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dle shed its long still pencelle upon the waters of the Garonne. The black pile of the vast Chateau rose like a giant over the dim town, and within the wide courts were silent and deserted, and all dark and quiet except the stamp of a horse that waited beside the postern, and one still solitary watch-light that shone in an upper turret. About that light was gathered all the interest of Toulouse, and perhaps an eye, born upon the gifted night,* might have seen the dim spirits leaning together over the turret, speaking the destinies of him, the last of his race, who should inhabit those towers, and who now stood within that dim still room.

It was a small dark turret chamber, hung with coarse arras, and meanly garnished with such furniture as might become the use of a simple esquire, or frugal steward, a low pallet, half concealed by a curtain of blue sey, filled a small recess beyond the hearth, and at its head stood a long white wand and a walking sword in a scabbard of green velvet. A black carved armoire and oak chest occupied the opposite corners, and the remaining space was no more than sufficient for a tall highbacked chair of black leather, and a wide olive wood table on which a number of papers, an almoniere, an aunlace, and a heap of loose gold lay by a wax taper that burned under the rood suspended against the wall.

Earl Raymond stood before the light in his travelling cloak, and his grey seneschal sat in the chair, his embossed hands rested upon his knees, and his white bald brow lifted to the face of his master.

"You know her not," said the Earl, "F, who was nursed on the same breast, rocked by the same hand, have grown with her like the twin bud upon the stalk-I know her and God knows her, the bright noble ladye of the world; -loved her, I will not say how I loved her; she was very lovely to me, but I was only as a brother to her, how could I be more, and the glorious beautiful flower of all chivalry sworn to her service. Alas that he had been true as I was, and I would have been a brother to him, as she was a sister to me! and since I am the last of my race, they should have had fair Toulouse and my

It was an ancient superstition that per

sons born on Christmas-eve were endued with vision sensible of all spirits and supernatural objects. To this cause were referred the dark looks of Philip II. of Spain whose mind was believed to be impressed by awful appearances to which he was subject.

broad Earldom; and I would have been the soldier of the cross, and prayed that they might have been happy.

"God be praised, that has given you to be happy with her yourself," said the seneschal.

Raymond looked upon him as the spirits may look on man that cannot read the secrets of the world above.

"To-night," said he, “I go to the Holy land."

"Blessed saints! and leave your lady?" exclaimed the seneschal.

The Earl's cheek became white as his tabard, but his voice did not change; "Be you very true and gentle to her, as you have ever been to me," said he, "and serve her as if you were born in her father's house, as you were born in mine; and she shall still be your lady, and her lonely orpheline shall be your Earl, when I shall come no more."

"Alas! alas! what is this ?" said the old man.

The Earl stood a moment upon his sword; "You have been young that now are old," said he, "you shall know that a maiden's love is like the sunshine and the sweet moon-light; it must shine in its own summer and its own still hour, and cannot come through the cloud when you shall call it. I will never be the cloud to her face, nor a chain upon the heart, which I bound to me for its redeeming; but she shall be bright and free to shine like the sun upon the flower, and God send a flower to blossom in her, light, and be sweet and bright and grateful to her, as the rose to the morning, when I am-where the sun shall never shine again."

"And you will not come back!" said the old man.

Raymond laid his hand upon the cross- 66 Never

The old man fell upon his knees, and bent his white head upon his master's hand, and wept like a child.

For a long time the count held his trembling hand, and turned away his face, at last, "Aymer!" said he, "God reward your true and faithful service to me; I have done with this world; I was a solitary tree without a parent, a brother, a sister, to fill my heart-the last of my race. She was a very bright flower to me, the rose to my bower, the shrine; I am going to die before the sun to my glory, the lamp to my holy cross as your father and mine; and we shall meet together with them before His glorious throne."

The old man's sobs redoubled, and

for a long while he knelt and wept, and the Earl said no more. At length his sobs subsided, the stamp of a horse came from the gate; the Earl lifted him in silence; for some moments he wrote upon the papers, and set his seal; and the old man told the gold and put it in his purse. The knight took off his hat, and kissed his furrowed cheek, and laid his hand upon his head, and for one moment grasped his hands, and looked upon the cross and turned suddenly to the door. The old man tottered after with the light; but Raymond put him back with his averted hand, and threw the cloak about him, and hurried down the stair. The groom started up in his seat and threw the bridle on the Arab, and Raymond leaped into the saddle; the boy touched his bonnet and said some word, but the Earl gave no answer, and spurring through the gate, took the street towards the east port.

There is a blank in the chronicle of Toulouse; who could tell how Earl Raymond turned his back upon his people, the tower where he was born, the roof where he was nursed, the field where he had plucked the flower and chased the linnet, the garden where the rose of his love had blown-that rose that was blighted, and faded, and never should bloom again-to him!

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The monk did not write of it in his book, nor the troubadour sing of it in his song; they said only, Raymond de Toulouse shaped the cross on his sleeve and went to Holy Land."

It was the third evening after the Earl and his company arrived at Acre. The men at arms were busily disembarking their horses to go forward for Jerusalem, and the knight sat upon a stone.by the beach, looking on the bright water and the sun that was going down, red and still, and far away in France. While he yet gazed, a slender boy, in the dress of a page, came down the sand; he stopped and hesitated, and looked towards the knight as he approached, but at last he came to his side. Sir Raymond did not look up, and the boy stood and held his bonnet and twisted the feather, and the colour went and came in his face, "Sir Earl" said he, at last. Raymond started as if one had struck him on the cheek, and at the sight of his face leaped from the stone and turned as white as clay. It was a moment before his look came back.

"What would you, fair childe?" said he gently. The tears came into the eyes of the timid boy. "Sir !" said he, "I am an orphan child. My Lord, that was very kind to me, is dead; I would serve you if it please you.'

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The Earl's breast rose, and he turned away, and looked upon the sea :-at last, "From what country-what is your name?" said he

"Albert de la feuille morte," replied the boy," my father was of Provence," and his breath fluttered as if the memory of his father and his land rose in his heart.

"And have you no friends?" said Sir Raymond.

"I had one," replied the child. "And where is he?" asked the knight.

The boy turned away, and down upon the grass, and leaned his head upon

a stone.

The Earl took his dark hand, and the tears came to his eyes as he looked upon the slender fingers; "Alas!" said he, "this was never meant to burnish a helm, and hold a black stirrup!"

"I will be very proud to hold the stirrup of a Knight of Jesv Christ,"* said the child.

The Earl stood still for a moment, and held his hand with a grasp from which a mailed wrist might have shrunk, but the boy did not shrink nor tremble.

"God save you, gentle child !"said the Earl at last-"if you will be pleased to serve me, I will be-not a master-but a brother to you while I am in this world; and when I am gone God will be a Father."

The page fell upon his knee, and kissed his hand, and the tears trickled fast to the stone which was wet as the dew where his cheek had lain. The Earl did not speak, but raised him gently, and turned towards the town. As they went, he spoke him softly, and glanced to his dark beautiful features and faded habit; he looked yet scarce sixteen years and wore the simple hose and green kirtle, such as usually the dress of pages in the south of France; but except for this, and his accent, his complexion was so dark; and his short curling hair so raven black, none had believed that he had ever known another country than Greece or Syria. The

*There was an Order of this title, but at an earlier period it was applied generally to Christian knights, and in particular to the Knights of the Croisade.

Earl discoursed him as they went, and wondered at his "Gentilesse," and learning; and when he came to his inn, bestowed him in the especial charge of his old minstrel.

"Here is a flower that I did not think to find in this desart world," said

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he; I pray you be very gentle to

him."

walked before the tent, the whisper of shrift and absolution, where the knights made "a clean breast" for the "battle of God," and the rest in which so many should sleep when the night should come again.

Earl Raymond lay asleep in his tent, his banner by his side, and his sword at his head, where he had knelt before it when the sun went down. Albert sat by his shoulder, his pale brow fixed upon his face, and his still fingers rested on his crucifix. You could not see the breath come and go upon his lips. "The broad hand of the knight lay unbent upon the pillow, and his pale face calm, and his dark brow clear and smooth as a sleeping child. Albert had never before seen the deep frown relax from his front in all the nights that he had looked upon it. For a moment he glanced up, and a flush came to his cheek, and a light to his eyes; but all tears were gone, and they looked full and still as the calm stars that were above him. For an instant his lips moved, and he gazed upward ; but again his eyes returned to the pallet, and his features to their watch.

The old man was himself a Proven cal, and he laid his pillow in the alcove, and set his meat as if he had been his own son, and took his harp and played to him till he wept himself asleep like a stilled infant. 66 Certainly,' Isaid he, when the Earl asked about him the next day," never such a gentle child served among stern war men!"-And in a little time, "Le page noir was the mignon of all the court." Unless at his service, however, he was always sad and alone, and never spoke of his native land and former days; and if the rude men urged him, he turned away, and the tears came to his eyes, and he would go to the sand or the rampart, though the sun was never so hot, or the wind never so wild.

At length, upon the morrow of St. Turiel, the Earl and all the Knights in Acre set out for Jerusalem, on sudden news that the great assault should be given in six days. Through all that long and terrible march,* Albert rode beside the stirrup of Sir Raymond, and when the Syrian sun burned at noon, and the "dead wind" blew at night, he never ate till he had eaten, nor drank till he had drunk, and served him at his board, and watched by him when he slept. When the heart of many a knight sunk in his hauberk, and the eye of the night guard closed under his helmet. Albert sat beside him and fanned away the fly from his cheek and the mouse from his pillow, and looked upon his face; and when his lips shrunk, and his brow came dark, dropped his beads, and raised the cross, and said-"God give thee rest!"

It was the night before the assault. The camp was still and quiet, and no sound came through the tents but the fitful stamp of a horse at the picket, or the distant clank of a hammer at the forge, where some man-at-arms still waited his armour for the morning. The stars shone bright upon the dark field, and at times the watch might hear the night-call upon Jerusalem; and, as he

*It must be remembered that this was in the twelfth century, and in time of war-now it is only a ride of three days,

It

All night he sat, and by degrees every sound died away; but the horse was still at his picket, and the sentinel at his post, and for a short while there was a deep death stillness and all was hushed in heaven and on the earth. was the dead hour-the turning of the tide-when the soul passes, and the spirits in the grave are loosed--slowly a faint sweet strain of music came by on the silence, and voices sung in the air:

"Blessed is the heart when the sin-stain has gone;

Blessed is the brow that His light shines upon

יי!

And ever a pale still light shone upon the brow of Albert, while he sat fixed and quiet as if he heard no sound, and felt no light; and, whether it was the monks that sung in the valley, and the moon that looked into the tent-but never song was so sweet on earth, and never light shone so fair upon a mortal brow.

At length a faint stir began to come from the field; and at intervals the jingle of bridles, the stamp of hoofs, the baying of a hound, and a sudden foot passing quickly by the tent. In a short while the far cry of the mollahs could be heard upon the towers, and the pale grey dawn stole dimly through the curtain of the tent. Albert sat, and fixed his eyes upon the light, as now a horse,

and now a man came by, and now could be distinguished the tread of heavy feet pouring through the sand. Suddenly a trumpet sounded at a distance, and the page started up, and laid his hand upon the breast of the Earl. Raymond awoke. "The first trumpet has sounded," said the page.

The knight rose bastily, and put on his helm and hauberk. Albert laced his casque, and buckled the spur to his heels, and the broad belt to his side; and the Earl knelt down before his sword, and dropped his beads, and looked upon the cross with a look that made Albert's cheek come pale. In a few moments he rose and grasped the page's hand, and laid his broad mailed glove upon his head, and sat down to the little table beside the pallet. Albert served his frugal meal, and took his trencher to sit by the door; but the Earl made him sit beside him at the same dish.

"It is the last that I may eat," said he, "There will be no sult* between me and thee where we shall meet again."

Albert bent, his head over the board, and said no word; but the large round tear fell on his plate.

The short meal passed in silence, and the haste of those who every moment expect to hear the trumpet sound to arms. As soon as it was ended, the Earl rose up and crossed himself, and gave his hand to the page, and drank the grace cup; and when Albert had pledged him, he went to his mails, and took out a heavy purse, and loosed from his neck a little white cross,"Dear and faithful child," said he, "God be gracious to you, and give you peace," He put the purse into his hand." When thou and I shall part, return to thy country, and if thou hast none better to mine, where thou shalt find a very gentle mistress, who will be to thee all that I would be."

Albert took the purse, and looked calm in his face, and bowed his head, and said him-" Yes."

The Earl looked on him for a moment, but his eyes did not change. 66 Brave and constant child," he said, God shall not forsake thee; and now -for none may know His will to-day -take this little cross that must not fall among His enemies. If He give us the victory, thou shalt bury it with me in this holy Earth; but if in the great

The great salt-cellar was the division between the gentles" and the "simples" who sat at the same table in the old time.

press, or the day shall go against us, and I may not be found, take it with thee, give it to my lady, from whom I had it, and say, Raymond of Toulouse is gone to his rest."

Albert had not changed before; but at the sight of that cross, and the sound of those words, his colour went out of his face, and the hand that he held out fell to his side, and he sunk down at the feet of the Earl. Raymond lifted him to the pallet, and snatched the cruce, and hastened to loose his collar. The hand of the page closed upon his arm, and he opened his eyes, and sat upright. For an instant he gazed half conscious to the light; but there was no tear in his eyes, and no flutter in his breast, and he rose up to take the Earl's command.

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Alas, my child," said Raymond, "thou art spent and overwatched. Thy feeble body is too frail for thy spirit. Lie down and rest, and fear not--all will be well."

He put the cross upon his neck, and made him lie on the pallet, and covered him with his cloak, and taking his banner went out hastily from the tent.

Albert started up and gazed after him, and looked upon the cross, and wept, and knelt, and laid it on his head and bowed his forehead on the mat that had been touched by the helmet of the Earl. Suddenly the trumpet began to sound, the quick clank of arms, and the deep tramp of horses went past as if the earth moved around him. Albert dropped the jewel, and listened, and gazed where the heavy sound went by. The long succesive tramp continued without intermission, till a shock like a clap of thunder burst upon the stillness, and a far fearful rolling surge of shouts went up to heaven like the roar of a tempest. In another moment the whole camp seemed to tremble, bolt after bolt shook the walls of the city, and the mingled cries and shouts, and clash of arms, spread like a stream from the breach; and as the tongues of the hundred nations rose and fell, came suddenly the faint shout of the French, "Mont Joye St. Denis!!* Albert started from the ground. and braced his dagger, and did on his bonnet, and rushed out from the tent.

To be concluded in our next.

SINGULAR ADDRESS ON A GRAVE-
STONE AT LUTON.

"Reader, I've left a world in which
I had a world to do;
Sweating and fretting to be rich,
Just such a fool as you!"

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TO THE EDITOR OF THE OLIO.

SIR-When the last communication found favour in thine eyes, and thou wast pleased that I should continue another chapter for thine edification and thy readers thereunto, I did not contemplate the time would extend to this moment ere I should redeem my pledge. But we are short-sighted creatures, and cannot calculate on the op portunity once deferred being re-offered for our filling it. Little did I think that I should be compelled to quit the pleasant situation I occupied in the South Parade, Bath, to encounter the tedious and trying experience of a voyage to Calcutta ; and after remaining there nine months in active service, and enduring intense heat, I should have returned to my old cronied spot; but with a scirrhus liver, a jaundiced complexion, and a heart worn thin with care and ossification. But it happeneth with me as with Moliere, that, though I fall into

the

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sear and sickly leaf," my spirits are often buoyant, and my thoughts recur to the days when my observation was more lucid and my humour more rich. In one of these veins of concentrated whim, I cannot refrain giving thee a description of some choice spirits that made a great noise and cut a great figure in Bath. Among whom were two cunning, old, blind men, who made the Parade their daily resort; but on Sundays they were led into the Abbey Church-yard by a simple looking boy, and placed on each side of the porch door on their knees, each with a club stick, with their caps before them, to ask alms.

I need not, surely, tell thee in full how fervently they implored the want of eleemosynary aid! In their persons they were similar, tall in stature, with awful upturned eyeballs and visages of

* Vide Olio, iv. 311.

unusual length of portraiture,-bald in crown and grey in chin. In their attitude of beseeching, their hands were clasped like the lazars on the painted glass, and they stretched forth their tones in the deepest diapason of the human voice: Pity the poor stone blind!Remember the poor stone blind!-Good gentlefolks, have mercy on the poor stone blind!"

If these two men were not originals, Hogarth never painted-Garrick never represented. Their manner, matter, general contour and conduct, rivetted every ear and attracted every eye. The boy coming out of the church held his father's hand back to gaze at them; the young lady slackened her pace from mamma to cast a piteous glance at them

the admiral rested on his crutch, and the spark twirled his cane to make a it be true-and who will doubt it?sonorous clink in the rimless hats. If

that the blind are sensitive of sound in

proportion to their loss of vision, these of Bladud, with a pair of crumpets on blind twins, the Bartimeuses of the city their faces, could hear the companionforce to which their echo of praise was ship of copper drop with very tenacious offered with joyous quickness; such as made their hearts glad and their sightless orbs quiver. Thou can'st not imagine the effective transition which they made from the larghetto movement of "" n-d-uh!" with a heaving up of the Pity-the-poor-stone-B-l-iwhole frame, as if they were just about to exhaust their whole spiritual faculty by imploration, and the triple presto utterance of "the Lord ward ye," as the donation fell patly into their possession. Now, there was a very elderly antiquated lady, who was pitted as well as Sunday to hear the Cathedral service. petted, brought in her chair every Some whispered that she was a dowager duchess-some said she was one of the tabbys satirised in the Bath Guide, belonging to

"Lord Ringbone, who lay in the parlour below. 'On account of the gout he had got in his toe." Be this so or not, the lady attended her prayers, dressed in expensive

"Gauzes, tippets, ruffs,

Fans and hoods and feather'd muffs,
Stomachers and Paris-nets,
Ear-rings, necklaces, aigrets,
Fringes, blonds and mignionets;
Fine vermillion for the cheek,
Velvet patches a la Grecque."

And, moreover, to her credit be it spoken, she exercised the duties of charity in an eminent degree, but to

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