that reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim thee, Templar, a coward in every court in Europe, in every Preceptory of thine Order, unless thou do battle without further delay." Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely tow- 5 ards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, "Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance and prepare for the death thou hast drawn upon thee!" "Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?" said Ivanhoe. 10 "I may not deny what thou hast challenged," said the Grand Master, "provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honorably met with." 15 "Thus thus as I am, and not otherwise," said Ivanhoe; "it is the judgment of God-to his keeping I commend myself. Rebecca," said he, riding up to the fatal chair, "dost thou accept me as thy champion?" "I do," she said, "I do!" fluttered by an emotion 20 which the fear of death had been unable to produce—“I do accept thee as the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no, no! Thy wounds are uncured. Meet not that proud man. Why shouldst thou perish also?" But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed 25 his visor and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; and his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, which had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which he had been agitated, continued during the whole morning of an ashy paleness, was now be-30 come suddenly very much flushed. The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted his voice, repeating thrice, Faites vos devoirs, preux chevaliers." After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, and again proclaimed that none, on peril of instant death, should dare, by word, cry, or action, to interfere with or disturb this fair field of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca's glove, now threw it into the lists, and pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez aller." The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the 10 Templar. This issue of the combat all had foreseen; but although the spear of Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 15 Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his breast, and the sword's point to his throat, commanded him to yield him or die on the spot. Bois-20 Guilbert returned no answer. "Slay him not, Sir Knight," cried the Grand Master, "unshriven and unabsolved--kill not body and soul! We allow him vanquished." He descended into the lists, and commanded them to 25 unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed --the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in astonishment the eyes opened, but they were fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue of death. Un-30 scathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of his own contending passions. "This is indeed the judgment of God," said the Grand Master, looking upward-" Fiat voluntas tua!" 1 12 5 XXX. LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. BY THOMAS HOOD.' WELL hast thou cried, departed Burke, Is ended now and past! 2 That iron age, which some have thought Is now all overcast. Ay! where are those heroic knights Great Charlemagne and all his peers The bold King Arthur sleepeth sound; So sleep his knights who gave that Round Oh, Time has plucked the plumy brow, But those that go to law! Where are those old and feudal clans, 5 10 15 20 5 A battle was a battle then, A breathing piece of work; but men The curtle-axe is out of date! No tough arm bends the springing yew, In cavils when will cavaliers 10 Or blood-if they are in the vein?10 No iron-crackling now is scored Though certain doctors still pretend, Farewell, then, ancient men of might! As in a safety-coffin ! XXXI. SIMON DE MONTFORT. BY DAVID HUME.' THE imprudent and illegal measures adopted by Henry the Third afforded a pretence to Simon de Montfort,* Earl of Leicester, to attempt an innovation in the government, and to wrest the sceptre from the feeble and irresolute hand which held it (1258). This nobleman s was a younger son of that Simon de Montfort who had conducted with such valor and renown the crusade against the Albigenses, and who, though he tarnished his famous exploits by cruelty and ambition, had left a name very precious to all the zealots of that age. A 10 large inheritance in England fell by succession to this family; but, as the elder brother enjoyed still more opulent possessions in France, and could not perform fealty to two masters, he transferred his right to Simon, his younger brother, who came over to England, did homage 15 for his lands, and was raised to the dignity of Earl of Leicester. In the year 1238 he espoused Eleanor, dowager3 of William, Earl of Pembroke, and sister to the King; but the marriage of this princess with a subject and a foreigner, though contracted with Henry's consent, was 20 loudly complained of by the Earl of Cornwall and all the barons of England; and Leicester was supported against their violence by the King's favor and authority alone. But he had no sooner established himself in his possessions and dignities than he acquired, by insinuation and 25 address, a strong interest with the nation, and gained |