and, after lying there a couple of days, their scouts brought intelligence that the Danes were but a mile distant, and that in their track could be seen the flames of villages which they had fired in their march. Presently they made their appearance; a vast host of fierce-looking warriors, who, on perceiving the Saxons, set up a wild barbarian shout, and clashed their weapons together as if eager for the conflict. The Saxons uttered a shout of defiance in response, but remained quietly behind their intrenchments, whilst the Danes rushed forward impetuously, and clambering up the slope, the battle began. The field was obstinately contested on both sides, the fight lasting the entire day, neither gaining any absolute advantage, the bravery being equal on both sides, and what the Saxons lacked in numbers was made up by the superiority of their position, and the shelter afforded by their earthworks. Great numbers of brave men fell on both sides, the Danes, from their exposed position, losing more than their antagonists, and when the darkness of night fell, separating the combatants, they deemed it expedient to retreat upon Flamborough.

The following day the Saxons went over the field to succour the wounded and bury the dead. Among the former was found Earl Oswald, who was taken in charge by his retainers and conveyed to his home; and the latter were buried, Saxon and Dane together, and tumuli raised over their bodies. Their grave-mounds may still be seen spread over two or three acres of ground, over-canopied by trees, and are popularly known by the name of "Danes' Graves," and the valley where the battle was fought still bears the name of "Danes' Dale."

A speedy messenger was sent to inform Lady Gytha of what had befallen her husband, and it was with anguished heart that she received the mournful cavalcade which carried him, wounded and almost insensible, to his home. He lived two or three days, but in the end, despite the most skilful of leechery and the most assiduous nursing, he succumbed to the loss of blood he had sustained during the night he lay on the field. In his dying moments he again besought his wife to protect and bring up in godly fashion his infant heir; and she, with heartbroken sobbing, entreated him to have no apprehensions on that head, as now she would have nothing to live for but that one sole purpose. And the Earl closed his eyes in death, and was buried in the little wooden church hard by, which had been built by his grandfather—buried with all the pomp befitting his rank; and the Lady Gytha returned to her mansion to grieve over her loss, devote herself to the instruction of her beloved child, and look after the interests of his estates.

It chanced one day that the widowed lady and her orphan child were disporting themselves on the grass-plot in front of the house, when a withered old crone came up and implored charity. The Lady Gytha, who was ever beneficent to the poor, sent into the house for some victuals, which she gave to the old woman, bidding her sit under the shade of a tree and eat thereof, condoled with her under her infirmities, and supplemented her gift of food with a few coins. Whilst she was conversing with the woman, the little Oswy was running about after some ducks, and, chasing them to the edge of a pond, fell in, but was immediately rescued. At the same moment a dog that was chained up near by gave two prolonged howls, which attracted the attention of the stranger, who, after musing awhile, said, "Lady! you have been very kind in your largesses to me, whom you know not, and I can only repay you by a warning, which I pray you to take heed of. I am an old woman, and have lived long in this world, not without learning somewhat that is hidden to others. I have studied omens and forebodings, and have acquired the power of predicting the future from signs of the present. Know then, lady, that I can foresee from the mishap of your little son, and the language of the dog, that he will undergo great peril from water, and that this will happen, unless prevented by fit precaution, in his second year, as is indicated by the two howls of the dog;" and, having said this, she hobbled off, leaning on her walking-staff, without leaving time for reply.

Lady Gytha, although she did not place much credence in the prediction of the old woman, was imbued, to some extent, with the superstitions and credulities of the age, and she summoned into her presence an astrologer, requesting him to cast the nativity of the child. He noted down the time and particulars of his birth, and promised a reply within the week. After a few days' absence he returned, and appeared before Lady Gytha with a clouded brow, she receiving him with a tremor of anxiety. "What do the stars reveal?" enquired she. "Are the tidings good or evil?" "Lady," replied he, "I have calculated the star of his nativity, and sorry am I to tell that it augurs evil rather than good. A great peril awaits the child, on the fourth day of the third moon after his second birthday. It is recorded in the starry volume that on that occasion he will perish by drowning."

"Oh, say not so, wise sir. It would kill me as well. Are you assured that this fate is inevitable?"

"Fate, lady, is inevitable; but there is one planet which presents a disturbing element in his horoscope, and it is possible that this fate may have been miscalculated, and that, through the influence of the planet, the threatening may be averted; and it will become you that, at the date indicated, you should take all possible precaution, in order that he should not be brought into the neighbourhood of water of any kind."

The astrologer, having been rewarded generously for his services, and assured that all due precautions should be taken, he departed, murmuring to himself, "Fate is fate, and it cannot be averted."

The Lady Gytha's whole existence was now absorbed in that of her child. He was scarcely ever out of her reach and sight, she watched over him with more than maternal care, if that were possible, and he continued to blossom out, with the promise of becoming everything she could wish—her support, her comfort, and the pride of her after-life. But these prospects of the future were overshadowed by a cloud—an anxious foreboding of what might happen on the fourth day of the third moon of his second year, which the stars marked with a doubtful and perhaps fatal prognostic. Could he but pass that dangerous point of life, the lowering cloud would dissolve into thin air, and for the future might be anticipated the glad sunshine of existence.

The fatal day came nearer and nearer. He had passed his second birthday, and the mother had meditated often and often on the means whereby he should be delivered from the threatening evil. It was plainly revealed to her that the danger arose from water, and she reasoned that if she could place him out of the neighbourhood of river, pools, or springs, the evil might be turned aside and the augury baffled. When thinking the matter over, there suddenly rose up before her mind's eye the steep slopes of Ottenberg, the Cleveland hill, about which she had often clambered and gambolled when a child, and it struck her that if she could convey young Oswy to the summit, he would be removed so far away from any running or standing stream, or pool of water, that there could be no possibility of the fulfilment of the prediction, and she resolved upon taking him thither.

Accordingly she proceeded to her father's house at its base, and on the summer's night preceding the fateful day, clomb the side of the hill with her child in her arms. She arrived at the summit as the sun was rising from the sea on the eastern horizon, and lighting up the glorious panorama visible from that elevated position. She partook of some refreshment which she had brought with her, and, although she felt no fatigue in making the ascent, owing to her anxiety, now that she had reached what she deemed a place of security, nature began to give way, and a sense of exhaustion to oppress her. She sat there, with her child clasped in her arms, as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and darted forth its heated rays upon her unsheltered head. Under its influence she began to feel drowsy, but battled with the feeling, determined not to lose her hold of the child until the day had passed. At length, however, she unconsciously and insensibly succumbed, and fell asleep, sinking on the turf and relaxing her grasp. The young Oswy disengaged himself, and wandered away, plucking the wild flowers, and looking with infant delight at the gulls winging their flight over the sea.

An hour or two elapsed, and the Lady Gytha awoke. At first she could scarcely understand where she was, but in a few minutes she came to full consciousness, and was startled to find that her child was not with her. She sprang up, called him by name, but elicited no response, and she feared he had fallen down the side of the hill. With beating heart she sought around, and on turning a projecting shoulder of the hill was agonised to perceive the object of her search lying with his face in a stream of water that was issuing from a fissure, and, on taking him up, found life to be extinct. The pen fails in attempting to depict her frantic grief, but it may be briefly stated, that she carried down the lifeless body, conveyed it to her home, and laid it beside its father in the little timber church. For her there was no further earthly joy, and fixing her thoughts on the only source of consolation, she founded a small religious house in the Vale of Mowbray, where she spent the few remaining years of her life in religious meditation and devotional exercises. She was buried beside her beloved child in the little church, around which a village grew up, which was called, in remembrance of the burial-place of Oswy and his mother—Osmotherley.

According to the legend, the spring at the summit of the hill gushed forth miraculously, in order that the decree of Fate should not be frustrated.

"On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found
The spring which rose his sad doom to complete;
And on its verge the villagers sit round,
In wonder recording the fiat of Fate."

[Eadwine, the Royal Martyr.]

A PIOUS and benevolent monk of Rome, passing one day through the slave market of that city, noticed a group of beautiful fair-haired boys and youths, who were exposed for sale. Compassionating their condition, he enquired whence they came. "They are Angles," was the reply. "They are beautiful enough to be angeli," said the monk. "What part of Anglia come they from?" "Deira." "Then shall they be saved, de ira, from the wrath of God. Who is their King?" "Ælla." "Then," continued the monk, "shall Alleluias resound through their land," and he there and then determined to go thither as a missionary, and preach the Gospel to them, but before he could complete his arrangements, he was raised to the Pontifical throne as Gregory I., afterwards called Gregory the Great. Incapable, therefore, of going himself, he sent Augustine, with Paulinus and other monks, as missionaries to the Saxons of Britain. Instead, however, of going to the kingdom of Deira, they landed in that of Kent, gained the ear of King Ethelberht, who embraced Christianity, and established the see of Canterbury, with Augustine as Bishop thereof.

Ælla, the first king of Deira, died in the year 588, leaving a son, his heir, then three years of age, and an elder daughter, Acca, married to Ethelfrid, King of Bernicia, the great kingdom of Northumbria being then divided into Bernicia and Deira, both extending from sea to sea, and separated by the river Tees. Taking advantage of his brother-in-law's tender age, Ethelfrid usurped the throne of Deira, and became King of the whole of Northumbria, and the boy Eadwine was taken into exile by his friends. For many years, until he grew up to manhood, he wandered about from one refuge to another, until at last he found a safe asylum at the court of Redwald, King of the East Angles. Ethelfrid sent a demand that he should be delivered up to him, and Redwald, in reply, said to the messenger, "Tell thy master that I have promised to protect him, and will not give him up at the dictate of any King, however powerful he may be." Eventually, however, persuaded by bribes, and terrified by threats, he agreed to deliver him up. Eadwine, hearing of this, wandered forth into the forest, and, "as he sate solitary under a tree, in dumps, musing what was best to be done," a venerable stranger suddenly appeared before him, and said, "Noble Prince, thou knowest me not, but I come to tell thee that thou shalt be restored to thy kingdom, and moreover shall become Bretwalda of the Saxon Kings, if thou listenest but to those that shall be sent to thee, to teach the worship of the only true God." Eadwine, dazzled by the prospect, readily promised to do so, when the stranger placed his hand upon his head, saying, "Remember that as a sign," and vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared. On his return to the palace, he found that, at the intercession of the Queen, Redwald had withdrawn from his engagement, and was now determined to protect the fugitive to the utmost of his power. Ethelfrid, in consequence, raised an army for the invasion of East Anglia, but was met by Redwald, and a desperate battle ensued on the banks of the river Idle, in which the usurper was defeated and slain, and Eadwine proclaimed King of Northumbria. He proved himself to be an able and vigorous ruler, adding the Isles of Man and Anglesea to his dominions, and extending his territories northward to the Forth, where he built a fortress, around which a town gradually grew up, which was called Edwin's burgh—the infant Edinburgh. He raised his kingdom to a height of power it had never before attained, and in the year 624, on the death of Redwald, he attained the dignity of Bretwalda, or Supreme King of the Saxons, and President of the Heptarchian Witenagemot, whenever any such should be called together.

His first wife, Quenborga, daughter of Ceorl, King of Mercia, having died, he sent Ambassadors to ask the hand of Ethelburga, daughter of Ethelberht, King of Kent, in marriage, but her brother, Eadberht, then on the throne, replied, "I cannot consent, for it is not meet that a Christian Princess should mate with a pagan." The Ambassadors returned to Northumbria, and extolled so highly the beauty and amiability of the Princess, that Eadwine determined to make her his Queen at any cost, and, after some further negotiation, agreed that she should enjoy her own religion, have priests to celebrate the rites thereof, and, moreover, that he would himself examine the grounds of the Christian faith, and if he found them superior to those of Woden, would renounce the latter and embrace the former. Accordingly the fair young Christian came to Northumbria, accompanied by Paulinus and three or four preaching monks, and the marriage was celebrated with great splendour at York, the Pope sending her, on the occasion, a silver mirror and a gilt ivory comb, which latter is supposed to have been found near Whitby in 1872.

Faithful to his stipulation, the King allowed his Queen the utmost freedom in religious matters, and permitted the monks to go forth throughout his realm, preaching and making proselytes. Still he himself adhered to the worship of Woden, in the great temple of Goodmandingham, over which Coifi presided as high priest, and which was contiguous to one of his palaces—that of Londesborough, near Market Weighton. About this time Cuichelm, King of Wessex, jealous of his ascendancy as Bretwalda, sent a messenger to assassinate him, who failed in his object, and Eadwine prepared to make war against Cuichelm for his dastardly conduct. Two days after this event his daughter Eanfleda was born, and, at the urgent request of the Queen and Paulinus, he permitted her to be baptised and dedicated to the service of the God of his Queen, as a thank-offering for his escape. He promised Paulinus also, that if his God were sufficiently potent to give him a victory over Cuichelm, he would, on his return, take into serious consideration the question of embracing Christianity and proclaiming it the religion of Northumbria. At the close of their conversation, Paulinus placed his hand on the King's head, and said, "You have been restored to your kingdom, you have extended its limits, and become the greatest of the Saxon kings of England—the Bretwalda—know you this sign?" Eadwine replied that he did. "And," continued Paulinus, "there was another promise besides these of a secular nature, that teachers should be sent to instruct you in the true faith. Behold, here we are—I and my companions." This was more convincing to the King than any amount of logical argument, and he marched with confidence into Wessex, gained a decisive victory, and on his return summoned a gemôt of nobles at his Londesborough Palace to discuss this great religious question.

The chief speaker at the assembly was the high priest Coifi. "Know, O King!" said he, "that I have long been of opinion that our gods are worthless, and can do nothing for us, and I now perceive that the God of Paulinus is God alone, the creator of the world, and the true object of worship." The King acquiesced in his views, and the nobles, taking their cue from them, gave their assent to the deposition of Woden, and the substitution of Christ as the God of the Saxons.

It was then determined that the great temple of Woden should be desecrated, and the King inquired who would dare to do it. "I," replied Coifi, "I have spent my life hitherto in ministering at the altar of a false and impotent god, and it is fitting that I should overturn that altar." A day was fixed for the purpose, and then the King and his nobles, followed by a crowd of people, proceeded from Londesborough to Goodmandingham, and in the midst Coifi, mounted on a war steed and brandishing a lance in his hand. As the priests of Woden were only permitted to ride mares, and not to bear arms of any kind, the people gazed upon him with superstitious horror, expecting that either the earth would open and swallow him, or a thunderbolt descend from the sky and strike him dead; but neither occurred, and the sun shone as serenely as if no such monstrous act of impiety were taking place. Without hesitation Coifi rode boldly into the temple, and, poising his lance, hurled it at the idol, upon which the people without, not daring to enter, fearing lest the temple should fall and bury them in its ruins, set up a loud yell of horror, and flung themselves down on the sward, but when they beheld the lance quivering in the side of the image and the priest calmly riding out, without the slightest manifestation of wrath on the part of the outraged god—neither thunder, lightning, nor earthquake—they began to think that Woden was no god, and that he whom Paulinus proclaimed was a God indeed, and the issue was that the King and his Court were baptised, and then the common people, 10,000 having undergone the rite in the river Swale in one day, going into the river in batches, whilst Paulinus blessed the water. A wooden church was erected in York, which was replaced by one of stone, commenced by Eadwine and completed by King Oswald—the precursor of the present majestic York Minster, and Paulinus was constituted Bishop of the See, which comprehended the whole of England northward of the Humber and the Mersey. In 634, Pope Honorius sent him a pallium, which raised him to the dignity of an Archbishop.

At that time the kingdom of Mercia was ruled by a ferocious old pagan—Penda—who made a vow to extirpate Christianity from the island, and entered into an alliance with Cadwallon, a Welsh King, for the invasion of Northumbria. Eadwine encountered them at Heathfield, near Doncaster, and a sanguinary battle ensued, which proved most disastrous to the hitherto victorious Northumbrians. Eadwine and his son Osfrid were slain in the fight, and another son, Eanfrid, was murdered after the battle. The victors then ravaged the country, burning and plundering the houses, and slaughtering the people without regard to sex or age. Cadwallon remained in Northumbria, assuming the government, and ruling the people with great severity and cruelty, until he was slain in battle by Oswald, whilst Penda marched into East Anglia, which had become Christian, subdued it, and then took upon himself the title of Bretwalda. Thus fell the great and glorious Eadwine, the victor of many fights, the Bretwalda of England, the first Christian King of the North, and the protomartyr of Northumbria. His body was conveyed to Whitby for burial, and his head interred in the porch of his church at York. He was afterwards canonised, and a church in London and another at Breve, in Somersetshire, have been dedicated to St. Eadwine. The Queen, with her two surviving children, accompanied by Paulinus, fled to Kent. She founded a nunnery, and took the veil within its walls; her children she sent to France, to be educated under the care of her cousin, King Dagobert, and after her death she was canonised. Paulinus became the third Bishop of Rochester.

[Siward, the Viceroy.]

ACCORDING to a Scandinavian legend, a young Danish lady went wandering into a forest, where she suddenly, when turning out of one glade into another, came face to face with a bear, who seized her and forcibly violated her. The result was the birth of a child, with shaggy ears, to whom was given the name of Barn. He married, and had a son, Siward, who came on a piratical excursion to England, and became Viceroy Earl of Northumbria, and this identity of Siward, son of Barn, with Siward the Earl, has been generally accepted by modern chroniclers, which may be attributed to the great obscurity which hangs over the history of this period. The fact is, that this legend does not pertain to Earl Siward at all, but to another Siward—Siward-Barn—who lived half-a-century afterwards, and was son of the Danish Jarl—Barn. Following the instincts of his race, he sailed from Denmark with a fleet, and after ravaging the Orkneys and the coasts of Scotland and Northumbria, passed up the Thames, and presented himself at the Court of Edward the Confessor, whose favour he gained by entering his service. He was rewarded with lands in Cumberland and Westmoreland, and in Holderness, Yorkshire, one of his manors there being called Barns-town, now Barmston, near Bridlington. After the conquest, he joined in the northern insurrection against William I., and was one of the companions of Hereward the Wake in the Isle of Ely, where he was captured, sent a prisoner into Normandy, and there died. He never had anything to do with the Earldom of Northumbria, which was held during his time by Tosti, Morkere, and Waltheof, the son of Earl Siward.

Having disposed of this myth, it becomes us to give, as far as can be ascertained, the true ancestry of Siward. When the Saxon heptarchy, or octarchy, became consolidated into one kingdom, the realm of Northumbria, extending from the Humber to the Tweed, and sometimes to the Forth, which was the last to submit, was peopled by a brave and warlike people, sensitively tenacious of their independence, and of so turbulent a character, that it became necessary to place over them a Viceroy Earl of great vigour, determination, and military ability, to give it the semblance of semi-independence, but at the same time to be ready on the spot to nip incipient rebellion when in the bud. Such a Governor was found in Oswulf, son of Ealdred, Lord of Bamborough, who was nominated to the office by King Athelstane. He was succeeded by Waltheof, the Elder, who was followed by his son Ughtred, from whom the holders of not less than seven peerages claim descent. By Ælgifu, daughter of King Ethelred II., he had issue—Eadulf, Gospatric, and Ældred. Ældred succeeded as Earl of Bernicia, on the death of his uncle, Eadulf I., Earl of Northumbria; and Siward, who was his son, appears to have been appointed, at the same time, Deputy-Earl of Deira.

He was born towards the end of the tenth century, was a giant in stature, of Herculean strength, and of great courage, which he displayed on many a field of battle. His life, indeed, appears to have been spent more in the battlefield than in the peaceful pursuits of government, the administration of justice, or the superintendence of his Yorkshire manors, of which Malton was the chief, granted to him for his military services, and it presents a succession of romantic episodes, in which the sword played the principal part.

Ældred, his father, died in 1038, and was succeeded in Bernicia by his brother, Eadulf II. Siward, however, claimed it as his hereditary right; and so matters remained until 1041, when Eadulf incurred the displeasure of King Hathacnut. This was the opportunity Siward had been longing for, and he hastened up to the King's Court, where, by his representations, he embittered the mind of the King still further against his uncle, and in the sequel was either ordered or permitted to put him to death. This was precisely what he wanted, and, without the least scruple of conscience or regard to kinship when his own aggrandisement was at issue, he proceeded to Bernicia and murdered his uncle in cold blood, assuming at the same time the government, and thus becoming Earl of Northumbria in its integrity.

In the same year, 1041, the people of Worcester rose in insurrection against an unpopular tax, and the three great Earls, Siward of Northumbria, Leofric of Mercia, and Godwine of Kent, were directed to march thither to suppress it. This was done chiefly at the instigation of Ælfric, Archbishop of York, who had caused their Bishop, Lyfric, to be deprived, and himself appointed in his room, to hold the see in commendam with York, but whom the clergy of Worcester refused to recognise. The Earls had no difficulty in suppressing the revolt—indeed the rebels scarcely made any stand against them; but, with great barbarity, they slaughtered the people, plundered their habitations, burnt the city, and compelled them to accept Ælfric as their Bishop.

The following year Hathacnut died, and was succeeded by Eadwarde the Confessor, more fitted for the cowl than the crown, when the three Earls, the mightiest subjects of the realm, divided the administration of the kingdom amongst themselves; Siward at this time held likewise the Earldoms of Huntingdon and Northampton, which were severed from Northumbria at his death.

In 1051, Count Eustace of Boulogne, on his return from a visit to King Eadwarde, treated the people of Dover with great insolence, who fell upon him and his followers, and gave them a deservedly severe chastisement. Eustace demanded redress from the King, who commanded Earl Godwine to punish the Dover people, who, finding that Eustace had been the aggressor, asked that they might be heard in their defence, to which the King would not listen; then Godwine assumed a higher tone, and demanded the surrender of the Count to answer for his insolence. This enraged the King, who summoned Siward and Leofric to render assistance against the hostile designs of Godwine. They came to Gloucester, where a compromise was effected; but at a subsequent gemôt, held in London, Godwine and his family were banished.

The most creditable military effort of the many in which his sword had been drawn, and that which redounded the most to his glory, was the last of his life. In 1054, he was sent by King Eadwarde in command of an expedition into Scotland against the usurper, Macbeth, in favour of the young Prince, Malcolm Canmore, son of the murdered King Duncan. He was now the father of two sons by his first wife—Æthelfleda—Osbert, now approaching manhood, and Waltheof, a boy, some years younger. The former he took with him to Scotland, to initiate him in the then deemed glorious art of war; and a brave young fellow he proved himself to be, a worthy scion of the old stock. Siward attacked Scotland by land and sea, met the usurper and defeated him in a pitched battle, after which he caused Malcolm to be proclaimed King. It is sometimes stated that Macbeth was slain in the battle, which was not the case, as he escaped and held out for three years, maintaining a desultory series of fights with Malcolm, but was eventually slain in 1057. His son Osbert fell in the battle, fighting bravely, and when the news was brought to him, he eagerly inquired if his wounds were in front, and when told they were, said that he could not but rejoice, such a death being worthy of one sprung from his loins.

Shakspeare, not always true to history, in his tragedy of "Macbeth" thus gives the death of "Young Siward," as he calls Osbert:—He meets with Macbeth on the field, and, after some bandying of words, they fight, and Macbeth falls, after which Osbert rushes into the thick of the fight, and falls himself. When Siward is told that all his son's wounds are in front, he exclaims—

"Why, then, God's soldier is he!
Had I as many sons as I have hairs,
I would not wish them to a fairer death:
And so his knell is tolled."

Prince Malcolm observes—

"He's worth more sorrow,
And that I'll spend for him."

To which Siward replies—

"He's worth no more.
They say he parted well, and paid his score,
And so God be with him."

Henry of Huntingdon, speaking of Siward's death, says—"And so he passed away, as he believed, to Valhalla, to rejoin the great warriors of his race who had gone before," seeming to intimate, founded on the misconception of his identity with the Viking Siward-Barn, that he died in the old Scandinavian faith of Woden, which was not true, as he lived and died a Christian, such as Christians were then. He is supposed to have founded a church in York, dedicated to St. Olaf, the martyred King of Norway, and connected with it a fraternity of monks, the name of which, in the reign of William II., was changed into that of St. Mary the Virgin, and eventually became the famous and wealthy abbey of after-times, with a mitred abbot. The ruins may now be seen in the grounds of the Museum.

He ruled his province with great firmness and some severity, necessary in his endeavours to curb the savage propensities of the people, and to establish a system of order and good government, and was bountiful to the Church, as some atonement, perhaps, for the crimes by which he rose to his high position.

Shortly after his return from his Scottish expedition, he was stricken with dysentery, which rapidly grew worse, and he lay in his vice-regal mansion at York without hope of recovery. When he felt his last moments approaching he suddenly started up from his couch and exclaimed, "Let me not die the death of a cow! If it be not my fate to die gloriously on the field of battle, as my brave boy, Osbert, has done, with all his wounds in front, at least let me die in the guise of a warrior. Don me my harness, place the helmet on my head, and gird my sword on my thigh. It were a shame and disgrace that I, who have faced death in so many fields, should die ignominiously in bed. Bring forth my battle-axe and shield, and place them by my side, that the ghosts of my warlike ancestry, who are looking down upon me now, may see me pass away from earth to join them in their everlasting home, with the semblance of the great warrior that I have been." And thus, seated on a chair, clothed in his armour, and supported in an upright posture by his attendants, he gave up the ghost, and was buried in his church of St. Olaf.

His son, Waltheof, being too young for the government of so important a province, it was given to Tosti, son of Earl Godwine, and brother of Harold, the future King; whilst Waltheof succeeded to the Earldoms of Huntingdon and Northampton, and eventually to that of Northumbria.

[Phases in the Life of a Political Martyr.]

IN the year 1055, there was a funeral in the Church of St. Olaf, York. The corpse was conveyed through the streets of the city with great barbaric splendour and pomp. The procession, consisting of stalwart and bronzed warriors, was strikingly illustrative of the dead hero. Swords flashed in the sun; armour, pikes, and battle-axes glittered; and captured pennons, with other trophies of war, were borne along in triumph. Although all these warriors were mourners, the chief, and, indeed, the only one of the blood who followed, was a stripling of fifteen, young in years, but displaying muscular proportions, a military bearing, and features betokening valour, determination of purpose, and invincible resolution in the accomplishment of his will. The warrior was laid in his tomb with all due ceremonial, the priests closed their books, the soldiers who had followed him to many a battlefield, gathered round the open grave to take a last look at his coffin, and then dispersed, whilst the young mourner returned to the vice-regal castle, which now seemed so solitary and desolate without the sound of his father's voice. The defunct warrior was stout old Siward, the Northumbrian Earl, who had scorned "to die the death of a cow," and the mourner who followed his remains was his sole surviving son, Waltheof; his elder son, Osbert, having been slain in battle. Eadward the Confessor was then King, and he, deeming Waltheof too young and inexperienced to rule so ungovernable a people as the Northumbrians, appointed Tosti, a younger son of Earl Godwine, and brother to Harold, afterwards King, to the Earldom. Tosti, however, ruled the people with such intolerable cruelty and oppression that the people of York broke into his mansion, plundered it, and murdered his house-carles; they then assembled in a folkgemôte and formally deposed him, electing Morkere of Mercia in his room. This was an illegal act, but the King, when he heard the circumstances of the case, confirmed it, as did also the Witan-Gemôte of Westminster. Morkere constituted Osulf, Waltheof's uncle, his deputy in Bernicia, on whose death he was succeeded by his brother, Gospatric.

John of Peterborough says that Waltheof was given the Earldoms of Huntingdon and Northampton at his father's death; but as these were held by Tosti, the probability seems to be that he succeeded on the deposition of that Earl. Simeon of Durham says that he governed Bernicia as his father's deputy, but this seems improbable on account of his age, and is not confirmed by other authorities. On the accession of Harold, Tosti, in conjunction with Harold Hardrada, invaded Northumbria, but were defeated by Harold at Stamford Bridge. It was, however, the cause of the ruin of Harold, who, whilst banquetting at York in celebration of his victory, had news brought him that Duke William of Normandy had landed in Sussex, and he had to lead his army by forced marches to the south, arriving in the front of the fresh Norman troops footsore and wearied, and with the loss of many who had fallen out of the ranks during the march; the result being his defeat and death, which might have been otherwise but for this fatal expedition to York. The brother Earls, Morkere of Northumbria and Eadwine of Mercia, and Waltheof undertook to bring bodies of soldiers to his aid, but the former two stood aloof, from politic motives; but Waltheof sent his contingent, if he were not present at the battle himself, which is uncertain.

Duke William was now King of England. London, with the south and east, had submitted at once, but it cost him some efforts to subjugate the west, and still more the north. He did, however, eventually make himself master of Yorkshire and the northern counties, built a castle at York, and placed therein William Malet as military governor of the city. The year after his accession, he found it necessary to visit his Norman Dukedom, when, fearing to leave behind him men so powerful, and whom he suspected of disaffection, he courteously invited Earls Eadwine, Morkere, and Waltheof, to accompany him as guests, who complied with his request, although they were perfectly aware that they were going as hostages for the good behaviour of their people during his absence. Soon after their return, the three Earls, under Earl Gospatric, made a demonstration in the north in favour of Eadgar, the Atheling, but were defeated, and fled to the court of Malcolm, in Scotland. William sent a herald to demand the fugitives, but the King declined giving them up.

In the year 1069, a Danish fleet of 240 vessels might be seen sailing up the Humber and Ouse. It was under the command of the Danish Princes Harold and Cnut, and had been joined at sea by a Scottish fleet under Gospatric and Waltheof. This formidable force landed near York, and entered the city amid the acclamations of the citizens. Malet was shut up in the Castle with a body of Norman troops, and had boastingly written to the King that he wanted no help, for he could hold it till domesday. Around the Castle walls were several houses, which Malet ordered to be fired, that they might not afford shelter to the enemy, but the fire spread further than he intended, consuming the greater portion of the city, the Cathedral, and Archbishop Egbert's magnificent library. It was whilst the flames were rising up with terrific grandeur from the Cathedral towers, and the houses were all ablaze or in ashes, that the confederates made their grand attack, captured the citadel, and put the garrison to the sword. Waltheof performed prodigies of valour. It is recorded of him in a Danish saga—"The great Earl, with mighty arm and sinewy breast, stood by the gate of York (Castle) as the Normans came forth, their heads falling to the earth in succession beneath his battle-axe." Waltheof was appointed Governor of York, the English and Scots garrisoning it, whilst the Danes, in their ships, occupied the Trent and Ouse, to check the advance of William and his army.

It was not long before the King made his appearance before York and demanded its surrender.

Waltheof replied, "Take it if you can, for assuredly I will not surrender it while life lasts." The King then bribed the Danes to withdraw, by a large sum of money and permission to ravage the northern coasts, and invested the city. A breach was made in the walls, and William of Malmesbury says—"Waltheof, a man of great muscular strength and courage, stood in the breach, and killed a great number of Normans who attempted to enter." He states, also, that a battle was fought outside the walls, and that Waltheof was the victor. The siege lasted six months, and the city was reduced at last by famine, after which the King committed the horrible crime of laying waste the country from York to Durham so effectually that for nine years neither spade nor plough was put in the ground, and the miserable survivors who escaped his sword were compelled to eat the most loathsome food to sustain life.

Gospatric, Earl of Northumbria, and Waltheof fled to Scotland, but afterwards tendered their submission to the King, the latter in person, the other by proxy. Waltheof was a man of immense power and influence as Lord of Hallamshire, Malton, and many another broad manor in Yorkshire and other counties, and was, besides, a skilful warrior and brave soldier, and the King, admiring his qualities, longed to win him over as his liege man. He therefore pardoned him, restored him to his Earldoms, and added thereto that of Northumbria, from which he had deposed Gospatric. Moreover, he gave him in marriage his niece, Judith, daughter of Eudes, Earl of Champagne, thinking thus to make sure of his loyalty.

Soon after he entered upon his new Earldom he committed a crime which is a blot upon his name, but which was considered justifiable in that age. A deadly feud existed between the descendants of Ughtred and those of one Thorbrand of York. Thorbrand was the enemy of the father of the second wife of Ughtred, who only obtained her hand by undertaking to kill him, but was murdered himself by Thorbrand. Earl Ealdred then, in retaliation, assassinated Thorbrand, and was in turn killed by Carl, son of Thorbrand, and a series of murders followed, which were completed by a wholesale massacre of the sons of Carl by Waltheof, when they were feasting at the house of their elder brother at Settrington, two only escaping.

There was a great feast in the eastern counties to celebrate the marriage of Ralph, Earl of Suffolk, with Emma, daughter of Roger, son of William, Earl of Hereford, and Waltheof was one of the guests. This marriage had been prohibited by the King, who was now in Normandy, and advantage was taken of his absence to consummate it, which was, in the eye of the law, a treasonable act. After the dinner, the conversation turned upon the tyranny of King William, and, as the guests became heated with wine, they framed a plot to depose him, and place one of themselves as King in his room, the rest to be his proximate peers. Waltheof is said to have taken the oath on compulsion, but the following morning repented of having done so, and went to Archbishop Lanfrane for absolution, who advised him to go to the King, explain the matter, and implore his pardon. He had, however, foolishly mentioned it to his wife Judith, who, wishing to get rid of "the Saxon churl" and marry a Norman, sent an exaggerated account of the conspiracy to her uncle, with the intimation that her husband was most deeply implicated in it. Waltheof went to Normandy, revealed the plot to the King, and asked his forgiveness for the part he had been compelled to take in it, who assured him of pardon, and they returned to England together.

The King, however, who had now for some time looked upon Waltheof as too powerful for a subject, thought this a favourable opportunity to get rid of him, and when he arrived in England, committed him to prison at Winchester. He then caused him to be arraigned at the Pentecostal gemôte, on a charge of treasonable conspiracy, and he was condemned to death. A few days after he was brought out into the market-place at Winchester, and there beheaded; the first instance, says Kennett, of decapitation in England. Ingulphus says that Judith might have saved him, but she desired his death that she might marry again, and afterwards experienced feelings of remorse for her cruelty. She subsequently fell into disgrace with her uncle for refusing to marry one who was lame. Her name appears in Domesday Book as Lady of the Manors of Hallam, Sheffield, and Attercliffe.

By his wife Judith he had issue, three daughters, co-heiresses—Matilda, who married first Simon de St. Liz, and secondly, David I., King of Scotland, thus conveying the Earldom of Huntingdon to the Scottish Royal Family; Alice, who married Richard Fitz Gilbert, whose granddaughter and heiress married Richard Fitz Ooth, from whom was Robert Fitz Ooth, who claimed the Earldom of Huntingdon on the failure of the Scottish male line, and who is generally supposed to be identical with the outlaw Robin Hood; and Judith, who married first Ralph de Toney, secondly Robert, son of Richard de Tonbridge, from whom descended the Barons and Earls Fitzwalter, the Earldom becoming extinct, and the Barony falling in abeyance in 1753, the latter being called out in 1868, in the person of Sir Brook William Brydges, fifth Baronet of, County Kent.

[The Murderer's Bride.]

IT was on a beautiful evening in June, when the thirteenth century was but a few years old, and when John wore the crown of England, that a girl of some twenty summers was seated in a vaulted room of a ruinous old Saxon castle, surrounded by her bower-maidens, chattering and laughing, and busily employed on some embroidery work. The castle stood on a slight eminence, some three or four miles from the sea-coast of Yorkshire, and commanding a glorious view of the uplands of Cleveland, the wide expanse of ocean, the only recently completed towers of St. Hilda's Abbey, as they stood proudly on the beetling cliff, and the clustering of fishermen's huts on the margin of the bay below, then called the village of Presteby, formerly Streoneshalh, and now Whitby. It had been built by the half-mythical Saxon noble, Wada, as a defence against the marauding Picts, who came over the border, and more particularly against the Danish Vikings, who were wont to land at Flamborough, and harry the land. In the year 867, they had destroyed the Lady Hilda's monastery, and it lay in ruins until after the Conquest, when it was re-built and re-endowed by William de Percy, ancestor of the potent Earls of Northumberland, and about half a century before the period of our narrative, it had been again pillaged and the country laid waste by a Norwegian fleet. But, amid all these storms, the old castle built by Wada held its own, although it now showed in its features the ravages of time and the marks of the batterings it had undergone from the hands of a succession of foes, in the shape of fallen towers, crumbling walls, and decayed battlements. After the Conquest, the castle and barony were granted by the King to Nigel Fossard, a soldier who had fought for him at Hastings, and from whose family it passed, after two or three generations, to Robert de Turnham, by marriage with Johanna, heiress of the Fossards. They were now dead, and slept side by side within the sacred precincts of St. Hilda, having left an only child—Isabel—as heiress, and now mistress of the ruined old fortress, and the domain of pasture and moorland lying round it; the same fair girl whom we find seated at her embroidery frame. The apartment in which the youthful group were assembled was the Lady Isabel's bower, very different, however, from a modern boudoir, being of the usual Saxon type. The walls and vaulted roof were of roughly-hewn stone, with a low, stunted column in the centre, and rounded arches, slightly decorated with a zigzag ornamentation, and on one side was an unglazed opening to admit the light, more like a loophole than a window. On the walls, suspended from tenter-hooks, were arras, picturing the miracles of St. Hilda, which served to give some semblance of comfort and cheerfulness to the room; and the other furniture consisted of a table, or board resting on two trestles, and half a dozen cross-legged stools.

Sounds of merriment and laughter echoed from the roof, as the maidens plied their needles, the buoyancy of their youthful spirits, and the outlook into what appears like a fairyland of the future, imparting a sunshine which is the happy privilege of youth, but is denied to more mature age. Yet, in the midst of all this joyous mirth, Isabel occasionally sighed, as disquieting thoughts passed through her mind. She was left in an unprotected solitude, and although the good Abbot of St. Hilda's had been her father's friend, and had promised him on his death-bed to watch over her and aid her by his counsel, he could not supply the place of father and mother, of whom she had been bereft, or of sister or brother, a companionship she had never experienced. She had already begun to taste the cares and anxieties of her position, and looked forward with some degree of apprehension, having learnt that the King, as absolute lord of the soil of England, had the right and power to dispose of the hands of heiresses of any portion of that soil which was only held of him by baronial or knightly tenure.

"The sun goes down apace," said Isabel, rising and going to look forth from the window, "fold up the altar-cloth, we shall have time to complete the embroidery before the obit of St. Hilda." She gazed out upon the sea, sparkling with the glitter of the setting sun, and looked upon the abbey tower on the cliff, still radiant with brightness—an out-post, as it seemed to her, of the realms of heaven, and she felt a peaceful calm steal over her mind. Suddenly her eyes gleamed with joy, and her heart began to throb with passionate gladness. These emotions were awakened by the sight of a youth of noble bearing, pacing with rapid steps the road leading to the castle. This youth was Jasper de Percy, a scion of the afterwards illustrious house of that name. He had long been affianced to Isabel, with the consent and full approbation of their parents, and they loved each other dearly and passionately. It was not long ere he was ushered into her presence by the old seneschal of the castle, but with their soft whisperings we have nothing to do, save that we know they consisted of protestations of eternal love and anticipations of a happy future. Whilst they were together the sun went down, and, as the bell of compline rang out sweetly over the water, they knelt together and uttered their evening prayer to the Holy Virgin, after which he departed.

"Pax vobiscum!" said the Abbot, as he entered the room soon after, "how fares it with my daughter?" She replied that she was well in health, but somewhat disquieted in soul, and told him what she had heard about the King having the disposal of the hands of heiresses, and asking him if it were so. He explained the law to her, and knowing and approving of her love for young Percy, expressed a hope that His Majesty would not interfere in her case, but, added he, "King John is a bad man, unscrupulous in his actions, and an arch-heretic, even to the defying of the Holy Father at Rome—the Vicegerent of God upon earth, saying that he will allow no foreign priest to meddle in his dominion." After some further conversation, Isabel knelt at his feet, confessed her little faults, received absolution, and the Abbot returned to St. Hilda's. So the days and weeks went on in their usual routine, with nothing to disturb their serenity, until at length a thunderbolt, as it were, fell suddenly in the midst of the little community, utterly destroying all their fond hopes of happiness.

The scene now changes to Normandy. King Henry II. of England had four sons, of whom William, the eldest, d.v.p., and Richard, the second, succeeded, who d.s.p. The third, Geoffrey, married Constance, daughter and heiress of Conan le Petit, Duke of Bretagne and Earl of Richmond, and had issue, Arthur, who was heir to the throne of England on the death of his uncle Richard, but, being absent in Brittany, John, fourth son of Henry, usurped the throne, and when Philip of France espoused the cause of Arthur, he invaded France with an army, to maintain the position he had assumed, and with the intention of removing the obstacle to his legal right to the throne. He captured his nephew, after patching up a peace with King Philip, and sent him to Falaise, with instructions to Hubert de Burgh to put his eyes out. Hubert, however, compassionated the boy, and saved him from that fate, upon which King John removed Arthur from his custody, and had him taken to Rouen, and placed in safe keeping. The midnight bell at St. Ouen had rung out over the Norman city, and, saving that, all was still in its tortuous streets, excepting the footsteps of three persons going down to the river-side. They went along stealthily, one of them, a boy, with seeming reluctance, and who appeared to be expostulating with the two men who urged him along. "I tell thee, boy," said he who was evidently the chief of the company, "that thou shalt be Duke of Bretagne and Earl of Richmond, and we are but taking thee to a place of safety wherein to abide until these untoward matters that agitate the realm of France can be arranged." "But my crown, the crown of England, my inheritance!" commenced the boy as they arrived at the water's side, when the two men forced him into a boat and pushed it off upon the Seine, and it glided down the river beyond the confines of the city. The leader of the party was King John, and the other his esquire, an ill-favoured bully, with an evil cast of the eye, a Poictevin by birth, and called, in derision, Peter de Malo-lacu, afterwards softened down to Maulac, and eventually to De Mauley. He was one of the tools and evil counsellors of John, and was ever ready to commit any crime provided he were well paid for it. Their companion was the boy Prince, Arthur. The night was dreary and murky, and the wind wailed a mournful cadence through the trees, well befitting the contemplated deed of blood. The boat had passed some distance down the river, and Arthur, fearing some foul design, was imploring his uncle to be taken back to Rouen, when the Poictevin, in reply to a signal from the King, suddenly plunged his dagger up to the hilt in the boy's breast, and at the same moment seized him by the legs, and pitched him over the side of the boat into the river, to pass down to the sea with the ebbing tide.

"'Twas well done," said John to his companion in guilt, "that obstacle to our ambition is removed for ever; and as for thee, Peter, thou shalt be great amongst the nobles of our realm. It will be hard if I cannot find an heiress lacking a husband, and thou shalt be a baron of England."

Again are we among the merry hills and dales of Cleveland. The summer has passed away, the leaves of autumn have fallen, the fierce blasts of the wintry winds of North Yorkshire have toned down into the gentle gales of spring, and a glad sunshine pervades land and sea. But there is wailing and lamentation within the walls of Wada's old castle, and saddened hearts beneath the shadow of St. Hilda's tower. The marriage of Isabel and Jasper had been arranged, and nothing was wanting for its consummation but the sanction of the King. A messenger had been despatched to the Court of John to obtain his consent, but he replied that it could not be, as he had other views in regard to the heiress, and purposed, by giving her hand to a brave warrior of Poictou, to raise her to a dignity far above anything ever attained by the Turnhams or the Fossards; in short, that he intended giving her in marriage to his friend and companion-in-arms, Peter de Maulac. Hence those tears and lamentations, as there was no resisting the King's will.

A few months, and there stood before the altar of St. Hilda, decorated with the embroidery from the deft fingers of Isabel and her bower-maidens, an ill-assorted couple. On the one side a forbidding-looking man, with a ferocious cast of countenance and an eye of ill omen; on the other, a gentle, delicate girl, of symmetrical figure and beautifully chiselled features, but pale as a corpse, and with eyes swollen and bloodshot with weeping. Nevertheless, it mattered not, the mandate of the King must be obeyed, and they became man and wife.

Peter de Mauley, as he now chose to style himself, thus became, by right of his wife, feudal lord of Isabel's demesnes, situated at Egton, Juby-Park-Houses, and Newbiggin, near Whitby; Mauley Cross, near Pickering; Bainton, near Driffield; Ellerton, near Pocklington; and Seaton, near Hornsea; but the King compelled him to pay for the livery of these estates a fine of 7,000 marks. He built a new castle near the old one, and called it, from the beauty of the situation, Moult-grace, but which the people, in consequence of his oppression, transformed, by the change of a single letter, into Moult-grave, since then corrupted into Mulgrave. He was a firm adherent of John in his troubles with the Pope and the Barons, and was rewarded for his services with other considerable grants of lands, the Sheriffdoms of Dorset and Somerset, and, under Henry III., with the Governorship of Sherborne Castle. He died in 1221, and the ill-fated Isabel pre-deceased him, whose body he buried in Meaux Abbey, near Beverley, giving with it a grant of land.

They had a son—Peter—who succeeded, who was followed by six other Peters in unbroken succession, all of whom enjoyed the estates, excepting the seventh, who died v.p. The fourth was created a baron by writ of summons in 1295; but Peter the eighth, fourth in the barony, dying without issue in 1415, the dignity fell in abeyance between his sisters and co-heiresses—Constance, who married, first, William Fairfax, secondly, Sir John Bigot, and who succeeded to Moult-grave, and Elizabeth, who married George Salvin. The title was revived in 1838, as a barony by patent, in the person of the Hon. W. F. Spencer Ponsonby, third son of the Earl of Bessborough, a descendant, through females, of Elizabeth Salvin; but the old barony by writ still lies in abeyance among the representatives of the above co-heiresses.

The death of Prince Arthur is still shrouded in mystery, the English chroniclers giving different versions of it, and Shakspeare representing him as being killed by a fall from the walls of his prison when attempting to escape; but the French historians, who are more likely to be correct, coincide in attributing it to the hand of Peter de Malo-lacu, in the presence of John, or even to that of the King himself.

[The Earldom of Wiltes.]

THE famous Yorkshire family of Le Scrope, or Scroop, is one of the most illustrious in the peerage roll of England; not, however, for the number and dignity of their titles, which only amounted to five of lesser rank, two of which are extinct, one dormant, and two in abeyance, but, for the many eminent and influential men sprung from the race, who have distinguished themselves in the State, at the King's Council table, in the Church, at the Bar, on the battlefield, and in the walks of literature. During three centuries, from Edward II. to Charles I., there have been of the Scropes—two Earls, twenty Barons, one Baronet, one Archbishop, four Bishops, one Lord Chancellor, four Lord Treasurers, five Knights of the Garter, several Knights Banneret, many Wardens of the Scottish Marches, three immortalised in the pages of Shakspeare, one, "Keen Lord Scrope," in the ballad of "Kinmont Willie," and another in the ballad of "Flodden Field."

They were originally of Normandy, and in the reign of William I., Osborne Fitz-Richard, their first English ancestor, held several manors in the Western counties. The first mention of them in connection with Yorkshire is in 1287, when they held eight carucates of land at Bolton, where they built Bolton Castle. They rose rapidly in importance, ramifying in various directions, mainly into two great branches, those of Masham and Bolton, subsequently having mansions and domains at Bolton Castle; Clifton Castle, Masham; Danby Hall, Middleham; Upsall Castle, Thirsk; Croft-on-the-Tees, Ellerton-upon-Swale, Spennithorne, and South Kilvington; and are now represented by a junior branch, seated at Danby-super-Yore.

Henry, seventh Baron Scrope, of Bolton, was one of the heroes of Flodden, whose valour is sung in the ballad of Flodden Field. John, eighth Baron, was implicated in the rebellion of the Pilgrimage of Grace, but escaped the death of a traitor. Henry, ninth Baron, had charge of Mary Queen of Scots, at Bolton. Henry, third Baron Scrope, of Masham, was executed for treason, as was also Richard Scrope, Archbishop of York.

The time in which Sir William Scrope, k.g., Earl of Wiltes, and King of the Isle of Man, lived, that of the reign of Richard II., was one of the most eventful in the history of England. Richard, son of the Black Prince, was born in 1367, and succeeded to the throne of his grandfather, Edward III., at ten years of age, in 1377, the government being vested in twelve councillors, his uncles being excluded therefrom. He displayed signs of vigour and ability during the insurrection under Wat Tyler and Jack Straw, when he met the rebels in Smithfield, on which occasion the former was killed by Lord Mayor Walworth; and in his invasion of Scotland, in 1385, when he penetrated as far as Aberdeen, and burnt Edinburgh, Perth, and Dundee; but afterwards he threw himself into the arms of favourites, which excited the jealousy of his uncles, when the Duke of Gloucester was chosen head of the Council, and the parliament, called "wonderful," summoned under his auspices, put two of his favourites to death, and confiscated the property of the rest. When he reached the age of twenty-two he threw off the trammels of guardianship, and for some time ruled his kingdom with justice, but he possessed not the necessary vigour to cope with the turbulent spirits by whom he was surrounded, and still permitted himself to be governed by favourites, of whom Sir William Scrope was one.

Sir William might almost be said to be born a courtier. His father, Richard, first Baron of Bolton; his uncle, Geoffrey, first Baron of Masham; and his maternal uncle, Michael de la Pole, son of a Hull merchant, and created Earl of Suffolk by Richard II., were all foremost men about the Court in military, diplomatic, legislative, judicial, and other capacities. His father was a statesman of rare talent, and resigned his chancellorship in 1380, in consequence of the anger of the young King at his protests against the lavish grants he made to his favourites. Pole, Earl of Suffolk, and De Vere, Duke of Ireland, with Brember, Mayor of London, and Tresilian, were the King's favourites in his early days, but in 1388, Gloucester and the confederated Barons attacked them, compelled the two former to take to flight, and put to death the two latter. After their dispersion, Sir William Scrope became one of the principal advisers and favourites of the King, who loaded him with honours and wealth. He was constituted Seneschal of Acquitaine in 1383; Governor of the town and castle of Cherbourg in 1385; and Governor of Queensborough Castle in the same year; was appointed Vice-Chamberlain of the Household in 1393, and Lord Chamberlain in 1395. He was sent as Ambassador to France to negotiate the marriage of the King, in 1395, and to treat for peace, in 1397. He was nominated Justicier of Chester, North Wales, and Flint, in 1397, and in the same year Surveyor of the Forests in Cheshire. In 1397, he was created Earl of Wiltes; the following year had charge of the castle of Guisnes; and in 1399, was appointed guardian of the realm during the absence of the King in Ireland. He was a faithful servant and attached friend to his master, and laid down his life in his service.

The causes of the deposition and death of Richard were his weak character and his obnoxious mode of government, through favourites and evil advisers, which were accelerated by the ambition and revenge of his cousin Henry, Duke of Hereford, son of John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. The Duke of Hereford had a quarrel with Mowbray, Duke of Norfolk, each accusing the other of treason, and the King consented that the matter should be decided by combat at Coventry, but when the lists were opened and the combatants mounted, lance in hand, ready to commence the fight, the King commanded them to desist, and arbitrarily condemned Norfolk to banishment from the realm for life, and Hereford for ten years, the latter being granted the privilege of taking possession, through his attorney, of any inheritances that might fall to him during his absence. Whilst he was abroad his father, the Duke of Lancaster, died, and the King, in violation of his promise, took possession of his widely-spread lands in Yorkshire and elsewhere, including Leeds, Kippax, Almondbury, and many another manor in the county. Henry, now Duke of Lancaster, had speedy intelligence of this from his attorney, and gathering a few followers together, took shipping for England, and landed at Ravenspurn, in Holderness, at the mouth of the Humber. His ostensible motive in coming to England, and perhaps his real intention, was simply to obtain possession of his inheritance, with, possibly, some vague ideas of vengeance for his banishment. But, as he passed through Yorkshire, he was joined by the Percies and other powerful families, who welcomed him back to England, and the people flocked round his standard, so that when he approached London he found himself at the head of a considerable army, and then he threw off his disguise, and proclaimed that he had come to deliver the kingdom from the evil advisers of the Crown. The King had gone to Ireland to subdue an insurrection, and had left the Earl of Wiltes as guardian of the realm, who, on hearing of the march of Lancaster towards London, fled, with others, to Bristol, hoping to join the King there on his return from Ireland. The Duke followed them thither, laid siege to the castle, "where at length," says Walsingham, "William le Scrope, John Busby, and Henry Grene, were taken prisoners, and they were forthwith, on the morrow, beheaded, at the outcry of the populace." The Duke had now fully resolved upon striking for the Crown, although he was not the legitimate heir, even if Richard were removed, and it was his usurpation which gave rise to the subsequent War of the Roses. In furtherance of his project, he considered it desirable to win over the citizens of London, and in order to conciliate those who were opposed to the favourites, and terrify those who were friendly to the King and his government, he sent thither the heads of Scrope, Busby, and Grene, in a basket, with a letter, in which he said—"I beg of you to let me know if you will be on my side or not, and I care not which, for I have people enough to fight all the world for one day. But take in good part the present I have sent you," etc. This produced the effect he wished for, as the Londoners at once espoused his cause. The King was soon after captured, sent to Pontefract Castle, and there murdered, after a formal deposition; and Henry, with the consent of Parliament, assumed the crown. He called a Parliament together, who, in the first year of his reign, passed an Act of Attainder and Confiscation against the Earl of Wiltes and other of Richard's friends; and it was assumed that the earldom thus became extinct, although legally it only became dormant, and presents one of the most curiously complicated and interesting cases that ever came before the Court of Heralds or the House of Lords, paralleled only, perhaps, in interest by the famous Scrope-Grosvenor heraldic dispute, between Sir Richard Scrope, the Earl's father, and Sir Robert Grosvenor, as to the right to bear "azure a bend or" on their shields of arms, in which 400 witnesses of the highest rank appeared in evidence.

The patent of the Earldom was thus made out:—"We, considering the probity, the wise and provident circumspection, and the illustriousness of manners and birth of our beloved and trusty William le Scrope, Chevalier, and willing deservedly to exalt him by the prerogative of honour, do create him in Parliament to be Earl of Wiltes; and do invest him with the style, name, and honour of the place aforesaid, by the girding of the sword, to have to him and his heirs-male for ever. And in order that the Earl and his heirs aforesaid, for the decency of so great a name and honour, may be the better and the more honourably able to support the burdens incumbent on the same, of our special grace we have given and granted, and by this charter confirm, to the Earl and his heirs aforesaid, £20 to be received every year out of the issues of the county of Wilton, by the hands of the sheriff of the county for ever." The patent was made out in this way, with remainder to his heirs-male, because, although married, he had no issue by whom it might descend lineally, and it would thus pass downward in the family through his collateral heirs, his brothers or their children. In 1859, Simon Thomas Scrope, of Danby, claimed the dormant Earldom, as heir-general of the grantee, on the ground that the attainder was invalid, and the case occupied the consideration of the House of Lords for ten years. In the first place, the question arose whether by "heirs-general," collateral descendants were meant, which was decided in the affirmative, and the claimant then proved to the satisfaction of the House that he was the heir-general. It was then contended that the attainder was invalid, as taking up arms in defence of a reigning Sovereign could not by any possibility be construed into treason; but, on the other hand, it was argued that the attainder was legal, as it was an Act of the first Parliament called by Henry. But it was shown that before Henry's assumption of the crown, whilst the King was in captivity, he made grants of the Earl's lands and goods in the name of the King, using Richard's name and seal for the purpose, as he did also in issuing writs for the summoning of a new Parliament, which were ante-dated so as to appear to have been issued by the King, and this Parliament it was which passed the Act of the Attainder. "This, of course," as Elsynge says, "was entirely illegal, for as the Earl had been illegally executed, without the pretence, or the possibility of a pretence, of any legal charge or lawful trial, there could be nothing to affect the legal rights which devolved upon his heirs, and a murder could hardly create a forfeiture." Further, it was shown that all the attainders of the Parliament of Henry were reversed by the first Parliament of Edward IV., therefore, even if the attainder had been perfectly legal, it became null and void by the subsequent reversal, and consequently the title was now lying dormant, and belonged to the heir-general of Sir William Scrope. This seems to be very simple, clear, and logical, but the Lords of the nineteenth century thought otherwise, and gave their decision that an Act of Parliament of the fourteenth century should be held to be valid, simply because it was an Act of Parliament, even although reversed by a subsequent Act, and that, consequently, the claim could not be admitted. The legitimate heir to the Earldom is, therefore, debarred from enjoying his title. But if the principle which operated adversely to his claim were to be set in motion retrospectively, many a proud coronet, even amongst those who voted against the claim, would fall to the ground.

It has been said by some authorities that Sir William was not the son of Richard, first Baron Scrope of Bolton, but his nephew, and son of Henry, first Baron Scrope of Masham.

He purchased, circa 1393, of William de Montacute, the sovereignty of the Isle of Man, the lord of the island at that time possessing the right of being crowned and styled king, although subject to the King of England.

At the time of the execution of the Earl, his brother Richard was Archbishop of York, who is represented by Walsingham, as having been "a pious and devout man, incomparably learned, of singular integrity, and of a goodly and amiable personage," and was so grieved at the murder of his brother, and so exasperated against the usurper Bolingbroke, that he entered into conspiracy with the Earl of Northumberland, who had been alienated from the King, and had lost his son (Hotspur) at the battle of Shrewsbury, and with Mowbray, Earl of Norfolk, son of the banished Earl, to dethrone King Henry. The standard of revolt, emblazoned with the five wounds of Christ, was raised at Shipton, near York, around which 20,000 Yorkshiremen ranged themselves. The Archbishop imprudently made known his intentions too openly, by fixing papers to church doors, charging the King with usurpation, perjury, sacrilege, and murder; by sending circulars to other counties calling upon the people to take up arms for his dethronement; and preaching three sermons denouncing him as a pseudo King, and a traitor to his sovereign. The King, of course, soon heard of these proceedings, and sent Prince John, afterwards Duke of Bedford, and the Earl of Westmoreland, with 30,000 men, to put down the insurrection. They found the conspirators so securely entrenched in the forest of Galtres that they deemed it most prudent to resort to a stratagem. By means of flattery and false promises they allured the Archbishop from his shelter, and immediately arrested him for high treason, taking him first to Pontefract and then to Bishopthorpe. The King directed the famous Judge Gascoigne to try and sentence him, who refused, saying that a Peer must be tried by his Peers. Judge Fulthorpe, who was less scrupulous, was then appointed, and, with scarcely the formality of a trial, condemned him to death. "Presently after, he was set upon an ill-favoured jade, his face towards its tail, and was carried with great scorn to a field hard by, where his head was stricken off by a fellow that did his office very ill, not being able to decapitate with less than five strokes." He was looked upon as a martyr by the people, who flocked in crowds to pray at his tomb and place of execution, which was forbidden by the King by proclamation, and the Pope excommunicated all who were concerned in his death. (See "The Loyal Martyr, 1722." Maydestone's "History of the Martyrdom of Archbishop Scrope." "A Narrative of the Decollation of Archbishop Scrope, by Thos. Gascoigne, d.d.," in MS. in the Bod. Lib.; and "A Declaration of Archbishop Scrope against the Government of Henry IV." in Ang. Sec., vol. 2.)

[Black-faced Clifford.]

THOMAS, eighth Baron Clifford, is said by genealogists to have been born in 1414, and that he was forty years of age when he fell at St. Alban's; but he must have been nearer fifty than forty, as his son John, ninth Baron, was born in 1430, when he would be but sixteen years of age; but marriages were contracted early then. His daughter, Elizabeth, was married at six years of age to Sir William Plumpton, who, dying soon after, she was re-married to his brother, her father stipulating that "they should not ligge together" until she had arrived at the age of eighteen. He was a portly, soldierly-looking figure, with a commanding presence, and a tone of voice calculated to ensure obedience to his commands. He had spent the greater part of his life, since the dawn of manhood, in the wars of France; was greatly applauded for his capture of Pontoise by a clever stratagem, in 1438, and two years afterwards won equal admiration for the skill and bravery with which he defended it against the troops of King Charles VII., and in 1445, he was entrusted with the high honour of escorting to England, Margaret of Anjou, the bride of Henry VI.

John, his son, was somewhat different, possessing neither the martial figure, the open countenance, nor the genial manner of his father. His frame was more slenderly proportioned, his face presented rather a scowl than a smile, and his temperament inclined to a moroseness and brooding, which rendered him cruel in war and disagreeable amongst his private friends.

It was a beautiful May morning in the year 1455; the sun was shining brightly in the Vale of Craven. Breakfast was spread in the great hall of the castle of the Cliffords. On the daïs at the upper end, sat, at the cross table, Thomas, Lord Clifford, and his wife, the Lady Joan, a daughter of Thomas, Lord Dacre, of Gillesland; his son John, with his wife, Margaret, daughter of Henry Bromflete; Baron Vesey; and the Prior of Bolton, who had come over on his mule to be present on this occasion. Down the centre of the hall stretched the long table of oaken planks resting on trestles, with benches on each side, on which were seated the knights of the fees of Skipton, esquires, the priests of the chapel, the secretary, the treasurer, the seneschal, the constable, and other of the higher officials of the castle, with others of meaner degree, all ranged higher or lower, above or below the salt, according to their rank. The tables were loaded with substantial fare—huge joints of beef, mutton, brawn, and venison; saltfish, fresh herrings, and eels, with manchetts of bread in trenchers, interspersed with foaming flagons of ale and pewter tankards of sack. There was rudely cooked plenty, and keen appetites to overlook the deficiency of delicacies.

The conversation on the daïs turned upon the great topic of the day—the manifest aspiration of Richard, Duke of York, to the Crown of England, and the deposition of the imbecile and monkish-minded King Henry VI. Henry of Bolingbroke, son of John of Gaunt, fourth son of Edward, had usurped the throne of his cousin, Richard II., and had been succeeded by his son, Henry V., and his grandson, Henry VI., which usurpation gave rise to the desolating War of the Roses, now breaking out, and it could not be denied that Richard had a better claim, as the representative, through Anne, his mother, of the Duke of Clarence, than Henry had, as representative of the Duke of Lancaster.

"The summons from the King arrived a week ago," said Lord Clifford in reply to the Prior, "and you will perceive, Holy Father, that I have lost no time in obeying it."

"And a fine body of men you have gathered together," said the Prior, "the flower of Craven, whom it would be difficult to match for rude bravery and devotion to the will of their lord."

"True," replied Clifford, "but we have opposed to us the men of the Vale of Mowbray, under the Duke of Norfolk, and the stout men-at-arms of Middleham, the followers of Warwick and Salisbury, all Yorkshiremen, not less obstinately brave than those of Craven, to say nothing of the Durham retainers of the Nevilles from Raby. But then we shall have the powerful assistance of the Percys, with their troops from Topcliffe and Leckonfield and Wressle, so that it must be a fierce and bloody contest. I count but little upon the men of the south and the west of England; it will be the valour of the north which shall decide it."

"Indeed, my lord," answered the Prior, "I foresee a long and bloody war, when such powerful competitors are pitted against each other, and I mourn over the thousands of desolated homesteads in Merry England, as it is wont to be called; merry, alas! I fear not, for many a long day to come."

"Have you had any further tidings, sir," inquired the younger Clifford, "of the movements of Richard of York?"

"Nothing," replied his father, "but that he has raised his standard on the borders of Wales, and is marching with his troops upon London, to demand justice upon Somerset; and further, I have received information that Salisbury, Warwick, and Mowbray, are hastening to join him. But we must not waste more time; we must perform a long march before sunset."

A short service was held, and mass said in the chapel before the leaders, by the Prior, and the head priest of the chapel extemporised a religious service in the courtyard to the soldiers, who stood bareheaded, and listened devoutly. In those days the lower classes, however rough and barbarous they might be, implicitly believed what was told them by the priests, without any dogmatic scruples whatever, believing that the shriving of the priest or monk cleared off all old scores of sin, and they might, without compunction, commence a fresh score; the sum and substance of their religion being to serve their feudal lord faithfully, accept the dogmas of the priest, and contribute according to their means to the money-chests of the Church and the monastery.

There was but scant leave-taking; the women of that time were so accustomed to parting with their husbands and sons for the French and Scottish wars, that they looked upon it as a matter of course. Outside the walls was a gathering of the wives, children, and sweethearts of the rank and file, with whom there were some tender leave-takings from those, so many of whom they would never more see, and who, despite their rough exterior, possessed within them hearts beating with affection and tenderness towards the cheerers of their cottage firesides.

The Royalists of Craven made but slow progress as they wended their way southward. It was not until after some ten days' marching along rough roads, entangled woods, the fording of rivers, and tramping through morasses, that Lord Clifford and the men of Craven found themselves on the borders of Hertfordshire. Here they met with a messenger from the King, with information that Henry and Somerset, with an army, small in number, but composed chiefly of nobles and knights, men of experience and valour, had come forth from London to meet the Yorkists, and would await Lord Clifford's arrival at Watford, bidding him to speed with all haste to that rendezvous. Lord Clifford and his son at this summons spurred on their chargers, leaving the troops to follow. They found the King occupying a house in the small town, and in conference with the Duke of Somerset, who had been nominated by the Queen to the Generalship-in-chief of the forces; they were admitted to the presence at once, and were cordially received by Henry, Lord Clifford being high in his favour. The Yorkshire contingent entered the town soon after, with their banners displayed and trumpets sounding, and pitched their tents alongside those of the King's army. A council of war was called in the evening, and Lord Clifford had the gratification of meeting there his uncle Henry, second Earl of Northumberland, now sixty years of age, King Henry V. having reversed the attainder of his grandfather, for the Shrewsbury and Bramham affairs, and restored him to the Percy estates and dignities, since which he had won distinction by sharing in the glory of Agincourt. At this council it was determined to march, on the following morning, upon St. Alban's, as it was ascertained from scouts that Richard of York, between whom and Somerset there was bitter enmity, was marching in that direction with an army he had gathered round him at Ludlow, which had been augmented on the road by the contingents of his sympathisers, and was supposed to outnumber the forces ranged under the Lancastrian banner.

The following morning the tents around Watford were struck by daylight; the troops breakfasted, and, with banners flying and trumpets sounding, they commenced their march towards St. Alban's. Sir Philip Wentworth carried the Royal standard; and with the King, as a guard of honour, were Humphrey, Duke of Buckingham, and his son, Earl Stafford; Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland; James Butler, Earl of Wiltshire; Thomas, Lord Clifford; and other nobles of the first rank.

As the army approached St. Alban's, they perceived the uplands in front of them covered with armed men, moving rapidly along towards the old Roman city, in battle array. On seeing this, the Lancastrians halted, set up the Royal standard, with Lord Clifford and his Craven men to guard the barriers. The Duke of Buckingham was sent to demand of the Duke of York why he thus appeared before his Sovereign. Duke Richard replied that he was loyal to the King, sought only for justice upon Somerset, and would at once lay down his arms if he would surrender him to be dealt with according to the laws of the kingdom. The King, on receiving this message, displayed unwonted spirit, and replied that "he would as soon give up his crown as deliver up either Somerset or the meanest soldier in his camp to the mercy of the Yorkists." This answer was final, and the Red and the White Rose met for the first time in the struggle of battle.

The Lancastrians had the advantage of position, and were so certain of victory that Somerset issued orders that no quarter should be given to the Yorkists, but the latter had firearms of a rude description, which gave them a counter advantage. Clifford, however, kept them at bay bravely, and prevented them from coming to close conflict. Meanwhile, Warwick, with his northern warriors, entered the town from the other side, and fell upon the King's troops with such vigour that, as Hall says, "the King's army was profligate disposed, and all the chieftains of the field almost slain and brought to confusion." The barriers were at length burst, and York entered the town, and then in the streets were heard the shouts of "A Warwick! a Warwick!" on the other side "A York! a York!" and in the midst the war cries of "King Henry! a Somerset! a Percy! a Clifford!" etc., all intermingled with the clash of swords upon armour and shield; the whir of arrows flying through the air; the groans of wounded and dying men, and the screams of flying women; whilst the market-place was strewn with the bodies of fallen men, and the streets flowed with blood. Shakspeare makes Clifford fall at the hand of the Duke of York. Warwick enters crying—

"Clifford of Cumberland, 'tis Warwick calls!
And if thou do'st not hide thee from the bear
Now when the angry trumpet sounds alarm
And dead men's cries do fill the empty air,
Clifford, I say, come forth and fight with me!
Proud northern lord, Clifford of Cumberland,
Warwick is hoarse with calling thee to arms."

York, however, interposes, and claims the right of fighting with him.

"Clifford.—What seest thou in me, York? Why dost thou pause?

York.—With thy brave bearing I should be in love,
But that thou art so fast mine enemy.

Clifford.—Nor should thy prowess want praise and esteem,
But that 'tis shown ignobly and in treason.

York.—So let it help me now against thy sword,
As I in justice and true right express it!

Clifford.—My soul and body on the action both!

York.—A dreadful lay!—address thee instantly.

(They fight, and Clifford falls.)

Clifford.—La fin couronne les œuvres. (Dies.)

York.—Thus war hath given thee peace, for thou art still.
Peace with his soul, Heaven, if it be Thy will."

The slaughter of Lord Clifford at the hands of the Duke of York is the keynote to young Clifford's subsequent ruthless hatred of the House of York. Coming up to the body of his father, Shakspeare puts these words into his mouth—

"Wast thou ordain'd, dear father,
To lose thy youth in peace, and to achieve
The silvery livery of advised age,
And in thy reverence, and thy chair-days thus
To die in ruffian battle? Even at this sight
My heart is turn'd to stone; and while 'tis mine
It shall be stony. York not our old men spares:
No more will I their babes; tears virginal
Shall be to me even as the dew to fire;
And beauty, that the tyrant oft reclaims,
Shall, to my flaming wrath, be oil and flax.
Henceforth I will not have to do with pity
Meet I an infant of the house of York,
Into as many gobbets will I cut it
As wild Medea young Absyrtus did.
In cruelty will I seek out my fame.
Come thou new ruin of old Clifford's house.
(Taking up the body.)
As old Æneas did Anchises bear,
So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders.
But then Æneas bore a living load,
Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine."

Although the Lancastrians fought bravely, nothing could withstand the superior number of the Yorkists, combined, as it was, with the military skill and impetuous valour of the Earl of Warwick, and in a short space of time there lay dead the Duke of Somerset and the Earls of Northumberland and Stafford; and the Duke of Buckingham and the Earl of Wiltshire and Ormond grievously wounded. Thus deprived of their chief leaders, the King being a mere cipher, the Lancastrians threw down their weapons and fled, Wentworth flinging down the Royal standard and spurring his horse in the direction of Suffolk. The poor King was captured; but York treated him with great courtesy and kindness, conducted him to St. Alban's Abbey, where they prayed together at the shrine of the martyr, and then went together, victor and vanquished, to London.

The Yorkists were now in the ascendant, but acted with great moderation. There were no executions and no attainders; so Clifford succeeded to the title and kept the estates. The King was again attacked by his old malady, and again was Richard of York appointed Protector; but Queen Margaret now began to exhibit her qualities, and to intrigue in politics. She was truly an able and brave woman, but vindictive and rash. She succeeded in ousting York from the Protectorship, and took measures for crushing him effectually; and again the flames of war broke out.

Lord Clifford did not, under these circumstances, sit at home brooding over his misfortunes and the bitterness of his hatred to the house of York. He was always on the alert, at London or elsewhere, attending on Councils of State or engaged in the field. He fought at Bloreheath, in 1459, and at Northampton, in 1460, on both of which occasions his party suffered a defeat; but Margaret, nothing daunted, raised an army of 18,000 men, and proceeded at their head into Yorkshire, in face of the frosts and snows of the December of 1460. The Duke of York, with a small army of 5,000 men, went from London and threw himself into Sandal Castle, by Wakefield, there to await the arrival of his son Edward, Earl of March, who was mustering forces in the Welsh Marches. The Queen came with her army upon Wakefield Green, with the Duke of Somerset, son of the slain Duke, in chief command, and Clifford and Wiltshire, son of the Earl who fell at St. Alban's, in command of ambuscades, one on each side. Then, aware of her numerical superiority, she appeared before Sandal, and summoned the Duke to come forth and fight her. "What, are you afraid of encountering an army led by a woman? Cowardly poltroon! can you be fit to wear the crown of England, who shut yourself up in a castle against a woman?" York called a council of war, and was earnestly dissuaded against running the hazard of a battle before the arrival of his son; but, taunted by the jeers of the Queen, he felt that his honour was concerned in fighting at once, despite the numerical odds, and forth he went with his small army, not one-third that of the Queen.

The Duke sallied forth and met Somerset, with a comparatively small force, on Wakefield Green, whom he attacked with great vigour, anticipating, with his better-disciplined men, an easy victory; but the ambuscades under Clifford and Wiltshire came out upon his flanks, whilst a contingent of Northern Borderers attacked his rear, and thus, completely surrounded, his small force succumbed, the White Rose drooped, and the Red, for the first time, was triumphant. This battle brought to an end the ambitious aspirations of Richard of York. He was one of the first to fall, and with him Sir Thomas Neville, Lord Salisbury's son, and Lord Harrington, the husband of Katherine Neville, his daughter. Lord Salisbury himself was wounded, but not sufficiently to prevent his galloping off from the scene. Clifford however, followed in hot pursuit, captured, and sent him to Pontefract Castle, where he was at once beheaded.

Previously, however, to his pursuit of the father, Clifford was guilty of that dastardly act upon his son, the Earl of Rutland, which has stamped his name with infamy, and has given significance to his sobriquet of "Black-faced Clifford." The Duke of York had with him, in Sandal Castle, his family, including the youthful Earl of Rutland. Boy-like, he must needs go and see the battle, and nothing could dissuade him. "I will go," said he, "and see my father kill the cruel Queen; and when I am a man I will go and fight, and kill his enemies too." "A battle is not a place, Lord Edmund," replied his tutor and chaplain, Sir Robert Aspall, "for boys. A stray arrow might kill you." "Think not, sir priest," replied the brave boy, "that a son of Richard of York is afraid of an arrow! Stay under shelter of these walls, like craven priest, if you will; I shall go and see the deeds of men who are men!" Seeing that nothing could turn the boy from his purpose, his tutor resolved to go with him to keep him out of harm's way, nothing loth himself to witness the conflict of arms. When the battle was over, and the vanquished flying, Sir Robert led his charge, away towards Sandal. They had not proceeded far, when they encountered a steel-clad warrior on horseback, with blood dropping from his sword. Perceiving from his apparel that he was a youth of distinction, the warrior dismounted, and, holding his horse by the reins, inquired who he was. "Then," as Hall says, "the young gentleman, dismayed, had not a word to speak, but kneeled on his knees, imploring mercy and desiring grace, both with holding up his hands and making dolorous countenance, for his speech was gone for fear. 'Save him,' said his chaplain, 'for he is a Prince's son, and peradventure may do you good hereafter.' With that word Lord Clifford marked him, and said, 'By God's blood! thy father slew mine, and so will I do to thee and all thy kin,' and with that word, struck the Earl to the heart with his dagger, and bade the chaplain bear the Earl's mother and brother word what he had done, and said, adding, 'By this act, Lord Clifford was accompted a tyrant and no gentleman.'"

Not satisfied with this cowardly act of vindictiveness, Lord Clifford resolved to carry his vengeful hatred on, by insulting the dead. He returned to the field, now strewn with corpses, sought for, and found that of the Duke of York, and cutting off his head, stuck it upon a lance and carried it, as the most acceptable trophy, to the tent of the Queen, who received it with ill-timed merriment and jest. She made a paper crown and placed it on the head, with an inscription—"This is he who would have been King of England," and gave directions for it to be conveyed, along with that of Salisbury, to York, and placed over one of the gates, adding, "Leave room for the head of my Lord of Warwick, for it shall soon bear them company!"

Queen Margaret, flushed with her victory, marched towards London, but met with the Earl of Warwick, in February, 1461, at St. Alban's, and there defeated him, after which the poor captive King was released and brought to his Queen in Lord Clifford's tent. But Edward, the quondam Earl of March, now Duke of York, had come up and joined Warwick, who, together, entered London and were welcomed by the citizens, who favoured the house of York. Margaret, fearing to meet their united forces, returned northward, her strongholds and most devoted friends being in the northern counties, especially on the Scottish borders, whither she was followed by Duke Edward. She had come to York, and lay there with 60,000 men, when she heard that York and Warwick had reached Pontefract with an army of 40,000 men. Anxious to prevent the passage of the Aire by the enemy, she moved to Towton, some eight miles off York, and there was fought the memorable and decisive battle which placed the crown on the head of Edward IV. The Lancastrians had seized Ferrybridge under Lord Fitzwalter, and Clifford, as courageous as he was cruel, undertook to dislodge him, which he accomplished. But Lord Falconbridge crossed the Aire three miles higher, at Castleford, and attacked Clifford in the flank with a superior force. Clifford fled towards the Queen's camp, and when he arrived at Dittingdale, two miles off Towton, feeling thirsty after his exertions, he removed his gorget and stooped to drink at a streamlet, when an arrow struck him in the throat, and the murderer of Rutland and insulter of the dead Richard of York fell to rise no more.

[The Shepherd Lord.]

FOR ever memorable in the annals of England will be Palm Sunday in the year 1461, and equally so the little hamlet of Towton, by Tadcaster. There and then was fought, in a blinding snowstorm, what Camden calls "the English Pharsalia," the greatest battle hitherto fought on English soil, where Englishman met Englishman, and kinsman kinsman, in deadly conflict, and in which quarter was neither asked nor given. The conflict lasted ten hours, and the pursuit of the fugitives was continued until the middle of Monday. 60,000 Lancastrians were met by 40,000 Yorkists, and 36,000 corpses and dying men lay that Sunday night on the snow of the fields, roads, and hillsides, whilst the river and streamlets ran with torrents of blood, and the snow became encrimsoned as it fell. The fight inclined in favour of the Red Rose, under the command of the Duke of Somerset, although York and Warwick performed prodigies of valour with their smaller forces, and the day must have gone against the White Rose, when, towards evening, the banner of the Mowbrays was seen approaching, and the Duke of Norfolk came up with a body of fresh troops, who made a vigorous attack on the Lancastrians, which at once turned the scale, and changed what seemed to be a defeat into a decisive victory, which was virtually the deposition of Henry VI., and the elevation of Edward IV. to the throne—a transference of the crown from the House of Lancaster to that of York.

The shades of evening were falling over the forest lands around Skipton, some week or ten days after the battle. The surrounding hills were covered with snow, and a fierce wind raged round the towers of the castle, whilst the boughs of the trees crashed against each other, and ever and anon a huge branch, reft from the parent stem, was flung with fury to the earth.

Within the castle, in a room overlooking the courtyard, sat the Lady Clifford, with her young children, two or three female attendants, and the chaplain of the household. It was very unlike a modern drawing-room, and, in these Sybarite days, would be looked upon as a very comfortless apartment; yet was it a fair specimen of the drawing-room of the period. Instead of Axminster or Aubusson carpets, the floors were strewn with rushes; instead of oil paintings from the hands of eminent masters, the walls were hung with tapestries of Arras, more to cover the rough nakedness of the stonework and exclude draughts than for æsthetic purposes; the furniture of the room consisted of a table, two or three chairs, and a few stools of rough carpentry, not in mahogany or rosewood, but of the native oak, hewn out of the woodlands of the demesne. On the hearthstone blazed a fire of wood, sputtering as the sleet fell into it down the wide open chimney. There was no grate, fender, or fire-irons, but beside the hearth lay a heap of fresh wood, to be thrown on the fire as required; and when the embers required stirring, a stick from the heap was used for that purpose.

Lady Clifford sat in silence, brooding in thought over her absent husband, with an occasional heavy-drawn sigh; the children were gambolling about the room in innocent unconsciousness of the perils to which their father was exposed; the chaplain joined in their romps, and amused them by telling them tales of Fairyland and the good deeds of holy saints; and the handmaidens were sitting apart, plying their distaffs and spinning-wheels, and indulging in the usual gossip of an isolated castle and the surrounding village, but maintained it in an undertone, so as not to disturb the meditations of their lady.

"What a fearful night it is," said Lady Clifford, as a terrific gust of wind came roaring round the towers of the castle, seeming almost to shake them to their foundations, stoutly as they were built. "It is terrible even here, sitting as we are under the protection of these strong walls; what must it be to those who are exposed to its fury, camped, perchance, on some wild moor, and surrounded by enemies?"

At this moment a trumpet summons for admittance to the castle was heard; and presently the seneschal entered the room, stating that a knight was without the gate with tidings of great importance.

"Who is he?" asked Lady Clifford. "Do you know him?"

"Yes, my lady, he is Sir John de Barnoldswick, who accompanied my lord, and I fear me he brings intelligence of evil import."

"Admit him instantly, and bring him hither."

The rattling of the chains of the drawbridge was heard, and the sound of opening the ponderous castle gates, followed by the tramping of a horse in the courtyard, and the heavy footsteps of a steel-clad warrior on the stone stairs, and a tall, martial-looking figure, but with melancholy gait and drooping head, entered the room and made a profound obeisance to the lady of the castle, but without speaking a word of salutation.

"Whence comest thou, Sir Knight, and what are thy tidings?" inquired Lady Clifford, in tremulous accents.

"I come from the field of battle, lady, and my tidings are evil."

"Let us hear them; I am a soldier's wife, and ought not to shrink from calamitous intelligence," she replied, although her nervous trembling belied her utterance.

"Know, then, lady, that a great and disastrous battle has been fought near Tadcaster, and the Lancastrian cause lost. I fought till the last under the Clifford banner; saw many a brave fellow of the Vale of Craven fall around me, and barely escaped to bring the news hither."

"And what of the King and the brave Queen Margaret?"

"Alas! I know not; they and the Prince of Wales were in York when the battle was fought. All I know is that Somerset and the King's troops were utterly defeated, and fled northward, with Warwick and the Duke of York in hot pursuit."

"And what of my lord? Fled he too? He would never turn his back to the foes of his King."

"He did not, lady; had he been present, the result might have been different. He was not in the engagement."

"What mean you by 'not in the engagement'? Surely he, of all men, would not stand aloof on such an occasion?"

"Alas! lady, I fear to tell you why."

"Speak, man! is he dead? or why was he absent?"

"It is too true, lady, that he can no longer fight in defence of his King."

"Then he is dead!" cried Lady Clifford, in an agony of despair.

"He fell, my lady, on the eve of the battle, after a glorious act of valour, by a random shot. Heaven rest his soul!"

"Heaven help my poor children!" cried Lady Clifford, and fell to the floor in a swoon, the mother's instinctive love for her offspring prevailing over her grief for her own loss. And truly, she had reason to fear for them. Her husband, "Black-faced Clifford," as he was called, had an inveterate hatred for the House of York; he had murdered, in cold blood, the young Duke of Rutland, brother of Edward of York; had cut off the head of Richard, Duke of York; and had caused the Earl of Salisbury, father of Warwick, to be executed at Pontefract; and it was tolerably certain that York, the future King, and Warwick, his General, would seek to take vengeance on the children of him who had committed those atrocities.

The Dukes of York and Warwick marched triumphantly to York, and were submissively received by the authorities, and there they celebrated the festival of Easter with great splendour. Hastings, Stafford, and others had been made Knights-Bannerets on the field; Devon and Wilts were decapitated by martial law, and their heads placed on the bar gate of York, whence those of Richard of York and the Earl of Salisbury, the fathers of York and Warwick, had been removed; and, after settling affairs in the north, the victors marched to London, and were welcomed by the citizens with loud demonstrations of joy, the Londoners being staunch Yorkists.

Lady Clifford prepared to meet her untoward fate, and took measures for the safety of her children. Her old friend, the venerable Prior of Bolton, who had made himself acquainted with all that had taken place since the battle of Towton, so far as could be learnt in that remote spot, mounted his mule and rode over to the Castle. He was received courteously and with dutiful reverence by Lady Clifford, and, moreover, with joy, as she wished to consult him, above all others, as to her future line of conduct.

"I am at a loss, holy father, to think what I can do. I suppose there is no hope of retrieval on the part of Queen Margaret?"

"I am afraid not. The Queen is endeavouring to raise another army in the north, but I fear with little chance of success."

"What, then, will be the effect upon the adherents of the House of Lancaster? I suppose executions, attainders, and confiscations?"

"Precisely so; and Lord Clifford, one of the most bitter foes of the House of York, will certainly be included in the first list, his title extinguished, and his estates confiscated."

"And my poor children will thus lose all their inheritance; but it is not that I dread this so much as the vengeance of the Duke—King now, I presume—and of the Earl of Warwick. I fear me that even if their lives are not sacrificed, they will be cast into dungeons, to languish out their lives."

"Your apprehensions, my daughter, are, unfortunately, but too well-founded, and we must consult on some measures for their safety. You need not fear molestation until Edward has seated himself securely on the throne, and will be safer within the walls of this castle than elsewhere. But it will be wise to make provision for removal to some secure retreat as soon as the Acts of Attainder have passed, and the King begins to take vengeance on his foes, for then Skipton will pass into other hands."

"I bethink me of such a place," said Lady Clifford. "Your council is wise. I can go to the mansion of my father, Lord Vesci, on his Londesborough estates, near Market Weighton, where it will be possible to reside as far removed from the world as if out of the world. There I could bring up my children, without notice, until the cloud had passed over, or until a change in the wheel of fortune shall restore the House of Lancaster to the throne."

After some further discussion, the Prior saw that this was the best plan that could be adopted; and it was arranged that measures should be taken for departure at any moment, when there should be indications of the towers of Skipton becoming untenable, and, after a parting benediction, the reverend Prior mounted his mule, and returned home.

King Edward lost no time in taking steps to paralyse effectually any further efforts on the part of the adherents of the rival House. He called together a Parliament, and one of the first measures laid before it was an Act of Attainder against all the nobles and men of rank who had appeared in arms against his legitimate claim to the crown, which, now that he had been successful, was deemed treason. The demesnes of John, Lord Clifford, extended for seventy miles, with an interval of ten, from Skipton into the heart of Westmoreland, with four castles—those of Brougham, Appleby, Brough, and Pendragon, besides that of Skipton. The Westmoreland estates, with the tenure Baronies of Vipont and Westmoreland, had been inherited by Robert de Clifford, third baron, from his great-aunt, Isabella, daughter and co-heiress of the last male heir of the family of De Vipont. By the Act of Attainder all these fair lands and castles were reft away from the family, the Barony of de Clifford was declared to be extinct for ever, and all the estates, forests, moors, castles, tenements, mills, and goods escheated to the Crown. In the fourth of the reign, the castle, manor, and lordship of Skipton, and the manor of Morton were granted in tail male to Sir Edward Stanley, but in the fifteenth year were transferred to the King's brother, Richard, Duke of Gloucester, to hold till death.

It is proverbial that bad news flies rapidly, and it was not long ere news arrived at Skipton and Bolton of the Act of Attainder. The Prior had come over to the castle to advise with Lady Clifford. "You must take your departure at once," said he. "The agents of the usurper will be here anon and take possession in the name of the King, and it is not at all improbable that they will have instructions to remove your children from your care, and immure them in some place of captivity, if nothing worse befalls them, as the offspring of one of the most determined enemies of the House of York."

"I have sent a confidential servant," she replied, "to Lord Vesci, my father, who sends word back that preparation shall be made for my reception at Londesborough."

"Nothing remains, then," said the Prior, "but to secure your jewels and other portable articles of value, with such of the family papers as you may deem it wise to preserve, and to set off on your journey, with an escort sufficient for your protection, but not so large as to attract undue notice."

Lady Clifford had left the castle in charge of the seneschal, to deliver it into the King's hands, and rode forth on a palfrey, disguised as a farmer's wife. She was accompanied by three or four horsemen in similar disguise, with whom the children rode, and was followed at some distance by some half-dozen servitors clad as peasants, but bearing concealed weapons for the purpose of defence, if needful, as it was probable that they might meet with disbanded soldiers, who might not be over scrupulous in waylaying and robbing chance travellers. The party, as far as possible, went along by-ways, so as to escape observation, but these were sometimes so rough as to compel them to take the more beaten high roads, and, passing by Otley, Tadcaster, and York, arrived at Londesborough without any mishap or adventure of consequence.

Londesborough is supposed to have been the Delgovitia of the Romans, and was seated at the foot of the road from Eboracum, one branch going to the ferry over the Humber at Brough, and the other across Holderness to the seaport at Ravenspurn. It is presumed, also, that the Saxon king, Eadwine, had a palace here, and that within its walls he held his conference with Paulinus, which resulted in the demolition of the temple of Woden at Goodmandingham, two miles distant. The De Vescis had built a mansion here, and laid out a park with a noble avenue of trees, a mile in length, in which Lady Clifford had played when a child, Londesborough having been her birthplace. The estates passed at the death of Henry de Bromflete, in 1466, to his daughter, Margaret, and through her to the De Cliffords, in whose possession they remained until the death, without issue male, of Henry V., and last Earl of Cumberland, when they passed, by the marriage of his daughter and heiress, to the Earl of Burlington, of the Boyle family. The old mansion was taken down in 1819, and the park divided into farms.

It was with a feeling of melancholy satisfaction that Lady Clifford found herself in a species of security in her ancestral home, and she longed to ramble at will about the park and village, as she had been wont to do in bygone days, but it was not prudent to indulge in such pleasures, her position necessitating the utmost seclusion of herself and children from the outer world. About a month afterwards she sent a messenger secretly to Skipton, to ascertain what had occurred there since she left, and on his return learnt that the King's Commissioners had visited the Castle and taken possession of it and the estates in the name of the Crown; moreover, that they had made particular inquiries after Lady Clifford and "the brats of the Butcher of Wakefield," but were put off by being told by the domestics in charge that they had left Skipton a month ago, and gone they knew not where, but believed to some country across the sea. The Yorkists, however, seem to have suspected that this was not the truth, and shortly afterwards strangers of sinister aspect were observed to be lurking about Londesborough. This excited great terror in the breast of Lady Clifford, who saw clearly that her children were in great danger, and she took prompt measures for their safety. She had three children—Henry, the eldest, about seven years of age; Richard, the younger son; and a daughter—Elizabeth, affianced to one of the Plumptons of Plumpton. She soon decided on her plans. The maid who had nursed her when a child, had married a shepherd on the estate, and Henry was placed under her charge, to be brought up as her child, to live as his foster-parents lived, and follow the occupation of tending sheep on the hillsides, in which measure, he, being an intelligent child, cheerfully acquiesced, assumed the shepherd's garb, and attended to the duties of his new station without the slightest murmur, his sole regret being the enforced absence from his mother. Richard was sent in charge of a careful servant to Ravenspurn, and thence carried across the sea to Flanders, whilst Elizabeth, who, it was supposed, would not be molested, remained as the sole comfort and solace of her mother. These measures were not taken a moment too soon, for "a little after they were thus disposed of, the adverse party examined their mother about them, who told them that she had ordered them to be carried beyond sea to be bred up there; but whether they were alive or not she could not tell, which answer satisfied them for the present," and, after making strict search without effect, they departed.

In 1466, Lord de Vesci died, and Lady Clifford, as his heiress, succeeded to his estates, when a rumour reached Londesborough from the Court that the King suspected that the children were in concealment there, upon which Lady Clifford sent the shepherd, with his wife and young Henry, to a farm in a remote and wild part of Cumberland, where there were few inhabitants, and no roads upon which passengers would travel, excepting from one sheep track to another. In this lonely solitude, tending his sheep on the bleak hills, Henry grew up from boyhood to youth, and from youth to manhood—a mere shepherd and little more. His fare was that of an ordinary peasant—oaten or rye bread, occasionally swine flesh, and water from the running brook. His bed consisted of sheepskins on a heap of straw, and his shelter from the inclemency of the weather a straw-thatched cottage. He associated with the few scattered people of the district as one of themselves, and joined the young men in the rude sports of the period. He grew up without any education whatever, and knew neither how to read nor write; yet he had a soul attuned to higher things, and when abroad at night with his sheep would observe the constellations in the heavens, and weave theories in his own mind relative to the origin, motions, and uses of the glittering specks which studded the firmament over his head, a study which he afterwards pursued with more intelligence, in company with the Canons of Bolton at Barden Tower. Thus he lived until his thirty-second year, thinking only to live and die a Cumberland shepherd, and possibly to marry, and be the progenitor of a race of peasants, who should have no reminiscences of the glories of Skipton, or the martial deeds of their illustrious ancestors.

The political world of England, however, had not stood still in the interval, mighty events had been taking place. Edward, the King, had been gathered to his fathers, after the judicial murder of his brother, the Duke of Clarence. His sons, Edward V. and the Duke of York, were murdered by their uncle, Richard of Gloucester, who usurped the throne. Henry, Earl of Richmond, with Lancastrian blood in his veins, invaded England, and the battle of Bosworth was fought in the year 1485, when the usurper Richard was slain, and Richmond ascended the throne as King Henry VII.

The Yorkist dynasty having now come to an end, there remained no more fear for the Cliffords. The shepherd was brought from the fells of Cumberland to Londesborough. Soon after the Attainder was reversed, the confiscated estates restored, and the Clifford banner again floated in the breeze from the towers of Skipton. But the Shepherd Lord felt not at home amid the splendours of his castle, and he fitted up one of the keeper's lodges in Barden Forest for his residence, where he lived in great simplicity, spending his days in hunting and his nights in watching the stars, and studying astronomy with the Canons of Bolton, with such rude instruments as were then to be procured.

In 1513, when about sixty years of age, he received a summons to attend the expedition into Scotland, with a contingent of men-at-arms, and held a command at the battle of Flodden, where he displayed the hereditary military skill and valour of the Cliffords.

"From Penigent to Pendle Hill,
From Linton to Long Addingham,
And all that Craven coasts did till,
They with the lusty Clifford came.
All Staincliffe Hundred went with him,
With striplings strong from Wharfedale,
And all that Hauton Hills did climb,
With Longstroth eke and Litton dale,
Whose milk-fed fellows, fleshly bred,
Well brown'd, with sounding bows upbend,
All such as Horton fells had fed,
On Clifford's banners did attend."
—Ballad of Flodden Field.

He survived the battle ten years, died in 1523, at about the seventieth year of his age, and was buried with his ancestors in the church of Bolton.

Margaret, Lady Clifford, married for her second husband, Launcelot Threlkeld, and bore him three daughters. She survived her first husband thirty years, and the restitution seven years, dying in 1491, at Londesborough. She was buried in the church there, near the altar, under a slab, with an inlaid brass plate bearing the following inscription:—"Orate pro anima Margarete, D'ne Clifford et Vescy, olim spouse nobilissimi viri joh'is D'm Clifford et Westmoreland, filie et hereditis Henrici Bromflet, quondam D'ni Vescy, etc. ... Matris Henrici Domini Clifford, Westmoreland et Vescy, quae obiit 15 die mens Aprilis, Anno Domini 1491, cujus corpus sub hoc marmore est humatum."

[The Felons of Ilkley.]

THE town of Ilkley, on the Wharfe, now so well known to tourists for the beauty of its situation and the grandeur of the natural scenery surrounding it, and to invalids for the invigorating and restorative qualities of its waters, is a place of very ancient date. It was built and fortified by the proprætor, Virius Lupus, in the time of the Emperor Severus, the fortress being situated on a precipitous bank of the Wharfe, and a cohort stationed there. Remains of the intrenchments are still to be seen, and altars, sepulchral stones, and other memorials of the Roman Olicaria have frequently been disinterred. Under the Saxons, too, it was a place of some importance, with a church and priest. In the churchyard there are some remarkable relics of this age, consisting of three stone crosses, with curiously convoluted knots and scroll work. Afterwards it sank into a mere village, but with a grammar school, founded in 1601 by the parishioners, and so remained until recent times, when the fame of its salubrious springs went forth over the land and attracted crowds of fashionable invalids and hypochondriacs.

It was in the latter half of the seventeenth century, when the reign of the Puritans had come to an end, and the "Merry Monarch" had been restored to the throne of the Stuarts, bringing with him the profligate, licentious, and profane manners of the Court of Versailles, that one fine summer's afternoon a party of roysterers, who had been at a cock-fight, burst into the kitchen of the mud-built and thatched alehouse of Ilkley, calling upon Mistress Laycock, the alewife, for sundry flagons of ale wherewith to moisten their throats, parched and dry with halloaing and shouting out bets at the cocking match. The twenty years' rule of the Puritans, with the suppression of sports, theatres, and other amusements, and the substitution of long sermons and long prayers, had produced the natural reaction, and now the people of Ilkley, as in other places, returned with renewed zest to their bull-baiting, dog fights, cudgel matches, and their more innocent amusements of dancing round the maypole, holding yule-feasts and village fairs, and mumming in grotesque masquerade on Plough Monday.

The roysterers who thus boisterously invaded Dame Laycock's kitchen were Tom Heber, a young scapegrace, son of Reginald Heber, a barrister-at-law of the Middle Temple, and an offshoot of the ancient family of Heebeare, who had been settled in Craven for some centuries. He had been brought up in the old gabled and cross-timbered house of his father in Ilkley, had been well educated, and was a clever and accomplished young fellow; moreover, his father had taken him once or twice to London, and he had been a witness of the revels and immoralities of Whitehall, which struck his fancy as being the perfection of human bliss. His companions this afternoon were Will Hudson, the village cobbler, who infinitely preferred swaggering at a bull-baiting to hammering at the lapstone; Walter Pollard, a shoeing smith, whose feats at tossing off the contents of a blackjack were the admiration of his comrades; Jack Smithers, a journeyman flesher, whose dog was the pride of the village for his pluck in tackling any animal of his size or more than his size; and two or three other rapscallions of the village, who were ever foremost in a brawl, and more frequently seen in the purlieus of the alehouse than in pursuit of their proper vocations.

These worthies had now seated themselves on the long-settle which faced a fire of wood on the hearth-stone, over which swung a large cauldron, and called out vociferously for the ale. "Now then, Mother Laycock," shouted Heber, "when is this ale coming?" "The old score's not paid yet, Master Thomas," replied she, from another room, "and I told you that I would not draw another pint until that was paid." "Oh! you won't, won't you; then your crockery shall suffer for your obstinacy; so here goes," and down he dashed an earthenware jug on the floor, upon which she rushed in, and opening a cupboard door, showed a long score chalked against him. "Oh! hang the score," said he, "you know I shall pay you some day; my father cannot be so hard as to keep me entirely without money." "But, Master Thomas, I cannot afford to give such long trust." "Now, Mistress Laycock, you know I am a good customer, and always pay in the long run; is this ale forthcoming?" and down he threw another piece of crockery, adding, "It shall all go if you do not bring the ale." The old dame, terrified at the breakage of her pots, then gave in and produced the ale, adding it to the score on the cupboard door.

The ale jug passed merrily round, and the conversation turned first upon the points of the cock-fight they had been witnessing, and then upon the merits of the competitors in a wrestling match which was coming off the following Sunday. They then began to complain of their scant fortunes, not attributing it at all to their lack of industry in business. "I'll tell you what it is," said Heber, "it's a parlous shame that my father keeps me so short of money." "It is! it is!" echoed his companions. "He has brought me up as a gentleman, and given me a good education, but does not allow me the means to support that position, and I say again that it is cursed shame; but never mind, boys, the time is coming when I shall have plenty of gold to scatter about amongst you, my jolly companions." "Brayvo! brayvo! three cheers for Squire Heber." "Meanwhile," continued he, "it is the best philosophy to make the best of what we have, to enjoy life as much as we can, to dance, and drink, and sing, and fling dull care to the winds. So drink, boys! drink! and I will sing you one of Cowley's new songs which I picked up in London." And he trolled forth—

"Fill the bowl with rosy wine;
Around our temples roses twine;
And let us cheerfully awhile,
Like the vine and roses smile,
Crown'd with roses we contemn
Gyges' wealthy diadem.

To-day is ours; what do we fear?
To-day is ours; we have it here.
Let's treat it kindly, that it may
Wish, at least, with us to stay.
Let's banish business; banish sorrow;
To the gods belongs to morrow."

Of course, the song was rapturously applauded by the listeners, who caught the general sentiment, but were unable to understand the allusions or appreciate the refinement of the language. Suddenly Heber exclaimed—"Lads! a bright thought has flashed across my mind. We want money, and money we must have. Old Alic Squire is well to do, and always has a considerable sum of money by him, and it would be a charity to relieve him of the care and anxiety of keeping it in that lonely house of his. The thing could be easily done. We have but to disguise ourselves, break into his house, take what we require, and leave him to attribute the appropriation, I won't call it theft, to professional burglars." The confederates highly approved of the scheme, and gave a ready assent, after which they arranged a plan of operation, and agreed to carry it into execution three nights hence.

On the appointed evening they assembled at the house of Will, the cobbler, where they donned sundry disguises, armed themselves with cudgels, an axe, a crowbar, and a wooden wedge, and sallied forth into the moonlight. Squire's farmhouse lay at a little distance from the village, shrouded in trees. It was occupied by himself, a widower, and his married daughter, Elizabeth Beecroft; whilst in the barn, on that night, slept one Jane Beanland. The moon was nearly at full, but masses of clouds drifted across its face, obscuring its beams, so that it only shone out at intervals. As they approached the house at midnight a profound silence prevailed; not a dog barked, and it was only broken occasionally by the distant hooting of an owl. A minute or two were only required to force open the door by the application of the wedge and three or four blows of the axe, and Heber, Hudson, and Pollard entered the house, the others remaining outside. The old man had been awakened by the noise of forcing the door open, and he came from his bedroom half-dressed, demanding what they wanted by thus breaking into his house. "Money," was the reply, "and if you do not give it up we shall take it." "I have got no money for you," he answered, and, seizing upon a poker, he stood upon his defence, but was overpowered by a blow on the head, and the robbers then prized open his desk, but found in it not more than fifty shillings, and broke open a cupboard, taking from it a piece of beef, after which they went away, much disappointed at the smallness of their booty. Notwithstanding their disguise, they had been identified, Squire, in his deposition, stating that he recognised Tom Heber by his stature and the softness of his hand, which he felt when struggling with him; Elizabeth, his daughter, whose room they had entered and "nearly smothered her in the bed clothes," also recognised "Mr. Thos. Heber," as one of the party; and Jane Beanland deposed that, as she lay in the barn, she heard the voices of Mr. Thos. Heber, of Holling, and William Hudson, of Ilkley, when they were breaking open the door. Moreover, Elizabeth Longfellow gave evidence that going into the alehouse of Josias Laycock, where Walter Pollard was drinking, she overheard him say, "I am now making Bess Squire's half-crowns fly." They had left behind them also an iron gavelock, a staff, and a wedge, which were identified as having been in their possession a day or two before the crime was committed.

These facts having come to light, warrants were issued for the apprehension of the offenders, and they were brought before Walter Hawkesworth, of Hawkesworth, the nearest magistrate. This gentlemen was a friend of Serjeant Heber, and, knowing Tom well, he expressed his regret at seeing him placed in that situation, who, however, laughingly replied that it was only done for a lark, but the magistrate, after hearing the depositions, with a grave countenance, said "It might be a lark, but at the same time it was a felony, and a serious outrage of the law, and he had no alternative but to commit them to York for trial at the assizes."

They were consequently arraigned at the assizes on a charge of burglary, but escaped the usual severe punishment, partly on the ground that the crime was committed as a frolic, which was the line of defence, partly through family influence, and partly through the powerful agency of money.

It is a remarkable fact that there were then resident in Ilkley two families—the Hebers, of whom was the criminal, and the Longfellows, a member of whom was a witness on the trial against him, and that from them are descended two of the most charming poets of modern times—Reginald Heber, Bishop of Calcutta, author of "Palestine," and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, whose writings are as much admired in England as in his native America.

[The Ingleby Boar's Head.]

THE crest of the Ingilbys of Ripley is "A boar's head couped and erect arg., tusked or," which was obtained by an early knight of the family, in a romantic fashion, and as the reward for a valiant achievement.

In the reign of Edward the Confessor the manor of Ripley was held by Merlesweyn, a powerful Danish lord, and owner of many another manor and estate in the same district. He joined in the Gospatric insurrection against William the Conqueror, in favour of Edgar the Atheling, for which rebellion his lands were confiscated, and granted to Ralph de Paganel, a Norman noble who had fought at Hastings, and who besides became Lord of Leeds, Headingley, and extensive estates on the Ouse, the Aire, and the Nidd; holding the Merlesweyn estates in capite from the King; Leeds, etc., by the service of a knight's fee and a half, under the Lacies of Pontefract; whilst lands at Adel, Arthington, etc., devolved on him in right of his wife, Matilda, daughter of Richard de Surdeval. He was the founder of the Priory of the Holy Trinity, York, upon which, in 1080, he bestowed the churches of Leeds and Adel.

From the Paganels, Ripley passed to the Trusbut family, how does not appear, and from them, by the marriage of the heiress, to the family of de Ros of Ingmanthorpe, a branch of the de Ros's of Hamlake and Holderness, who became the superior lords, under whom the manor was held for half a knight's fee, early in the twelfth century, by a family whose previous name is not recorded, but who adopted that of de Ripley from their possessions. From this family descended the famous Canon of Bridlington, Sir George de Ripley, in the fifteenth century, the alchymist and "discoverer" of the philosopher's stone, as he professed, in 1470, and who contributed annually vast sums of money to the Knights of Rhodes for maintaining their warfare against the Mussulmans.

The Ingilbys are of Scandinavian origin, seated for a long period at Engelby, in Lincolnshire, whence they derived their surname, who, at the time of Domesday Book held three manors in Lincolnshire, two in the North Riding of Yorkshire, under the Bishop of Durham and William of Poictou, and one in Derbyshire. In 1350, or thereabouts, Sir Thomas de Ingilby, Justice of the Common Pleas, married Catherine of Luerne, daughter and heiress of Bernard (?) de Ripley, and came into possession of the Ripley estates, where he settled, and, seven years afterwards, obtained a charter for an annual fair and weekly market at Ripley.

The Ingilbys, still extant, have held a distinguished place among the families of Yorkshire, and many members of the family have been entrusted with high offices in Church and State, and become eminent in the field.

John Ingilby (temp. Richard II.), was the second founder of and benefactor to the Carthusian Monastery of Mount Grace, in Cleveland. John, born at Ripley in 1434, "did wondrously flourish in the reign of Henry VI." Sir William, his son, was knighted by "Lord Gloucester on Milton Field, in Holland, in 1482," for valour. A John de Ingilby was Prior of Sheen and Bishop of Llandaff, 1496-1500. Sir William, born 1515, was High Sheriff of Yorkshire and Treasurer of Berwick, temp. Elizabeth. David, his second son, married Anne Nevile, daughter of Charles, sixth Earl of Westmoreland, by which marriage his representatives, with those of Nicholas Pudsey, are co-heirs of the abeyant Barony of Nevile of Raby. Francis, third son of Sir William, was a Roman Catholic priest, and was executed at York, in 1586, for performing the functions of his office in the realm. John, fifth son of Sir William, was presented in the list of recusants in 1604. William, eldest son of Sampson of Spofforth, fourth son of Sir William, was created baronet in 1642, and fought on the King's side at Marston Moor. His castle at Ripley was garrisoned for the King, and Cromwell, after the battle of Marston Moor, passing through Ripley, demanded lodgings for the night, which was at first refused by Lady Ingilby, but he was, after a parley, admitted, on the promise that his followers should not be guilty of any impropriety. She received him with a couple of pistols stuck in her apron string, and on leaving in the morning, he inquired the meaning of the two weapons. "I'll tell you," she replied, "why I had two; it was that the second might be ready in case the first missed fire, for if you had behaved otherwise than peaceably I should have pistolled you without the least remorse." Sir William rebuilt Ripley Castle. In one of the towers is the following inscription:—"In the yiere of owre Ld. M.D.L.V. was this towre buyldyd by Sir Willyam Ingilby, Knight; Philip and Mary reigning that time." In the great staircase window is a series of escutcheons on stained glass, containing the arms of Ingilby and of the families with whom they had inter-married. Sir William, the second baronet, purchased the manor of Armley from the Mauliverers. Sir John, the fourth baronet died 1772, when the baronetcy expired. The baronetcy was revived in 1781, in the person of John Ingilby, an illegitimate son of the fourth baronet of the previous creation. Sir William Amcotts, his fourth son, succeeded to the baronetcy of his maternal grandfather, Sir Wharton Amcotts, by special remainder, and to that of his father in 1815, but died s.p., in 1854, when the baronetcy expired.

In 1866 the baronetcy was again restored, in the person of the Rev. Henry John, nephew of the above Sir John, in his succession by will to the Ripley estates, whose son, Sir Henry Day is the present holder, with (according to the new Domesday Book, of 1876) an acreage in the West Riding of 10,000, producing a rental of £11,149 per annum.

In Ripley Castle there is, or was, a full-length portrait of a knight of the Ingilby family, attired in the hunting costume of the Plantagenet times, with the head of a wild boar at his feet. This is the presentment of Sir William Ingilby, a doughty warrior and a hunter of renown, who lived in the troublous reign of Edward II. Although the representative of the family still lived in Lincolnshire, not having yet acquired the Ripley estates, this Sir William resided on one of the Yorkshire estates not far distant from Ripley, and would be on terms of intimacy with the family of de Ripley, whose heiress was won by Sir Thomas Ingilby, the Justice of the Common Pleas, and who possibly might have been the son of Sir William. Sir William had gained some renown in the Scottish wars of King Edward I. against William Wallace, and had been an ardent and loyal supporter of the weak and unfortunate second Edward on his accession to the throne, from the fact of his being the son of the great and glorious King, the first of that name.

He remained loyal until the King gave himself up into the hands of his favourite, Piers Gaveston, who humoured his naturally depraved inclinations, and led him into acts of malgovernment, which estranged the hearts of the people. He loaded him with benefits, bestowing on him great estates and much treasure. Amongst other grants he gave him the Lordship of Knaresborough Castle and forest, with divers liberties, franchises, and privileges, which led him to assume a high and dictatorial tone to the nobles of the realm, who expostulated with the King, and compelled him to banish the insolent foreigner. But the King, not able to learn wisdom in the school of experience, recalled him and bestowed fresh benefits upon him, which so exasperated the Barons that they rose in arms, with Thomas, Earl of Lancaster, at their head, captured the favourite in Scarborough Castle, and beheaded him. The King then took the Spensers into his favour, who became more intolerably oppressive than their predecessor, upon which the Barons again rose in arms, but were defeated in a battle at Boroughbridge, and nearly a hundred barons, knights, and other prisoners put to death, the Earl of Lancaster being beheaded at Pontefract. In the sequel, however, the Spensers met the same fate as Gaveston, the elder being executed at Bristol, and the younger at Hereford.

Notwithstanding his personal loyalty, Sir William became so disgusted at the imbecile conduct of the King, and the arrogance of his favourites, that he took up arms with the Barons for the purpose of removing them from the Royal councils. A bloody revenge was taken by the King on the leaders and more prominent members of the conspiracy, but those of lesser degree were permitted to escape capital punishment, being punished by fines, confiscations, etc., and lay under a cloud of disgrace until the barbarous murder of the King in Berkley Castle, and the accession of Edward III., removed the stigma.

In this latter category was included Sir William Ingilby, who would most probably have remained alienated from the good graces of the King had not a fortunate circumstance occurred, which restored him to favour, and which had an influence in enhancing the dignity of the family.

Sir William's residence was in the valley of the Nidd, "one of the most romantic, picturesque, and wealthy vales in England." Spreading around for a distance of several miles lay the magnificent Forest of Knaresborough, the home of wild cattle, wolves, wild boars, the roebuck, and other ferocious animals of the chase. To the east stood, on its craggy and almost inaccessible rock, overhanging the Nidd and the then small village of Knaresborough, the formidable fortress of Serlo de Burgh, whilst on the verge of the forest stood the splendid monastic establishments of Fountains, Bolton, Ripon, and other lesser houses. The forest has the reputation of having been one of the haunts of Robin Hood, one portion bearing traditionally the name of "Robin Hood's Park," whence he issued to pay his visits to the Abbey of Fountains, as recorded in ballad lore. In the western portion of the forest lay the Royal chase of Haverah Park (Hey-wra, the park of the wra or roe), consisting of 2,000 acres, densely wooded, and inhabited by beasts of chase, which were kept together and preserved by an oak paling, which encircled the park. The road thither from Knaresborough ran through the forest south of the Nidd, and across an upland, since famous for its chalybeate springs, and where there were then a few scattered cottages, forming a small hamlet, which came to be designated Heynragate—the road to Heynra Park—which has since been corrupted into Harrogate, and has become one of the most fashionable inland watering places in the kingdom.

The Castle and forest of Knaresborough were granted to Serlo de Burgh, who built the castle, after whom they were alternately in the hands of the Crown, or of some Royal favourite on whom they had been bestowed. Edward II. made a grant of them to Piers Gaveston, on whose death they reverted to the Crown. It was during this period that the King came to Knaresborough Castle to relax himself from the cares and anxieties of Royalty, by three or four days' hunting in Haverah Park. He was not attended by a large retinue, being only accompanied by three or four friends, and a few body servants; huntsmen, beaters, and other attendants of the chase being permanently retained there, as well as hounds and all the requisite hunting gear and weapons; this was because of his unpopularity with the people, on account of his governing the realm upon the advice of unworthy favourites. Hence he came down with some degree of secrecy, in a species of incognito, and it was not known generally to the residents of the valley who the hunter was, the supposition being that he was some friend of the King's, who had been given permission to hunt in Haverah chase.

The day following his arrival at Knaresborough, the King rode through the forest to Haverah, accompanied by his friends, and a following of attendants bearing bows and arrows, boar spears, beating staves, and other implements of hunting, who were on foot. On entering the enclosures the attendants sent their dogs amongst the underwood and commenced beating the bushes, with loud cries to start the game. As these were very plentiful, a number of small animals, badgers, foxes, polecats, etc., were roused from their lairs in quick succession, and afforded considerable sport. Two or three stags were also started, one of which was killed by the King, by an arrow shot; and a wolf made his appearance, who displayed great pugnacity, and caused great excitement amongst the hunters. Towards noon the King and his friends sat down to a refection under the shadow of a patriarchal oak, which, from its size and evident age, rendered it possible that it might have witnessed the Druidical mysteries of the Brigantes. Again the beaters and dogs commenced their operations, and were rewarded by the appearance of a huge wild boar, armed with a formidable pair of tusks, who rushed into the glade where the hunters were assembled. The dogs rushed upon him, barking with eagerness, and the King and his friends, taking boar spears from the attendants, rode at a gallop towards the animal, who gazed upon them for a few moments, as if to measure the strength of his opponents, and then turned and dashed amongst the underwood, followed by the hounds and the hunters.

Two or three of the dogs, venturing too near the boar, were instantly ripped up, and the hunters followed as best they might through the tangled brushwood. The King, who was better mounted than his friends, soon left them behind, and, brandishing his spear, followed in the track made by the boar, not without sundry scratches from the projecting branches of the forest trees; but the boar still kept ahead, occasionally turning to look at the hounds who were yelping at his heels, and then dashing onward again; whilst the King, mounted on a powerful and fleet horse, gradually gained on the beast, despite the obstacles that beset his path.

Although the forest of Knaresborough was a Royal appanage, the foresters, as the inhabitants of the district were called, possessed certain privileges of hunting therein, with certain limits; from Haverah Park alone were they excluded, that domain being reserved exclusively for the King and those to whom he gave permission to hunt in the enclosure. Sir William Ingleby being a "forester," therefore had the right of following game in the forest outside the palings of Haverah. On the same day that the King went to hunt in Haverah Park, Sir William went out, boar spear in hand, in search of sport. He was not accompanied by either attendant or dog, trusting alone to his own natural prowess, in case he should meet with game. In his wanderings he had come near the palings of the park, and sat down to partake of a luncheon he had brought with him in his pocket. He was just finishing his meal when he heard the cry of hunting dogs, and immediately afterwards a crashing sound. Looking up he saw the palings give way, and a huge boar rushing through the gap, followed by half a dozen dogs and a man on horseback. He had just time to observe that the hunter was clad in a buff jerkin, with high-reaching boots, and was brandishing a boar spear and encouraging the hounds, when the boar, finding himself so hotly pursued, turned at bay, drove his tusks into a couple of the dogs, and then sprang upon the hunter, overturning the horse, and laying the hunter prostrate on the sward. He was just on the point of dashing his tusks into the body of the fallen enemy, when Sir William rushed up, and with well directed aim struck his spear into the heart of the boar, which fell lifeless at his feet, and then, taking his knife from his girdle, with a huntsman's skill severed the head from the body, the whole occupying but a few minutes.

"And who are you, my brave fellow?" inquired the fallen hunter, whom Sir William had assisted in rising and disentangling from his horse.

"I am a denizen of the forest," replied Sir William. "As to my name, it matters not; but right glad am I to have been the means of rescuing you from the fangs of that monster."

"You have saved me from death, whoever you may be," said the hunter, "and your guerdon shall be equivalent to the service you have rendered me."

"May I be allowed to ask who you may be," continued Sir William, "who are hunting in the King's chase?"

"I am connected with the court of the King, who has come hither for the divertisement of hunting."

"The King, whom Heaven preserve, then is present in the chase?" inquired Sir William.

"He is," replied the hunter, "the remainder of the party will be here anon."

"How shall I know the King, for I shall wish to pay due respect to him?"

"Oh, he may be easily recognised, for he will remain covered, while all the rest momentarily remove their hats."

At this moment the rest of the hunting group came up, all of whom uncovered their heads.

"Now, do you recognise the king?" inquired the hunter.

"I do," he replied, dropping on his knee, "and crave pardon for the boldness of my language."

The King, for he it was, then told his followers how Sir William had saved his life, and that although he had declined giving his name, he would find that out, and would reward him suitably for so important a service.

"Please your Majesty," said one of the beaters, "I know who the gentleman is; he is Sir William Ingleby of Nidderdale."

"Sir William Ingleby?" said the King. "If I remember aright, you were one of those who, along with our kinsman, Lancaster, appeared in arms against our Royal authority."

"Not my Liege," replied Ingleby, "against your Royal authority, but against your evil advisers."

"Well," continued the King, with a slight scowl, "let bygones be bygones; you have done me a service which obliterates all that. You are from this moment restored to favour; in memory of what you have done this day, I decree that, for the future and all time, you and your family shall bear, as the crest of your arms, a boar's head. Let me see you shortly at my Court, and then I will see what further I can do out of gratitude for the service you have rendered me."

Sir William made a profound obeisance to the King, and from that time the fortunes of the Inglebys, from that circumstance, coupled with the fortunate marriage with the heiress of Ripley, continued to rise.