ment of the rising generation, or the very handsome hospitality of the officers quartered at Weedon might have suffered more severely on Tuesday last. The meet took place in the barrack square, before the mess-room; but few seemed inclined to dismount for more than a glass of sherry before commencing business. I believe men are always in a hurry on hunting mornings. Youngsters like to get themselves up to the fullest possible extent: neither the choker, nor leathers, nor boots, are put on with the view to much getting up and down; and coffee frequently goes on in a dressing-gown and drawers amongst bachelors: it used to be my way; it is so no longer. There was very little scent; and a short-running fox from Dodford employed a good part of our morning. The rest of the afternoon was employed between Althorp Park (where one was found and killed) and Nobottle Wood-a cover affording a very pretty knowledge of wood-craft, but not much of crossing a country. They ran a bit in cover, though, I can assure you.

You can remember, my very excellent reader, the days when you were going to meet at some favourite fixture-a sure find, and surrounded by grass-how you were kept awake by your anxieties about the morning, and your horse, and the imaginary fencing that was going on in your brain. So was it with me-me, old Uncle Scribble, on Tuesday night, in contemplation of Misterton on Wednesday morning. But do not imagine that my horse, or my breeches, or the nightmare, kept me awake: no-it was the wind-a noisy, blustering north-easter: the windows rattled, the doors creaked, the chimney-pots whistled, and I certainly then began to think of the morrow; and my fears were justified of all the uncomfortable unscentlying mornings, I never saw a worse. We made a sort of ring of it from Shawell Wood, and a second from Misterton Gorse. I rather think the fox was lying outside; he won't lie outside any more, for we eat him, and went off to the Rick Cover, when I went off too.

The month has not been worse with the Pytchley than with their neighbours; but it has not been a good scenting one, and the number of foxes killed below the average. I have said a word or two of that above; but lest I should unwittingly leave an impression which I no not intend to leave, I may conclude with one word on Charles Payne, who has been a servant in the Pytchley country for several years. He is not perfect no man is; but he is one of the most well-behaved, active, respectable huntsmen in England; as fine a horseman as ever sat in pigskin; as quick as lightning over a country and out of a cover; hounds, whether seen on the flags or in the field, are a guarantee for his care and knowledge; and with the exception of an over-zeal in killing, which induces him to lift to a hallo when his fox is sinking, he has scarcely a fault.

February 9, 1854.

his

"THE ROMAUNT OF SIR TRISTRAM."

BY GREYBEARD.

PART THE SECOND.

"One day, when the sea was calm, and the weather beautiful, but extremely hot, you complained of thirst. Do you not remember this, daughter of the King of Ireland? We then both drank from one cup: I have been drunk ever since; and a fatal drunkenness have I found it."-TRANSLATION FROM THE FRENCH ROMAUNT OF "TRISTRAM L'AMOUREUX."

Three long years lay Tristram the True upon a bed of sickness, forsaken by all save his one faithful servant, the weary day succeeding the painful night; till, desperate with suffering, he besought of his uncle to lend him a ship, in which he and Governail might embark, taking with them a year's provisions, and his harp to solace their misfortunes. After a nine weeks' voyage, during which the harp must have been in great request, they land at a harbour called " Deivelin (can this be the modern Dublin?), and are boarded in great numbers by the inhabitants, who, delighted with Sir Tristram's manifold accomplishments, and pitying his evil case, report this fresh arrival to their Queen, swearing by St. Patrick that had he but his health he "were a merry

man.

Her Majesty, who is own sister to the slain Moraunt, is described as the wisest woman of her day, and the most skilful in medicine, besides being "lovesome under line" ("lovely under the greenwood tree")— a quaint expression, perhaps conveying a compliment the converse of what we term in these days a "candlelight beauty." She sends Tristram a plaister, which heals his wound; and anon visits him on board-ship.

Our hero is now compelled to conceal his identity; and inverting his proper appellation, calls himself Tramtris, a merchant who has been robbed and wounded by pirates. Under this name, he instructs the Queen's beautiful daughter Ysolde in all manner of games and music, till not a knight in the land can equal her in these attainments. the space of one year, Tramtris dwells in Ireland, and then longs for home; the Queen dismissing him with gold and silver for his guerdon, and a remark on the ingratitude of strangers. So he and Governail embark once more for Cornwall.

For

Great are the rejoicings at King Mark's court when his nephew returns safe and sound. Much has the wanderer to tell of his adventures; and when he sings the praises of her who is henceforth to be his destiny-Ysolde "the bright and sheen "-Mark's curiosity is inflamed by accounts of such loveliness, and he bequeaths Tristram his kingdom and possessions, on condition that the latter shall obtain him

N

this peerless damsel to wife. The intrigues of the barons, who accuse the nephew of opposing his uncle's marriage from interested motives, urge him to the attempt; and embarking once more, with fifteen knights, and a valuable cargo of all that is most precious, our hero sets sail for Ireland, to fetch bright Ysolde home as Queen of Cornwall.

Once more he arrives at Deivelin, where he finds the whole country panic-stricken at the approach of a frightful dragon. Not a knight in all Tristram's train will encounter the monster; but the hardy champion himself knows not fear; and selecting a gallant steed from his ship, prepares for the encounter, having, we are told, this single advantage (was he not a sportsman ?), that he knows the country. Of course the combat is detailed at length; sufficient it is to say that he slays the monster, and cutting out its tongue, places that venomous member inside his hose, next his skin; the consequence of which arrangement is, that ere he goes ten paces, the poison enters his system, and he falls speechless on the sward. The King's steward passing by, cuts off the dragon's head; and taking all the credit of the exploit to himself, claims Ysolde as his reward. The damsel, however, has her own doubts as to the steward's manhood, and visits the scene of action with her mother. Here they discover the real champion senseless, but restore him with treacle(); on which, in his assumed character of Tramtris the merchant, he offers to do single combat with the steward, waging his ship and cargo on the result.

"Alas!" sighs sweet Ysolde," "that thou art not a knight!"

The ladies now place their protegé in a bath; and after admiring his stalwart figure, the Queen goes to procure him a cordial; and during her absence, bright Ysolde recognizes her old preceptor, Tramtris. To assure herself of his identity, she examines his sword, from the blade of which there is a large piece missing, the gap corresponding with the steel that had remained in Moraunt's skull, since carefully treasured up in a coffer. On the Queen's return, she finds Ysolde threatening the patient in the bath with his own weapon. The arrival of the King saves the hero from the ladies' revenge.

Tristram, smiling on sweet Ysolde, now declares himself and his errand, excusing the death of Moraunt on the plea that he was slain in fair fight. The Princess's alliance to the rich King of Cornwall is ratified with many presents and attestations; the steward withdraws his claim, and, at Ysolde's request, is imprisoned forthwith; whilst the exulting mother prepares a potent love-philtre, which she entrusts to Brengwain, her daughter's hand-maid, and directs her to give it the royal pair on the night of their espousals, to drink.

Bright Ysolde is soon far out at sea, where there falls a dead calm, and the knights are forced to betake them to their oars. Here, as usual, Tristram distinguishes himself, tiring out three sets of rowers ere he confesses to fatigue. Sweet Ysolde bids Brengwain give him to drink; and now the love-philtre is produced: Ysolde tastes, and Tristram drains the fatal draught. From that hour, in defiance of all laws human and divine, they are bound to each other by a chain that death itself shall hardly sever; from that hour they are to love madly, devotedly in guilt, danger, and remorse; and from that hour begins a tale of sin and shame, that all the bright qualities of the ladye and her knight can neither extenuate nor conceal. A hound, called Hodain,

licks the magic cup; and even the brute, yielding to its power, henceforth attaches himself to one or other of the doomed pair.

Two weeks they remain at sea, all-in-all to each other; and then Tristram delivers his love to be espoused by the King of Cornwall. How the nuptials took place-how Brengwain was substituted for her mistress-how that mistress requited her damsel's self-devotion, and Brengwain's own ready excuses preserved her from assassination by Ysolde's command, are detailed in somewhat plainer English than is customary at the present day; neither would our modern ideas of generosity impel us, as King Mark's impelled him, to deliver up a wife as the price of a tune fairly executed on the harp; yet so it fell in that romantic time. A former lover of Ysolde made his appearance at court, with a harp hung about his neck, on which he declined to play till Mark should have promised him whatsoever guerdon he might ask. The King pledged his word, and the crafty minstrel in harmonious numbers claimed Ysolde as his reward. The King consulted his council, and, compelled to confess himself "man-sworn,' or lose his wife, chose the latter alternative; so Ysolde, much to her disgust, was forced to embark with her melodious admirer. Tristram, returning from the chase, learnt the maddening intelligence. He took Mark severely to task for having "nothing but his Queen to bestow on glee-men ;" and seizing his rote, rode down to the shore, where he played such a mournful air as nearly broke Ysolde's heart. The Queen obtained permission from her new possessor to go ashore for a space, on the plea of sickness; and watching her opportunity, eloped into the forest with her old love; Sir Tristram checking his horse for an instant to hurl the following taunt at his baffled pursuer :

"Thou dote! (dolt)

With thy harp didst thou win her, that time,

But lost her with my rote."

The lovers remained a week in the forest; when Tristram returned the Queen to her husband, with this sage advice, that in future he should "give minstrels other thing."

Now Tristram has a friend named Meriadok, who shares his chamber, and is much indebted to the knight. He requites his obligations by watching our hero narrowly on all occasions. A fall of snow covers the path that leads to Ysolde's bower; and though her lover takes the precaution of binding a sieve on his feet, that he may leave no tracks, he is discovered by his friend, who finds a piece of the knight's green kirtle (the blue-brown is by this time worn out) rent off by the sliding board through which he pays his stolen visits. The spy informs King Mark, and recommends that obtuse monarch to feign an expedition to Jerusalem, and to give his wife her choice of a guardian during his absence: Ysolde immediately names Tristram, adding, with a touch of womanly craft

"I love him all the more
That he is thy kinsman."

On talking the matter over the next day, however, with her confidant Brengwain, that astute damsel detects a plot; and by her advice, Ysolde, the following night, entreats her husband to send Tristram away, alleging that the reports concerning him are injurious to her reputation,

and asking leave to accompany the King on his hazardous expedition. Our uxorious monarch would be satisfied but for Meriadok, who counsels him to separate the lovers; and the Queen accordingly remains at her own bower, whilst Tristram takes up his abode in the town. Even under these circumstances he contrives to communicate with Ysolde, by means of "linden chips," which he casts into the stream that flows under her window. An appointment to meet in a certain orchard is nevertheless discovered by a dwarf, who prevails on Mark to hide in a tree, and himself witness the conduct of his nephew and his wife. Mark, who seems throughout the tale to do what any one tells him, hoists his goodly person on a bough; but Tristram's habits of woodcraft have made him wondrously circumspect, and he espies the listener's shadow on the grass. He accordingly reproaches the Queen loudly, as the cause of his uncle's displeasure; and she, taking her cue from her lover, replies in no measured terms of indignation. The husband is quite satisfied; and to make amends for his groundless suspicions, creates Tristram high constable, and restores him to favour. Of the manner in which he shows his gratitude, the less we say the better.

Neither need we dwell upon an experiment of simultaneous bloodletting on the persons of the suspected parties, proposed by Meriadok, and practised accordingly, nor the wondrous leap of thirty feet and three performed by Sir Tristram, along a passage strewed with sand, for the purpose of identifying his footmarks. So much is, however, discovered, that Sir Tristram must fly the court; and the Queen can only clear herself by the ordeal of "hot iron," before the Consistory at Westminster. In crossing the Thames-which good Thomas affirms to be "an arm of the sea"-for this purpose, Sir Tristram, disguised in "poor weed" (lowly dress), assists the Queen out of her boat, and designedly falling with her in his arms, enables the injured dame to swear, that save Mark and the poor man whom they had all that day beheld, she had never been sullied by mortal embrace. Easy Mark, satisfied with the oath, excuses the ordeal, and Fytte the Second closes on the lady restored to her husband's favour, Meriadok in disgrace, and Tristram warring in Wales; for if he may not be with Ysolde

66 Fight he sought everywhere."

Fytte the Third commences with the introduction of a King of Wales, named Triamour, who has a daughter bearing the hapless appellation of Blanche-Fleur. We may here remark on the dearth of proper names throughout this old romance, another Tristram and another Ysolde being brought on the stage towards the close of the tale. Wicked Urgan, a giant, proves a hostile neighbour to Triamour, and Tristram accordingly encounters the monster, who is a brother of Duke Morgan, the knight's old enemy. Tristram cuts off his antagonist's hand, with which he rides away; the giant overtakes him at a bridge, where, in presence of the whole country, he is slain by our hero, to whom the grateful King resigns the sovereignty of Wales, adding to this royal guerdon the gift of a wondrous whelp, whose skin was soft as silk, and whose colours were red and green and blue! The courteous knight resigns the principality to Blanche-Fleur, and sends Peticrewe as a present to Dame Ysolde the Queen. That winning lady having by this