In the reign of Henry IV., John de Werchin, the renowned Seneschal of Hainault, in an address to the King, challenged the whole order severally to single combat. In his challenge, he states that he had read the history of King Arthur and the Knights of his Order of the Round Table, and also heard that a certain King of England had revived that association by founding an order called the Garter, then still flourishing; and the writer, presuming that the noble knights of that fraternity were desirous of imitating their prototypes of the Round Table in the encouragement of young knights in chivalric exercises, he being yet unpractised in the noble profession, desired to invite them severally to a personal encounter with him, in the presence of the King or of his eldest son, on certain conditions, on a day to be fixed, at some place within about forty miles from London.

This wholesale challenge the King courteously refused, but offered to permit one of the Knights of the Garter to accept his challenge on an appointed day within the walls of London.

Werchin came to London with a magnificent retinue, and the jousts were held in Smithfield in 1408. His opponent was John Beaufort, Earl of Somerset, who, by his victory over the intrepid seneschal, vindicated the honour of the order which he represented.

One early knight of the Garter, however, has not come down to posterity with so much glory attached to his name.

It is not, perhaps, generally known that the original of Shakspeare's famous character of Sir John Falstaff was a K.G. in his day.

On St. George's Day, 1426, the annual feast of the order was kept at Windsor, the Duke of Bedford acting as deputy for the sovereign.

A vacancy had occurred, through the death of the Earl of Westmoreland, and two candidates were presented for election to the vacant Garter. These were Sir John Fastolf (the Falstaff of Shakspeare), and Sir John Radcliffe. At the election the votes were found to be equal for each candidate, and the Duke of Bedford gave the casting vote in favour of the chivalrous Fastolf.

But, for the credit of the order, it must be allowed that Fastolf was not so unworthy or so cowardly a knight as the Falstaff of whom he is supposed to have been the pro

totype. The real Sir John Fastolf was by no means an ordinary man as regards the true qualities of a soldier. He held many places of trust and importance in Ireland. For his bravery at Agincourt, where he was wounded, he received a grant of land in Normandy; and he distinguished himself gallantly at the siege of Orleans, in the conflict of the English with the fanatic Joan of Arc.

In

But the stain upon his honour is due to his asserted flight at the battle of Patay, in 1429. Old MS. chronicles yet extant throw some palliation over the brave old knight's seeming disgrace. The French, we are told, composed of about 6,000 men, under the command of the Maid of Orleans, the Duke of Alençon, and other captains, observing the approach of the English, formed themselves in order of battle upon a small eminence. The English, having also disposed themselves in battle array, sent two heralds to challenge the enemy to descend from their position; but were answered that, it being late, they might take their rest until the morrow. the morning, battle was joined on the field. of Patay. The English were overpowered by numbers, and fled. Fastolf was urged to save himself, as the day was irretrievably lost. He, however, desired at all hazards to renew the conflict, declaring his resolution to abide the issue in whatever manner it might please God to order it; saying that he preferred death or capture to a disgraceful flight and the abandonment of his remaining retinue. But having ascertained that Talbot was a prisoner, and all his people slain, and that 2,000 of the English had fallen, and 200 been made prisoners, he took the road towards Estampes; and, adds the relater whose version of the affair we have given-"Et moy je le suivis."

On the day following the battle, news reached the Duke of Bedford, at Paris, of the defeat of his army, the capture of Talbot, and the flight of Fastolf. Fastolf was ordered to report himself to the Regent at Paris, where he was severely reprimanded, and deprived of the Order of the Garter, which he wore. The Duke, however, having afterwards received a report of the remonstrances made by our knight to his companions in the Council, and other reasonable and approved excuses, the Garter was, par. sentence de procès, restored to him.

In the character, therefore, which the immortal dramatist has chosen to give, under

such a slight variation of name, of the unlucky knight, we must almost own that Shakspeare-as in the case of his humpbacked, deformed Richard III.-drew too recklessly upon the exaggerated traditions of his own time.

While upon the subject of the disgrace which any Knight of the Garter may be supposed guilty of bringing upon his high order, we will quote from Elias Ashmole some of the regulations affecting the degradation of a knight companion:—

"The ensigns of the order are not to be withdrawn from a knight during life, unless guilty of some of those marks of reproach set down in King Henry VIII.'s statutesviz., heresy, treason, or flying from battle. It has sometimes been found that prodigality has been made a fourth point, when a knight has so wasted his estate as to be incapable of supporting his dignity. The pretence for divesting William, Lord Paget, 6 Edward VI., was his not being a gentleman of blood both by father and mother. But felony comes not within the compass of this statute, as not being expressly mentioned among the reproaches there summed up. And so it was adjudged in a chapter, 14 Jac. I., in the case of Robert, Earl of Somerset, then lately condemned for that fact, whereon his hatch

ments were not removed.

"When a knight companion is found guilty of any of the offences mentioned in King Henry VIII.'s statutes, he is usually degraded at the next chapter, of which the Sovereign gives the knights companions previous notice, and then commands Garter to attend such of them as are appointed to go to the convict knight, who in a solemn manner first takes from him the George and Riband, and then his Garter; and at the ensuing feast of St. George, or sooner, if the Sovereign appoint it, publication of his crimes and degradation is made by Garter.

"Next, Garter, by warrant to that purpose, takes down his achievement, on which service he is vested in his coat of arms, and the officers standing about him- Black Rod also present. First, Garter reads aloud the instruments of degradation; after which one of the heralds-who is placed ready on a ladder set to the back of the convict knight's stall-at the words expelled, and put from among the arms, takes his crest and violently casts it down into the choir, after that his banner and sword; and when the publication is read out, all the officers of arms

spurn the achievements out of the choir into the body of the church; first the sword, then the banner, and last of all the crest; so out of the west door, thence to the bridge, and over into the ditch. And thus it was done at the degradation of Edward Duke, 13 Henry VIII.

"The plates are likewise taken down from their stalls and carried away."

We will conclude our passing gossip on this most ancient distinction of the Garter with a few of the facts connected with the government of the order.

The number of knights companions was originally twenty-six, including the Sovereign, who is chief of the order. In 1786, a statute was passed to the effect that this number should be irrespective of princes of the royal family and illustrious foreigners on whom the distinction might be conferred.

The officers of the order are a Prelate, Chancellor, Registrar, King-at-Arms, and Usher of the Black Rod, besides others of inferior rank. At their head is the Prelate, who is always the Bishop of Winchester; next is the Chancellor, who, till 1837, was the Bishop of Salisbury, but is now the Bishop of Oxford, in consequence of Berkshire-and, of course, Windsor-being transferred to that diocese. The Dean of Windsor is registrar ex officio. The fourth officer is Garter King-at-Arms.

The Garter carries the rod and sceptre at the feast of St. George-the protector of the order-when the Sovereign is present. He notifies the election of new knights, attends the solemnity of their installation, carries the Garter to foreign princes and others, and he is the principal officer of the College of Arms and chief of the heralds. All these officers, except the Prelate, have fees and pensions.

The chapter meet annually on St. George's Day (23rd April), in St. George's Chapel, Windsor, when the installations take place, and the knights' banners are suspended.

The habit and insignia are, first the Garter of blue velvet, inscribed with the familiar motto, "Honi soit qui mal y pense," in golden letters, with a buckle and pendant of gold, richly chased. This is worn on the left leg, below the knee. Then the mantle of blue velvet, lined with white taffeta, and on the left breast a star is embroidered. From the collar, consisting of twenty-six pieces, each in the form of a garter, hangs the George, a figure of the patron saint of England, engaged in his fabled encounter with the dragon.

According to Haydn, the collar, which weighs twenty ounces of pure gold, was introduced by Henry VIII.

Until the reign of Charles II., the riband, with a smaller George, used to be worn round the neck; but Charles ordered it in future to be worn from the left shoulder, coming under the right arm. In the reign of the same monarch was introduced the silver star of eight points, to be worn by the knights on their left sides; and by the statutes of the order they were never to appear in public without their Garter, lesser George, and star, except upon the principal and solemn feasts, when they were to wear their collars.

MY FRIEND MRS. TIMEPIECE.-IV.

SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF HER FUTURE SON

IN-LAW.

PEOPLE talk the fastest when they have

but thin feelings: it is to hide their self-consciousness that they talk. A sip at your Champagne glass is the best remedy at a dinner party for any sudden sense of vacancy coming on.

I fancy those fits of silence at the dinner table are the result of some current of indigestion, running like an epidemic, with the rapidity of a telegram, from stomach to stomach.

No part of the day is like the early dawn: there is a freshness about it, and a peculiar beauty. The noontide is beautiful; but it is a different kind of beauty. The sunset is beautiful; but it is a different kind of beauty. So, no love is like first love; but it can only last for a short time without changing its character. It flows on to the noontide and the evening; but its beauty is as different at these periods as the beauty of spring is different to the beauty of summer and the beauty of autumn.

A long engagement is an offence against nature: it ought never to last longer than the peculiar characteristics of first love will last. About four months is the proper

space.

The marriage ceremony is the natural boundary line of first love. I have heard of persons being engaged seven years; but they go to the altar as victims-they don't know it until after, but they always find it

out.

Their love by this time has become a calculating love, and they view one another

in much the same spirit as a man views his ledger on the 31st of December.

I hope Mrs. Timepiece will not hold to her first determination; but let these two young, interesting, engaged people pass into the second stage of their love at its proper time of beginning.

Willy owns a small farm that lets for £250 per annum, and Angela will not be without fortune. There need be no fear of starvation. He has not yet settled down into any fixed calling, but has thought of farming.

I must tell the truth: she knew of this farm of £250 a-year before giving her consent to the engagement: she knew from an indirect source, but had not mentioned it either to her daughter or Willy. It is no use entering into speculations what effect this farm had upon her consent. Mrs. Timepiece, as I have said, knew the value of money.

The young couple had not much opportunity of being alone during their courtship; for the younger Miss Timepieces did not possess that rare, refined ability which can get you out of a room under cover of a reason totally unlike the real one; and Mrs. Timepiece sat prim in her easy chair, as it she herself had a right to a certain portion of Willy's addresses.

Willy did not feel at all angry at the younger Miss Timepieces' want of strategetic ability; for he knew that such retiring manoeuvres require the genius of a great general to be executed well, and that they are better not executed at all than badly.

I don't suppose it occurred much to Angela's sisters that there was any urgent necessity for such manoeuvres; and I think, if the glimmering of such a thought or requirement should ever come up in one of them, she will quietly walk out of the room, with a kindly look at Willy, and certainly without any excuse at all.

They were really nice girls, and Willy soon came to love them as his own sisters-and more than his own; for you more than half lose your sisters when they marry, and Willy's sisters had set him an early example of matrimony.

I do think, however, that the loss of a brother by his sister's marriage is not nearly so much and so pangful as that of the mother of the family. It is so much easier for a brother to form a solid friendship with his sister's husband, than it is for his mother to form one. You can go up to your sister's hus

band, and take his arm familiarly, and call him "old fellow," and offer him a good cigar; and, if he is not a "porcupine," he will have a sensation towards you something like that pleasing one which a cat has when she begins to purr.

But the dignity or imputed dignity of a mother-in-law does not permit of such advances. Even if she does her best to disguise it, there is an air of authority about her: she still has a sort of little finger hold upon the fifth commandment; and the vague notion of this may influence her son-in-law to keep at a fair distance of familiarity from her, lest the little finger should loop him also.

Sometimes you may, as it were, by a sudden dash, extinguish this remnant of authority in your mother-in-law. Go up to her in quite an unpremeditated manner, and give her a kiss; and then, unless she is a "Tartar," you place yourself on a footing of love with her rather than authority. But I own it is not every one who likes to kiss his mother-in-law-they have generally an "iceberg flavour" about them, and perhaps some mothers-in-law might understand a kiss to be a sign of obeisance.

If your wife is a wise woman, she will totally conceal from you her mother's influence upon her. I don't, of course, mean conceal her love for her mother for no sensible man would object to that in a large degree; but I mean conceal her governing influence upon her, so that the maternal advice, secretly given her, may appear to be entirely from the fountain in her own breast; and this she may do without much difficulty, and without breaking even the fringes of truth.

I said that the younger Miss Timepieces were nice girls. I do not use that word "nice" as I would to a stick of barley-sugar. I mean that they were good-tempered, easy girls, who would play you a tune on the piano, or sing you a song, if you asked them, without any untruthful preface that they couldn't sing, or didn't.

They were quite unaffected, and looked pleasantly and brightly when any one was speaking in the room, as though there were no such things as "lying lips." They were trustful, and too young yet to have formed any strong opinions of their own. They called their sister's lover Willy, quite naturally; and it seemed to their hearts, without any study, a natural consequence that they

should love him their sister loved. I think the second one has something in her more than heart, but we shall see in time.

Willy's father met with his death in the hunting field. After this event his son was placed with a clergyman, and continued for five or six years with him; and from this time to his sweet engagement with Miss Timepiece, he had been in a variety of occupations-fly-fishing, Sunday school teaching, writing poetry, banking, and had had the temerity to ordain himself as a Sunday afternoon preacher to some poor people living in a hamlet near a trout stream.

A pious boatman used to come on the Sunday evenings to give his experiences of the Gospel to these simple people, and Willy often stayed to hear him, and to enjoy his company home.

The boatman thought things were going wrong in the world, and that everything was very unlike what it was in Jesus Christ's days; except, he said, "these kind o' things" taking up a primrose flower-"and these never alter."

Willy asked him if he thought that "the Fall" had touched lions and tigers, and he seemed rather puzzled; but he was sure it hadn't touched primroses and lilies.

He was very original in his way, and had very fair, passable views of communion.

"You know, sir, we can't all be alike. Here's Jem Webster goes out to-morrow night, and catches a boat-load of haddocks; and I go out, and get, may be, not a dozen; and that's the same all over the world. We can't all be alike; but we could all look on kind at one another. Jem Webster gets rich, and I keep poor; but we needn't be worse friends for that. We can sympathize, and then I sha'n't feel he's richer."

Willy thought that a very good image of the right, that only wanted a little chiselling.

The boatman only now and then looked up for an answer to what he said. Very likely he thought these walks home with Willy were an appendix to his previous sermon.

He was very much against railways. He thought that, somehow or other, they had promoted infidelity. But it was difficult to understand how he applied his idea.

"Eh, sir," he went on, "afore these railroads, folks was content with their Bibles; but now, I think, their newspaper's their Bible. And folks aren't so homely as they was in t' old coach days; and all their fine