MAN! The silence of the tomb will be broken; the corruption of the grave will be overcome, and Immortality, glorious and happy Immortality, will burst upon its inhabitant! Child of Mortality!weep no longer when thou reflectest upon DEATH, for it is the harbinger of ETERNAL LIFE! R. JARMAN.

HUMPHREY THE HOMICIDE.
A TALE OF PYPE-HALL.

BY HORACE GUILFORD.
For the Olio.

THE CHAPLAIN S STORY.
Continued from p. 422.

"Where is Marmaduke, Redmayne?" asked the Lady Chetwynd, but no Redmayne answered; the mother's fears were instantly in arms, she looked eagerly around, and observing neither Marmaduke nor his attendant, she uttered a cry of terror, while Sir Valentine, more composed, but equally anxious, chid Magdalene for her unreasonable fears.

"Doubtless," he said, "Felix hath taken him to view the procession; but I will seek him myself."

From aisle to aisle, from chapel to chapel, flew the fond father; the Galilee, the Baptistory, nay, the very Crypts themselves were searched, but in vain. One whom he met informed him that he had seen a boy seemingly of noble nurture roaming towards the choir as the procession approached. Another stated that shortly after he had been wildly interrogated by a man in some knight or nobleman's livery, respecting the same child, while a third, who knew Felix Redmayne, said that he had seen him about half an hour since, descend like one possessed the steps at the South Gate,-throw himself on a horse, and gallop off in the direction of Black Friars.

On returning in the keenest agonies to the aisle where he had left his party, he found there only a single attendant, who informed him that shortly after his departure Sir Humphrey Stanley had seemed like one to whom a horrid dream suddenly recurs, and wildly exclaiming, "The Spaniard! the Spaniard!" had rushed abruptly from the church, after giving brief orders to his attendants, who dispersed in all directions. The Lady Magdalene had been conveyed in violent tits to the palace, whither their highnesses in great grief had accompanied her. In short, the child was lost, and Felix Redmayne was no more to be seen.

The result of this most unhappy affair soon involved both parties in still deeper evils. Sir Humphrey, in the first agonies of his remorse, accused himself before the King and Council of having hired a Spanish attendant of Chetwynd's, who had some grudge against his master, either to assassinate Sir Valentine, or make away with the boy, as he found opportunity. And though this was done in the most pathetic strain of repentance (for Sir Humphrey's smallest impulses of good or evil knew no bounds,) the avaricious Henry seized the golden occasion which he never neglected, of converting offences into a source of lucre to himself. A fine to the enormous amount of 1500 marks was levied on Sir Humphrey's estates. It may be expected that Sir Valentine could not effectually conceal his dislike of an enemy who, though repentant, had thus cruelly bereft him. Even Magdalene could now scarcely look upon her father without shuddering. Thus beset, the unhappy Stanley's remorse, long preying on his own fierce heart, at length sought relief by venting itself in his old hatred,—and the darkest and most determined purposes of revenge took possession of his turbulent mind. His was now a mixture of feelings, wherein real sorrow for the injury, which had recoiled upon himself, was strangely blended with increased animosity towards him whom he had injured. He even endeavoured, with the sophistry common to desperate crime, to encourage himself in his hatred by imputing to Valentine the miseries he had brought upon himself, and he was heard one moment to mourn bitterly over his lost grandchild, and the next to rejoice that the house of his enemy was left desolate.

For about the space of a year after the occurrences we have described, Sir Valentine and Lady Chetwynd remained in strict seclusion at Ingestre, and even then it was with difficulty that they forced themselves to comply with the solicitations of the Lord Ferrers, who, with a view to dissipate their deep melancholy, had pressed them to visit him for a space at his Castle of Chartley. This noble pile, destined ere long to be a deserted and dismantled ruin, was then adorned with all the feudal appendages, of boldly-sweeping ramparts, spacious courts, and lofty buildings. The tall and massive Donjon, with its state apartments, the chapel within the area, the great and gloomy gateway, with its turrets and machioco

lations, the grand but irregular circuit of the outer walls, and the picturesque variety of the towers, round, square, and octagon, broad and heavy, or tall and graceful, still gleamed in the sun over their green woods and grassy glades. The power of the feudal nobility was now, however, thoroughly broken by the politic Henry. Most of them finding that the advantages they used to derive from their gigantic holds no longer existed, began with one accord to desert them for more commodious habitations and shortly after the period of this story, the fortress of Randal Bondeville shared the fate of other baronial castles. Thither, then, did Sir Valentine and Lady Chetwynd repair, and mingled in the usual amusements of the day. The sylvan domain of Chartley, with its breed of wild cattle, its herds of deer, and flights of wood and water fowl, afforded abundant opportunities for hunting and hawking, and Sir Valentine willingly strove to forget for awhile his griefs in the stirring excitement of these sports.

One day, as the lordly train went galloping over the magnificent drawbridge over the Trent near Haywood, consisting of forty arches, their feathers streaming in the air, their bridles ringing, and their gay attire glancing gorgeously in a calm October sunshine, Sir Valentine Chetwynd, who was the last of the party, was joined by a horseman, who, as well as his steed, showed every token of furious riding. The effect of this fellow's intelligence (whoever he might be,) was wonderful; the pale dejection of his brow vanished, gleams of long absent joy lighted up his beautiful countenance, and after an eager and rapid interchange of questions and replies, he gave his able horse the head, and returned at full speed, accompanied by the strange horseman to Chartley Castle.

The gloomy grandeur of the towers and forest-trees of Ingestre were glowing in the western light of a red tempestuous sunset, when Chetwynd and his lady, with a small attendance, amongst whom was the strange horseman, passed from under the autumnal foliage of a thick coppice upon the dreary range of Tixal Heath. The evening mists were rising, and the evening gusts swept over the moor with the hollow moaning sound prelusive of the rising storm, and as the horse-hoofs fell noiseless on the blue harebell and yellow tormentil that sprinkled the short herbage of the mossy turf, you might,

hear the wind hissing among the beds of purple heather and golden gorse, and clattering the black pods of the spiky broom.

They were approaching those two mounds called the King's and the Queen's Low, when they perceived in front a considerable body of men coming at full speed from the opposite verge of the moor. As they drew near, Valentine and Magdalene observed that they were completely armed, and the former, turning fiercely upon the strange horseman, exclaimed,

"Villain! you have betrayed us!"

"You have betrayed yourself, Sir Knight," said the man, looking anxiously to the troop that now rapidly advanced upon them, and at the same time retreating from Valentine. "I am true to my master-he bade me promise you tidings of your son, and from him, doubtless, you will hear them."

"Thou, at least, shalt not triumph in thy treason," said the Knight; and drawing his sword, spurred his horse against him; but by this time they were completely surrounded by the armed men, who called upon him to surrender.

"Fly, Magdalene!" said Sir Valentine; "that road to the left will bring thee in ten minutes to Ingestre; thou mayest send those who will save or avenge me! Berdmore and Langtry, do as I do!"

And with these words he made a desperate onset on the left of his opponents, and assisted by his two men, succeeded in making an opening, through which Magdalene's horse darted, and skimmed like lightning along the heath in the direction of Ingestre. This accomplished, Valentine fell back to his other followers, about six or eight in number, and with them maintained for some time a valiant but hopeless fight against a score of men, for their antagonists were of that force. His attendants were at length slain or disabled, but not till they had thinned the ranks of their assailants.

Sir Valentine himself had engaged hand to hand with their leader, whose gigantic figure spoke too plainly who he was, and the desperation with which the Knight of Ingestre fought, equalized for some time the odds of bodily strength between the combatants, when a piercing cry from Magdalene, whose flight had been pursued and overtaken, threw him for a moment off his guard, and a dreadful thrust from his adversary, grinding through his shoulder and bo

som, stretched him senseless on the heath, just as the Lady Chetwynd was brought back by two horsemen. Midnight had passed on this eventful day, and Lady Eleanor Stanley was alone in the chapel at Pype-Hall. The wind groaned through its narrow aisle, and the two waxen tapers fluttering in the gusts, shed their melancholy ray down the darkness, from the altar before which the sad lady was kneeling in perturbed devotion. An accumulation of griefs had worn her fragile frame to a mere skeleton, and the frightful apprehensions which now haunted her, seemed to shake her very life. To see her now wringing her attenuated palms in prayer; now lifting her eyes in tearless agony to the light: and ever and anon bending sidelong her haggard cheek, and shuddering as if she listened amidst the pauses of the storm for other sounds more terrible, you would have thought that soul and body were about to be torn asunder.

At length, the lady's terrified expectations seemed realized; the great bell at the gateway was rung violently, the trampling of men and horses were heard in the courts; and at the sound, though trembling violently, Lady Stanley quit ted the chapel, and summoning her attendants, who preceded her with lights, repaired to the outer quadrangle.

Mere narrative would vainly attempt to convey an idea of the spectacle which there presented itself. The whole household summoned by the bell had flocked into the courts; their blazing torches flinging a swarthy and umbered light upon the tall buildings; while the figures that stood revealed by the flambeaux-appalling enough in themselves -shewed in the smoky red lustre, like the hideous phantasmagoria of a dream. In the midst was the huge form of Sir Humphrey still on horseback; his vizor was up, and his features, writhed into their most fearful expression, received additional horror from several streaks of blood, which also painted his armour, and mingled with the flecks of foam upon his sable steed. He was in the act of speaking as Lady Stanley entered the court, and his arm was extended towards the wounded and blood-streaming figure of Sir Valentine, who, supported by two attendants, only gave evidence by short thick gasps that he still breathed. On the other side was the miserable Magdalene, in almost as piteous a plight as her husband; her dress dishevelled, her hair streaming in the wind, and her countenance ex

pressive of a vague horror, resembling that of a maniac.

"Welcome, welcome!" shouted the savage voice of Sir Humphrey; "welcome gallant bridegroom to our halls; if you left them somewhat too privately, at least you have returned to them with public honour! And you, Mistress Magdalene, have you learnt at last what a father can do when his child has made him mad? Ha! ha! had you left me amongst you a gleam of reason, I had never ordered this gear so bravely!"

Lady Chetwynd gazed on her father for a moment, and then with a desperate cry she burst from the men who held her, and rushing to her husband knelt by him, took his languid head on her knees, staunched with her scarf his flowing blood, and bent over him murmuring low such broken ejaculations of grief and affection, as might have melted a heart of stone; but Stanley's was a heart of fire at that moment.

"Tear them asunder!" he exclaimed, "hurl them into the Mazmorra and let him live or die as he may!"

But here the Lady Stanley interfered. She approached her cruel husband, and though her frame trembled with emotion, her eye was lighted up with awful energy, and her voice was that of authority.

"Husband!" she said, laying her hand upon his bloody rein, her deep clear tones thrilling through every heart. "Husband, your reason hath deserted you, and if mine is still spared amidst horrors that might well unthrone it, 'tis because heaven wills that I, a weak woman, I a wife, that never yet questioned your pleasure, should now assume the command which you can no longer exercise. You cannot-you dare not-you shall not proceed in this horrible work!"

A wild stare and a laugh too dreadful to be imagined, was Stanley's only answer, and his wife resumed

"You shall not complete a deed which will make these very walls crash over our heads. I, Ellen Lee, forbid it!-Vassals!" she continued, convey forthwith Sir Valentine Chetwynd to the best chamber; let the leech be in waiting, and on your peril see that his hurts have careful tendance."

She then approached Lady Chetwynd, who, regardless of all around, hung in agony over her bleeding husband

"Alas! Magdalene," she began; but here the mother's fortitude gave way, and crying in accents of maternal

The whole lane rings with music from one end to the other. Nothing in rural poetry seems complete without the nightingale. How could the Italian poets do without their "vago angelletto," this charming little bird? ARIOSTO makes her sing as far north as Scotland, where her song was never heard."

Before closing our notice of this volume, we cannot refrain from remarking the low price at which it is published. Here is a book well printed, and contains 383 pages for four shillings and sixpence. Will not some of our London booksellers take a hint from this?

period, they were then first regulated by distinct laws.

In England they did not appear till several years later, when the Normanı manners introduced after the conquest had completely superseded the custom☛ of the Saxons.

Thus much has seemed necessary to me to say concerning the origin of tournaments, as there are so many common fables on the subject which give far greater antiquity to the exercise than that which it is entitled to claim.

The ceremonies and the splendour of the tournament of course differed in different ages and different countries; but the general principle was the same. It was a chivalrous game, originally instituted for practising those exercises, and acquiring that skill which was likely to be useful in knightly warfare.

A tournament was usually given upon the occasion of any great meeting, for either military or political purposes. Sometimes it was the king himself who sent his heralds through the

land to announce to all noblemen and

ladies, that on a certain day he would hold a grand tournament, where all brave knights might try their prowess.

At other times a tournament was determined on by a body of independent knights; and messengers were often sent into distant countries to invite all gallant gentlemen to honour the passage of arms.

usually in the immediate neighbourThe spot fixed upon for the lists was the shields of the various cavaliers hood of some abbey or castle, where to view for several days previous to the who purposed combating were exposed meeting. A herald was also placed beneath the cloisters to answer all quesreceive all complaints against any intions concerning the champions, and to dividual knight. If, upon investigation, the kings of arms and judges of the field found that a just accusation was laid against one of the knights proposing to appear, a peremptory command excluded him from the lists; and if he dared in despite thereof to present himself, he was driven forth with blows and ignominy.

Round about the field appointed for the spectacle were raised galleries, scaffoldings, tents, and pavilions, decorated with all the magnificence of a luxurious age. Banners and scutcheons, and bandrols; silks and cloth of gold, covered the galleries and floated round the field; while all that rich garments