art, and even excelling himself; moreover, willing and ready to save his now infirm strength, by being his substitute.

Great was the curiosity excited to obtain a sight of the unknown lady, as they were reverentially conducted to the dais, the place of honour, and the silver harp placed by serviters in a suitable position.

When the coif was thrown back, and the loose mantle fell, a face and figure of majestic and peerless loveliness was displayed: it might possibly have been enhanced by the costume, composed of the most sumptuous eastern materials; a turban of eastern form rested in massive folds on the open brow, looped up by a single ruby of matchless glory.

There was a subdued murmur of admiration and astonishment as the lady commenced a prelude full of touching pathos, and with the slightest possible indication of faltering or agitation in her soulstirring voice:

"Two murmurs beautifully blent,

As of a voice and instrument;

A hand laid lightly on low cords

A voice that sobbed between its words.

Stranger! the voice that trembles in your ear,
You would have placed, had you been fancy free,
First in the chorus of the happy sphere,

The home of deified mortality!"

By universal suffrage, the title of "Queen of the Minstrels" was awarded to the stranger; for never before, in the science of minstrelsy, had aught so perfect and so excellent been heard.

Modest and retiring, but as haughtily as a dame of high degree, that lady moved, and received the adulation lavished upon her with careless indifference; and with tenderness and reverence combined, the good Martin Baraton tended and watched his adopted daughter. Chains of gold were flung around them by many a princely cavalier in those grand ancestral chambers; and chains of flowers, enwreathed with beauty's wiles, were flung around the gallant hearts of many a belted knight, stern and immoveable in the battle field. Ere the few days had elapsed during which time the royal minstrels sojourned at De Lacy's, and when they departed, an aching void was left in one manly heart, which no reasoning or pride could

cure.

I will not use that common-place, hateful jargon, and say the Baron de Lacy was "in love;" but that he certainly "loved," his admiration and particular fancies being equally excited; that he bitterly lamented the apparent discrepancy of rank between them; that his struggles were heroic and victorious.

He turned a deaf ear to the dictates of his heart, and only permitted prudence and reason to hold their sway; pride also whis

pered: "An Earl De Lacy to wed a wandering minstrel queen, however virtuous, beautiful, and gifted!-an Earl de Lacy's sister to wed a minstrel king! for remember your solemn vow, most noble Baron !"

A good deal of obstinacy, combined with shame for his past violence towards his gentle sister, assuredly assisted to strengthen his resolves so pride and prudence gained the mastery, as they usually do, when placed in competition with love, by man; frail, silly woman does sometimes render herself ridiculous, by setting a contrary, most reprehensible example.

So, after a while, the Earl De Lacy, with some secret sighs, and cherished memories at heart, found his way to Haddeston, on an ostensible visit to his sister; but, at the same time, to seek his early playmate, whom his father had destined for his bride, should the lady herself lend a willing ear to his rather tardy wooing.

It was evening when he reached the abode of Sir Thomas Middleton Hearone, who was now returned; and after receiving a cordial and affectionate greeting from the fine old veteran, and clasping Emaré, with unwonted tenderness, to his breast (he could now feel for her), he inquired after the health and well-being of the Lady Bellisent; there was a lurking smile on the straightforward, jovial countenance of the good knight, as his daughter entered the chamber; for the Baron De Lacy started, when she addressed him, gazed upon her again and again, and, unlike his usual self-possessed and courteous manner, he was evidently ill at ease, puzzled and embarrassed: he apologised, at length, by saying, that the resemblance was singular (even the tone of voice being similar), between the Lady Bellisent Hearone, and an individual whom he had formerly been acquainted with; but whose eastern costume much changed the character of her beauty. Sir Thomas Middleton Hearone thereupon joked his young friend, with the facetious quaintness elderly gentlemen deem themselves privileged to indulge in, respecting the romantic passages of eastern life, which had softened the hardships endured by the mail-clad warriors of Palestine.

But when the lady of Haddeston struck her harp, and chaunted forth minstrel lays of love and glory, the mystification of De Lacy was complete.

Old scenes were discussed, old quarrels revived, and they found each other so very charming, that after a few weeks' sojourn at Haddeston, the Baron De Lacy had no fears of rejection, when he applied to Sir Thomas Middleton Hearone, for sanction to address his charming daughter; that worthy knight referred him to the lady herself, but she, with pretty fantastical self-will, declined giving any definite answer until the following evening.

At the upper end of a lighted chamber, a solitary figure was seated at a harp-Martin Baraton's own silver harp-Martin BaraDecember, 1847. VOL. L.-NO. cc.

F F

ton's own adopted daughter-the minstrel queen, in her eastern attire, beautiful and dignified, as before, but, it might be, a shade paler, and striking the chords in a desultory manner, as if her thoughts were wandering, and, ever and anon, casting anxious and timid glances towards the entrance of the apartment.

De Lacy came; he was by her side; speechless, from a host of tumultuous emotions; as the minstrel queen, with a soft winning smile, extended her hand to raise him, and whispered,

"The Lady Bellisent Hearone bade me tell you, that, as the wandering Minstrel Queen, she doth not scorn your proffered love. "By the glories of the holy sepulchre, I am right in my suspicions!-one and the same!" he exclaimed, as he clasped her to his heart, forgetting reasons-vows-everything on this breathing earth, in the overwhelming transport of that moment.

The Lady Bellisent Hearone was heard thus to whisper to Emaré—with a laughing glance towards the Baron De Lacy, who approached them :—

"So, after all, there will be double nuptials, celebrated right brilliantly, before the same altar!"

C. A. M. W.

THE PALMER'S TALE.

BY MRS. CHARLES TINSLEY.

PART I.

To the castle gate, at close of day,
Staff in hand, came a palmer grey:
Swart was his cheek, wheron the blood
Spake nor of youth, nor of hardihood;
The sandals that bound his feet were worn,
And his pilgrim cloak was soiled and torn;
And the withered palm branch that graced his hand,
Told its own tale of the Holy Land.

Feebly he sounded the bugle's blast ;-
The guard was set, the portcullis fast,—
For many a mile round that lonely keep,
Lay moor, and valley, and mountain steep;
And rarely visitor, rich or poor,
Claimed hospitality at its door.

For its gloomy walls lay beyond the ken,
Or beyond the seeking, of worldly men.

Again the pilgrim sounded the horn,
And never echo seemed more forlorn,
Than that which now prolonged its sound,
Amidst that solitude profound;
Dying, dying briefly away,

As if in a land where nought might stay,
It seemed to warn that pilgrim old,
Of niggard help, and reception cold.

"Ho! who is it seeketh so late,
Parley at Lord Fitzallan's gate?”
"A palmer poor, from the Holy Land,
Asketh a night's rest at his hand;"

"It is well for thee, that with such a claim,
With a wanderer's trust, and a wanderer's name,
Thou comest to crave, what prince or peer,
Might crave in vain, craving it here."

With a grating sound the door drew back,
The palmer followed the warder's track;
By the glaring light from the pine-torch thrown,
He saw the court was with grass o'ergrown;
And darkly frowned upon either side,

The gaunt walls o'er him and o'er his guide;
And the desolation and silence seemed
Like unto what men have wildly dreamed.

Through a heavy porch, and a passage vast,

They reached the castle hall at last;

Round the spacious hearth where the pine-logs shone, Stalwart forms of armed men were thrown ;

Some in their heavy slumber kept

The bench or the board whereon they slept,
Whilst others, roused by a rare surprize,
Gazed on the pilgrim with eager eyes.

To these, as yet but half awake,
Of his charge the warder briefly spake,
Then turned away. The palmer bowed
His greeting to that scattered crowd,
When one stepped forth before the rest,
And gave kind welcome to the guest;
And drew his bench to the bright hearth near,
And placed before him the castle cheer.

Yet lower the pilgrim bowed his head,
In mute reply, but no word he said,
In silence his frugal meal he took,
Whilst on him bent many a searching look;
And he asked no blessing, first or last,
And no word of thanks his pale lips passed,
But, finished, he drew his staff from the ground,
And lifted his head, and gazed around,

Scarce pierced his glance all the solemn length
Of the dark-groined roof in its massive strength,
Scarce caught he half the devices borne

By the banners that waved there night and morn ;
'Scutcheon, and cuirass, and helm, and shield,
And swords that the mighty alone could wield,
Decked the walls, and looked grimly down
On the flickering blaze, and the shadows brown.