The next evening the children were agreeably surprised to hear their
father knock at the door, just as they had arranged themselves ready
for their favorite game. He was soon up stairs, and was warmly thanked
for having returned so soon.
"I have," said he, "suffered much from headache this evening, and I
thought this cheerful group might do me more good than anything."
"We must tell soft stories," said Alfred; "and as papa likes to hear
you speak, mama, you had better begin."
The little boy's motive was so thoughtful, that Mrs. Macdonald agreed;
and called their attention to three persons, whom she represented
standing in a doorway. The foremost appeared to have turned to speak
to the friend who followed him; their deportment showed perfect ease
and ignorance of the danger near them. The third in the group is a man
of a melancholy but enthusiastic countenance: his arm is stretched over
the figure next to him, and he has plunged a dagger into the breast of
his companion.
"This is a very dreadful story, mama. Was the wound fatal?"
"Yes. It was a duke who was the victim. The whole was so
instantaneous, that no one saw the blow. He pulled the knife from the
wound, exclaiming, 'The villain has killed me;' and fell dead at Sir
Thomas Fryer's feet."
"That name ought to help us, aunt," said Edward. "I fear we are all
very stupid; uncle, can you guess?"
"I think your aunt has described the death of a court favorite, in the
time of Charles I."
"If you have, mama," said Mary, "the murderer's name was Felton; was it
not?"
"Yes, my dear, you are quite right; now, perhaps, you can entertain us."
"My history," answered Mary, "relates to a very affecting scene. A
family group meets for the last time on earth. A father, with deep
grief depicted on his regular, handsome, although care-worn features,
has a little boy about seven years old on his knee: he seems anxious to
impress something of importance on the child's mind, who is listening
to his father with his eyes fixed on him. An interesting little girl
stands by his side, crying bitterly."
"I think," said Mrs. Macdonald, "if we help him a little, Alfred might
name this subject. When we first began this game, he was very anxious
to know more of this poor king, who was in prison; since then you have
passed on to other reigns, but this incident you cannot forget."
"I will tell you," answered the little boy. "The poor dear little duke
of Gloucester said, when his father told him not to be made king when
he was dead, 'I will be torn in pieces first.'"
"You have answered quickly, dear child; and I am glad you remember so
much."
Alfred was quite delighted, and begged that they would talk a long time
about this king, and all that happened to him; and when he was reminded
that this would not be agreeable to the rest of the party, he seemed a
little disappointed. Mr. Macdonald noticing it, told him, as he had
not urged his entreaties, he would reward him by telling him a story
that would please him very much.
[Illustration: Cromwell and the Monkey.]
The little boy was instantly on his father's knee, who began to relate
the following fact:--
"A large monkey is seen dancing about on the roof of a house with a
baby in his arms. From the child's dress, he has evidently taken the
infant from its cradle; the family seem greatly alarmed, and are
spreading feather beds, carpets, and everything that is soft enough to
break the violence of the child's fall. The animal shews no
inclination to descend, and dances about with great glee."
"Oh, papa, did the poor child fall?"
"No; the monkey, which was quite tame, and a household favourite,
carried it carefully down the same way he went up."
"You have indeed told me a funny story," said Alfred; "please some one
make haste, and guess who it was."
"I think," said Mrs. Arabin, "that the baby became a very important
person, and was one of the instruments of Charles's later troubles."
"Your aunt has told you," said Mr. Macdonald; "and I am now expecting a
story from Edward."
"I have remembered a painful one, for the scene is a death-bed. A
young and very beautiful woman is mustering her last strength, and
making a final effort to impress some words on a man who leans over
her. His countenance expresses deep affection and distress; the
invalid is very dear to him, or he would not so patiently listen to
arguments, which formerly even from her lips would have exasperated
him; a family likeness may be traced between the two."
"Is it the death of a queen?"
"No, neither are royal, although the man rules the kingdom. After the
circumstance I have just described, he never regained his cheerfulness."
"I think your hero was the baby whom the monkey danced on the roof of
the house; and the lady was his youngest and favourite daughter."
"You are quite right, Louisa; and perhaps you can now take your turn as
relator."
"I will speak first," said Mr. Macdonald; "I can so seldom join you,
that I must take double share. You seem more inclined to show mercy
towards me than last time I played with you, therefore you shall be
rewarded. My picture is a very awful one: the whole of London is
visited by a calamity; in every street, in every house, lie the dead
and the dying. Grief is so settled in the hearts of all, that there
are few to attend the last breath of those who still linger on earth;
in one of the public thoroughfares some poor wretches have crawled out
to listen to a man, who braves infection, and preaches to his miserable
fellow-creatures. Dead bodies are carried by, and fear and misery
hangs over all."
"Oh, papa!" cried the children, "we know what you mean; please do not
relate any more, it is so very dreadful."
"It was indeed an awful visitation, my dears; but although we are not
permitted to see why it was sent, we must not doubt the wisdom that
ordained the trial. The following year was, you may remember, marked
by another horrible dispensation; but this we are allowed to see was,
in one respect, a blessing, for it entirely stopped the disease which
killed hundreds at the time I have just mentioned. Louisa, I will no
longer prevent your story being heard; it will, I trust, be less dismal
than mine."
"I will endeavour to make it so," she replied. "You must fancy you see
the coast of Dorsetshire, a place called Lyme. A man of prepossessing
appearance has just landed; it is summer, and the sun shining on his
face animates him with hope. He has only a hundred followers to fight
in his behalf; he seems to be a great favourite with them; and in the
distance may be seen small bodies of men advancing, it may be supposed,
to join his cause."
"Was it Bolingbroke?"
"No: he landed at Ravensburgh, in Yorkshire."
"Did your hero aim at conquering England?"
"He pretended he was heir to the crown."
"Then I think if you will tell me whether he marched straight to
London, or stayed to subdue the towns he passed through, I can say who
it was."
"He chose the latter, and thus lost all chance of success; had he gone
direct to the metropolis, he might have been victorious."
"The king, whom he wished to supplant," said Willie, "was, I think,
dethroned not long afterwards, and succeeded by some one else, better
able to conduct the affairs of England."
The subject was now known to all, and the game deferred until the next
night.
"We have only two more evenings," remarked Emily, "before my aunt and
cousins go, and we have agreed we cannot play at it without them."
"I hope," answered her mother, "they will soon pay us another visit,
and we can then resume it, with, I trust, a better acquaintance with
past events."
1. Death of Buckingham. A.D. 1628.
2. Charles I. taking leave of his children. A.D. 1649.
3. Oliver Cromwell seized by a tame monkey. A.D. 1593.
4. The death of Mrs. Claypole.
5. Solomon Eagle preaching during the Plague. A.D. 1665.
6. Landing of the Duke of Monmouth. A.D. 1685.