against every thing which went deeper into the water than a boat: when the tide receded, the rocks might be seen presenting themselves as sharp as the tusks of a wild boar, and nearly as thickly set, against all efforts of navigation; and the wrecks of many vessels were scattered among the crags and quicksands. The sea, however, teemed with the finest fish, and sought to make amends for its rugged bottom by the valuable booty which its tides bore into the nets of the fishermen. But the fishermen sought only to make the day and the way alike long,-they caught and ate, and ate and caught; and if they cured any fish for sale, it was but in the way of exchange with some of the inland store farmers, who once or twice a year penetrated into their region, to barter, according to the custom of the country, some of their superfluous commodities. Their houses, some twenty or more, ran in a zig-zag line along the bosom of the bay, built of dry stone, covered with heath,-the roofs hung with dried salmon, the floors bedded with fishbones; while, from the whole, a close and a fishy steam is sued, fit to suffocate a covey of partridges, but which was myrrh and frankincense in the nostrils of fishermen. Nets of all sizes were extended along the shore; many patched and rudely constructed boats lay hauled upon the beach, or rocked amid the water, as it swelled with the increasing tide, while many men, many women, and a numerous progeny of children, bareheaded and barefooted, sat watching the heaving sea with the eager glance of those who are aware that their supper lies at its bottom. Those who live by the tide must watch with the tide; and it is as common for men to dip their nets in the midnight waters, as in the tide of noonday. The moon had arisen with sharp horns, and with a stormy face, and shed on the moving mass of waters a varying and fitful light. The pointed rocks, and the wrecks of ships, began to disappear, the bay expanded, and the porpoise went dashing along the foaming line of the tide, feasting, as he went, upon the fattest of the fish. Before the tide was at its height, and while the fishermen stood, some midwaist deep in the water, holding

the haave, and others on the shore eyeing their nets moving in the stream with a look of silent hope, the clatter of a horse's hoofs was heard among the pebbles on the beach, and a horse and rider suddenly emerged into the moonlight, and went towards the tide. The rider seemed an elderly man, with something of a military air about him; he wore a short cloak, a slouched hat, bearing a feather of the seacormorant, and carried a four-pronged and barbed fish-spear in his hand, in the manner of one bearing a lance. "It's Ranulph Roole," said an elderly fisherman, "'e knows what 'e wants,—the fattest and the fairest fish that our nets take; but may I be doomed to hold the haave for devils in the pit of brimstone, if 'e has a fin from me to-night, as sure as my name is Gaffer Gaffhook." To this person the rider addressed himself. "Gaffer, my good friend, I'm in haste, my master is sick and sore wounded:-you know what day of the week this is, and I must have a fair fish, with a mergh-fin as fat as melting butter, and all to win the grace of a good priest, who comes many a mile to sooth the spirit of Sir Simon Kinnersley." "Ranulph," said Gaffhook, "look at that tide,-it swept the opposite coast some half hour since, and fills our bay now; it is the free gift of heaven, and all that it contains, so put forth thy hand, and freely take what is freely offered: but for no man, nameless or knighted, will I strike or take fish:

I hold the sea from Providence, and not from Simon Kinnersley,—or may I be turned into the bob-cork of an everlasting raise-net;-and ye may say Gaffer Gaffhook said it.” “Gaffer," said Ranulph, "were not my master sick, and the matter pressing, I should like much to speak to thee in the only language thou canst comprehend:-I would beat thee with my spear-shaft into bait for cod, if I could spare the time, but I see there is some fine fish running, and I will show thee an art thou wilt never have the spirit to learn." He balanced his fish-spear, spurred his horse into the tide, and, eyeing the foamy track in which the fish ran, and waving his weapon like a javelin, he hurled it into the water, and the quivering shaft and the splashing

brine told how true was his aim, and how dextrous his hand. He wheeled his horse round and rode swiftly away, bearing a fine salmon on his spear-point. "There 'e goes," said old Gaffhook, "with as fair a fish as ever swam in our bay. I might have held a haave in the surge for a summer moon, and got nothing better than a gaping cod, or a thornybacked skate. Ye see what it is to serve the saints:-here comes a fellow who knows not how many corks are on a raise-net, and, riding into the tide, casts in his spear in the name of St. Somebody, and brings out a fine salmon. An I knew the saint who has most influence among fish, I would worship him too;—I would cease dipping the knotted mesh of hemp in the flood, and stick to the barbed steel and the bounteous saint, -else let my king's hood be made into a shrimp net." "Ah," said a young fisherman, " had I known it was Ranulph Roole, he might have picked the best fish I have taken out of the bosom of my haave net ;-for have ye not heard his master is at death's door?- he had a quarrel with some man beyond the bay, and has lost some of his best blood. Many a fair fish has he had of our taking, but we have ever been rewarded seven-fold." "Now, Moll," said old Gaffhook to his spouse, "cast on thy hood, and take the salmon I caught this morning, and follow Ranulph, and tell him thy husband calls himself an old fool, and sends him a pretty fish ;-Sir Thomas was ever a stern man, but he was just, and he divided ever as fair atween man and man as the back bone divides the herring-so hie thee, dame, and let thy feet scarce feel the grass."

The way along which the fisherman's spouse followed Ranulph seemed rather the rough and deserted channel of a brook, than a regular road fashioned by the labour of man. It sought the foot of the hills; and, though the way was short for moorfowl, it was long for man, for it had to go winding among rocks and stones with many a turn and link. One time it seemed to skirt the edge of a grove of rocks,-at another, it passed through a field so thickly studded with enormous stones, and withal so regular, that they seemed to have been distributed by measure

ment. A little farther on, and close to the ascent of the hills, rocks and loose stones were heaped up in such confusion as countenanced the supposition that they were the surplus materials left from erecting the steep and rocky hills which hemmed in the bay. Along this way Ranulph spurred his horse till he reached a deep and wooded ravine that seemed nearly to separate the hills, and out of which gushed a small but tumultuous brook. Along the brink of the rivulet the way continued to wind in a gradual ascent, till, passing an old sycamore tree, which, anchoring its roots like net-work among the enormous stones, threw its stem and branches over the stream, a small square tower, and the ruins of a little chapel, appeared seated, or rather half hung, from the summit of a lofty cliff, like the eyrie of an eagle. A light glimmered along the rocks and the stream from a small wicket, equal in size to the admission of an owl, and crossed with its trembling lines a very narrow and steep way, which ascended to the gate of Kinnersley-Keep.

Ranulph scaled this dizzy way like one to whom the path was familiar, and, throwing the bridle over his horse's neck, sought the chamber from whence the light proceeded. He stopt at a narrow door of carved oak, and, listening for a minute's space, or more, lifted the latch, and entered with a light foot and a cautious air. "Alas! Ranulph," said a voice, faint and broken," all thy care and tenderness are cast away on one unworthy of life, and who could not live, were he worthy." "Be of good comfort, Sir," said Ranulph,

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you have done only what is noble, and what would have been wickedness to have left undone. A father's dying entreaty is a matter not to be lightly cared for,-and there is a curse for them who neglect a father's command. Be of good cheer, therefore,-a wound in young flesh is soon cured. I remember, in your honoured father's time, when young Lacey of Lanercross jested about the cut of my mantle, and I was run through the thick of the thigh in the vindication of my dress, I had my leg o'er the horse's back in three weeks again :-Cheer up, Sir, young flesh is cannie to cure, as the men say in

the north." "Ah! Ranulph, but grief at heart cuts worse than a two edged sword," said the same voice; "it was a dread command my father laid on me, and dreadfully has it been obeyed. How can I hope that heaven approves, when my own heart disapproves?—I am sore wounded, Ranulph; but my sorest pain is for drawing my sword, and shedding man's blood unjustly." "I have seen much blood spilt in my day, Sir,' said Ranulph; " and I have been blamed for spilling some little myself; but shame fall the man that says, when the head is hot and the mind chafed, your sword in your hand, and your best foe with bared steel before you-shame fall him, I say, who thinks that the blood which is spilt then is spilt unjustly. But that was not what I wanted to say. Ye know, Sir, we came home to a cold hearth and an empty larder. Now, Sir, have cheer from what I'm about to tell:-I took my fish-spear in my hand, and rode down to the tide; the boors were churlish, and would not give me a single fin; so in the name of the saints I rode into the flood, and struck with my spear, and a noble stroke struck I,-as fat a salmon as ever swam. Now, Sir, had the saints thought ye unworthy of favour;-had they designed that the name of Kinnersley should perish from the earth,-would they have given your servant such a gift? -I trow, no, Sir; it's not for nought that the saints are bountiful, and I would have you let me look at your wound, and I'll warrant we'll mend it. Shall the name of Kinnersley die like a barren tree?—No, no;-when it goes out, it shall go out shining like a shooting star."

The person to whom Ranulph addressed this singular speech was a young man some twenty years old, firmly knit and finely proportioned, with large blue eyes, and sunny hair, inclining to curl, and which was allowed to grow both thick and long. A hat and feather lay by his side; an embroidered mantle was near him, stained with blood, and still moist; and a sword lay underneath, wet with blood, and which had been returned unwiped to the scabbard. He lay extended, or rather agroufe, on an old couch of carved oak, and seemed in a fever, both bodily and

mental. The room where he lay was of rich and massy Saxon workmanship, and on the walls were hung many suits of mail, both chain and plate. Above the chimney-piece hung an entire suit of strong steel plate mail, with an axe and helmet of the same metal; a silver greyhound was sculptured at full stretch on the top of the helmet, shaded by a silver holly-bough. On this suit of armour the wounded youth fixed his eye, and said, "Ah! Hubert de Kinnersley, often have the heathen Saracens, and hardly less heathen Danes, grown pale at the sight of thy gallant greyhound. Little did my gallant ancestors think, when they spurred their horses against the enemies of old England, that the dreaded hound of their house was so soon to run its race;-that their name and their bearing would sink in a nameless feud, and with a nameless foe." Ranulph wrung his hands, and said, "My dear young master, food you have not tasted for forty hours, and your only drink has been water:shall I broil some of the tender parts of the salmon the saints sent you, and bring you a cup of wine? I will do it so daintily that you will be wiled to partake:-often has your noble father said"-" Name him not

name him not, Ranulph," said the youth; "he gave me breath, and he gave me bread, and he was my father. But with his dying breath he left me a deed to do,-a deed of revenge, and the deed has been done. Could I forget a parent's parting words, and slight an admonition which came from the world of spirits?"-He turned on his couch, while the blood flowing from his wounded side stained his embroidered vest; but he uttered not one moan,— he lay and looked on his ancestor's mail, and on a small silver cross which hung beneath it. "Ranulph," he said, "the confessor will soon come; prepare what cheer you have to place before him-he has come far,

and, as this may be the last food made ready to the wish of a Kinnersley, let it be done daintily,-I use thy own kindly word, Ranulph:

and, Ranulph, come hither;-you have been true, and loving, and tender to me;-come to me when the holy man departs, and you will find that all I have to leave in the world