CHAPTER XIV.

Basil came to London after the funeral, and methought his sadness then did become him as much as his joyfulness heretofore. His grief was answerable to the affection he had borne unto his father, and to that gentlemen's most excellent deserts. He informed Mr. Congleton that in somewhat less than one year he should be of age, and until then his wardship was committed to Sir Henry Stafford. It was agreed betwixt them, that in respect of his deep mourning and the greater commodity his being of age would afford for the drawing up of settlements, our marriage should be deferred until he returned from the continent in a year's time. Sir Henry was exceeding urgent he should travel abroad for the bettering as he affirmed of his knowledge of foreign languages, and acquirement of such useful information as should hereafter greatly benefit him; but methinks, from what Basil said, it was chiefly with the end that he should not be himself troubled during his term of guardianship with proceedings touching his ward's recusancy, which was so open and manifest, no persuasions dissuading him from it, that he apprehended therefrom to meet with difficulties.

So with heavy hearts and some tears on both sides, a short time after Mr. Rookwood's death, we did part, but withal with so comfortable a hope of a happy future, and so great a security of mutual affection, that the pangs of separation were softened, and a not unpleasing melancholy ensued. We forecasted to hold converse by means of letters, of which he made me promise I should leastways write two for his one; for he argued, as I always had a pen in my hand, it should be no trouble to me to write down my thoughts as they arose, but as for himself, it would cost him much time and labor for to compose such a letter as it would content me to receive. But herein he was too modest; {48} for, indeed, in everything he wrote, albeit short and mostly devoid of such flowers of the fancy as some are wont to scatter over their letters, I was always excellently well pleased with his favors of this kind.

Hubert remained in London for to commence his studies in a house of the law; but when my engagement with his brother became known, he left off haunting Mr. Lacy's house, and even Mr. Wells's, as heretofore. His behavior was very mutable; at one time exceedingly obliging, and at another more strange and distant than it had yet been; so that I did dread to meet him, not knowing how to shape mine own conduct in his regard; for if on the one hand I misliked to appear estranged from Basil's brother, yet if I dealt graciously toward him I feared to confirm his apprehension of some sort of unusual liking on my part toward himself.

One month, or thereabouts, after Basil had gone to France, Lady Surrey did invite me to stay with her at Kenninghall, which greatly delighted me, for it was a very long time then since I had seen her. The reports I heard of her lord's being a continual waiter on her majesty, and always at court, whereas she did not come to London so much as once in the year, worked in me a very uneasy apprehension that she should not be as happy in her retirement as I should wish. I long had desired to visit this dear lady, but durst not be the first to speak of it. Also to one bred in the country from her infancy, the long while I had spent in a city, far from any sights or scents of nature, had created in me a great desire for pure air and green fields, of which the neighborhood of London had afforded only such scanty glimpses as served to whet, not satisfy, the taste for such-like pleasures. So with much contentment I began my journey into Norfolk, which was the first I had taken since that long one from Sherwood Hall to London some years before. A coach of my Lord Surrey's, with two new pairs of horses, was going from the Charter-house to Kenninghall, and a chamber-woman of my lady's to be conveyed therein; so for conveniency I travelled with her. We slept two nights on the road (for the horses were to rest often), in very comfortable lodgings; and about the middle of the third day we did arrive at Kenninghall, which is a place of so great magnitude and magnificence, that to my surprised eyes it showed more like unto a palace, yea, a cluster of palaces, than the residence of a private though illustrious nobleman. The gardens which we passed along-side of, the terraces adorned with majestic trees, the woods at the back of the building, which then wore a gaudy dress of crimson and golden hues,--made my heart leap for joy to be once more in the country. But when we passed through the gateway, and into one court and then another, methought we left the country behind, and entered some sort of city, the buildings did so close around us on every side. At last we stopped at a great door, and many footmen stood about me, and one led me through long galleries and a store of empty chambers; I forecasting in my mind the while how far it should be to the gardens I had seen, and if the birds could be heard to sing in this great house, in which was so much fine tapestry, and pictures in high-gilt frames, that the eye was dazzled with their splendor. A little pebbly brook or a tuft of daisies would then have pleased me more than these fine hangings, and the grass than the smooth carpets in some of the rooms, the like of which I had never yet seen. But these discontented thoughts vanished quickly when my Lady Surrey appeared; and I had nothing more to desire when I received her affectionate embrace, and saw how joyful was her welcome. Methought, too, when she led me into the chamber wherein she said her time was chiefly spent, that its rich adornment became her, who had verily a queenly beauty, and a {49} presence so sweetly majestic that it alone was sufficient to call for a reverent respect from others even in her young years. There was an admirable simplicity in her dress; so that I likened her in my mind, as she sat in that gilded room, to a pare fair diamond enchased in a rich setting. In the next chamber her gentlewoman and chambermaids were at work--some at frames, and others making of clothes, or else spinning; and another door opened into her bed-chamber, which was very large, like unto a hall, and the canopy of the bed so high and richly adorned that it should have beseemed a throne. The tapestry on the wall, bedight with fruits and flowers, very daintily wrought, so that nature itself hath not more fair hues than therein were to be seen.

"When my lord is not at home, I mislike this grand chamber, and do lie here," she said, and showed me an inner closet; which I perceived to be plainly furnished, and in one corner of it, which pleased me most for to see, a crucifix hung against the wall, over above a kneeling-stool. Seeing my eyes did rest on it, she colored a little, and said it had belonged to Lady Mounteagle, who had gifted her with it on her death-bed; upon which account she did greatly treasure the possession thereof.

I answered, it did very much content me that she should set store on what had been her grandmother's, for verily she was greatly indebted to that good lady for the care she had taken of her young years; "but methinks," I added, "the likeness of your Saviour which died for you should not need any other excuse for the prizing of it than what arises from its being what it is, his own dear image."

She said she thought so too; but that in the eyes of Protestants she must needs allege some other reason for the keeping of a crucifix in her room than that good one, which nevertheless in her own thinking she allowed of.

Then she showed me mine own chamber, which was very commodious and pleasantly situated, not far from hers. From the window was to be seen the town of Norwich, and an extensive plain intersected with trees; and underneath the wall of the house a terrace lined with many fair shrubs and strips of flower-beds, very pleasing to the eye, but too far off for a more familiar enjoyment than the eyesight could afford.

When we had dined, and I was sitting with my lady in her dainty sitting-room, she at her tambour-frame, and I with a piece of patch-work on my knees which I had brought from London, she began forthwith to question me touching my intended marriage, Mr. Rookwood's death, and Basil's going abroad, concerning which she had heard many reports. I satisfied her thereon; upon which she expressed great contentment that my prospects of happiness were so good; for all which knew Basil thought well on him, she said; and mostly his neighbors, which have the chiefest occasions for to judge of a man's disposition. And Euston, she thought, should prove a very commendable residence, albeit the house was small for so good an estate; but capable, she doubted not, of improvements, which my fine taste would bestow on it; not indeed by spending large sums on outward show, but by small adornments and delicate beautifying of a house and gardens, such as women only do excel in; the which kind of care Mr. Rookwood's seat had lacked for many years. She also said it pleased her much to think that Basil and I should agree touching religion, for there was little happiness to be had in marriage where consent doth not exist in so important a matter. I answered, that I was of that way of thinking also. But then this consent must be veritable, not extorted; for in so weighty a point the least shadow of compulsion on the one side, and feigning on the other, do end by destroying happiness, and virtue also, which is more urgent. She made no answer; and I then asked her if she {50} liked Kenninghall more than London, and had found in a retired life the contentment she had hoped for. She bent down her head over her work-frame, so as partly to conceal her face; but how beautiful what was to be seen of it appeared, as she thus hid the rest, her snowy neck supporting her small head, and the shape of her oval cheek just visible beneath the dark tresses of jet-black hair! When she raised that noble head methought it wore a look of becoming, not unchristian, pride, or somewhat better than should be titled pride; and her voice betokened more emotion than her visage betrayed when she said, "I am more contented, Constance, to inhabit this my husband's chiefest house than to dwell in London or anywhere else. Where should a wife abide with so much pleasure as in a place where she may be sometimes visited by her lord, even though she should not always be so happy as to enjoy his company? My Lord Arundel hath often urged me to reside with him in London, and pleaded the comfort my Lady Lumley and himself, in his declining years, should find in my filial care; but God helping me--and I think in so doing I fulfill his will--naught shall tempt me to leave my husband's house till he doth himself compel me to it; nor by resentment of his absence lose one day of his dear company I may yet enjoy."

"O my dear lady," I exclaimed, "and is it indeed thus with you? Doth my lord so forget your love and his duty as to forsake one he should cherish as his most dear treasure?"

"Nay, nay," she hastily replied; "Philip doth not forsake me; a little neglectful he is" (this she said with a forced smile), "as all the queen's courtiers must needs be of their wives; for she is so exacting, that such as stand in her good graces cannot be stayers at home, but ever waiters on her pleasure. If Philip doth only leave London or Richmond for three or four days, she doth suspect the cause of his absence; her smiles are turned to frowns, and his enemies immediately do take advantage of it. I tried to stay in London one while this year, after Bess was married; but he suffered so much in consequence from the loss of her good graces when she heard I was at the Charter-house, that I was compelled to return here."

"And hath my lord been to see you since?" I eagerly asked.

"Once," she answered; "for three short days. O Constance, it was a brief, and, from its briefness, an almost painful joy, to see him in his own princely home, and at the head of his table, which he doth grace so nobly; and when he went abroad saluted by every one with so much reverence, that he should be taken to be a king when he is here; and himself so contented with this show of love and homage, that his face beamed with pleasant smiles; and when he observed what my poor skill had effected in the management of his estates, which do greatly suffer from the prodigalities of the court, he commended me with so great kindness as to say he was not worthy of so good a wife."

I could not choose but say amen in mine own soul to this lord's true estimation of himself, and of her, one hair of whose head did, in my thinking, outweigh in merit his whole frame; but composed my face lest she should too plainly read my resentment that the like of her should be so used by an ungrateful husband.

"Alas," she continued, "this joy should be my constant portion if an enemy robbed me not of my just rights. 'Tis very hard to be hated by a queen, and she so great and powerful that none in the compass of her realm can dare to resent her ill treatment. I had a letter from my lord last week, in which he says if it be possible he will soon visit me again; but he doth add that he has so much confidence in my affection, that he is sure I would not will him to risk that which may undo him, if the queen should hear of it. 'For, Nan,' he writes, 'I resemble a man scrambling up unto a slippery rock, who, if he {51} gaineth not the topmost points, must needs fall backward into a precipice; for if I lose but an inch of her majesty's favor, I am like to fall as my fathers have done, and yet lower. So be patient, good Nan, and bide the time when I shall have so far ascended as to be in less danger of a rapid descent, in which thine own fortunes would be involved."

She folded this letter, which she had taken out of her bosom, with a deep sigh, and I doubt not with the same thought which was in mine own mind, that the higher the ascent, the greater doth prove the peril of an overthrow, albeit to the climber's own view the further point doth seem the most secured. She then said she would not often speak with me touching her troubles; but we should try to forget absent husbands and lovers, and enjoy so much pleasure in our mutual good company as was possible, and go hawking also and riding on fine days, and be as merry as the days were long. And, verily, at times youthful spirits assumed the lead, and like two wanton children we laughed sometimes with hearty cheer at some pleasantry in which my little wit but fanciful humor did evince itself for her amusement. But the fair sky of these sunshiny hours was often overcast by sudden clouds; and weighty thoughts, ill assorting with soaring joylity, wrought sad endings to merry beginnings. I restrained the expression of mine own sorrow at my father's uncertain fate and Basil's absence, not to add to her heaviness; but sometimes, whilst playing in some sort the fool to make her smile, which smiles so well became her, a sharp aching of the heart caused me to fail in the effort; which when she perceived, her arm was straightway thrown round my neck, and she would speak in this wise:

"O sweet jester! poor dissembler! the heart will have its say, albeit not aided by the utterance of the tongue. Believe me, good Constance, I am not unmindful of thy griefs, albeit somewhat silent concerning them, as also mine own; for that I eschew melancholy themes, having a well-spring of sorrow in my bosom which doth too readily overflow if the sluices be once opened."

Thus spake this sweet lady; but her unconscious tongue, following the current of her thoughts more frequently than she did credit, dwelt on the theme of her absent husband; and on whichever subject talk was ministered between us, she was ingenious to procure it should end with some reference to this worshipped object. But verily, I never perceived her to express, in speaking of that then unworthy husband, but what, if he had been present, must needs have moved him to regret his negligent usage of an incomparable, loving, and virtuous wife, than to any resentment of her complaints, which were rather of others who diverted his affections from her than of him, the prime cause of her grief. One day that we walked in the pleasaunce, she led the way to a seat which she said during her lord's last visit he had commended for the fair prospect it did command, and said it should be called "My Lady's Arbor."

"He sent for the head-gardener," quoth she, "and charged him to plant about it so many sweet flowers and gay shrubs as should make it in time a most dainty bower fit for a queen. These last words did, I ween, unwittingly escape his lips, and, I fear me, I was too shrewish; for I exclaimed, 'O no, my lord; I pray you let it rather be _un_fitted for a queen, if so be you would have me to enjoy it!' He made no answer, and his countenance was overcast and sad when he returned to the house. I misdoubted my hasty speech had angered him; but when his horse came to the door for to carry him away to London and the court, he said very kindly, as he embraced me, 'Farewell, dear heart! mine own good Nan!' and in a letter he since wrote he inquired if his orders had been obeyed touching his sweet countess's pleasure-house."

{52}

I always noticed Lady Surrey to be very eager for the coming of the messenger which brought letters from London mostly twice in the week, and that in the untying of the strings which bound them her hand trembled so much that she often said, "Prithee, Constance, cut this knot. My fingers be so cold I have not so much patience as should serve to the undoing thereof."

One morning I perceived she was more sad than usual after the coming of this messenger. The cloud on her countenance chased away the joy I had at a letter from Basil, which was written from Paris, and wherein he said he had sent to Rheims for to inquire if my father was yet there, for in that case he should not so much fail in his duty as to omit seeking to see him; and so get at once, he trusted, a father and a priest's blessing."

"What ails you, sweet lady?" I asked, seeing her lips quiver and her eyes to fill with tears.

"Nothing should ail me," she answered more bitterly than was her wont. "It should be, methinks, the part of a wife to rejoice in her husband's good fortune; and here is one that doth write to me that my lord's favor with the queen is so great that nothing greater can be thought of: so that some do say, if he was not married he would be like to mount, not only to the steps, but on to the throne itself. Here should be grand news for to rejoice the heart of the Countess of Surrey. Prithee, good wench, why dost thou not wish thy poor friend joy?"

I felt so much choler that any one should write to my lady in this fashion, barbing with cruel malice, or leastways careless lack of thought, this wanton arrow, that I exclaimed in a passion it should be a villain had thus written. She smiled in a sad manner and answered:

"Alas, an innocent villain I warrant the writer to be, for the letter is from my Bess, who has heard others speak of that which she doth unwittingly repeat, thinking it should be an honor to my lord, and to me also, that he should be spoken of in this wise. But content thee; 'tis no great matter to hear that said again which I have had hints of before, and am like to hear more of it, maybe."

Then hastily rising, she prepared to go abroad; and we went to a lodge in the park, wherein she harbored a great store of poor children which lacked their parents; and then to a barn she had fitted up for to afford a night's lodging to travellers; and to tend sick people--albeit, saving herself, she had no one in her household at that time one half so skilful in this way as my Lady l'Estrange. I ween this was the sole place wherein her thoughts were so much occupied that she did for a while forget her own troubles in curing those of others. A woman had stopped there the past night, who, when we went in, craved assistance from her for to carry her to her native village, which was some fifteen miles north of Norwich. She was afraid, she said, for to go into the town; for nowadays to be poor was to be a wicked person in men's eyes; and a traveller without money was like to be whipt and put into the stocks for a vagabond, which she should die of if it should happen to her, who had been in the service of a countess, and had not thought to see herself in such straits, which she should never have been reduced to if her good lady had not been foully dealt with. Lady Surrey, wishing, I ween, by some sort of examination, to detect the truth of her words, inquired in whose service she had lived.

"Madam," she answered, "I was kitchen maid in the Countess of Leicester's house, and never left her service till she was murthered some years back by a black villain in her household, moved by a villain yet more black than himself."

"Murthered!" my lady exclaimed. "It was bruited at the time that lady had died of a fall."

"Ay, marry," quoth the beggar, {53} shaking her head, "I warrant you, ladies, that fall was compassed by more hands than two, and more minds than one. But it be not safe for to say so; as Mark Hewitt could witness if he was not dead, who was my sweetheart and a scullion at Cumnor Place, and was poisoned in prison for that he offered to give evidence touching his lady's death which would have hanged some which deserved it better than he did--albeit he had helped to rob a coach in Wales after he had been discharged, as we all were, from the old place. Oh, if folks dared to tell all they do know, some which ride at the queen's side should swing on a gibbet before this day twelvemonth."

Lady Surrey sat down by this woman; and albeit I pulled her by the sleeve and whispered in her ear to come away--for methought her talk was not fitting for her to hear, whose mind ran too much already on melancholy themes--she would not go, and questioned this person very much touching the manner of Lady Leicester's life, and what was reported concerning her death. This recital was given in a homely but withal moving manner, which lent a greater horror to it than more studied language should have done. She said her lady bad been ill some time and never left her room; but that one day, when one of her lord's gentlemen had come from London, and had been examining of the house with the steward for to order some repairing of the old walls and staircases, and the mason had been sent for also late in the evening, a so horrible shriek was heard from the part of the house wherein the countess's chamber was, that it frighted every person in the place, so that they did almost lose their senses; but that she herself had run to the passage on which the lady's bed-chamber did open, and saw some planking removed, and many feet below the body of the countess lying quite still, and by the appearance of her face perceived her to be gone. And when the steward came to look also (this the woman said, lowering her voice, with her hollow eyes fixed on Lady Surrey's countenance, which did express fear and sorrow), "I'll warrant you, my lady, he did wear a murtherer's visage, and I noticed that the corpse bled at his approach. But methinketh if that earl which rides by the queen's side, and treads the world under his feet, had then been nigh, the mangled form should have raised itself and the cold dead lips cried out, 'Thou art the man!' Marry, when poor folks do steal a horse, or a sheep, or shoot the fallow-deer in a nobleman's park, they straightway do suffer and lose their life; but if a lord which is a courtier shall one day choose to put his wife out of his way for the bettering of his fortunes, even though it be by a foul murther, no more ado is made than if he had shot a pigeon in his woods."

Then changing her theme, she asked Lady Surrey to dress a wound in her leg, for that she did hear from some in that place that she often did use such kindness toward poor people. Without such assistance, she said, to walk the next day would be very painful. My lady straightway began to loosen the bandages which covered the sore, and inquired how long a time it should be since it had been dressed.

"Four days ago," the beggar answered, "Lady l'Estrange had done her so much good as to salve the wound with a rare ointment which had greatly assuaged the pain, until much walking had inflamed it anew."

We both did smile; and my lady said she feared to show herself less skilful than her old pupil; but if the beggar should be credited, she did acquit herself indifferently well of her charitable task; and the bounty she bestowed upon her afterward, I doubt not, did increase her patient's esteem of her ability. But I did often wish that evening my lady had not heard this woman's tale, for I perceived her to harp upon it with a very notable persistency; and when I urged no credit should attach itself to her {54} report, and it was most like to be untrue, she affirmed that some similar surmises had been spoken of at the time of Lady Leicester's death; and that Lord Sussex and Lord Arundel had once mentioned, in her hearing, that the gypsy was infamed for his wife's death, albeit never openly accused thereof. She had not taken much heed of their discourse at the time, she said; but now it came back into her mind with a singular distinctness, and it was passing strange she should have heard from an eye-witness the details of this tragedy. She should, she thought, write to her husband what the woman had related; and then she changed her mind, and said she would not.

All my pleadings to her that she should think no more thereon were vain. She endeavored to speak of other subjects, but still this one was uppermost in her thoughts. Once, in the midst of an argument touching the uses of pageants, which she maintained to be folly and idle waste, but which I defended, for that they sometimes served to exercise the wit and memory of such as contrive them, carrying on the dispute in a lively fashion, hoping thus to divert her mind, she broke forth in these exclamations: "Oh, what baneful influences do exist in courts, when men, themselves honorable, abhor not to company with such as be accused of foul crimes never disproved, and if they will only stretch forth their blood-stained hands to help them to rise, disdain not to clasp them!"

Then later, when I had persuaded her to play on the guitar, which she did excellently well, she stopped before the air was ended to ask if I did know if Lady Leicester was a fair woman, and if her husband was at any time enamored of her. And when I was unable to resolve these questions, she must needs begin to argue if it should be worse never to be loved, or else to lose a husband's affection; and then asked me, if Basil should alter in his liking of me, which she did not hold to be possible, except that men be so wayward and inconstant that the best do sometimes change, if I should still be glad he had once loved me.

"If he did so much alter," I answered, "as no longer to care for me, methinks I should at once cast him out of my heart; for then it would not have been Basil, but a fancied being coined by mine own imaginings, I should have doted on."

"Tut, tut!" she cried; "thou art too proud. If thou dost speak truly, I misdoubt that to be love which could so easily discard its object."

"For my part," I replied, somewhat nettled, "I think the highest sort of passion should be above suspecting change in him which doth inspire it, or resenting a change which should procure it freedom from an unworthy thrall."

"I ween," she answered, "we do somewhat misconceive each one the other's meaning; and moreover, no parallel can exist between a wife's affection and a maiden's liking." Then she said she hoped the poor woman would stay another day, so that she might speak with her again; for she would fain learn from her what was Lady Leicester's behavior during her sorrowful years, and the temper of her mind before her so sudden death.

"Indeed, dear lady," I urged, "what likelihood should there be that a serving-wench in her kitchen should be acquainted with a noble lady's thoughts?"

"I pray God," my lady said, "our meanest servants do not read in our countenance, yea in the manner of our common and indifferent actions, the motions of our souls when we be in such trouble as should only be known to God and one true friend."

Lady Surrey sent in the morning for to inquire if the beggar was gone. To my no small content she had departed before break of day. Some days afterward a messenger from London brought to my lady, from Arundel House, a letter from my {55} Lady Lumley, wherein she urged her to repair instantly to London, for that the earl, her grandfather, was very grievously sick, and desired for to see her. My lady resolved to go that very day, and straightway gave orders touching the manner of her journey, and desired her coach to be made ready. She proposed that the while she was absent I should pay a visit to Lady l'Estrange, which I had promised for to do before I left Norfolkshire; "and then," quoth my lady, "if my good Lord Arundel doth improve in his health, so that nothing shall detain me at London, I will return to my banishment, wherein my best comfort shall ever be thy company, good Constance. But if peradventure my lord should will me to stay with him" (oh, how her eyes did brighten! and the fluttering of her heart could be perceived in her quick speech and the heaving of her bosom as she said these words), "I will then send one of my gentlewomen to fetch thee from Lynn Court to London; and if that should happen, why methinks our meeting may prove more merry than our parting."

She then dispatched a messenger on horseback to Sir Hammond l'Estrange's house, which did return in some hours with a very obliging answer; for his lady did write that she almost hoped my Lady Surrey would be detained in London, if so be it would not discontent her, and so she should herself have the pleasure of my company for a longer time, which was what she greatly desired.

For some miles, when she started, I rode with my lady in her coach, and then mounted on a horse she had provided for my commodity, and, accompanied by two persons of her household, went to Sir Hammond l'Estrange's seat. It stood in a bleak country without scarce so much as one tree in its neighborhood, but a store of purple heath, then in flower, surrounding it on all sides. As we approached unto it, I for the first time beheld the sea. The heath had minded me of Cannock Chase and my childhood. I ween not what the sea caused me to think of; only I know that the waves which I heard break on the shore had, to my thinking, a wonderful music, so exceeding sweet and pleasant to mine ears that one only sound of it were able to bring, so it did seem to me, all the hearts of this world asleep. Yet although I listed thereunto with a quiet joy, and mine eyes rested on those vasty depths with so much contentment, as if perceiving therein some image of the eternity which doth await us, the words which rose in my mind, and which methinks my lips also framed, were these of Holy Writ: "Great as the sea is thy destruction." If it be not that some good angel whispered them in mine ear for to temper, by a sort of forecasting of what was soon to follow, present gladness, I know not what should have caused so great a dissimilarity between my then thinking and the words I did unwittingly utter.

Lady l'Estrange met me on the steps of her house, which was small, but such as became a gentleman of good fortune, and lacking none of the commodities habitual to such country habitations. The garden at the back of it was a true labyrinth of sweets; and an orchard on one side of it, and a wood of fir-trees beyond the wall, shielded the shrubs which grew therein from the wild sea-blasts. Milicent was delighted for to show me every part of this her home. The bettering of her fortunes had not wrought any change in the gentle humility of this young lady. The attractive sweetness of her manner was the same, albeit mistress of a house of her own. She set no greater store on herself than she had done at the Charter-house, and paid her husband as much respect and timid obedience as she had ever done her mistress. Verily, in his presence I soon perceived she scarce held her soul to be her own; but studied his looks with so much diligence, and framed each word she uttered to his liking with so much {56} ingenuity, that I marvelled at the wit she showed therein, which was not very apparent in other ways. He was a tall man, of haughty carriage and well-proportioned features. His eyes were large and gray; his nose of a hawkish shape; his lips very thin. I never in any face did notice the signs of so set a purpose or such unyielding lineaments as in this gentleman. Milicent told me he was pious, liberal, an active magistrate, and an exceeding obliging and indulgent husband; but methought her testimony on this score carried no great weight with it, for that her meekness would read the most ordinary kindnesses as rare instances of goodness. She seemed very contented with her lot; and I heard from Lady Surrey's waiting-maid (which she had sent with me from Kenninghall) that all the servants in her house esteemed her to be a most virtuous and patient lady; and so charitable, that all who knew her experience her bounty. On the next day she showed me her garden, her dairy, poultry-yard, and store-room; and also the closet where she kept the salves and ointments for the dressing of wounds, which she said she was every morning employed in for several hours. I said, if she would permit me, I would try to learn this art under her direction, for that nothing could be thought of more useful for such as lived in the country, where such assistance was often needed. Then she asked me if I was like to live in the country, which, from my words, she hoped should be the case; and I told her, if it pleased God, in one year I would be married to Mr. Rookwood, of Euston Hall; which she was greatly rejoiced to learn.

Then, as we walked under the trees, talk ensued between us touching former days at the Charter-house; and when the sun was setting amidst gold and purple clouds, and the wind blew freshly from the sea, whilst the barking of Sir Hammond's dogs, and the report of his gun as he discharged it behind the house, minded me more than ever of old country scenes in past time, my thoughts drew also future pictures of what mine own home should be, and the joy with which I should meet Basil, when he returned from the field-sports in which he did so much delight. And a year seemed a long time to wait for so much happiness as I foresaw should be ours when we were once married. "If Lady l'Estrange is so contented," I thought, "whose husband is somewhat churlish and stem, if his countenance and the reports of his neighbors are to be credited, how much enjoyment in her home shall be the portion of my dear Basil's wife! than which a more sweet-tempered gentleman cannot be seen, nor one endued with more admirable qualities of all sorts, not to speak of youth and beauty, which are perishable advantages, but not without attractiveness."

Mrs. l'Estrange, an unmarried sister of Sir Hammond, lived in the house, and some neighbors which had been shooting with him came to supper. The table was set with an abundance of good cheer; and Milicent sat at the head of it, and used a sweet cordiality toward all her guests, so that every one should seem welcome to her hospitality; but I detected looks of apprehension in her face, coupled with hasty glances toward her husband, if any one did bring forward subjects of discourse which Sir Hammond had not first broached, or did appear in any way to differ with him in what he himself advanced. Once when Lord Burleigh was mentioned, one of the gentleman said somewhat in disparagement of this nobleman, as if he should have been to blame in some of his dealings with the parliament, which brought a dark cloud on Sir Hammond's brow. Upon which Milicent, the color coming into her cheeks, and her voice trembling a little, as she seemed to cast about her for some subject which should turn the current of this talk, began to tell what a store of patients she had {57} seen that day, and to describe them, as if seeking to stop the mouths of the disputants. "One," quoth she, "hath been three times to me this week to have his hands dressed, and I be verily in doubt what his station should be. He hath a notable appearance of good breeding, albeit but poorly apparelled, and his behavior and discourse should show him to be a gentleman. The wounds of his hands were so grievously galled for want of proper dressing, when he first came, I feared they should mortify, and the curing of them to exceed my poor skill. The skin was rubbed off the whole palms, as if scraped off by handling of ropes. A more courageous patient could not be met with. Methought the dressing should have been very painful, but he never so much as once did wince under it. He is somewhat reserved in giving an account of the manner in which he came by those wounds, and answered jestingly when I inquired thereof. But to-morrow I will hear more on it, for I charged him to come for one more dressing of his poor hands."

"Where doth this fellow lodge?" Sir Hammond asked across the table in a quick eager manner.

"At Master Rugeley's house, I have heard," quoth his wife.

Then his fist fell on the table so that it shook.

"A lewd recusant, by God!" he cried. "I'll be sworn this is the popish priest escaped out of Wisbeach, for whom I have this day received orders to make diligent search. Ah, ah! my lady hath trapped the Jesuit fox."

I looked at Milicent, and she at me. O my God, what looks those were!

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

From The Popular Science Review.

MIGRATIONS OF EUROPEAN BIRDS.

The migrations of animals--especially those of the feathered tribe--constitute one of the most interesting and improving studies that the admirer of nature can pursue. When naturalists were less conversant with the movements of birds of passage, and knew little of their habits and haunts, it used to be a favorite mode of accounting for the regular disappearance of many species by attributing to them what is the case with certain animals, namely, a torpid condition during winter. It was affirmed that certain birds spent the cold months at the bottom of lakes, and gravely asserted by an authority of the last century that "swallows sometimes assemble in numbers, clinging to a reed till it breaks and sinks with them to the bottom; that their immersion is preceded by a song or dirge, which lasts more than a quarter of an hour; that sometimes they lay hold of a straw with their bills, and plunge down in society; and that others form a large mass by clinging together by the feet, and in this manner commit themselves to the deep." Irrespective of the ridiculous absurdity of such assertions, and their want of corroborative evidence, we have the recorded opinions of John Hunter and Professor Owen as to the incompatibility of a bird's organism for such a mode of existence. In all probability, the statement may have in part arisen from the well-known circumstance that many birds of passage tarry in their summer retreats until caught by the cold of winter, when individuals may be found benumbed and senseless; {58} this is a common occurrence, even with the swallows and other birds of northern India, where in the cold months the temperature during night falls often to freezing, whilst at midday it may range as high as 80° Fahr. in the shade. I have also seen the green bee-eater and small warblers so mach affected by a temperature of 40° on the banks of the Nile in Nubia as to be scarcely able to fly from twig to twig. The effects of severe winters on many of our indigenous as well as migratory birds have been frequently exemplified by the numbers found dead in sheltered situations, and especially if the cold sets in early, when comparatively few birds of passage escape; for instance, the corn-crake has been found in Britain during the winter months; we know of one individual that was picked up on Christmas-day, crouching among furze bushes, almost insensible from cold. The winter homes of European birds of passage comprehend southern Europe, lower Egypt, and the countries that lie between the desert and southern shores of the Mediterranean, including the elevated lands of Tunis, Algeria, and Morocco, which, although differing in physical features and, in some respects, in climate, are, strictly speaking, but an extension of Europe, for their flora and fauna are European. It is only when the traveller crosses the Sahara, with its salt lakes and moving clouds of sand, and gains the region of verdure beyond, that he enters on a new zoological and botanical province. It is curious and instructive to observe how well this statement accords with late geological discoveries. From a series of ascertained facts the student of physical science is enabled to speculate on a time when equatorial Africa was divided from the northern portion of the continent by a great sea, of which the Sahara formed the bed; it extended from the Gulf of Cabes to Senegambia in the west, and was many hundred miles in breadth. The Mediterranean sea did not then exist; therefore there was no great obstacle to the southern migrations of animals until they reached the shores of the great central African sea; but as there was no desert in those days, there would be no hot winds to temper the climates northward, and consequently we should expect to find traces of more rigorous winters in central and southern Europe; and such have been clearly proven by certain evidences, which were lucidly explained by Sir Charles Lyell at the last meeting of the British Association. Thus, although we may wonder at the extraordinary intelligence which prompts the bird to cross the Mediterranean, we see at the same time that it is going to no foreign land, where it will not meet friends to cheer it, or food unsuited to its wants. The two great causes which bring about the regular migrations of birds are either change of climate or failure of food--most often both combined. Any ordinary observer must have often remarked that the first effect of a decrease in temperature in autumn is the sudden disappearance of many winged and wingless insects, on which many soft-billed birds of passage depend. At that season swallows, that seemed so full of life and vigor, skimming over fields, threading along the lanes, or twittering from straw-built sheds, are soon seen collecting in flocks, and flitting about with a marked diminution in their activity--now huddling together on the eaves of houses, or assembling in long lines on the telegraph wires; another boreal blast, not yet sufficient to turn the leaf, sends the whole flock southward, for they soon find that there is no use facing the north from whence the cold puffs are coming, whilst by holding in the direction of the sun, with the balmy southern winds occasionally beckoning them to advance, they soon gain the object of their desires. Thus flocks may be seen pursuing their journey, and picking up a livelihood and more companions as they speed their way over mountain, moor, field, city, or sea to {59} the sunny climes and eternal sunshine of southern Europe and trans-Mediterranean lands. The majority of migratory birds cross the latter sea during the vernal and autumnal equinoxes; whilst a few, such as certain finches and water birds, make their appearance on the islands and southern shores throughout the winter; the latter, however, are in a great measure dependent on the state of the weather, and their numbers increase or decrease accordingly.

It is evident that such animals as the lapp, lemming, musk-ox, or reindeer must push southward on the approach of winter. Their migrations are by no means unexpected; nor would the mere land journey of birds create amazement when we know the real causes; but to cross the great inland sea anywhere, save at its entrance, must be considered a great feat when performed by tiny warblers, and birds not physically adapted for long flights; for instance, the willow warbler or the land-rail, crossing the broadest parts of the Mediterranean, must traverse at least six hundred miles. No doubt the heated winds from the desert exert a great influence in determining the route to be taken by migratory birds, especially in the countries that come directly under their operation; and at no seasons are their presence more apparent than during the spring and autumn; for not only then do they blow their greatest violence, but are also most keenly felt by contrast with the previous hot or cold months. Thus the winds that beckon the bird in autumn to come southward, drive it back again to Europe in spring. Much, however, depends on the constitutional powers of the individual species, which vary greatly in members of the same family; for instance, the little chiffchaff often makes its appearance in England as early as the middle of March, whilst its congener, the willow warbler, is seldom seen before the end of April; the spotted fly-catcher and night-jar arrive toward the end of May, and depart again early in September. Bird migrations may be said to be either complete or partial; some birds totally abandon Europe during winter, and take up their residence in north Africa; others repair merely to the more genial climates of the south of Europe; whilst many remain, but in diminished numbers, throughout the year, the majority resorting to milder temperatures. For example, the swallow tribe leave Europe entirely; the wagtails have their winter homes among the oases of the desert and on the banks of the Nile, whilst a few tarry in southern Europe, and with their brethren in spring push northward. A good many stone-chats spend the winter in Britain, whilst the majority move southward; not so with their close ally, the whin-chat, which disappears entirely during the cold season, and, with the migratory portion of the last-named species, seeks the more genial climates of north Africa. Thus, in all probability, there are individual stone-chats that have alternately braved the cold of the north and the more cheerful winter of the Sahara; for we cannot suppose that there is a set that invariably stop in the north, and another that constancy leave at the approach of winter. At all events, here is displayed a flexibility of constitution often considered characteristic of man alone. Although the regular birds of passage maintain much exactitude with reference to their arrivals and departures, others seem to err greatly when compelled by weather or other causes to trust to their own intelligence in guiding them from place to place; even many migratory species far exceed the bounds of their usual resorts, and certain individuals, not known to be migratory, have found their way across the whole continent of Europe. A good example of the latter is seen in the late irruption of Pallas's sand-grouse from north-western Asia, so well illustrated by Messrs. Moore and Newton, in the "Ibis." The short-toed lark seldom {60} migrates beyond the northern shores of the Mediterranean, yet finds itself often in Britain, and caught either in gales, or wandering unknowingly northward; occasional individuals of the Egyptian vulture from Spain, the Griffon vulture and spotted eagle from the mountains of central Europe, and the spotted cuckoo from north Africa. Moreover, several American species have been recorded, chiefly water birds, which, of course, are better adapted to brave the dangers of the deep. Certain birds--to wit, the redbreast, song-thrush, and black-bird--do not leave the north of Europe, whilst many of their brethren of Italy and the neighboring countries make regular annual migrations to Africa and the islands. To account for this remarkable anomaly, it will be observed that the robin of the south is far less omnivorous than its northern compeer, and is not nearly so familiar in its habits--like the warblers, it depends almost entirely on insect food; consequently, when that fails, it has no alternative but to push southward, and participating, like other species, in climatic effects, it would doubtless follow a like route; and much the same with the thrushes, as they depend in a great measure on fruits for their winter subsistence. When the grapes of the south are gathered, having no holly-berries, mountain ash, or haws to draw on for their winter wants, they would naturally disperse; probably many fly northward as well; for all the thrushes that cross the Mediterranean during winter are but an infinitesimal part of what frequent Italy and the south of Europe in summer. No doubt much depends on the nature of the locality, whether favorable or otherwise; and wherever a complete or only partial failure of food has taken place, so accordingly will the species depart or remain. Moreover, what has just been remarked in connection with the stone-chat, might be applied again to the robins and thrushes of southern Europe: supposing one of either hatched in Italy, and after several years' migrations to the oasis of the desert, should deviate on one occasion from its accustomed course and fly northward, and spend the winter in northern Europe,--with the example of the resident individuals before it, no doubt the robin would soon pick up crumbs at the kitchen door, and the thrushes crowd with their indigenous brethren on the holly-trees, and, becoming climatized, remain in their adopted countries ever afterward. Although we have no direct proof that such occurrences actually take place, there is nothing in the bird's constitution to preclude such a supposition; and not only that, but we know in the case of Pallas's sand-grouse, and many other accidental visitors, that they have at once adapted themselves to the food afforded by the country, although perfectly new to them. How far such influences, acting on generations and for long periods, do effect the external appearances or internal structure of a species, are points not yet clearly determined; but doubtless, as the geographical distribution and migrations of animals become better known, so will many difficulties of that nature be cleared up. Of the vast hosts of birds that cross the Mediterranean annually not a few perish on their way, and their bodies are thrown up on the beach; many arrive only to die, as we can testify from our own observations along the shores of Malta, where we have picked up numerous warblers that had been either drowned on their passage or died on the rocks, or had dashed themselves at night against the fortifications and light-houses.

"The beacon blaze illures The bird of passage, till he madly strikes Against it, and beats out his weary life."

The quail on its way to Europe in spring, or Africa in autumn, is often borne back by a strong head-wind to the country it had just left; and we have repeatedly noticed that a strong sirocco in September scarcely ever fails in throwing abundance of quail {61} on the southeast coast of Malta, in the same way that a powerful gregale brings in many that had been bent on an opposite direction. We now come to observe that extraordinary intelligence whereby swallows, for instance, are enabled year after year to return to the same nest. Taking into consideration the long absence, the dangers and difficulties incident to the voyage, it seems incredible that any animal not human can be capable, after nearly eight months' sojourn in central Africa, to return in spring to a farm-yard in the midland counties of England; and still more wondrous, as recorded in "Yarrell's British Birds," that several swifts, undeniably marked, returned not only for three years in succession, but one of the number was caught in the same locality at the expiration of seven years. Here, then, are displayed effects of memory and perception--in fine, a wondrous manifestation of intellect, which, under the vague name of instinct, has been applied, we think too indiscriminately, to such-like mental phenomena among the lower animals.

None of the eagles of Europe seem to cross the great inland sea, or perform regular migrations. The osprey and peregrine falcon wander over the south of Europe and north Africa in increased numbers during the winter months. Flocks of honey-buzzards, orange-legged falcons, and lesser kestrels, together with numbers of marsh harriers, kestrels, sparrow-hawks, and in a less proportion the hobby, merlin, and Montagu's and Swainson's harriers, follow the migratory birds to and from Africa--some in hot pursuit of the warblers and quail, which they feed on when they cannot procure more choice food. Thus flocks of hawks may be seen hovering over the fields in spring, and along the southern shores of the Mediterranean, where the birds of passage are assembling before they commence their voyage northward,--all driven hence by the hot blasts of the desert, which, under such local names as harmattan, sirocco, kamsin, simoom, and samiel, soon wither verdure, and compel birds of passage to turn their faces northward, and fly with all speed to more genial climes. A naval officer informed us that one spring evening, when a hundred miles off the coast of Africa, the rigging of his vessel was covered by small birds, which were seen arriving in scattered flocks from the south; among them were many hawks and a few small-sized owls, possibly the Scop's eared owl, which migrates in great numbers at that season. No sooner had the little birds settled down on the yards than the hawks commenced to prey on them, and were seen actually devouring their captives within a few yards of the officers, who attempted to put a stop to the slaughter by shooting the depredators, but in vain; they continued pursuing the unfortunate small birds from rope to yard-arm and around the vessel, until night put an end to the scene, when friend and foe went to roost, and at break of day all sped their way northward.

The short-eared and Scop's owls are migratory species; both pass and repass the Mediterranean in great numbers every spring and autumn, not in flocks, but singly; the latter is much in request as an article of food, and killed in several of the islands in large numbers; during its passage through Malta dozens of this handsome little owl may be seen in the poultry market. As beetles, moths, and the larger insects constitute the favorite food of the Scop's owl, and bats enter largely into the fare of its short-eared congener, it may be supposed neither can have much inducement to prolong its stay in Europe after September.

The night-jar, although late in arriving in the north of Europe, crosses the Mediterranean in March; the nocturnal habits of the bird, by restricting its movements to night and twilight, will account for its slow progress; it is also much esteemed by the natives {62} of the south as an article of food. None of the swallow tribe are more exact in their times of arrival and departure than the swifts, which seem to proceed further southward than any of the others; whether from sudden failure of food or change of climate, or both, it is seldom the black swift tarries on its way; for, not content with the climate of the southern shores of the great inland sea, it pushes on with little delay to Abyssinia, Nubia, and even Timbuctoo. The Alpine swift passes to and from Europe in small numbers; compared with the last-named species, this is a hardy bird; we have seen it and the house marten sporting around Alpine glaciers at the latter end of August, when there was a hoar frost every night, and occasional heavy falls of snow; many Alpine swifts spend the entire year on the Himalayan ranges. The chimney, house, and sand swallows make their first appearance in spring, and leave Europe in the order here given; none seem to pass the winter in any of the islands, and on their arrival in Africa move steadily southward to more genial regions. The rock swallow and rufous swallow make regular migrations from Asia Minor to south-eastern Europe, few venturing westward of Greece. Owing to the strong N.E. winds that prevail during the cold months, and sweep along the Mediterranean basin with great violence, many birds are blown from one coast to another, and turn up in districts in every way uncongenial to their habits and wants: thus are recorded by C. A. Wright, Esq., in his admirable catalogue of "Birds observed in Malta," the appearance of the diminutive golden and fire-crested wrens among the woodless tracts of these bare islands; supposing them to have come from the nearest point of Sicily, they must have flown at least fifty miles! Along the shores of the Mediterranean the approach of spring is heralded by flocks of gaudy bee-eaters, which may be seen advancing northward in scattered hosts emitting their characteristic call-note. We have watched them approaching Malta during the calm and delightful weather at that season, when a few, attracted by the verdure, would break off from the rest and descend, whilst the majority continued steering their course in a northerly direction. Luckless is the bird wanderer that makes a temporary resting-place of Malta at any time, especially on Sunday, for no sooner is an individual recognized than a dozen guns are put in requisition, and soon the fair forms of the bee-eater, oriole, etc., are seen stretched in rows on the benches of the poulterer. The weird-like form of the hoopoe may constantly be seen drifting before a south wind in spring, or hastening southward in August, seldom in flocks, but so numerous that on one occasion, on a projecting rock in the island of Gozo, we saw in the course of half an hour no less than ten hoopoes arrive, one after another. None of the woodpeckers, neither the creeper, nuthatch, nor the wren, seem to migrate. The warblers no doubt constitute by far the greatest minority of the birds of passage, and may be said to be most punctual in their time of arrival and departure. As with other groups, many entirely abandon their summer or winter residences at the migratory seasons, whilst others leave a few stragglers behind. The sedge, willow, garden, the chiffchaff, whitethroat, Sardinian, Dartford, subalpine, Vieillot's warblers, and the blackcap annually cross and recross the Mediterranean with undeviating regularity, some in enormous numbers, especially the garden warbler and whitethroat, which being then plump and in good condition are in great request, and constitute the Italian's much relished _beccafico_. The nightingale appears in considerable numbers and shares the same fate with the last-named species. The two redstarts, wheatear, whin, and stone-chats, with the redbreast, come and go to Africa regularly, leaving a few stragglers on the islands during winter, which, {63} however, unite with their brethren from north Africa in spring, when all proceed to Europe. The blue-throated warbler repairs to Egypt in winter, from the south-eastern countries of Europe and western Asia. A small migration takes place of the russet and eared wheat-ears annually to southern Europe in summer, and back again to the African deserts in autumn. As the song thrush and blackbird are plentiful throughout the year along the Atlas range, it is probable few of them return in spring, and whatever do cross in autumn and winter remain with the residents. The golden oriole passes through Malta regularly on its way northward, and in small flocks returns to Africa immediately after the harvest and fruit are collected in autumn. The ring ousel is also migratory; and although a few missal thrushes and redwings appear on the islands and southern shores during the cold season, neither can strictly speaking be called birds of passage, as their numbers seem entirely dependent on the state of the weather in Europe and local gales. The tree, meadow, red-throated and tawny pipits cross and recross regularly, and often in large flocks. The meadow pipit is another illustration of a bird which remains all the year in northern Europe, but is migratory in the southern parts. As soon as the hot weather has fairly set in in Africa, flocks of the short-toed lark proceed to southern Europe and distribute themselves over wastes; like other desert-living birds, it is very sensible of cold, and accordingly quits Europe before the regular migratory season. The sky, crested, and Calandral arks go southward late in October and the following month; the two last-named are extremely abundant in north Africa during winter. The woodlark repairs to southern Europe during the winter, but a few also regularly push further southward, and cross again in spring. The pied wagtail and its northern variety, called after the late Mr. Yarrell, repair to southern Europe on the approach of winter, and many also cross the great inland sea and proceed a long way into Africa; we found the former very common up the Nile to the second cataract. The grey wagtail, although nowhere so common, follows the same course and pushes northward at the same time with its congener in spring. The yellow wagtails of Europe have been so frequently confounded and misnamed, that until the student has carefully examined specimens of each he will be almost sure to become confused. There is, first, the yellow wagtail of the British islands, called also Ray's wagtail, that migrates to the continent in winter, but we opine not to southern Europe; this bird has been mistaken for the yellow wagtail of the continent, first described by Linnaeus. Enormous flocks of the last-named bird cross regularly to and from Africa annually: probably not a straggler remains in either country after the migratory seasons are over. We have repeatedly noticed varieties of this wagtail with grey and black-colored heads, which many naturalists consider as specific differences, whilst others appear to class them under the head of a race or variety of the _Motacilla flava_ of Linnaeus. We are enabled so far to strengthen the latter opinion, by the fact that in a large series of skins collected from flocks of yellow wagtails during their migrations across the Mediterranean, we could make out a gradual transition from the one state of plumage to the other, and we frequently found the grey, black, and olive-headed (or yellow wagtail proper) all in one flock and constantly associating together, and with the same call-note; the only difference was the call-note in autumn in some was noticed to be harsher; these, however, we ascertained to be birds of the year. The rook is migratory in south-eastern Europe, and repairs to the delta of the Nile in large flocks; sometimes it is driven by stress of weather to the islands of the mid and western Mediterranean. {64} The northern portion of Africa is a favorite resort for the starling in winter, when flocks may be constantly seen all over the south of Europe; they quit, however, in spring and go northward. The jay has been recorded as migratory, and said to frequent north Africa, Malta, and Egypt. We cannot, however, find any authentic confirmation of this statement. All the European flycatchers cross the Mediterranean very punctually. The spotted bird is by far the most numerous, next the pied, and in a much less proportion, the white-necked flycatcher. The first has a very extensive geographical range, embracing the whole continent of Africa and Europe, and breeds in great numbers even in North Britain, where we have seen large flocks in autumn pursuing their retrograde coarse southward. The woodchat shrike seems to be the only representative of the family that regularly leaves Europe in winter; its red-backed congener has been said to migrate to north Africa. The finches are always late in migrating in autumn, and leave north Africa long before the other birds of passage; at all times much depends on the severity of the weather, their numbers increasing or diminishing accordingly. No doubt, like the thrushes and other species indigenous to temperate climes, many individuals extend their range during the winter months, not so much from failure of food, as the cold weather allows them to wander over regions inimical to their constitutions and wants in summer; from this cause and the state of the climate in north and mid Europe, together with the transporting power of gales, may be attributed the pretty regular appearance of flocks of the following finches on the islands and southern shores of the great inland ocean. The linnet is plentiful in Egypt and north Africa in winter; small flocks of the chaffinch, greenfinch, goldfinch, common buntings, sirinfinch, grosbeak, and ortolan may be seen among the tamarisk and olive groves of north Africa at the same season, whilst a few solitary individuals of the crossbill, scarlet grosbeak, reed and meadow buntings, cirl and bramble finches, tree and rock sparrows, find their way in winter to the islands and southern shores of the Mediterranean. The cuckoo and wryneck are among the foremost birds of passage that cross to and from Africa, and both seem to have much the same geographical distribution. We have heard the cuckoo's welcome note among the carol trees of Malta in March; in the north of Europe in May; among the stunted birch trees on the confines of perpetual snow on the Himalayan mountains in July; and often recognized its handsome form among the orange groves on the torrid plains of India as late as November.

Many wood and stock pigeons migrate to Africa in winter; their headquarters, however, would seem to be located in the south of Europe; not so with the turtle dove, of which flocks of thousands may be seen steering their course southward in autumn and _vice versa_ in spring; very few, if any, remaining in Europe or in Africa at the termination of their migrations. At these seasons they are caught in great numbers, by means of clapnets and decoy birds. The quail invariably flies within a few feet of the sea when crossing.

As soon as the cold weather has fairly set in along the shores of the Mediterranean, a partial migration of the following plovers takes place. The Norfolk plover disperses in winter over the islands, and penetrates far south to central Africa. During November flights of golden plovers arrive on the northern exposures of the Maltese islands; also a few of the grey and a good many of the lapwing plovers, all of which go to Africa. The dotterel, with its two-winged allies, and the Kentish plover, pursue much the same course, perhaps if anything more of all these pass in autumn than recross in spring, for the reason that several of the species are resident {65} in Africa, and extensively distributed over the entire continent. The common heron and crane repair southward to the African lakes and rivers, and may be seen during the winter months flying at great heights; neither is attracted by the mere appearance of land, whist the purple heron Egret squacco, night heron, little bittern, glossy ibis, whimbrel, common and slender-billed curlews, fly at lower levels, and tarry on the islands on their way.

The frosts of October and the following months drive across the inland sea myriads of greenshanks, wood, the common and little sandpipers, stilts, water-rails, the common, spotted Baillons, and little crakes, and the coot. In smaller numbers come black-tailed godwits, common and jack-snipes, common and spotted redshanks, marsh and green sandpipers, with ruffs, the great snipe, knot, curlew sandpiper, dunlin turnstone. Now and then the woodcock wanders across, but as a rule its migration is mostly confined to the south of Europe. The Adriatic gull extends its range over the western Mediterranean in winter. Many northern gulls and terns, to wit, the herring, lesser, and black-backed gulls, Sandwich, common, the little, the black, the white-winged, and the whiskered terns, spread themselves over the sea, and wander up the Nile and to the lakes of north Africa. Of the duck tribe nearly all go north in spring. Among others, we have noticed the bean goose, shoveller, shelldrake, mallard, pintail, gadwall, widgeon, teal, gargany, and castaneous ducks; the red-breasted merganser, and the cormorant; the crested, horned, eared, and little grebes.

Translated from Etudes Religieuses, Historiques et Littéraires, par des Pères de la Compagnie de Jésus.

ANOTHER ATTEMPT AT UNION BETWEEN THE ANGLICAN AND GREEK CHURCHES.

It is remarkable with what perseverance Protestants have ever labored to bring about a reconciliation and union between themselves and the schismatical churches of the East.

When one compares the terms between which it is desired to effect this union, it is difficult to conceive of two which are more opposed, and between which there is a more complete contrast. Protestants reject the authority both of tradition and of the hierarchy; the veneration of saints, images, and relics; outward ceremonial, and all that which may be considered as composing the external side of religion. The Greeks, on the contrary, so far from rejecting these, have rather exaggerated their importance. It seems impossible that they should ever reach a uniformity of sentiment; but yet the endeavor to effect it has been steadily persevered in.

As far back as 1559 Melancthon tried to bring about an understanding with Joseph II., the patriarch of Constantinople; and on sending him the confession of Augsburg, he wrote, with rather more cunning than fairness, "that the Protestants had remained {66} faithful to the Holy Scriptures, to the dogmatic decisions of holy councils, and to the teaching of Athanasius, Basil, Gregory, Epiphanius, etc., the fathers of the Greek Church; that they rejected the errors of Paul of Samosata, of the Manichees, and of all the heresiarchs condemned by the Holy Church, as well as the superstitious practices introduced by ignorant monks into the Latin Church, wherefore he besought the patriarch to give no heed to the evil reports which were in circulation against Protestants."

It seems the patriarch was not to be caught by these plausible professions, for he made no reply. The Protestants were not discouraged, and fifteen years later a fresh attempt was made by the Lutheran university of Tübingen. The ambassador of the German emperor at Constantinople was a Protestant, and had brought with him a minister of his own denomination, named Gerlach. It was he who carried on the negotiations between the university of Tübingen and the Patriarch Jeremias. The whole of this correspondence is before the public. The patriarch refutes the Protestant doctrines with great ability and clearness, and concludes by requesting the professors of Tübingen to trouble him no longer and to send him no more letters. They were not to be discouraged by a trifle like this; but write what they would, the patriarch made them no further reply. This negotiation began in 1573 and lasted until 1581, but nothing came of it.

Fifty years after the Lutherans had failed, in their turn the Calvinists made another effort, which seemed to promise better success. The ambassadors of Holland, England, and Sweden took the most active and energetic part in the matter. The patriarch, of Constantinople, Cyril Lucar, himself a Calvinist at heart, so far from opposing their designs, favored them with all his power. Success seemed certain. After various vicissitudes Cyril Lucar died in 1638. [Footnote 2] A few weeks after his death the synod of Constantinople pronounced sentence of censure upon his propositions, and anathema upon himself. In 1642 a second council was held under the Patriarch Parthenius, who was very hostile both to Rome and to Catholics, which confirmed the previous condemnation of Cyril. Among others, Peter Mogila, metropolitan of Kief, signed this fresh censure. Last of all, these condemnations of 1638 and 1642 were confirmed by a council held at Jerusalem in 1672, over which the Patriarch Dositheus presided.

[Footnote 2: He was thrown into the Bosphorus by the sultan, at the request of his brother bishops.--Ed. C.W.]

The creation of a bishopric at Jerusalem may be regarded, also, as an attempt at reunion between the Protestants and the schismatic churches of the East. Frederick William IV., king of Prussia, assisted by M. de Bunsen, was the promoter of this idea, but it was too ingenious and too complicated to be practical. It proposed to labor for the conversion of the Jews; to prepare the way for the union of the schismatical churches of the East with, the Anglican; and, by means of the evangelical church of Prussia, to induce the various sects of Protestantism to conform in matters of doctrine and discipline to the Church of England. The archbishop of Canterbury favored the plan; but, as was to be expected, there were many Protestants who were very far from giving it their approbation. As to the Oriental Christians, they were exceedingly astonished, as Dr. Bowring humorously related before Parliament, at the arrival, not only of a bishop (_un vescovo_), but of a lady-bishop (_una vescova_) and baby-bishops (_vescovini_). After an existence of twenty years, no pretence is yet made that the bishopric of Jerusalem has succeeded in effecting any reconciliation whatever with the Oriental churches, or that it has in any measure prepared the way for the uniting of {67} Protestantism itself. The Anglican Church is herself more divided than ever, and demonstrates more conclusively from year to year how impossible it is for her to keep fast hold upon any creed whatever. Perhaps this manifestation of internal division and doctrinal anarchy may contribute somewhat to turn the eyes of Anglicans toward the ancient and immovable Church of the East.

However this may be, we have before us in our own day a fresh attempt at reunion about which we must say a few words. The facts are as follows: Three or four years ago Dr. Troll, [Footnote 3] bishop of the Episcopalian Church in San Francisco, discovered that there were in his diocese some four hundred persons belonging to the Greek Church, who, while they recognized his authority up to a certain point, yet refused to receive communion from his hands. Dr. Troll referred the matter to the convention of the Episcopal Church in the United States, who appointed a committee to examine and report on the relation in which the two churches stood toward one another. The Church of England took part in the investigation, and convocation met at Canterbury in 1863, appointing a commission whose duty it should be to have an understanding with the Episcopal Church in America and co-operate with her. In the month of February, 1865, this commission presented their report before convocation at Canterbury. The American committee published a series of works designed to prepare the way for union by making known the dogmas and rites of the Greco-Russian Church. The English commission formed an association whose object it was to make the Oriental churches known to Englishmen, and in turn to make the Anglican Church understood by the Christians of the East. The Anglican archbishop of Dublin, many other bishops of the same church, and the archbishop of Belgrade, were among the patrons of this association.

[Footnote 3: There is some mistake here. Dr. Kip is the Protestant Bishop of California.--Ed. C.W.]

In 1864, Dr. Young of New York made a visit to Russia, where he put himself in communication with the more prominent members of the Russian episcopate. The Episcopalian bishop of San Francisco visited Georgia, Servia, and Bulgaria, and more recently Nice, where he frequented the Russian chapel.

Messrs. Popof and Wassilief, chaplains of the Russian ambassadors at London and Paris, were present at the sittings of the English commission and took part in its deliberations. By the very last news from America we are informed that _divine service_ [_i.e.,_mass.--Ed.] was solemnly celebrated, according to the Oriental rite and in the Sclavonic language, in one of the principal Episcopalian churches of New York city. According to the American newspapers, the celebrant was F. Agapius, recently come to America, having been appointed by the Russian Church to the spiritual charge of his co-religionists in the United States. The "Union Chrétienne," Paris paper, informs us that Father Agapius Honcharenko is a deacon of the Russian Church who was ordained priest by a bishop of the Greek Church, which ordination was irregular; and that F. Agapius acted without any authority from the Russian Church; and lastly, that he was associated with M. Alexander Herzen at London and took part in the publication of the "Kolokol" (the "Clock"). This last fact is of a character to make a deep impression upon the members of the synod of St. Petersburg, but it is not so clear that it exercised the same influence upon the mind of the Americans. The "Union Chrétienne" appears to think that when this valuable information about Agapius Honcharenko reaches New York, the Episcopal Church will have nothing more to do with him. This is possible, but as yet it is mere conjecture. However this may be, this little incident is not calculated to {68} kindle in the synod of Russia any great zeal for the proposed reunion.

The "Den" (Day), a periodical in Moscow, has also an account of the celebration of this mass in New York, in its fourteenth number, 1865. Evidently the Moscovite journal has none of the information as to this individual, P. Honcharenko, which was given by the "Union Chrétienne;" but it makes up for this by the important fact that although this priest may have received no mission from the Russian Church, he was endowed with at least equal power and authorization by the metropolitan of Athens and the synod of the kingdom of Greece, which is easy of explanation, since from Athens he embarked for America.

The April number, 1865, of the "Otetchestrennyja Sapiski," or "Patriotic Annals," also speaks of the attempt at reunion, and it repeats the conditions proposed by the theologians of the Episcopal churches of England and America. These conditions no doubt constitute matter of much interest, but as we have not been able to procure this number of the St. Petersburg review, we can say nothing about them.

On the whole, up to the present time but one bishop of the Oriental schismatic church has shown himself favorable to this project, viz., Monsignor Michel, archbishop of Belgrade, or, rather, metropolitan of Servia, under which title he presides over the church in Servia. This prelate made his theological studies at Kief, has held the see of Belgrade since 1859, and is not yet forty years of age. Those persons whose privilege it has been to have access to him, represent him as a man of a high order of intelligence, very pleasing and attractive in his personal appearance, dignified in his manners, and very exemplary in his life. If one may rely upon the testimony of Protestant travellers who have been in communication with him, it would appear that he has shown himself very favorable to a reconciliation between the Church of England and the schismatical churches of the East, and that for his own part he would not hesitate to express in warm terms his gratitude to the Protestants for their profitable investigations regarding the Greek Church. In fine, it is possible that Monsignor Michel might allow himself to be induced to take up again, in an underhand way, the scheme of Cyril Lucar. This is no small undertaking. Before it is possible to blend these two churches into one, a perfect understanding must be had on a great number of points which are of the highest importance. It will suffice to mention such, _e.g._, as the mass, the sacraments, the procession of the Holy Ghost, devotion to the Blessed Virgin and the saints, and the honor to be paid to relics and images. In addition to these must be settled the question as to the validity of the Anglican orders. As to Monsignor Michel personally, he would have an additional difficulty to contend with. Everybody knows that the people of Servia have very little sympathy with the people of England, and they would undoubtedly manifest very little inclination to follow their metropolitan should he try to induce them to do so.

It must be admitted, however, that the endeavor to reunite the two churches has far more hope of success in the nineteenth than it had either in the sixteenth or seventeenth centuries. On the one hand, the teaching of the Puseyites has spread widely among the Anglican clergy. Men of distinction who have made their studies at Oxford and Cambridge are beginning more and more to suspect that apostolicity is an essential note of the church of Jesus Christ, and that it is very difficult to discover this in a church which dates only from the time of Henry VIII.; they are gradually giving up the principle of private judgment, and are learning to appreciate more and more the value of tradition, of the fathers, and of the general councils of the Church. On the other hand, adherence to {69} orthodoxy has, in the East, lost somewhat of its deep, sincere, and inflexible character. Some years since we had occasion to show, in the pages of this review, that in her theological teaching the Russian Church had been materially affected by Protestant influence. This is no longer so in our own day, if we may judge by the public writings of the Russian bishops, and there has been a very general return to doctrines much more in harmony with the traditions of the churches of the East. But at the same time one must admit that rationalism and infidelity have made fearful ravages in the East as well as in the West. Talk with young men from Russia, Greece, Romania, and Servia who have made their studies in either Russian or German universities, who have attended the course of lectures given by professors from either Athens or Paris, and you will see how feeble, cold, and wavering their faith has become. The result has been a prevailing atmosphere, both intellectual and moral, which enervates the firmness of convictions, and generates a certain laxity in one's hold on the teachings of the faith. People have become more ready to conform to public opinion, and I should be greatly surprised if an attempt similar to that made by Cyril Lucar should find in the East of to-day an equally universal and prompt condemnation.

Moreover, the working of Protestant missions in the East has not been so completely unsuccessful as many persons are pleased to report As a general thing Protestant missionaries are men of intelligence, education, and good breeding; they make a thorough study of the country in which they reside; they erect schools and printing presses, and put in circulation a large number of books. It is impossible to admit that all this can be absolutely without effect. These schools and those books must be the germ of an influence which time cannot fail to develop. I am very well assured that Protestantism has very few attractions for the people of the East in any point of view, least of all on the side of externals, and that the difficulty of making Protestants of the people of the East would be very great; still, one must not conclude from this that it would be impossible to bring about a certain kind of union; that an arrangement might not be made which would introduce a different spirit into the schismatical churches of the East while they yet preserved their external form. I grant you the liturgy of the East, eminently dogmatical as it is, would contrast most singularly with Protestant notions; but remember, we are not now speaking of Protestantism in its pure development, but of the Anglican phase of it, and of Anglicanism leavened by Puseyism.

In conclusion, I have no faith myself in this attempt; but still a person would have a false idea of the state of the case who should regard the move as a purely fanciful one, and one unworthy the attention of serious-minded men.

But, now, supposing this effort should be successful, have we Catholics any cause for alarm? I think rather the contrary. The Church of England is as clearly wanting in apostolicity as the Greek Church is in catholicity. The one has need to link herself on to the chain of past time; the other to extend her boundaries, that she may no longer feel herself to be enclosed within a part of the world; that she may not have the appearance of identifying herself with only a few of the many races of men. Even admitting that by means of this alliance the English could congratulate themselves upon having won back their title to apostolicity, and the Greeks in turn theirs to catholicity, the need of unity would be felt all the more, which neither can ever attain to, apart from that rock upon which our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ has built his Church, and against which the gates of hell shall never prevail.

J. GAGARIN. [Footnote 4]

[Footnote 4: F. Gagarin is a Russian prince, a convert from the Greek schism, and a member of the Society of Jesus.--Ed.]

{70}

From The Sixpenny Magazine.

THE CHILDREN.

When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And the school for the day is dismissed, The little ones gather around me To bid me "good night," and be kissed. Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in their tender embrace; Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face.

And when they are gone, I sit dreaming Of my childhood--too lovely to last-- Of joy that my heart will remember While it wakes to the pulse of the past: Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin, When the glory of God was about me, And the glory of gladness within.

I ask not a life for the dear ones All radiant, as others have done; But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun; I would pray God to guard them from evil; But my prayer would bound back to myself: Ah, a seraph may pray for a sinner. But a sinner must pray for himself^

I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more; Ah! how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door; I shall miss the "good-nights" and the kisses, And the gush of their innocent glee; The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning for me.

{71}

From The Lamp.

ALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.

BY ROBERT CURTIS.