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THE OLIO.

first footmen was as dingy and undiscernible as the fluttering rags of the merry bootless and shoeless boys who shouted before them, as if they would have drowned the clamour of Bow-bells with their "most sweet voices."

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Such was my first Lord Mayor's Show," and "let it be the last:" the undeceiving of all my imaginations of it I have not yet forgiven in the Lord The Mayors' Shows of other years. general impression that it was a melancholy sight, has ever since affected me; and I am not singular in this feeling; for an ingenious friend of mine, who has illustrated Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy," among the other heads into which he divides that hydra-like volume, has one which he calls "the Lord Mayor's Show Melancholy," a mental phantasma, which visits his imagination yearly on the ninth of November, at which time he is impressed with the constant passing and repassing of a dim and half-perceivable show of much-supposed splendour, which gropes its way through the Boeotian fog and Stygian darkness; and then turning about hey presto! there repasses a long continued line of mourning-coaches, as if to shew the serious vanity and ultimate end of all human splendour. Monthly Mag.

A FEW MORE ANECDOTES OF
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

At the taking of the Tuileries, a Student of the Polytechnic School, who was in command of a body of citizens, presented himself at the Gate, and called upon the officer of the post to surrender, if he did not wish to be extermiThe officer renated with all his men. fused, and attempted to fire his pistol, The which, however, missed fire. youth still preserved his self-possession, seized the officer by the breast, and raising his sword, said,-"Your life is in my hands, but I am unwilling to shed blood." The officer, affected by this noble act, took off the insignia of the order he wore, and presented it to the youth, saying-" Brave young man, no one can be more worthy than yourself to wear this sign of honour, accept it from my hands; I am a superior officer and enjoy some reputation, and I am certain of ensuring you the right to wear it. Give me your name." was-"A The only answer returned pupil of the Polytechnic School," and the youth rejoined his comrades.

In one of the skirmishes with the
Royal Guard, that body had, after its
repulse by the citizens, left a piece of
artillery in an unoccupied area, to
which, however, there was still danger
in approaching, on account of the fir-
A pupil of the Polytechnic
ing.
School, who was at the head of the
armed citizens, ran up to the piece,
which he seized with both his hands.
"It is ours," he said, "I will keep it

I will die rather than surrender it."
A cry was heard behind him, "The
brave are dear to us-you will be kill-
The young man
ed-return to us."
heard not a word, but held the piece
more tightly in his embrace, in spite
of a shower of balls which rained
around him. At last the Royal Guard
was obliged to retire still farther by
the fire of the citizens, who were con-
tinually gaining ground, and who at
length reached the piece and saved the
young man who had so bravely seized
it first.

Several pair of new trousers were
Some individuals put
found in one of the barracks of the
gendarmerie.
these trousers on over those which they
were themselves wearing. The trou-
sers were immediately torn to pieces
by their comrades ;-there was
unanimous cry amongst them-" We
came here to conquer, not to rob."

an

M. Tardieu, the celebrated geographical engraver, who is an officer in the National Guards, having received a ball through his thigh, was carried by four of the people home for medical aid. A crowd met them, and demanded The wounded man replied, the news. "There is nothing, my friends, but that we have reconquered our liberty.”

A National Guard, whose wife, alarmed for his safety, had secured him, as she hoped, by locks and bolts, hearing the sound of the toscin, cautiously lowered his arms and accoutrements by a rope into the street, and then let himself down from the first floor, to join his brave companions.

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bowers and May-poles. The injunction of the prophet seemed literally obeyed: "Go forth unto the mount, and fetch olive branches, and pine branches, and myrtle branches, and palm branches, and branches of thick trees.

"So the people went forth and brought them, and made themselves booths, every one upon the roof of his house, and in their courts, and in the courts of the house of God, and in the street of the Water-gate, and in the street of the gate of Ephraim."

It is true, that myrtle or palm did not figure in the numerous bowers which made Lichfield a perfect greenery, but what they wanted in that respect was amply compensated by the pomp attending the erection of the May-pole.* Men, women, and children had gone in groups to the hills, the heaths, and the woods, where they passed the preceding night in various diversions; and that morning they were returning, bringing with them boughs of various trees to adorn the bowers of their houses and courts. The mighty May-pole itself moved like an Indian idol, amidst its exulting votaries. Forty yoke of oxen, each ox having a gaudy nosegay to the tips of his gilded horns, brought home the stately tree. It was adorned with branches of BIRCH, (a tree especially honoured on similar festivals by our Gothic ancestors), bunches of forest leaves, and fragrant flowers,together with thyme, lavender, mint, and other herbs, which, wreathing from top to bottom, displayed at intervals the gay scarlet and gilding with which the pole was coloured. Having brought it to a spacious meadow adjoining the pool of Chadstow, they proceeded to elevate it with great pomp. Richly wrought kerchiefs, and flags of various hues, streamed from it on every side; a gilded effigy with mitre and crosier, representing St. Chad, stood as a weathercock on its summit, while the green turf at its base was strewed with herbs and flowers. The peasants then set up their summer-halls, bowers, and arbours, the various greens being variegated with the narcissus, peony, lilac, tulips, laburnum, &c. arranged in fantastic shapes.

Such was the rustic spectacle that presented itself to Mark Babington, as from the straggling street that led to Chadstow his eye glanced over the blue lake to the Mill-crofts, (as they were termed) the scene of this sprightly pageant. He found the Black Priest in his sacerdotal vestments, reading aloud

See StraIL,

the gospel for the day over St. Chad's well, which, nestling in a sequestered dell under an orchard of filberts and damascenes, was now surrounded by bands of gaily dressed youths and maidens, who had hung its basin with garlands, and strewn on its calm waters their many-coloured posies. When the ceremony was concluded, Mark discovered himself to his uncle, and after a warm and affectionate greeting, learnt that the information of Clarence was but too correct, and that Sir Oliver had received the king's command to confine himself to his house and park at Curborough. Thither, at Mark's earnest request, the priest accompanied his nephew, and by the road learnt with indignant emotion the substance of the last night's conference. It was a delicate, but indispensible point to break to Sir Oliver the residence of Lady Anne Plantagenet at Whichnover, and her actual visit to his own house; equally problematical, too, was the view that the disguised princess might be disposed to take of her probable surrender to the court; but her well-known horror of Vaucler, together with their poofs of his villainous designs, gave thein every reason to hope her acquiescence. Mark learnt that Sir Gilbert himself had quitted Curborough abruptly, but was suspected to be lurking somewhere in the neighbourhood. In these discussions they came in sight of Curboroughhall, and, as the gray turrets disclosed themselves in sunshine from amidst their haughty woods, the ancient banner of Babington displaying its ten torteauxes on a silver field, over the gateway. Mark's heart sank within him at the idea of confessing to his father his share in a procceding which Sir Oliver's punctilious spirit might regard as an outrage on his family

honour.

And here we quit them for the gay scene around the May-pole in the Mill Crofts. It was about noon, when a tall man, habited in gray like a villager, though without any ribbons or poins, entered one of the most retired summer-halls, which, afer having furnished refreshments in rude plenty, was now deserted, like the rest, for the dance, the archery, the quarter-staff, the quoits, &c. on the open meadow. He was accompanied by two others in masquer's attire.

"The Duke of Brittany," said one of the masquers, as they entered, "will not brook any injury to Father Paul."

"The Duke of Brittany, thou foolish

knave! why, 'tis with France himself I have been treating. Ask Julian there if he cannot show you the signet with the three fleur-de-lys."

""Tis most true," said Julian, "but is it wise to reveal ?"

"Pshaw, man!" interrupted he in gray, "this is mine own tried servant! -it is as necessary that he should be in our confidence, as it is his interest to preserve it. What cares Louis for the Babingtons? (and they must be sacrificed)—or Brittany for Anne Plantagenet?-and she shall be mine! By heaven," he added, stamping his heel fiercely, and speaking as to himself, "I never knew that my love was so strong, until vengeance stept in and lent him weapons. Then, turning to the French messenger, he said, "In these missives," (touching an open packet in his hand,) "King Louis stipulates that the moment Lady Anne sets foot on French ground, she is mine, and I and Calais his!"

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Julian bowed assent.

who, not finding the Black Priest at his cell, concluded, from the report of his general habits, that he was at the Maypole, and seeking him there, had proclaimed his office with rather too much pomp for that season of licence, and announced his design too precipitately for the feelings of the peasantry, who all idolized Father Paul. Vaucler, penetrating the circle, saw the poor monk, pale with terror, expecting every moment the threatened violence, though none had been actually inflicted. At this crisis a loud shout from a distant part of the meadow-"The archersthe archers are going to shoot for the grand prize!"-diverted the attention of the rustics, and Vaucler had the satisfaction of seeing them abandon the object of their anger, and hasten in throngs to the shooting butts. He lost no time in conducting the frightened monk to his mule, and after some eager questions, which appeared to be answered to his satisfaction, directed him to Curborough, the governor himself

"When will his vessels appear off quitting the meadow in another directhe coast of Dover ?"

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Julian bowed and quitted the arbour. "And now, my faithful Philip, thy part lies at Whichnover, in what guise thou deemest most fit for thy purpose; if thou canst gain access, the better, if not, let this paper be dropped where it may soon be found; at all events remember that thy sole aim is to lure this dainty bird from her cage. But what now?" he exclaimed, as a violent uproar began to displace the May-pole revels; 66 Away, Philip, we must not

be seen together."

When Sir Gilbert left the arbour, he perceived a man in an ecclesiastical habit surrounded by the rustic revellers, who overwhelmed him on all sides with vociferations of displeasure.

"Shove the black-gown into the pool," shouted one, "we'll teach him to bring his insolent messages here."

"Make him mount the May-pole," cried another," and there let him preach against our good priest."

"By my troth," screamed an old crone, "I have a mind to make his bald pate into a cardinal's cap with my ten nails!"

It was the Lord Prior's apparitor,

tion.

It is not necessary to detail the proceedings at Curborough, further than to state that Sir Oliver Babington, after displaying full as much surprise and vehemence as they expected, was at length induced to listen to the representations of his brother and son, and finally to concur with them heartily in their desire of bringing Vaucler to punishment. In two days, Father Paul repaired to Coventry, in obedience to the apparitor's summons, and before another week elapsed, a king's messenger commanded the attendance of Sir Oliver himself to the important council in St. Mary's hall.

Mark, in the meanwhile, spent much of his time at Whichnover; he had frequently private interviews with Barbara, in which he placed the alarming exigences of their situation in the strongest light, and after successfully combating the scruples of his high-minded mistress, he induced her to aid him in the delicate task of communicating to the princess the precarious safety of her present abode. With undisguised agony did that unfortunate lady receive the appalling intelligence, and, so suspicious are the persecuted, she even began to doubt whether her friends did not intend to make their own peace by betraying her.

One evening towards dusk, as a female servant of the house was passing one of the most private walks of the

garden, she was startled to find herself accosted by an old woman who was standing under the shadow of an enormous mulberry tree.

"Princess," said the crone,-" nay, start not, your disguise cannot conceal you from one who hath long watched in secret over your safety-you are betrayed; the walls of Whichnover are no longer a refuge for you! Read this paper when you are in your chamberbut beware you disclose not its contents!"

Thus saying, the old woman disappeared under the trees with a speed ill suited to her decrepit appearance, leaving the servant rooted to the spot in astonishment. She soon decided, however, on laying the whole mystery before her lady; and repairing to the great tapestried chamber, where Barbara usually sate, paused at the door, and then rapped softly. No answer was given, but the voice as of one weeping violently was heard.

"Urge me no further," it said, in broken accents, "I see my fate, and see, too, that it cannot be avoided save by one immeasurably more dreadful." Barbara's low and soothing tones were then heard, and the other voice replied, "I own it, I own it! you have done all hat honor and pity could have doneonly save me from him, and-" Here the servant knocked more loudly, the Lady of Whichnover hurried to the door, and with manifest sigus of discomposure, asked the maid how she durst intrude on her privacy. The attendant humbly stated the reason of her boldness, and then relating the mysterious adventure in the garden, placed the packet in Barbara's hands, who bidding her retire and be secret, hastily re-entered the apartment.

The fate of Lady Anne had that night been decided. Letters had arrived from the Duke of Clarence, containing the most important matter. The two dukes had pleaded their cause before the king with much acrimony, and it had been terminated by the king allotting certain estates to Gloucester on his marriage with the Lady Anne, while Clarence was suffered to retain the greatest part of her immense estates as co-heiress with his duchess of the great Warwick. The Babingtons' affair was then brought on, and Clarence, after stating that Sir Oliver's hasty and momentary resentment had been fanned into a flame by the artifices of Vaucler, offered to prove by the assistance of Father Paul, the various treasons of that arch-apostate.

The Plack Briest was accordingly summoned from the priory dungeon, whither he had been consigned on his arrival at Coventry, and produced the papers alluded to in an early part of the tale; while, to crown the whole, the dispatches of the French emissary, who had been arrested at Dover for some private brawl, proved the treasonable plot for the surrender of Calais and the abduction of the Lady Anne. A reconciliation had ensued between Sir Oliver and his royal master, who had ever been warmly attached to him, and Father Paul was included in the amnesty, in consideration of his share in the detection of Vaucler. Gloucester, like other deceivers, most indignant at finding himself deceived, vowed vengeance on the perfidious governor, and Clarence had been deputed to state that the Lady Anne would be honourably welcomed at court, and no force put upon her inclinations.

Such was the import of Prince George's letter, on which Mark Babington and the two ladies were conversing when they were so unexpectedly interrupted. The packet which the Mistress of Whichnover now displayed to her astonished guest contained these words-

"If the Lady Plantagenet would save herself from certain danger, by encountering a little hazard, she will appear at the garden postern in the closest disguise, an hour after midnight, on the third night from this. If the next morning beholds her at Whichnover, she is betrayed to ruin,

Signed,-A Friend to the Friendless."

The first result of the deliberations

produced by these letters, was Mark's departure for Coventry ere the next morning's sun-rise. A post arrived on the second day,

"stain'd with the variation of each soil,"

between Coventry and Whichnoverbearing letters which produced a close conference between Barbara and the princess, to which the maiden who had received the mysterious packet was also admitted.

(To be continued.)

ROYAL PORTRAITS.No. 7.
HENRY THE THIRD.
For the Olio.

The ruling passion of this king was avarice, a vice which he inherited from his father; indeed, his demands for fresh supplies were so frequent and so great,

that the Parliament at length refused to comply with his requests, and boldly told him that they had nothing more to grant. His various means of raising money resembled those of John, whom in extortion he far exceeded. Like that king he plundered the Jews; imposed immense fines upon those who were unjustly charged with crimes by his infamous agents, and sold every vacancy in every post or office of emolument. He ratified, to be sure, Magna Charta and the Forest Charter, and enacted the statutes of Merton, Oxford, and Marlborough; but all this was evidently done either to appease the wroth of his incensed subjects, or to cultivate a good understanding with them previously to the proposing of some new tax. No king respected the lives and properties of his subjects less than Henry, for when the people refused to pay his unjust taxes, he took their property from them by force. This oppressive conduct at length roused the indignation of the barons, with whom Henry was embroiled in a civil war. The leader of these proud and warlike spirits was Simon de Montford, and although his hostility to this grasping despot originated in private pique, he did England some service by diverting the mind of Henry from the plunder of his oppressed and insulted people, and the multitudes that assembled under his banner shewed that human patience had been exhausted. Baker says that "the taxations in this king's reign may be reckoned amongst his annual revenues, for scarce a year passed without a Parliament, and seldom any Parliament without a tax." Always poor, he was continually devising means for the raising of money, and we are told that upon one occasion, he said to a certain abbot, "It is more alms to give money to me, than to the beggar who goes from door to door."

Henry's sagacity far exceeded his courage, and his craft served him in lieu of firmness. Hubert de Burgh, a disappointed favourite of his, once said of him to a lady of high birth, whom Henry thought of marrying, that "the king was a squint-eyed fool, and a kind of leper; deceitful, perjured, and more faint-hearted than a woman." The following anecdote will show that Henry had but little courage or presence of mind. "Being once upon the River Thames, he was overtaken by a terrible storm of thunder and lightning, upon which he ordered his attendants to set him ashore at the next stairs," which

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happened to be at Durham House, where Simon de Montford resided. The fierce Earl came down to meet Henry, to whom he remarked that "he need not fear the thunder, for the danger was past." "No, Montford," the king replied, "I fear not the thunder so much as I do thee!" A strange acknowledgment from a monarch.

In justice to Henry, it should be stated that he does not appear to have been sanguinary or vindictive; his worst qualities originated in an inordinate love of money.

Henry was of middle stature, but compact and muscular. One of his eyelids hung down so as to almost conceal his eye, which gave occasion to the indecent remark above quoted. Of the qualities of his mind it may be said that he had nothing in him that was admirable or amiable. Baker commends him for his continency, "which," he says, "is a rare virtue in princes;" but he does not attempt to prove that Henry was continent for conscience sake, or indeed, that he was a man at all likely to practise any kind of self-denial. He died at London, on the 16th day of November, in the year 1272, at the age of sixty-five, and was buried at Westminster. ALPHA.

Illustrations of History.

HISTORICAL NOTES.

For the Olio.

CARDINALS' HATS.

The wearing of red hats by Cardinals was first ordained by Pope Innocent the Fourth, in the reign of our Henry the Third. The reason of this singular appointment is unknown.

JEWS.

The Jews came into England for the first time during the reign of William the Conqueror, who encouraged them to settle in his kingdom.

A MARVEL.

Mathew of Westminster tells us, that in the year 1087, a mortality in England carried off many thousand persons, and that hens, ducks, geese, and other domestic fowls, forsook the habitations of man and became wild!

A COLONY OF FLEMINGS.

During the reign of Henry the First, the sea overflowed a large tract of land in Flanders. Those who escaped sent a deputation over to Henry, requesting

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