London Magazine:

A JOURNAL OF ENTERTAINMENT AND INSTRUCTION
FOR GENERAL READING.

FEBRUARY 7, 1846.

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voutly joined in the prayers which terminate the labours of the day. But when the last prayer was said, the maiden left the church alone, for her lover had been summoned from another land to be dubbed a knight by a great earl in England, and this night he was to watch his arms in the church. As soon as the other worshippers had retired, Lionel was summoned by a priest to confession; he was not long so engaged, for he had few of the vices of his age, and, after a few words of exhortation and instruction, was left quite alone. It was St. Michael's Eve, and a light burned before St. Michael's altar, and here Lionel's arms were piled, beside which he kneeled, resolved to pass the night thus in meditation and prayer. His sword was all that he was allowed to retain of his armour, and, setting it upright, with its bare point on the pavement before him, he clasped his hands upon its cross-hilt.

The thoughts of a young man so shortly to be admitted to the honour of knighthood should be high and holy, full of hope and ambition, and such were Lionel's; yet, when he had kneeled for near an hour in his light garments on the cold stones, the gloom of the church striking cold to his very bones, and its silence weighing on his spirits, it must be owned that he wished his vigil at an end, and longed for the light of day. Anxious, however, to stifle all unworthy thoughts, he closed his eyes, and repeated in secret some of the prayers the good monks had taught him. He prayed for the church, his king, for the rightful cause in war, and for his own protection through the night, nor did he forget to name her who was far dearer to him than himself. While he was thus occupied, he heard a footfall close behind him. Lionel feared no man by daylight and in the open field, and his heart was stout under all dangers whatsoever, but this sound made it beat very quick, for he had been taught that a candidate for knighthood must expect strange trials during his vigils. Yet he opened not his eyes even till his prayers were finished, and this exercise of resolution doubled his courage for the expected encounter. When he did at length look up, he saw that he was indeed no longer alone. A man of obsequious mien stood before him, clad in the garb of a servitor or lay-brother of the abbey, and bearing on his arm a rich mantle of furs, and a velvet cap rising from a diadem of gold. His voice was humble and soft, as he addressed Lionel by a title to which he had yet no claim.

'Sir Knight! for so I call thee, since thy bravery and virtue have made thee one long since in all but the name,-thou followest this form too rigidly. This thin apparel and these cold stones are for men who have many sins to be quit of before they may take the vows of knighthood upon them; with thee it is not so, and the lord abbot has sent thee this mantle and this cap to guard thee from the chill air, and bids thee seat thyself in the knights' stalls, where thou wilt be more comfortably lodged."

It has been already said that the church was at this hour cold and comfortless, and that Lionel's vigil, inured as he was to hardships, was yet a painful one; it was no cause for wonder, therefore, that he felt for a moment disposed to accept the warm garments which his visitor held out to him, and to seek the shelter of the knights' "Am I stalls. But better thoughts came to his aid. the humblest of Christ's solnot," he said to himself, diers, and shall I shrink from a few hours' hardship, and be too proud for this humble posture? How then shall I be fit for the life of danger and difficulty which a true knight destines for himself?" He refused not the gift in words, for he had been charged to keep a silent watch, but motioned the servitor away, made the sign of the cross on his breast, and with closed eyes repeated a versicle for support. His visitor was gone before he had again opened his eyes, and Lionel felt an inward consciousness that he had had to deal with a spiritual being. The thought struck him with awe, yet his successful resistance emboldened him, and he continued his vigil with a lighter and more steadfast heart than before.

But his trial was not at an end. Though the servitor himself had departed, the rich mantle and precious diadem were left on the floor beside his own armour, and with them a bag heavy with gold coin. They showed fair contrasted with his own poor armour, and It would have been foul pride," he the esquire did not without reflection surmount this new temptation. thought,

to have worn the garb, and sat in the seat of knighthood, while I am yet a lowly esquire; but tomorrow will see me as true a knight as the richest in the land, yet in such mean armour that the very heralds will think it lost labour to ery largesse' for one who has so little for himself. This gold is freely offered, and Yet," he added, "I will do I will, at least, with its aid, clothe myself in fair bright armour on the morrow. nothing without the counsel of Heaven." Accordingly, he betook himself again to prayer, and so thoroughly was the temptation conquered by it, that he now looked on his own battered but trusty mail, tried in many fights, as more precious than the richest enamelled suit.

Another hour of dreary solitude had passed, when he He suddenly felt a warm hand laid on his neck. started, and, looking round, beheld the fairest woman that had ever crossed his eyes. Very beautiful she was, and had many enticing ways, for she leaned upon his shoulder as he kneeled, and whispered softly in his ear, and her voice and warm breath cheered him, for he was very lonely. She said she had taken pity on his solitude, and would give him her company during the night, but he must come to the warm cell above the church porch, for she could not live in the cold chapel where he was kneeling. Beauty is ever a perilous snare, and this lady had more than Lionel ever knew, and it may be that he would have yielded to her allurements, but that his love for the pure and faithful Constance was as a shield to him. He thought of this, and he thought too that this lady's gay apparel and enticing manner was strangely at variance with the sanctity of that old church. Yet he could not turn his eyes away, but gazed upon her with admiration, even while he crossed himself; but he had no sooner done so than her cheeks became pale, her hair grey, and all her beauty, save the fire of her eyes, departed. Then he was very glad that he had withstood her allurements, and could fix his eyes steadfastly upon the rood, and thought no more of the fair maiden.

Presently he heard voices close beside him (though he saw nothing), which repeated his name and spoke discourteously of his life and actions.

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came home from "This dainty 'squire," said one, the wars, and bragged of his great deeds there, and men hold him in honour therefore; nay, to-morrow they will make him a knight; yet I myself have seen him turn his back in battle, and he was ever readier to thrust his comrade into danger than to share it himself."

And another voice answered: "He has done worse deeds than that, for he woos a maiden named Constance, but wills not to wed her; for he is already wedded to a At these heathen damsel whom he captured in war." words Lionel was more moved than he had ever been Then he heard the voices laughing before, and, clutching his sword, he sprang up and looked angrily around. and mocking at a little distance, and he was about to pursue them through the church, when a stir among his armour caught his ear, and looking towards it, he saw a hand extended to take some of it away. He flew to it, and the hand vanished; but he kneeled still closer to his armour than before, and grieved that anger should for a moment have diverted him from his watch.

It was now midnight, and Lionel heard priests chanting the midnight prayers in another part of the church, yet he would not leave his watch to tell them what he had seen and heard, but imitated them in praying, and commending himself to Heaven.

There came then a fragrant smell of meats and dainty viands, and Lionel remembered that he had been from

midnight to midnight without food, for he who would be a knight fasts the day before his vows. He saw, but a little way behind him, a table spread with good fare and a flagon of wine, and the sight, perhaps, made his fast somewhat more painful, but he smiled at their folly who thought such dainties would lure a true soldier from his duty.

Another hour of his watch had passed without disturbance, when he heard the beat of a horse's hoofs on the soft turf in the churchyard. Then a door flew open near where he was kneeling, and he saw in the moonlight a page leading a noble charger, with all the trappings that a knight's horse should have, and all of the richest and most costly fashion. Like every soldier, Lionel loved a good horse, and he could not cease admiring the broad chest and arched neck of the noble animal which stood at the church door. Neither was he insensible to the splendour of its caparisons, or to the beauty of the richly clad page, all of which a new created knight might well covet for his first adventure. When the page had seen the esquire's admiring eye, he addressed him thus: "See, noble sir, how fair a steed for a foul rider! This proud charger and this costly apparel belong to the craven 'squire Orlando, who is most unworthily to be made a knight with you to-morrow, and I am his page. Can you bear to see him so well furnished in all things, while you, who are far nobler than he, will seem the poorer, and your sorry horse the worse, when set by his side? Only speak the word, and I will ham-string his proud horse, tear its dainty apparel in shreds, and be myself far beyond his reach by sunrise. You will then, poor as you are, be the better furnished knight of the two." The esquire was indeed moved by his words, but it was with wrath at his base proposal, and he scowled upon the page with such an angry countenance as drove him from the door without hope of finding envy in so virtuous a breast.

could tell her nothing about them, and was as much sur-
prised as she. Neither would he say what had happened
in the night to make him look so pale and wan.
At length he was summoned to receive his knighthood
from the earl's hands. In a full court of high-born
knights and ladies, he kneeled among the other can-
didates, received the accolade upon his shoulder, was
bidden to be a good knight in the name of God and St.
Michael, and rose Sir Lionel. Then his friends came
round him, and offered their congratulations and gifts.
Amongst them were seven fair maidens clad in white
robes, whom neither Sir Lionel nor any one present
knew. The first gave him a rich mantle of state; the
second, a purse of gold pieces, which he gave away in
largesse to the heralds; the third bore a bright shield,
which had no device, but this legend round the margin,
"not lightly turned aside;" the fourth offered him a
golden cup of wine, which he drank, and felt his heart
strengthened within him; the fifth led a noble steed
fully caparisoned; and the sixth gave a helmet inlaid
with gold. With these gifts, he was far more nobly
equipped than any of the new created knights, but there
was yet one maiden of the seven who had brought
nothing in her hands. She, however, advanced into the
crowd, and led forth Constance, looking more beautiful
than ever from the blushes which covered her face. The
earl looked kindly on the maiden, and finding that she
was betrothed to Sir Lionel, commanded that their
nuptials should take place at once. Accordingly they
were married by the lord abbot in the abbey church, in
the presence of the earl, and, as they returned, the seven
fair maidens in white went before, and strewed flowers
in their path. Soon afterwards it was found that the
maidens had disappeared without having spoken to any
one, nor could any tell whence they had come nor
whither they departed. They were never seen in those
parts again but on one occasion, and that was many years
after, when Sir Lionel was on his death-bed. There
were present only Constance his wife, and a priest; and
these averred, that as the seven maidens stood by the
bedside, and looked kindly on the dying knight, his face
was lighted with a smile, which did not pass away till
long after death.
I. E. M.

LUCY COOPER.

CONCLUSION.

BELTON Smoked his short and blackened pipe. Lucy, whose heart was relieved of the insupportable load of her hateful confinement, wiped the tears from her checks as quietly as she could, and silently offered her grateful thanksgivings to Almighty God for the pure air she was breathing, and the cessation of the infernal sounds she had escaped from.

A weary night Lionel had passed, fasting and watching, troubled by visions and trials, and ever in one painful posture, for he had chosen to remain on his knees throughout the whole time. Nature was well nigh exhausted, and the esquire felt little power to resist any farther trials. It was with difficulty that he kept his eyes open by gazing on the holy emblems before him, and telling the beads of a rosary. Just then he heard a strain of music, very low, and sweet, and soft. It was not like the tones of the organ or the chanting of priests, and besides, it seemed close at his back, and yet it was very faint and soft. When he looked back, he saw a couch of down, prepared, as if for him; the burning incense in a censer at its foot, made a fragrant mist about it, and a concert of invisible instruments still invited him to approach. The incense and the soft music were fast stealing away his senses, and he scarce knew what he did as he tottered towards the couch another moment would have seen his eyes closed in slumber, and his arms without a guardian. Just then, the loud voices of the monks at lauds roused him, and, starting up, he found that day was breaking, and his arms safe. By the time that his morning prayers were repeated, the sun was streaming in at the east window, painting the pavement with the forms of saints and holy emblems reflected from the glass, and gilding the flowers and evergreens which were hung about the altar for the high festival of St. Michael. A priest again received his confession, which occupied some time, for he had to tell all the strange things that had passed in the night. Then his page carried his armour from the church to his lodging, and cleansed it from the rust which had gathered on it during the night. Meanwhile his master went to the bath, and then heard mass. On his return, he found Constance waiting for him, and after an affectionate greeting, she insisted on helping to equip him in his armour. When every piece was in its place, she gave him his sword, but, first looking at the rough steel hilt, was amazed to see seven bright diamonds all Yonder," said Belton, "is the place you came from; of one size set in it. She questioned her lover, but he I suppose you are not sorry to leave it."

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'Maybe," said Belton, you do not like my smoke;" and he took the pipe from his mouth. But they tell me, all the factory women smoke."

I am quite used to it," said Lucy; "pray enjoy it." "I am an old soldier," continued the man, "and I have got the habit of it; but I have always thought it both a dirty and an idle trick; and I have taught my boy George not to make himself a slave to it as I am.'

By this time they had cleared the town of Parramatta, and were entering upon the great Bathurst road, "Heads of the from which the whole valley of the Waters," (for such is the meaning of the native word Parramatta,) and all the extent of the town, were visible. At a distance was the factory, which Belton pointed out to his companion; and on the western slope of the panorama, the government domain and the country seat of the Governor overlooked the scene, with much of English comfort and repose.

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Lucy could not conceal the tears that flowed faster than ever.

Well, well," said Belton, who evidently was no match for such rhetoric, "I will say no more about it -at least, if you behave yourself decently. So long as you are a good girl, you may keep out of it; and I hope you have seen enough of it to do you good."

Lucy could make no reply; but she silently remarked that her companion did not swear, and was kind and gentle with his horse. It is impossible to communicate the grateful satisfaction with which she made these preliminary observations, and drew from them a favourable augury of her new master's character.

The man at the turnpike gate, and George Belton, exchanged the nod of recognition, which implied that the matter of the toll had been previously adjusted; and they proceeded easily and quietly along a capital road, inclosed on either side with a rail-fence, the domain to the right, and the close bush to the left, forming an avenue of tall gum-trees, which was interrupted occasionally by a cleared spot, where the poor settler had built his hut, and gathered his domestic cares about him. At the summit of the first ascent, by the road side, lay the carcase of a bullock, which had died beneath the yoke. The hawks and dogs were busy over the remains, which, for months after, solicited the attention of the wayfarer. Belton's horse shied at the uncouth Captain, Captain," said Belton, spectacle as usual. "what's the matter? You have seen that sight before; But don't be afraid, man; it is not the first by many. we will not leave you by the road side, Captain, depend upon it."

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They descended the long slope, and crossed a creek, by a wooden bridge, part of the results of convict labour, and now undergoing a repair. At the road side was a tent or two, the temporary accommodation of the gang, which consisted of ten men, who were in a state of proA little further stood the bation, and out of irons. "Madeira Inn," a humble house of refreshment by the "the Frenchman," who, however, road side, kept by was a native of Madeira. After crossing two more ridges, from the last of which, at a distance of nearly twenty miles, the city of Sydney was clearly discernible, and six miles beyond it, the lighthouse on the south head, they suddenly entered upon the cleared ground, and saw the rising sides of Prospect Hill, where one of the earliest and most enterprising families of the colony is settled in great comfort and opulence. After a while, Belton drew up to a gate on the left, which he unlatched and threw back, whilst Captain very carefully passed through, and waited until his master closed it and mounted his cart again, ere he proceeded. The loud barking of a carroty dog, who now came up, and whom Belton greeted by the name of Daddy Pincher, gave Lucy to understand that they were approaching to their journey's end. He had been busy with his pipe all the way, and did not seem to be a man of many words; but now he began to tell Pincher's story, and partly by apostrophes to his dog, partly by direct narrative, she learned that the carroty dog had attached himself to Belton some years ago, and had followed him with his regiment, until at length they settled here, with Mungo, his black son, and a son of Mungo's, wearing the family carrots, and called after his grandfather, young Pincher. They are good to their beasts, thought Lucy; surely they The three generations of dogs went will be good to me. capering before; the lane was long and rugged; a dogrose, full of blooming hips and haws, rose by the fence here and there; and then a couple of haystacks, well thatched, and the smooth residue of a third, with a pigstye and fowl-house, all in good order and comfort, seemed to close the lane; but round a sharp corner, at the edge of a small patch of green turf, and bounded by a couple of young but handsome oaks, stood the small white cottage which Belton called his home. Lucy was surprised that no one came to the door; but the master had by this time jumped down, and having thrown his

arms round the neck of a tall figure, sitting motionless
in a chair by the side of the open window, he kissed the
cheek of his wife, who cordially welcomed him home,
Belton now returned to the cart, and bidding Lucy
but who evidently was deprived of sight.
finally helped her to come down, and led her into the
hand him out the various produce of his marketing, he
cottage, which was clean and neat, and well supplied
with substantial furniture. Whilst he was away at the
stable, looking after Captain's supper and bed, Lucy
was employed, under Mrs. Belton's directions, in getting
the table spread for the evening meal; and, as she after-
wards learned, had given the blind woman much satis-
After the lapse of a few days, the cottage, which was
faction by the tones of her voice, and her quiet step.
neat and orderly before, gradually assumed the aspect
of extreme cleanness and comfort; Mrs. Belton's caps
and handkerchiefs were of a snowy whiteness; and the
furniture and bedding as beautiful as they could be
made. The dairy gradually improved; nothing could
exceed the cleanliness and coolness of that great test of
female industry; nor could the well-scalded vessels look
whiter. A good understanding seemed to pervade the
whole house, which extended to every part of the farm,
and every creature in it. Thrift and economy were
scen elsewhere.
obvious; and so much tranquillity was hardly to be

In due time, Lucy learned that Belton and his wife
regiment of foot,
had come from England with the
accompanied by one child, a boy, now superintending
that Mrs. Belton had never recovered from the effects of
a large property at the remotest verge of the colony
a lying-in, which had occurred within a month of their
landing, and that the total loss of sight had been one of
the results, and the death of an infant daughter, after
a painful existence of six weeks, another.

It further appeared, that George Belton having completed the period of his service, had retired upon a pension of 28. 10d. a day, and had purchased the house and land on which he lived. Belton was frugal and temperate, cheerful and industrious. He made no merit of doing his duty, and set little value upon himself for habits which made him respectable in the eyes of all his his example, held him, nevertheless, in great honour; acquaintance. His neighbours, who could not follow and Belton's word was everywhere respected. His manly tenderness for his afflicted wife had given him a gentle and considerate demeanour, and an air and manner approaching very nearly towards refinement. Belton had always been attentive to the offices of the Church of England; and at the time of Lucy's assignment to the family, the public service was reverently celebrated That these good people were kind to Lucy, need every evening, in the presence of all its members. hardly be recorded. She gradually won their esteem, and all their confidence; and, in this remote and happy spot, two years rolled over her head, healing all her troubles, and improving her character. At this time, according to the rules of the department, she was be"Ticket of Leave;" the whole meaning of which is, come entitled to an indulgence, technically called a that she would be at liberty to enter any service which she deemed desirable, at such wages as she could obtain, within a specified district, until the full expiration of her sentence. But it was not her intention to quit George Belton and his wife, to make her way in a society so constituted as she well knew this to be; and they, on their part, were happy to keep her to themselves, promising that she should not be a loser by her devotion to them. And in this way they continued to discharge their respective duties, to their mutual happiness and comfort.

About this time Lucy most unexpectedly received the following letter. It was seen in the post-office by a person who had known her when at Dr. Caveat's, and who, having heard of her present address, caused it to be forwarded to her.

"Although we have not received a single line from you to say where you are, nor that you enjoy the great blessing of health, and I do not know how to direct this letter to you, I am willing to try whether it may not come to hand, especially as there is news which may be of much use to you. You know that, ever since your dear mother's death, the duty of bringing up yourself and sister fell upon me; and from that time, we never got one single line from your father. But I will say no more about his cruelty to your mother and yourselves. We have lately heard that he married again in India, and died of cholera-morbus, leaving a large fortune to the children of his second marriage. But what concerns you and your sister, is, to know that the sum of 5001. has been left to your good friend the rector, in trust for you and your sister, when you attain the age of twenty-five years respectively; and I should recommend you to write word, either to him, or to me, where you now are, and what had better be done about the legacy. Mr. Screw, the lawyer, has always said that he had good information of your poor sister's death; and he says, it is most likely you are dead too: but I hope and trust he is wrong in both cases; and that you are both alive and well to do. If I receive an answer to this letter, there are some news for you about the family, which I will send; but until I learn that my letters come to hand, I shall add no more, but remain, dear Lucy, your loving grandfather,

"PHILIP ANDREWS.

"P.S.-The good rector hopes that you have not forgot your early lessons. You have many friends here who pray for and pity you."

Such were the contents of the letter which Lucy received. Fortunately, its general contents threw no discredit upon her, or her friends at home, which could give her pain: but enough was discovered to show her unprotected and friendless condition, when that occurred for which, by the merciful operation of the law, these two sisters were removed from scenes of dangerous association; and an impression has been made upon my mind, that the portion of guilt which really attached to the surviving sister had been greatly overrated. By this letter, however, it was pretty clear that Lucy would be entitled to 5007. the day she attained her twentyfifth year; by which time also the whole period of her sentence would be terminated.

After much debate, it was concluded that Lucy should immediately acknowledge the receipt of her grandfather's letter; and Belton undertook to obtain from the authorities in Sydney such attestations of her sister's death as they were in the habit of supplying in similar In the mean while, it was further determined to keep Lucy's good fortune a profound secret.

cases.

An uninterrupted course of prosperity and peace seemed to bless the cottage and its inhabitants; the daily labour and the daily bread followed each other, sweetened with contentment. George Belton gradually accumulated a stock of serviceable horses and handsome cows; his poultry, eggs, and butter, met with a steady sale; his mode of life was sober, and his habits inexpensive; he felt himself gradually growing rich. Nothing occurred to interrupt the repose and comfort of his life, until a source of anxiety arose in his son George, of whom a series of reports began to be spread abroad, that he was neglectful of his duty, insolent to his master, and giving way to vicious habits. His letters were no longer, as formerly, frequent and cheerful; but were filled with an apparent sullenness and illtemper, which were as strange to his natural character, as they were otherwise unaccountable. His father was much distressed at this state of things, and would gladly have called him home; but he was under an engage

ment with his master for a term of two years, to break which never occurred to the honest veteran as possible. Nearly five months of the period were yet unexpired: at the end of this time, the elder Belton reminded his son he might honourably throw up an employment which had evidently become irksome to him, for some reason or other; but which he had engaged himself to fulfil, and which he was bound not only to observe, but that with all diligence, faithfulness, and alacrity, like an honest man. To all this the young man replied, that he knew what his duty was, and would endeavour to fulfil it to the very letter, both for his parents' sake and his own, but that he was ill-supported and ill-requited by his master; his authority among the men diminished, and his best efforts for the well-being of the property frustrated. The father was so uneasy and perplexed, that he contemplated, with Mrs. Belton's full concurrence, a long and dangerous journey to the station where his son was employed; rightly judging, that any effort of the kind of which he was capable would cost him less pain than his son's bad conduct would cause him. Mrs. Belton, however anxious to relieve the father from the evident annoyance he suffered on account of her only son, never would allow that the fault or provocation lay with him: she knew his generous spirit and good temper too well to believe it; whatever was the matter, she was sure that George was more to be pitied than blamed.

It happened on a certain Sunday, when the Sacrament of the Lord's Supper was to be celebrated in the church of Parramatta, that George Belton and his wife were proceeding to town, in their green chaise-cart, with the intention of partaking in that communion. Lucy had been detained by the sudden illness of a neighbour, who, on these occasions, had been in the habit of taking care of the house in the absence of the family; it was with reluctance, therefore, that she remained behind, and allowed herself to be deprived of the benefit of the sacra

ment.

Her preparations for dinner had been made, the board covered with linen of the whitest hue, and the humble furniture of the table beautifully clean. The window of the common room was opened, having a monthly rose on each side of it, and growing with restrained luxuriancy over the rude verandah which Belton had lately added to his house. Beneath the verandah, on a rustic bench, Lucy sat reading the morning service, and so intently was she engaged, that she was not sensible of the approach of a man until he stood almost by her side. To her great amazement she beheld a powerful man standing before her.

"I am sure," she said, looking keenly at him, "that you are George Belton."

"Why, you did not expect me, did you?" said young George Belton. "Where are father and mother?"

You are too like Mrs. Belton to mistake," was the reply. And truly the herculean frame, and raven hair and eyes, of the young man could not conceal the regular features of his mother, which he bore with manly symmetry. His eye was like a hawk's,—

"Jet, jet black, and like a hawk," as the Northern bard has sung. "Where's father! where's mother?" interrogated George; "there's nothing the matter, I hope?"

Whilst Lucy gave him the necessary information, the sound of the cart-wheels was heard, bringing home from church his venerated parents. George Belton was ready to lift his mother out, which he did with as much ease as ever, twenty years before, she had lifted him. Once set upon her feet, she continued to clasp her arms round his neck, and her exclamations expressed her joy at meeting him. His father shook him heartily by the hand; great and general were the endearments, and happy was that humble house on that day. intimacy between the young man and Lucy was immediately commenced, and it was determined that he should remain at home for the future, to take part in the

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