The Abbot

Chapter 15

A dreadful shout of vengeance was raised by the revellers, whose sport

was thus so fearfully interrupted; but for an instant, the want of

weapons amongst the multitude, as well as the inflamed features arid

brandished poniard of Roland Graeme, kept them at bay, while the

Abbot, horror-struck at the violence, implored, with uplifted hands,

pardon for blood-shed committed within the sanctuary. Magdalen Graeme

alone expressed triumph in the blow her descendant had dealt to the

scoffer, mixed, however, with a wild and anxious expression of terror

for her grandson's safety. "Let him perish," she said, "in his

blasphemy--let him die on the holy pavement which he has insulted!"

But the rage of the multitude, the grief of the Abbot, the exultation

of the enthusiastic Magdalen, were all mistimed and unnecessary.

Howleglas, mortally wounded as he was supposed to be, sprung alertly

up from the floor, calling aloud, "A miracle, a miracle, my masters!

as brave a miracle as ever was wrought in the kirk of Kennaquhair. And

I charge you, my masters, as your lawfully chosen Abbot, that you

touch no one without my command--You, wolf and bear, will guard this

pragmatic youth, but without hurting him--And you, reverend brother,

will, with your comrades, withdraw to your cells; for our conference

has ended like all conferences, leaving each of his own mind, as

before; and if we fight, both you, and your brethren, and the Kirk,

will have the worst on't--Wherefore, pack up you pipes and begone."

The hubbub was beginning again to awaken, but still Father Ambrose

hesitated, as uncertain to what path his duty called him, whether to

face out the present storm, or to reserve himself for a better moment.

His brother of Unreason observed his difficulty, and said, in a tone

more natural and less affected than that with which he had hitherto

sustained his character, "We came hither, my good sir, more in mirth

than in mischief--our bark is worse than our bite--and, especially, we

mean you no personal harm--wherefore, draw off while the play is good;

for it is ill whistling for a hawk when she is once on the soar, and

worse to snatch the quarry from the ban-dog--Let these fellows once

begin their brawl, and it will be too much for madness itself, let

alone the Abbot of Unreason, to bring them back to the lure."

The brethren crowded around Father Ambrosius, and joined in urging

him to give place to the torrent. The present revel was, they said, an

ancient custom which his predecessors had permitted, and old Father

Nicholas himself had played the dragon in the days of the Abbot

Ingelram.

"And we now reap the fruit of the seed which they have so unadvisedly

sown," said Ambrosius; "they taught men to make a mock of what is

holy, what wonder that the descendants of scoffers become robbers and

plunderers? But be it as you list, my brethren--move towards the

dortour--And you, dame, I command you, by the authority which I have

over you, and by your respect for that youth's safety, that you go

with us without farther speech--Yet, stay--what are your intentions

towards that youth whom you detain prisoner?--Wot ye," he continued,

addressing Howleglas in a stern tone of voice, "that he bears the

livery of the House of Avenel? They who fear not the anger of Heaven,

may at least dread the wrath of man."

"Cumber not yourself concerning him," answered Howleglas, "we know

right well who and what he is."

"Let me pray," said the Abbot, in a tone of entreaty, "that you do him

no wrong for the rash deed--which he attempted in his imprudent zeal."

"I say, cumber not yourself about it, father," answered Howleglas,

"but move off with your train, male and female, or I will not

undertake to save yonder she-saint from the ducking-stool--And as for

bearing of malice, my stomach has no room for it; it is," he added,

clapping his hand on his portly belly, "too well bumbasted out with

straw and buckram--gramercy to them both--they kept out that madcap's

dagger as well as a Milan corslet could have done."

In fact, the home-driven poniard of Roland Graeme had lighted upon the

stuffing of the fictitious paunch, which the Abbot of Unreason wore as

a part of his characteristic dress, and it was only the force of the

blow which had prostrated that reverend person on the ground for a

moment.

Satisfied in some degree by this man's assurances, and compelled--to

give way to superior force, the Abbot Ambrosius retired from the

Church at the head of the monks, and left the court free for the

revellers to work their will. But, wild and wilful as these rioters

were, they accompanied the retreat of the religionists with none of

those shouts of contempt and derision with which they had at first

hailed them. The Abbot's discourse had affected some of them with

remorse, others with shame, and all with a transient degree of

respect. They remained silent until the last monk had disappeared

through the side-door which communicated with their dwelling-place,

and even then it cost some exhortations on the part of Howleglas, some

caprioles of the hobby-horse, and some wallops of the dragon, to rouse

once more the rebuked spirit of revelry.

"And how now, my masters?" said the Abbot of Unreason; "and wherefore

look on me with such blank Jack-a-Lent visages? Will you lose your old

pastime for an old wife's tale of saints and purgatory? Why, I thought

you would have made all split long since--Come, strike up, tabor and

harp, strike up, fiddle and rebeck--dance and be merry to-day, and let

care come to-morrow. Bear and wolf, look to your prisoner--prance,

hobby--hiss, dragon, and halloo, boys--we grow older every moment we

stand idle, and life is too short to be spent in playing mumchance."

This pithy exhortation was attended with the effect desired. They

fumigated the Church with burnt wool and feathers instead of incense,

put foul water into the holy-water basins, and celebrated a parody on

the Church-service, the mock Abbot officiating at the altar; they sung

ludicrous and indecent parodies, to the tunes of church hymns; they

violated whatever vestments or vessels belonging to the Abbey they

could lay their hands upon; and, playing every freak which the whim of

the moment could suggest to their wild caprice, at length they fell to

more lasting deeds of demolition, pulled down and destroyed some

carved wood-work, dashed out the painted windows which had escaped

former violence, and in their rigorous search after sculpture

dedicated to idolatry, began to destroy what ornaments yet remained

entire upon the tombs, and around the cornices of the pillars.

The spirit of demolition, like other tastes, increases by indulgence;

from these lighter attempts at mischief, the more tumultuous part of

the meeting began to meditate destruction on a more extended

scale--"Let us heave it down altogether, the old crow's nest," became

a general cry among them; "it has served the Pope and his rooks too

long;" and up they struck a ballad which was then popular among the

lower classes. [Footnote: These rude rhymes are taken, with some

trifling alterations, from a ballad called Trim-go-trix. It occurs in

a singular collection, entitled; "A Compendious Book of Godly and

Spiritual Songs, collected out of sundrie parts of the Scripture, with

sundry of other ballatis changed out of prophane sanges for avoyding

of sin and harlotrie, with Augmentation of sundrie Gude and Godly

Ballates. Edinburgh, printed by Andro Hart." This curious collection

has been reprinted in Mr. John. Grahame Dalyell's Scottish Poems of

the 16th century Edin. 1801, 2 vols.]

Thundering out this chorus of a notable hunting song, which had been

pressed into the service of some polemical poet, the followers of the

Abbot of Unreason were turning every moment more tumultuous, and

getting beyond the management even of that reverend prelate himself,

when a knight in full armour, followed by two or three men-at-arms,

entered the church, and in a stern voice commanded them to forbear

their riotous mummery.

His visor was up, but if it had been lowered, the cognizance of the

holly-branch sufficiently distinguished Sir Halbert Glendinning, who,

on his homeward road, was passing through the village of Kennaquhair;

and moved, perhaps, by anxiety for his brother's safety, had come

directly to the church on hearing of the uproar.

"What is the meaning of this," he said, "my masters? are ye Christian

men, and the king's subjects, and yet waste and destroy church and

chancel like so many heathens?"

All stood silent, though doubtless there were several disappointed and

surprised at receiving chiding instead of thanks from so zealous a

protestant.

The dragon, indeed, did at length take upon him to be spokesman, and

growled from the depth of his painted maw, that they did but sweep

Popery out of the church with the besom of destruction.

"What! my friends," replied Sir Halbert Glendinning, "think you this

mumming and masking has not more of Popery in it than have these stone

walls? Take the leprosy out of your flesh, before you speak of

purifying stone walls--abate your insolent license, which leads but to

idle vanity and sinful excess; and know, that what you now practise,

is one of the profane and unseemly sports introduced by the priests of

Rome themselves, to mislead and to brutify the souls which fell into

their net."

"Marry come up--are you there with your bears?" muttered the dragon,

with a draconic sullenness, which was in good keeping with his

character, "we had as good have been Romans still, if we are to have

no freedom in our pastimes!"

"Dost thou reply to me so?" said Halbert Glendinning; "or is there any

pastime in grovelling on the ground there like a gigantic

kail-worm?--Get out of thy painted case, or, by my knighthood, I will

treat you like the beast and reptile you have made yourself."

"Beast and reptile?" retorted the offended dragon, "setting aside your

knighthood, I hold myself as well a born man as thyself."

The Knight made no answer in words, but bestowed two such blows with

the butt of his lance on the petulant dragon, that had not the hoops

which constituted the ribs of the machine been pretty strong, they

would hardly have saved those of the actor from being broken. In all

haste the masker crept out of his disguise, unwilling to abide a third

buffet from the lance of the enraged Knight. And when the ex-dragon

stood on the floor of the church, he presented to Halbert Glendinning

the well-known countenance of Dan of the Howlet-hirst, an ancient

comrade of his own, ere fate had raised him so high above the rank to

which he was born. The clown looked sulkily upon the Knight, as if to

upbraid him for his violence towards an old acquaintance, and

Glendinning's own good-nature reproached him for the violence he had

acted upon him.

"I did wrong to strike thee," he said, "Dan; but in truth, I knew thee

not--thou wert ever a mad fellow--come to Avenel Castle, and we shall

see how my hawks fly."

"And if we show him not falcons that will mount as merrily as

rockets," said the Abbot of Unreason, "I would your honour laid as

hard on my bones as you did on his even now."

"How now, Sir Knave," said the Knight, "and what has brought you

hither?"

The Abbot, hastily ridding himself of the false nose which mystified

his physiognomy, and the supplementary belly which made up his

disguise, stood before his master in his real character, of Adam

Woodcock, the falconer of Avenel.

"How, varlet!" said the Knight; "hast thou dared to come here and

disturb the very house my brother was dwelling in?"

"And it was even for that reason, craving your honour's pardon, that I

came hither--for I heard the country was to be up to choose an Abbot

of Unreason, and sure, thought I, I that can sing, dance, leap

backwards over a broadsword, and am as good a fool as ever sought

promotion, have all chance of carrying the office; and if I gain my

election, I may stand his honour's brother in some stead, supposing

things fall roughly out at the Kirk of Saint Mary's."

"Thou art but a cogging knave," said Sir Halbert, "and well I wot,

that love of ale and brandy, besides the humour of riot and frolic,

would draw thee a mile, when love of my house would not bring thee a

yard. But, go to--carry thy roisterers elsewhere--to the alehouse if

they list, and there are crowns to pay your charges--make out the

day's madness without doing more mischief, and be wise men

to-morrow--and hereafter learn to serve a good cause better than by

acting like buffoons or ruffians."

Obedient to his master's mandate, the falconer was collecting his

discouraged followers, and whispering into their ears--"Away,

away--_tace_ is Latin for a candle--never mind the good Knight's

puritanism--we will play the frolic out over a stand of double ale in

Dame Martin the Brewster's barn-yard--draw off, harp and

tabor--bagpipe and drum--mum till you are out of the church-yard, then

let the welkin ring again--move on, wolf and bear--keep the hind legs

till you cross the kirk-stile, and then show yourselves beasts of

mettle--what devil sent him here to spoil our holiday!--but anger him

not, my hearts; his lance is no goose-feather, as Dan's ribs can

tell."

"By my soul," said Dan, "had it been another than my ancient comrade,

I would have made my father's old fox [Footnote: _Fox_, An

old-fashioned broadsword was often so called.] fly about his ears!"

"Hush! hush! man," replied Adam Woodcock, "not a word that way, as you

value the safety of your bones--what man? we must take a clink as it

passes, so it is not bestowed in downright ill-will."

"But I will take no such thing," said Dan of the Howlet-hirst,

suddenly resisting the efforts of Woodcock, who was dragging him out

of the church; when the quick military eye of Sir Halbert Glendinning

detecting Roland Graeme betwixt his two guards, the Knight exclaimed,

"So ho! falconer,--Woodcock,--knave, hast thou brought my Lady's page

in mine own livery, to assist at this hopeful revel of thine, with

your wolves and bears? Since you were at such mummings, you might, if

you would, have at least saved the credit of my household, by dressing

him up as a jackanapes--bring him hither, fellows!"

Adam Woodcock was too honest and downright, to permit blame to light

upon the youth, when it was undeserved. "I swear," he said, "by Saint

Martin of Bullions--" [Footnote: The Saint Swithin, or weeping Saint

of Scotland. If his festival (fourth July) prove wet, forty days of

rain are expected.]

"And what hast thou to do with Saint Martin?"

"Nay, little enough, sir, unless when he sends such rainy days that we

cannot fly a hawk--but I say to your worshipful knighthood, that as I

am, a true man----"

"As you are a false varlet, had been the better obtestation."

"Nay, if your knighthood allows me not to speak," said Adam, "I can

hold my tongue--but the boy came not hither by my bidding, for all

that."

"But to gratify his own malapert pleasure, I warrant me," said Sir

Halbert Glendinning--"Come hither, young springald, and tell me

whether you have your mistress's license to be so far absent from the

castle, or to dishonour my livery by mingling in such a May-game?"

"Sir Halbert Glendinning," answered Roland Graeme with steadiness, "I

have obtained the permission, or rather the commands, of your lady, to

dispose of my time hereafter according to my own pleasure. I have been

a most unwilling spectator of this May-game, since it is your pleasure

so to call it; and I only wear your livery until I can obtain clothes

which bear no such badge of servitude."

"How am I to understand this, young man?" said Sir Halbert

Glendinning; "speak plainly, for I am no reader of riddles.--That my

lady favoured thee, I know. What hast thou done to disoblige her, and

occasion thy dismissal?"

"Nothing to speak of," said Adam Woodcock, answering for the boy--"a

foolish quarrel with me, which was more foolishly told over again to

my honoured lady, cost the poor boy his place. For my part, I will say

freely, that I was wrong from beginning to end, except about the

washing of the eyas's meat. There I stand to it that I was right."

With that, the good-natured falconer repeated to his master the whole

history of the squabble which had brought Roland Graeme into disgrace

with his mistress, but in a manner so favourable for the page, that

Sir Halbert could not but suspect his generous motive.

"Thou art a good-natured fellow," he said, "Adam Woodcock."

"As ever had falcon upon fist," said Adam; "and, for that matter, so

is Master Roland; but, being half a gentleman by his office, his blood

is soon up, and so is mine."

"Well," said Sir Halbert, "be it as it will, my lady has acted

hastily, for this was no great matter of offence to discard the lad

whom she had trained up for years; but he, I doubt not, made it worse

by his prating--it jumps well with a purpose, however, which I had in

my mind. Draw off these people, Woodcock,--and you, Roland Graeme,

attend me."

The page followed him in silence into the Abbot's house, where,

stepping into the first apartment which he found open, he commanded

one of his attendants to let his brother, Master Edward Glendinning,

know that he desired to speak with him. The men-at-arms went gladly

off to join their comrade, Adam Woodcock, and the jolly crew whom he

had assembled at Dame Martin's, the hostler's wife, and the Page and

Knight were left alone in the apartment. Sir Halbert Glendinning paced

the floor for a moment in silence and then thus addressed his

attendant--

"Thou mayest have remarked, stripling, that I have but seldom

distinguished thee by much notice;--I see thy colour rises, but do not

speak till thou nearest me out. I say I have never much distinguished

thee, not because I did not see that in thee which I might well have

praised, but because I saw something blameable, which such praises

might have made worse. Thy mistress, dealing according to her pleasure

in her own household, as no one had better reason or title, had picked

thee from the rest, and treated thee more like a relation than a

domestic; and if thou didst show some vanity and petulance under such

distinction, it were injustice not to say that thou hast profited both

in thy exercises and in thy breeding, and hast shown many sparkles of

a gentle and manly spirit. Moreover, it were ungenerous, having bred

thee up freakish and fiery, to dismiss thee to want or wandering, for

showing that very peevishness and impatience of discipline which arose

from thy too delicate nurture. Therefore, and for the credit of my own

household, I am determined to retain thee in my train, until I can

honourably dispose of thee elsewhere, with a fair prospect of thy

going through the world with credit to the house that brought thee

up."

If there was something in Sir Halbert Glendinning's speech which

flattered Roland's pride, there was also much that, according to his

mode of thinking, was an alloy to the compliment. And yet his

conscience instantly told him that he ought to accept, with grateful

deference, the offer which was made him by the husband of his kind

protectress; and his prudence, however slender, could not but admit he

should enter the world under very different auspices as a retainer of

Sir Halbert Glendinning, so famed for wisdom, courage, and influence,

from those under which he might partake the wanderings, and become an

agent in the visionary schemes, for such they appeared to him, of

Magdalen, his relative. Still, a strong reluctance to re-enter a

service from which he had been dismissed with contempt, almost

counterbalanced these considerations.

Sir Halbert looked on the youth with surprise, and resumed--"You seem

to hesitate, young man. Are your own prospects so inviting, that you

should pause ere you accept those which I should offer to you? or,

must I remind you that, although you have offended your benefactress,

even to the point of her dismissing you, yet I am convinced, the

knowledge that you have gone unguided on your own wild way, into a

world so disturbed as ours of Scotland, cannot, in the upshot, but

give her sorrow and pain; from which it is, in gratitude, your duty to

preserve her, no less than it is in common wisdom your duty to accept

my offered protection, for your own sake, where body and soul are

alike endangered, should you refuse it."

Roland Graeme replied in a respectful tone, but at the same time with

some spirit, "I am not ungrateful for such countenance as has been

afforded me by the Lord of Avenel, and I am glad to learn, for the

first time, that I have not had the misfortune to be utterly beneath

his observation, as I had thought--And it is only needful to show me

how I can testify my duty and my gratitude towards my early and

constant benefactress with my life's hazard, and I will gladly peril

it." He stopped.

"These are but words, young man," answered Glendinning, "large

protestations are often used to supply the place of effectual service.

I know nothing in which the peril of your life can serve the Lady of

Avenel; I can only say, she will be pleased to learn you have adopted

some course which may ensure the safety of your person, and the weal

of your soul--What ails you, that you accept not that safety when it

is offered you?"

"My only relative who is alive," answered Roland, "at least the only

relative whom I have ever seen, has rejoined me since I was dismissed

from the Castle of Avenel, and I must consult with her whether I can

adopt the line to which you now call me, or whether her increasing

infirmities, or the authority which she is entitled to exercise over

me, may not require me to abide with her."

"Where is this relation?" said Sir Halbert Glendinning.

"In this house," answered the page.

"Go then, and seek her out," said the Knight of Avenel; "more than

meet it is that thou shouldst have her approbation, yet worse than

foolish would she show herself in denying it."

Roland left the apartment to seek for his grandmother; and, as he

retreated, the Abbot entered.

The two brothers met as brothers who loved each other fondly, yet meet

rarely together. Such indeed was the case. Their mutual affection

attached them to each other; but in every pursuit, habit or sentiment,

connected with the discords of the times, the friend and counsellor of

Murray stood opposed to the Roman Catholic priest; nor, indeed, could

they have held very much society together, without giving cause of

offence and suspicion to their confederates on each side. After a

close embrace on the part of both, and a welcome on that of the Abbot,

Sir Halbert Glendinning expressed his satisfaction that he had come in

time to appease the riot raised by Howleglas and his tumultuous

followers.

"And yet," he said, "when I look on your garments, brother Edward, I

cannot help thinking there still remains an Abbot of Unreason within

the bounds of the Monastery."

"And wherefore carp at my garments, brother Halbert?" said the Abbot;

"it is the spiritual armour of my calling, and, as such, beseems me as

well as breastplate and baldric becomes your own bosom."

"Ay, but there were small wisdom, methinks, in putting on armour where

we have no power to fight; it is but a dangerous temerity to defy the

foe whom we cannot resist."

"For that, my brother, no one can answer," said the Abbot, "until the

battle be fought; and, were it even as you say, methinks a brave man,

though desperate of victory, would rather desire to fight and fall,

than to resign sword and shield on some mean and dishonourable

composition with his insulting antagonist. But, let not you and I make

discord of a theme on which we cannot agree, but rather stay and

partake, though a heretic, of my admission feast. You need not fear,

my brother, that your zeal for restoring the primitive discipline of

the church will, on this occasion, be offended with the rich profusion

of a conventual banquet. The days of our old friend Abbot Boniface are

over; and the Superior of Saint Mary's has neither forests nor

fishings, woods nor pastures, nor corn-fields;--neither flocks nor

herds, bucks nor wild-fowl--granaries of wheat, nor storehouses of oil

and wine, of ale and of mead. The refectioner's office is ended; and

such a meal as a hermit in romance can offer to a wandering knight, is

all we have to set before you. But, if you will share it with us, we

shall eat it with a cheerful heart, and thank you, my brother, for

your timely protection against these rude scoffers."

"My dearest brother," said the Knight, "it grieves me deeply I cannot

abide with you; but it would sound ill for us both were one of the

reformed congregation to sit down at your admission feast; and, if I

can ever have the satisfaction of affording you effectual protection,

it will be much owing to my remaining unsuspected of countenancing or

approving your religious rites and ceremonies. It will demand whatever

consideration I can acquire among my own friends, to shelter the bold

man, who, contrary to law and the edicts of parliament, has dared to

take up the office of Abbot of Saint Mary's."

"Trouble not yourself with the task, my brother," replied Father

Ambrosius. "I would lay down my dearest blood to know that you

defended the church for the church's sake; but, while you remain

unhappily her enemy, I would not that you endangered your own safety,

or diminished your own comforts, for the sake of my individual

protection.--But who comes hither to disturb the few minutes of

fraternal communication which our evil fate allows us?"

The door of the apartment opened as the Abbot spoke, and Dame

Magdalen entered.

"Who is this woman?" said Sir Halbert Glendinning, somewhat sternly,

"and what does she want?"

"That you know me not," said the matron, "signifies little; I come by

your own order, to give my free consent that the stripling, Roland

Graeme, return to your service; and, having said so, I cumber you no

longer with my presence. Peace be with you!" She turned to go away,

but was stopped by inquiries of Sir Halbert Glendinning.

"Who are you?--what are you?--and why do you not await to make

me answer?"

"I was," she replied, "while yet I belonged to the world, a matron of

no vulgar name; now I am Magdalen, a poor pilgrimer, for the sake of

Holy Kirk."

"Yea," said Sir Halbert, "art thou a Catholic? I thought my dame said

that Roland Graeme came of reformed kin.'

"His father," said the matron, "was a heretic, or rather one who

regarded neither orthodoxy or heresy--neither the temple of the church

or of antichrist. I, too, for the sins of the times make sinners,

have seemed to conform to your unhallowed rites--but I had my

dispensation and my absolution."

"You see, brother," said Sir Halbert, with a smile of meaning towards

his brother, "that we accuse you not altogether without grounds of

mental equivocation."

"My brother, you do us injustice," replied the Abbot; "this woman, as

her bearing may of itself warrant you, is not in her perfect mind.

Thanks, I must needs say, to the persecution of your marauding barons,

and of your latitudinarian clergy."

"I will not dispute the point," said Sir Halbert; "the evils of the

time are unhappily so numerous, that both churches may divide them,

and have enow to spare." So saying, he leaned from the window of the

apartment, and winded his bugle.

"Why do you sound your horn, my brother?" said the Abbot; "we have

spent but few minutes together."

"Alas!" said the elder brother, "and even these few have been sullied

by disagreement. I sound to horse, my brother--the rather that, to

avert the consequences of this day's rashness on your part, requires

hasty efforts on mine.--Dame, you will oblige me by letting your young

relative know that we mount instantly. I intend not that he shall

return to Avenel with me--it would lead to new quarrels betwixt him

and my household; at least to taunts which his proud heart could ill

brook, and my wish is to do him kindness. He shall, therefore, go

forward to Edinburgh with one of my retinue, whom I shall send back to

say what has chanced here.--You seem rejoiced at this?" he added,

fixing his eyes keenly on Magdalen Graeme, who returned his gaze with

calm indifference.

"I would rather," she said, "that Roland, a poor and friendless

orphan, were the jest of the world at large, than of the menials at

Avenel."

"Fear not, dame--he shall be scorned by neither," answered the Knight.

"It may be," she replied--"it may well be--but I will trust more to

his own bearing than to your countenance." She left the room as she

spoke.

The Knight looked after her as she departed, but turned instantly to

his brother, and expressing, in the most affectionate terms, his

wishes for his welfare and happiness, craved his leave to depart. "My

knaves," he said, "are too busy at the ale-stand, to leave their

revelry for the empty breath of a bugle-horn."

"You have freed them from higher restraint, Halbert," answered the

Abbot, "and therein taught them to rebel against your own."

"Fear not that, Edward," exclaimed Halbert, who never gave his brother

his monastic name of Ambrosius; "none obey the command of real duty

so well as those who are free from the observance of slavish bondage."

He was turning to depart, when the Abbot said,--"Let us not yet part,

my brother--here comes some light refreshment. Leave not the house

which I must now call mine, till force expel me from it, until you

have at least broken bread with me."

The poor lay brother, the same who acted as porter, now entered the

apartment, bearing some simple refreshment, and a flask of wine. "He

had found it," he said with officious humility, "by rummaging through

every nook of the cellar."

The Knight filled a small silver cup, and, quaffing it off, asked his

brother to pledge him, observing, the wine was Bacharac, of the first

vintage, and great age.

"Ay," said the poor lay brother, "it came out of the nook which old

brother Nicholas, (may his soul be happy!) was wont to call Abbot

Ingelram's corner; and Abbot Ingelram was bred at the Convent of

Wurtzburg, which I understand to be near where that choice wine

grows."

"True, my reverend sir," said Sir Halbert; "and therefore I entreat my

brother and you to pledge me in a cup of this orthodox vintage."

The thin old porter looked with a wishful glance towards the Abbot.

"_Do veniam_," said his Superior; and the old man seized, with a

trembling hand, a beverage to which he had been long unaccustomed;

drained the cup with protracted delight, as if dwelling on the flavour

and perfume, and set it down with a melancholy smile and shake of the

head, as if bidding adieu in future to such delicious potations. The

brothers smiled. But when Sir Halbert motioned to the Abbot to take up

his cup and do him reason, the Abbot, in turn, shook his head, and

replied--"This is no day for the Abbot of Saint Mary's to eat the fat

and drink the sweat. In water from our Lady's well," he added, filling

a cup with the limpid element, "I wish you, brother, all happiness,

and above all, a true sight of your spiritual errors."

"And to you, my beloved Edward," replied Glendinning, "I wish the free

exercise of your own free reason, and the discharge of more important

duties than are connected with the idle name which you have so rashly

assumed."

The brothers parted with deep regret; and yet, each confident in his

opinion, felt somewhat relieved by the absence of one whom he

respected so much, and with whom he could agree so little.

Soon afterwards the sound of the Knight of Avenel's trumpets was

heard, and the Abbot went to the top of the tower, from whose

dismantled battlements he could soon see the horsemen ascending the

rising ground in the direction of the drawbridge. As he gazed,

Magdalen Graeme came to his side.

"Thou art come," he said, "to catch the last glimpse of thy grandson,

my sister. Yonder he wends, under the charge of the best knight in

Scotland, his faith ever excepted."

"Thou canst bear witness, my father, that it was no wish either of

mine or of Roland's," replied the matron, "which induced the Knight of

Avenel, as he is called, again to entertain my grandson in his

household--Heaven, which confounds the wise with their own wisdom, and

the wicked with their own policy, hath placed him where, for the

services of the Church, I would most wish him to be."

"I know not what you mean, my sister," said the Abbot.

"Reverend father," replied Magdalen, "hast thou never heard that there

are spirits powerful to rend the walls of a castle asunder when once

admitted, which yet cannot enter the house unless they are invited,

nay, dragged over the threshold?

[Footnote: There is a popular belief respecting evil spirits, that

they cannot enter an inhabited house unless invited, nay, dragged over

the threshold. There is an instance of the same superstition in the

Tales of the Genii, where an enchanter is supposed to have intruded

himself into the Divan of the Sultan.

"'Thus,' said the illustrious Misnar, 'let the enemies of Mahomet be

dismayed! but inform me, O ye sages! under the semblance of which of

your brethren did that foul enchanter gain admittance here?'--'May the

lord of my heart,' answered Balihu, the hermit of the faithful from

Queda, 'triumph over all his foes! As I travelled on the mountains

from Queda, and saw neither the footsteps of beasts, nor the flight of

birds, behold, I chanced to pass through a cavern, in whose hollow

sides I found this accursed sage, to whom I unfolded the invitation of

the Sultan of India, and we, joining, journeyed towards the Divan; but

ere we entered, he said unto me. 'Put thy hand forth, and pull me

towards thee into the Divan, calling on the name of Mahomet, for the

evil spirits are on me and vex me.'"

I have understood that many parts of these fine tales, and in

particular that of the Sultan Misnar, were taken from genuine Oriental

sources by the editor, Mr. James Ridley.

But the most picturesque use of this popular belief occurs in

Coleridge's beautiful and tantalizing fragment of Christabel. Has not

our own imaginative poet cause to fear that future ages will desire to

summon him from his place of rest, as Milton longed

Twice hath Roland Graeme been thus drawn into the household of Avenel

by those who now hold the title. Let them look to the issue."

So saying she left the turret; and the Abbot, after pausing a moment

on her words, which he imputed to the unsettled state of her mind,

followed down the winding stair to celebrate his admission to his high

office by fast and prayer instead of revelling and thanksgiving.