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he nor his army can pass this way, he must seek out some other road."

Not less vain were the good offices of the pious cardinals, mediators for peace sent by Pope Clement from Avignon, to stand, if it were possible, betwixt the living and the dead, and stay the plague of war. King Edward held in his iron glove the fair prize for which he had waited so patiently, and paid so dear; if force of arms could not unlock his gripe, he was little likely to relax it in obedience to the voice of the Holy Church; ay, though if, instead of meekly whispering intercession, she had spoken in thunder.

One morning, at dawn, the hill of Sandgatte loomed dim through thick smoke-wreaths: Philip had fired his tents, and now was falling back, to hide his shame and disband his vassals within the walls of Amiens. And soon, of all that great host, no traces were left save the blackened ruins of their encampment; and dismantled wains, surrounded by frequent corpses of stragglers, that lay along the road nearly up to the city gates, showed how mercilessly the English horsemen had harassed the rear of the retreat.

No marvel if the tough hardihood of Calais was fairly broken at last-no marvel if John de Vienne, still sick of his sore wounds, yielded to the prayer of the weak, piping voices, and wild, hollow eyes that encompassed him. Nay, who shall blame those unhappy citizens if, in agony of spirit, they trampled under foot the banner they had upheld so long, whilst they hoisted the English ensign in token of surrender.

Then ensued one of those famous passages wherein history treads so closely on the verge of romance that the two seem for awhile as one. But that scene in the conquerors' pavilion-the six noble hostages kneeling humbly, yet not cravenly, in the midst; the shame and anger of Manny and his peers, whose intercession had been denied; the King, with his dark, passionless face set in the same cold smile as it wore at Crecy, when he would send no help to his first born at his sorest need, but bade him win his spurs alone; the pale, beautiful Queen-paler yet with languor of imminent travail-whose pleading at the last prevailed;--all these things have been portrayed so often by pen and pencil that they shall not be touched here.

One word only. There have been raised since grave historic doubts whether all this be not a flattering legend, designed to embellish the fairly-written volume that Jehan de Froissart laid at Phillippa's fcet. Yet surely those who cavilled not at the honour of Leonidas,

The Fortunes of a Free Lance.


Decins, and Maccabee, might have been content not to meddle with the wreath that posterity has hung over the ashes of Eustace de St. Pierre and those other five who laid down their lives so royally. Was it worth while to undergo the shame of the halter, the sorrow of the parting, and the long bitterness of anticipated death-only to find. matter for some pragmatical schoolman, or critic who would thrive on literary infidelity?

Howsoever these things may have been, in some kind or other Calais paid her heavy accompt. Yet the mercies of her conqueror were very cruel: of all that he found alive within the walls Edward suffered none to abide, save some three or four grey-beards, whose knowledge of the place was useful for the establishment of the new colonists; for the rest, such as bore arms, when they were fit to travel, betook themselves to Guisnes; the others were fain to seek for a livelihood and home as best they might, if they chose not to ask alms by the wayside. Very soon the streets, through which lately only a few gaunt, famine-stricken shadows had wandered, begun to be thronged with bluff English faces. For not only from London came at the King's behest two score citizens of substance and repute, with their families, 'prentices, and craftsmen; but Kent sent over her woolstaplers, curriers, yeomen-sturdy saplings who cared not a whit for transplanting, so their roots were wet with the golden stream.

On a certain day, it chanced that Sir John Hawkwood went to wait on Sir Walter Manny-under whose immediate command he was then placed-taking with him his esquire. As the two turned a street-corner, they came full on a decent-looking burgess, evidently one of the new-comers. As the knight passed, the man just lifted his hand to his cap; but when he came close to Ralph Brakespeare, who walked some paces in the rear, he doffed it and louted low, muttering some words of salute. Much to the other's discomfiture, the youth passed on, taking no more heed of the courtesy than if he had been deaf or blind. Whilst the honest currier lingered there with a blank look of angry surprise on his face, he was accosted by Gian Malatesta; who, loitering in the sun--as was his wont when not on duty, or over the wine-cup-had witnessed what had passed from the other side of the street, and crossed over unperceived. The Italian was too wary at once to broach the subject of his curiosity; so he began with some commonplace question as to the whereabouts of a cordwainer of some repute, intimating that he judged from the other's appearance that he spoke to one of the trade; when he had been

satisfied on these points, or sufficiently so for his purpose, Malatesta, with glib and courteous thanks, turned as though to depart; but saddenly, as if recollecting himself, he said carelessly :—

"If I err not, worthy sir, there is some acquaintance betwixt thee and yonder fair youth, albeit he did strangely slight thy greeting."

The bluff burgess shook his head rather sorrowfully; for his shortlived anger was passed.

"I have good reason to know him "he answered. "Was I not nurtured within a mile of the castle of his father-erst time my very good Lord? Marry, I was right loath to lose sight of Bever keep, when mine uncle would have me to Sandwich to help him in his trade. Though, I thank the saints, I have thriven since not ill. I mind him, from the time when he scarce could sit astride on a warsaddle, till he grew up into a proper stripling, well nigh as tall, though not so stalwart as he now is. Then, though he was seldom merry of mood, and brooked no license, he had ever gentle word and kindly look both for vassal and villein; and, if we wended the same road, he thought not scorn of my poor company. I marvel what hath changed him. Right sure I am that he knew me when our eyes met, though 'tis years since we foregathered."

The Italian's black bushy brows were bent as if in thought or displeasure.

"How callest thou the lord his father? And canst expound unto me, wherefore the heir of a noble house taketh service and wage of a simple man-at-arms ?"

"Sir Simon Dynevor begat him "-the other made answer—“ but I said not Messire Ralph was the heir. The knight was duly wedded in his early youth to a daughter of Warenne, whose blood to the full matched his own. But Holy Church disallowed the marriage, for that those two were over close of kin; and the poor lady died, as I have heard, in her first travail; so the child was cheated of his heritage. What name he chooses now to bear, I know not; but in old times they yeleped him ever Fitzwarenne."

Malatesta's lip curled slightly, though his brow lowered still.

"A bastard, I fear me"--he said, smoothly-" in the eyes of the law, though 'tis a hard case and a piteous.. Yet I blame Ralph Brakespeare- such is his title now-in that he demeaned himself so haughtily towards thee but now. True it is that he hath lately been advanced to be osquire to Sir John Hawkwood, under whom I, too, serve as

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vintenar. "Tis a way of the world, as doubtless has not escaped thine experience; new honours make men forget old friends."

"Nay, not so"--the other returned sturdily. "Messire Ralph is none of such time-serving coistrels. Neither is advancement to esquire's estate such credit to his father's son, that he should wax misproud thereafter. He changed not his title, I dare be sworn, for shame or fear and for his demeanour anon he had reason good. he speak not next time we foregather, I will not chafe thereat, neither will I accost him; but only, under my breath, wish him God-speed."

The Italian's smile waxed insolent and bitter.


"A most Christian currier-he said-" such an one as hath scarce been seen since St. Paul wrought at thy trade. Heaven keep thee in such holy frame! With which benison I dismiss thee to thy sport or business."

So, leaving his companion more puzzled than he had found him, Malatesta strode away, mullering through his beard as he went

"No beggar's brat, after all, but nobly born: so nobly that--but for a priest's juggle-he might he carried his head as high as he listed. By the blood of Bacchus! I hate him threefold more than I did yester-even; and that is no light word."

Walt Whitman."


THE grossest abuse on the part of the majority, and the wildest panegyric on the part of a minority, have for many years been heaped on the shoulders of the man who rests his claim for judgment on the book of miscellanies noted below. Luckily, the man is strong enough, sane enough, to take both abuse and panegyric with calmness. He believes hugely in himself, and in the part he is destined to take in American affairs. He is neither to be put down by prudes, nor tempted aside by the serenade of pipes and timbrels. A large, dispassionate, daring, and splendidly-proportioned animal, he remains unmoved, explanatory up to a certain point, but sphinx-like when he is questioned too closely on morality or religion. Yet when the enthusiastic and credulous, the half-formed, the inquiring, youth of a nation begin to be carried away by a man's teachings, it is time to inquire what these teachings are; for assuredly they are going to exercise extraordinary influence on life and opinion. Now, it is clear, on the best authority, that the writer in question is already exercising on the youth of America an influence similar to that exercised by Socrates over the youth of Greece, or by Raleigh over the young chivalry of England. In a word, he has become a sacer vates—his ministry is admitted by palpable live disciples. What the man is, and what the ministry implics, it will not take long to explain. Let it be admitted at the outset, however, that we are in concert with those who believe his to be a genuine ministry, large in its spiritual manifestations, and abundant in capability for good.

Sprung from the masses, as he himself tells us, Walt Whitman has for many years lived a vagabond life, labouring, as the humour seized him, and invariably winning his bread by actual and persistent industry. He has been alternately a farmer, a carpenter, a printer. He has been a constant contributor of prose to the Republican journals. He appears, moreover, at intervals, to have wandered over the North American continent, to have worked his way from city to city, and to have consorted liberally with the draff of men on bold and equal conditions. Before the outbreak of the war, he was to be found dwelling in New York, on "fish-shape Paumanok," basking there in the rays of

* Walt Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," "Drum-Taps," etc. New York, 1867.

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