It was on a cool evening, near the end of September, 1311, that a troop,
consisting of about thirty horse, and as many on foot, were leisurely
traversing the mountain passes between the counties of Dumfries and
Lanark. Their arms were well burnished; their buff coats and half-armor
in good trim; their banner waved proudly from its staff, as bright and
gay as if it had not even neared a scene of strife; and there was an air
of hilarity and gallantry about them that argued well for success, if
about to commence an expedition, or if returning, told with equal
emphasis they had been successful. That the latter was the case was
speedily evident, from the gay converse passing between them; their
allusions to some late gallant achievement of their patriot sovereign;
their joyous comparisons between good King Robert and his weak opponent,
Edward II. of England, marvelling how so wavering and indolent a son
could have sprung from so brave and determined a sire; for, Scotsmen as
they were, they were now FREE, and could thus afford to allow
the "hammer" of their country some knightly qualities, despite the stern
and cruel tyranny which to them had ever marked his conduct. They spoke
in laughing scorn of the second Edward's efforts to lay his father's
yoke anew upon their necks; they said a just heaven had interfered and
urged him to waste the decisive moment of action in indolence and folly,
in the flatteries of his favorite, to the utter exclusion of those wiser
lords, whose counsels, if followed on the instant, might have shaken
even the wise and patriot Bruce. Yet they were so devoted to their
sovereign, they idolized him alike as a warrior and a man too deeply, to
allow that to the weak and vacillating conduct of Edward they owed the
preservation of their country. It was easy to perceive by the springy
step, the flashing eye, the ringing, tone with which that magic name,
the Bruce, was spoken, how deeply it was written on the heart; the joy
it was to recall his deeds, and feel it was through him that they were
free! Their converse easily betrayed them to be one of those
well-ordered though straggling parties into which King Robert's invading
armies generally dispersed at his command, when returning to their own
fastnesses, after a successful expedition to the English border.
The laugh and jest resounded, as we have said, amongst both officers and
men; but their leader, who was riding about a stone's throw ahead, gave
no evidence of sharing their mirth. He was clad from head to foot in
chain armor, of a hue so dark as to be mistaken for black, and from his
wearing a surcoat of the same color, unenlivened by any device, gave him
altogether a somewhat sombre appearance, although it could not detract
in the smallest degree from the peculiar gracefulness and easy dignity
of his form, which was remarkable both on horseback and on foot. He was
evidently very tall, and by his firm seat in the saddle, had been early
accustomed to equestrian exercises; but his limbs were slight almost to
delicacy, and though completely ensheathed in mail, there was an
appearance of extreme youth about him, that perhaps rendered the absence
of all gayety the more striking. Yet on the battle-field he gave no
evidence of inexperience as a warrior, no sign that he was merely a
scholar in the art of war; there only did men believe he must be older
than he seemed; there only his wonted depression gave place to an
energy, a fire, second to none amongst the Scottish patriots, not even
to the Bruce himself; then only was the naturally melancholy music of
his voice lost in accents of thrilling power, of imperative command, and
the oldest warriors followed him as if under the influence of some
spell. But of his appearance on the field we must elsewhere speak. He
now led his men through the mountain defiles mechanically, as if buried
in meditation, and that meditation not of the most pleasing nature. His
vizor was closed, but short clustering curls, of a raven blackness,
escaped beneath the helmet, and almost concealed the white linen and
finely embroidered collar which lay over his gorget, and was secured in
front by a ruby clasp; a thick plume of black feathers floated from his
helmet, rivalling in color the mane of his gallant charger, which pawed
the ground, and held his head aloft as if proud of the charge he bore. A
shield was slung round the warrior's neck, and its device and motto
seemed in melancholy accordance with the rest of his attire. On a field
argent lay the branch of a tree proper, blasted and jagged, with the
words "_Ni nom ni paren, je suis seul_," rudely engraved in Norman
French beneath; his helmet bore no crest, nor did his war-cry on the
field, "Amiot for the Bruce and freedom," offer any clue to the curious
as to his history, for that there was some history attached to him all
chose to believe, though the age was too full of excitement to allow
much of wonderment or curiosity to be expended upon him. His golden
spurs gave sufficient evidence that he was a knight; his prowess on the
field proclaimed whoever had given him that honor had not bestowed it on
the undeserving. His deeds of daring, unequalled even in that age,
obtained him favor in the eyes of every soldier; and if there were some
in the court and camp of Bruce who were not quite satisfied, and loved
not the mystery which surrounded him, it mattered not, Sir Amiot of the
Branch, or the Lonely Chevalier, as he was generally called, went on his
way unquestioned.
"Said not Sir Edward Bruce he would meet us hereabouts at set of sun?"
were the first words spoken by the knight, as, on issuing from the
mountains, they found themselves on a broad plain to the east of Lanark,
bearing sad tokens of a devastating war, in the ruined and blackened
huts which were the only vestiges of human habitations near. The answer
was in the affirmative; and the knight, after glancing in the direction
of the sun, which wanted about an hour to its setting, commanded a halt,
and desired that, while waiting the arrival of their comrades, they
should take their evening meal.
On the instant the joyous sounds of dismounting, leading horses to
picquet, unclasping helmets, throwing aside the more easily displaced
portions of their armor, shields, and spears, took the place of the
steady tramp and well-ordered march. Flinging themselves in various
attitudes on the greensward, provender was speedily laid before them,
and rare wines and other choice liquors, fruits of their late campaign,
passed gayly round. An esquire had, at the knight's sign, assisted him
to remove his helmet, shield, and gauntlets; but though this removal
displayed a beautifully formed head, thickly covered with dark hair, his
features were still concealed by a species of black mask, the mouth,
chin, and eyes being alone visible, and therefore his identity was
effectually hidden. The mouth and chin were both small and delicately
formed; the slight appearance of beard and moustache seeming to denote
his age as some one-and-twenty years. His eyes, glancing through the
opening in the mask, were large and very dark, often flashing brightly,
when his outward bearing was so calm and quiet as to afford little
evidence of emotion. Some there were, indeed, who believed the eye the
truer index of the man than aught else about him, and to fancy there was
far more in that sad and lonely knight than was revealed.
It was evident, however, that to the men now with him his remaining so
closely masked was no subject of surprise, that they regarded it as an
ordinary thing, which in consequence had lost its strangeness. They were
eager and respectful in their manner towards him, offering to raise him
a seat of turf at some little distance from their noisy comrades; but
acknowledging their attention with kindness and courtesy, he refused it,
and rousing himself with some difficulty from his desponding thoughts,
threw himself on the sward beside his men, and joined in their mirth and
jest.
"Hast thou naught to tell to while away this tedious hour, good
Murdoch?" he asked, after a while, addressing a gray-headed veteran.
"Aye, aye, a tale, a tale; thou hast seen more of the Bruce than all of
us together," repeated many eager voices, "and knowest yet more of his
deeds than we do; a tale an thou wilt, but of no other hero than the
Bruce."
"The Bruce!" echoed the veteran; "see ye not his deeds yourselves, need
ye more of them?" but there was a sly twinkle in his eye that betrayed
his love to speak was as great as his comrades to hear him. "Have ye not
heard, aye, and many of you seen his adventures and escapes in Carrick,
hunted even as he was by bloodhounds; his guarding that mountain pass,
one man against sixty, aye, absolutely alone against the Galwegian host
of men and bloodhounds; Glen Fruin, Loudun Hill, Aberdeen; the harrying
of Buchan; charging the treacherous foe, when they had to bear him from
his litter to his horse, aye, and support him there; springing up from
his couch of pain, and suffering, and depression, agonizing to witness,
to hurl vengeance on the fell traitors; aye, and he did it, and brought
back health to his own heart and frame; and Forfar, Lorn,
Dunstaffnage--know ye not all these things? Nay, have ye not seen,
shared in them all--what would ye more?"
"The harrying of Buchan, tell us of that," loudly exclaimed many voices;
while some others shouted, "the landing of the Bruce--tell us of his
landing, and the spirit fire at Turnberry Head; the strange woman that
addressed him."
"Now which am I to tell, good my masters?" laughingly answered the old
man, when the tumult in a degree subsided. "A part of one, and part of
the other, and leave ye to work out the rest yourselves; truly, a
pleasant occupation. Say, shall it be thus? yet stay, what says Sir
Amiot?"
"As you will, my friends," answered the knight, cheerily; "but decide
quickly, or we shall hear neither. I am for the tale of Buchan," there
was a peculiarly thrilling emphasis in his tone as he pronounced the
word, "for I was not in Scotland at the time, and have heard but
disjointed rumors of the expedition."
The veteran looked round on his eager comrades with an air of
satisfaction, then clearing his voice, and drawing more to the centre of
the group; "Your worship knows," he began, addressing Sir Amiot, who,
stretched at full length on the sward, had fixed his eyes upon him,
though their eagle glance was partly shaded by his hand, "that our good
King Robert the Bruce, determined on the reduction of the north of his
kingdom, advanced thereto in the spring of 1308, accompanied by his
brother, Lord Edward, that right noble gentleman the Earl of Lennox, Sir
Gilbert Hay, Sir Robert Boyd, and others, with a goodly show of men and
arms, for his successes at Glen Fruin and Loudun Hill had brought him a
vast accession of loyal subjects. And they were needed, your worship, of
a truth, for the traitorous Comyns had almost entire possession of the
castles and forts of the north, and thence were wont to pour down their
ravaging hordes upon the true Scotsmen, and menace the king, till he
scarcely knew which side to turn to first. Your worship coming, I have
heard, from the low country, can scarcely know all the haunts and
lurking-places for treason the highlands of our country present; how
hordes of traitors may be trained and armed in these remote districts,
without the smallest suspicion being attached to them till it is
well-nigh too late, and the mischief is done. Well, to drive out these
black villains, to free his kingdom, not alone from the yoke of an
English Edward, but a Scottish Comyn, good King Robert was resolved--and
even as he resolved he did. Inverness, the citadel of treason and
disloyalty, fell before him; her defences, and walls, and turrets, and
towers, all dismantled and levelled, so as to prevent all further
harborage of treason; her garrison marched out, the ringleaders sent
into secure quarters, and all who hastened to offer homage and swear
fidelity, received with a courtesy and majesty which I dare to say did
more for the cause of our true king than a Comyn could ever do against
it. Other castles followed the fate of Inverness, till at length the
north, even as the south, acknowledged the Bruce, not alone as their
king, but as their deliverer and savior.
"It was while rejoicing over these glorious successes, the lords and
knights about the person of their sovereign began to note with great
alarm that his strength seemed waning, his brow often knit as with
inward pain, his eye would grow dim, and his limbs fail him, without a
moment's warning; and that extreme depression would steal over his manly
spirit even in the very moment of success. They watched in alarm, but
silently; and when they saw the renewed earnestness and activity with
which, on hearing of the approach of Comyn of Buchan, Sir John de
Mowbray, and that worst of traitors, his own nephew, Sir David of
Brechin, he rallied his forces, advanced to meet them, and compelled
them to retreat confusedly to Aberdeen, they hoped they had been
deceived, and all was well.
"But the fell disease gained ground; at first he could not guide his
charger's reins, and then he could not mount at all; his voice failed,
his sight passed; they were compelled to lay him in a litter, and bear
him in the midst of them, and they felt as if the void left by their
sovereign's absence from their head was filled with the dim shadow of
death. Nobly and gallantly did Lord Edward endeavor to remedy this fatal
evil; Lennox, Hay, even the two Frasers, who had so lately joined the
king, seemed as if paralyzed by this new grief, and hung over the
Bruce's litter as if their strength waned with his. Sternly, nay, at
such a moment it seemed almost harshly, Lord Edward rebuked this
weakness, and, conducting them to Slenath, formed some strong
entrenchments, of which the Bruce's pavilion was the centre, intending
there to wait his brother's recovery. Ah, my masters, if ye were not
with good King Robert then, ye have escaped the bitterest trial. Ye know
not what it was to behold him--the savior of his country, the darling of
his people, the noblest knight and bravest warrior who ever girded on a
sword--lie there, so pale, so faint, with scarce a voice or passing sigh
to say he breathed. The hand which grasped the weal of Scotland, the arm
that held her shield, lay nerveless as the dead; the brain which thought
so well and wisely for his fettered land, lay powerless and still; the
thrilling voice was hushed, the flashing eye was closed. The foes were
close around him, and true friends in tears and woe beside his couch,
were all alike unknown. Ah! then was the time for warrior's tears, for
men of iron frame and rugged mood to soften into woman's woe, and weep.
Men term Lord Edward Bruce so harsh and stern, one whom naught of grief
for others or himself can move; they saw him not as I have. It was mine
to watch my sovereign, when others sought their rest; and I have seen
that rugged chieftain stand beside his brother's couch alone, unmarked,
and struggle with his spirit till his brow hath knit, his lip become
convulsed, and then as if 'twere vain, all vain, sink on his knee, clasp
his sovereign's hand, and bow his head and weep. 'Tis passed and over
now, kind heaven be praised! yet I cannot recall that scene, unbind the
folds of memory, unmoved."
The old man passed his rough hand across his eyes, and for a brief
moment paused; his comrades, themselves affected, sought not to disturb
him, and quickly he resumed.
"Days passed, and still King Robert gave no sign of amendment, except,
indeed, there were intervals when his eyes wandered to the countenances
of his leaders, as if he knew them, and would fain have addressed them
as his wont. Then it was our men were annoyed by an incessant discharge
from Buchan's archers, which, though they could do perhaps no great
evil, yet wounded many of our men, and roused Lord Edward's spirit to
resent the insult. His determination to leave the entrenchments and
retreat to Strathbogie, appeared at first an act of such unparalleled
daring as to startle all his brother leaders, and they hesitated; but
there never was any long resisting Sir Edward's plans; he bears a spell
no spirit with a spark of gallantry about him can resist. The retreat
was in consequence determined on, to the great glee of our men, who were
tired of inaction, and imagined they should feel their sovereign's
sufferings less if engaged hand to hand with, the foe, in his service,
than watching him as they had lately done, and dreading yet greater
evils.
"Ye have heard of this daring retreat, my friends; it was in the mouth
of every Scotsman, aye, and of Englishman too, for King Robert himself
never accomplished a deed of greater skill. The king's litter was placed
in the centre of a square, which presented on either side such an
impenetrable fence of spears and shields, that though Buchan and De
Mowbray mustered more than double our number, they never ventured an
attack, and a retreat, apparently threatening total destruction, from
its varied dangers, was accomplished without the loss of a single man.
At Strathbogie we halted but a short space, for finding no obstruction
in our path, we hastened southward, in the direction of Inverury; there
we pitched the tent for the king, and, taking advantage of a natural
fortification, dispersed our men around it, still in a compact square.
Soon after this had been accomplished, news was received that our foes
were concentrating their numerous forces at Old Meldrum, scarcely two
miles from us, and consequently we must hold ourselves in constant
readiness to receive their attack.
"Well, the news that the enemy was so near us might not perhaps have
been particularly pleasing, had they not been more than balanced by the
conviction--far more precious than a large reinforcement, for in itself
it was a host--the king was recovering. Yes, scarcely as we dared hope,
much less believe it, the disease, which had fairly baffled all the
leech's art, which had hung over our idolized monarch so long, at length
showed symptoms of giving way, and there was as great rejoicing in the
camp as if neither danger nor misfortune could assail us more; a new
spirit sparkled in every eye, as if the awakening lustre in the Bruce's
glance, the still faint, yet thrilling accents of a voice we had feared
was hushed forever, had lighted on every heart, and kindled anew their
slumbering fire. One day, Lord Edward, the Earl of Lennox, and a gallant
party, were absent scouring the country about half a mile round our
entrenchments, and in consequence, one side of our square was more than
usually open, but we did not think it signified, for there wore no
tidings of the enemy; well, this day the king had called me to him, and
bade me relate the particulars of the retreat, which I was proud enough
to do, my masters, and which of you would not be, speaking as I did with
our gallant sovereign as friend with friend?"
"Aye, and does he not make us all feel this?" burst simultaneously from
many voices; "does he not speak, and treat us all as if we were his
friends, and not his subjects only? Thine was a proud task, good
Murdoch, but which of us has good King Robert not addressed with kindly
words and proffered hand?"
"Right! right!" joyously responded the old man; "still I say that hour
was one of the proudest in my life, and an eventful one too for Scotland
ere it closed. King Robert heard me with flashing eye and kindling
cheek, and his voice, as he burst forth in high praise and love for his
daring brother, sounded almost as strong and thrilling as was its wont
in health; just then a struggle was heard without the tent, a scuffle,
as of a skirmish, confused voices, clashing of weapons, and war-cries.
Up started the king, with eagle glance and eager tone. 'My arms,' he
cried, 'bring me my arms! Ha hear ye that?' and sure enough, 'St. David
for De Brechin, and down with the Bruce!' resounded so close, that it
seemed as if but the curtain separated the traitor from his kinsman and
his king. Never saw I the Bruce so fearfully aroused, the rage of the
lion was upon him. 'Hear ye that?' he repeated, as, despite my
remonstrances, and these of the officers who rushed into the tent, he
sprang from the couch, and, with the rapidity of light, assumed his
long-neglected armor. 'The traitorous villain! would he beard me to my
teeth? By the heaven above us, he shall rue this insolence! Bring me my
charger. Beaten off, say ye? I doubt it not, my gallant friends; but it
is now the Bruce's turn, his kindred traitors are not far off, and we
would try their mettle now. Nay, restrain me not, these folk will work a
cure for me--there, I am a man again!' and as he stood upright, sheathed
in his glittering mail, his drawn sword in his gauntleted hand, a wild
shout of irrepressible joy burst from us all, and, caught up by the
soldiers without the tent, echoed and re-echoed through the camp. The
sudden appearance of the Bruce's charger, caparisoned for battle,
standing before his master's tent, the drums rolling for the muster, the
lightning speed with which Sir Edward Bruce, Lennox, and Hay, after
dispersing De Brechin's troop, as dust on the plain, galloped to the
royal pavilion, themselves equally at a loss to understand the bustle
there, all prepared the men-at-arms for what was to come. Eagerly did
the gallant knights remonstrate with their sovereign, conjure him to
follow the battle in his litter, rather than attempt to mount his
charger; they besought him to think what his life, his safety was to
them, and not so rashly risk it. Lord Edward did entreat him to reserve
his strength till there was more need; the field was then clear, the
foes had not appeared; but all in vain their eloquence, the king
combated it all. 'We will go seek them, brother,' cheerily answered the
king; 'we will go tell them insult to the Bruce passes not unanswered.
On, on, gallant knights, our men wax impatient.' Hastening from the
tent, he stood one moment in the sight of all his men: removing his
helmet, he smiled a gladsome greeting. Oh, what a shout rung forth from
those iron ranks! There was that noble face, pale, attenuated indeed,
but beaming on them in all its wonted animation, confidence, and love;
there was that majestic form towering again in its princely dignity,
seeming the nobler from being so long unseen. Again and again that shout
arose, till the wild birds rose screaming over our heads, in untuned,
yet exciting chorus. Nor did the fact that the king, strengthened as he
was by his own glorious soul, had in reality not bodily force enough to
mount his horse without support, take from the enthusiasm of his men,
nay, it was heightened and excited to the wildest pitch. 'For Scotland
and freedom!' shouted the king, as for one moment he rose in his
stirrups and waved his bright blade above his head. 'For Bruce and
Scotland!' swelled the answering shout. We formed, we gathered in
compact array around our leaders, loudly clashed our swords against our
shields; we marched a brief while slowly and majestically along the
plain; we neared the foe, who, with its multitude in terrible array,
awaited our coming; we saw, we hurled defiance in a shout which rent the
very air. Quicker and yet quicker we advanced; on, on--we scoured the
dusty plain, we pressed, we flew, we rushed upon the foe; the Bruce was
at our head, and with him victory. We burst through their ranks; we
compelled them, at the sword's point, to turn and fight even to the
death; we followed them foot to foot, and hand to hand, disputing every
inch of ground; they sought to retreat, to fly--but no! Five miles of
Scottish ground, five good broad miles, was that battle-field; the enemy
lay dead in heaps upon the field, the remainder fled."
"And the king!" exclaimed the knight of the mask, half springing up in
the excitement the old man's tale had aroused. "How bore he this day's
wondrous deed--was not his strength exhausted anew?"
"Aye, what of the king?" repeated many of the soldiers, who had held
their very breath while the veteran spoke, and clenched their swords, as
if they were joining in the strife he so energetically described.
"The king, my masters," replied Murdoch, "why, if it could be, he looked
yet more the mighty warrior at the close than at the commencement of the
work. We had seen him the first in the charge, in the pursuit; we had
marked his white plume waving above all others, where the strife waxed
hottest; and when we gathered round him, when the fight was done, he
was seated on the ground in truth, and there was the dew of extreme
fatigue on his brow--he had flung aside his helmet--and his cheek was
hotly flushed, and his voice, as he thanked us for our gallant conduct,
and bade us return thanks to heaven for this great victory, was somewhat
quivering; but for all that, my masters, he looked still the warrior and
the king, and his voice grew firmer and louder as he bade us have no
fears for him. He dismissed us with our hearts as full of joy and love
for him as of triumph on our humbled foes."
"No doubt," responded many voices; "but Buchan, Mowbray, De
Brechin--what came of them--were they left on the field?"
"They fled, loving their lives better than their honor; they fled, like
cowards as they were. The two first slackened not their speed till they
stood on English ground. De Brechin, ye know, held out Angus as long as
he could, and was finally made captive."
"Aye, and treated with far greater lenity than the villain deserved. He
will never be a Randolph."
"A Randolph! Not a footboy in Randolph's train but is more Randolph than
he. But thou sayest Buchan slackened not rein till he reached English
ground; he lingered long enough for yet blacker treachery, if rumor
speaks aright. Was it not said the king's life was attempted by his
orders, and by one of the Comyn's own followers?"
"Ha!" escaped Sir Amiot's lips. "Say they this?" but he evidently had
spoken involuntarily, for the momentary agitation which had accompanied
the words was instantly and forcibly suppressed.
"Aye, your worship, and it is true," replied the veteran "It was two
nights after the battle. All the camp was at rest; I was occupied as
usual, by my honored watch in my sovereign's tent. The king was sleeping
soundly, and a strange drowsiness appeared creeping over me too,
confusing all my thoughts. At first I imagined the wind was agitating a
certain corner of the tent, and my eyes, half asleep and half wakeful,
became fascinated upon it; presently, what seemed a bale of carpets,
only doubled up in an extraordinary small space, appeared within the
drapery. It moved; my senses were instantly aroused. Slowly and
cautiously the bale grew taller, then the unfolding carpet fell, and a
short, well-knit, muscular form appeared. He was clothed in those
padded jerkins and hose, plaited with steel, which are usual to those of
his rank; the steel, however, this night was covered with thin, black
stuff, evidently to assist concealment. He looked cautiously around him.
I had creeped noiselessly, and on all fours, within the shadow of the
king's couch, where I could observe the villain's movements myself
unseen. I saw a gleam of triumph twinkle in his eye, so sure he seemed
of his intended victim. He advanced; his dagger flashed above the Bruce.
With one bound, one shout, I sprang on the murderous wretch, wrenched
the dagger from his grasp, and dashed him to the earth. He struggled,
but in vain; the king started from that deep slumber, one moment gazed
around him bewildered, the next was on his feet, and by my side. The
soldiers rushed into the tent, and confusion for the moment waxed loud
and warm; but the king quelled it with a word. The villain was raised,
pinioned, brought before the Bruce, who sternly demanded what was his
intent, and who was his employer. Awhile the miscreant paused, but then,
as if spell-bound by the flashing orb upon him, confessed the whole,
aye, and more; that his master, the Earl of Buchan, had sworn a deep and
deadly oath to relax not in his hot pursuit till the life-blood of the
Bruce had avenged the death of the Red Comyn, and that, though he had
escaped now, he must fall at length, for the whole race of Comyn had
joined hands upon their chieftain's oath. The brow of the king grew
dark, terrible wrath beamed from his eyes, and it seemed for the moment
as if he would deliver up the murderous villain into the hands that
yearned to tear him piecemeal. There was a struggle, brief yet terrible,
then he spoke, and calmly, yet with a bitter stinging scorn.
"'And this is Buchan's oath,' he said. 'Ha! doth he not bravely, my
friends, to fly the battle-field, to shun us there, that hireling hands
may do a deed he dares not? For this poor fool, what shall we do with
him?'
"'Death, death--torture and death! what else befits the sacrilegious
traitor?' burst from many voices, pressing forward to seize and bear him
from the tent; but the king signed them to forbear, and oh, what a smile
took the place of his previous scorn!
"'And I say neither torture nor death, my friends,' he tried. 'What, are
we sunk so low, as to revenge this insult on a mere tool, the
instrument of a villainous master? No, no! let him go free, and tell his
lord how little the Bruce heeds him; that guarded as he is by a free
people's love, were the race of Comyn as powerful and numerous as
England's self, their oath would avail them nothing. Let the poor fool
go free!'
"A deep wild murmur ran through the now crowded tent, and so mingled
were the tones of applause and execration, we knew not which the most
prevailed.
"'And shall there be no vengeance for this dastard deed?' at length the
deep, full voice of Lord Edward Bruce arose, distinct above the rest.
'Shall the Bruce sit tamely down to await the working of the villain
oath, and bid its tools go free, filling the whole land with
well-trained murderers? Shall Buchan pass scathless, to weave yet
darker, more atrocious schemes?'
"'Brother, no,' frankly rejoined the king. 'We will make free to go and
visit our friends in Buchan, and there, an thou wilt, thou shalt pay
them in coin for their kindly intents and deeds towards us; but for this
poor fool, again I say, let him go free. Misery and death, God wot, we
are compelled to for our country's sake, let us spare where but our own
person is endangered.'
"And they let him free, my masters, unwise as it seemed to us; none
could gainsay our sovereign's words. Sullen to the last, the only
symptom of gratitude he vouchsafed was to mutter forth, in, answer to
the Bruce's warning words to hie him to his comrades in Buchan, and bid
them, an they feared fire and devastation, to fly without delay, 'Aye,
only thus mayest thou hope to exterminate the traitors; pity none, spare
none. The whole district of Buchan is peopled by the Comyn, bound by
this oath of blood,' and thus he departed."
"And spoke he truth?" demanded Sir Amiot, hoarsely, and with an
agitation that, had others more suspicious been with him, must have been
remarked, although forcibly and painfully suppressed; "spoke he truth?
Methought the district of Buchan had only within the last century
belonged to the Comyn, and that the descendants of the Countess
Margaret's vassals still kept apart, loving not the intermixture of
another clan. Said they not it was on this account the Countess of
Buchan had exercised such influence, and herself beaded a gallant troop
at the first rising of the Bruce? an the villain spoke truth, whence
came this change?"
"Why, for that matter, your worship, it is easy enough explained,"
answered Murdoch, "and, trust me, King Robert set inquiries enough
afloat ere he commenced his scheme of retaliation. Had there been one of
the Lady Isabella's own followers there, one who, in her name, claimed
his protection, he would have given it; not a hair of their heads would
have been injured; but there were none of these, your worship. The few
of the original clan which had not joined him were scattered all over
the country, mingling with other loyal clans; their own master had
hunted them away, when he came down to his own districts, just before
the capture of his wife and son. He filled the Tower of Buchan with his
own creatures, scattered the Comyns all over the land, with express
commands to attack, hunt, or resist all of the name of Bruce to the last
ebb of their existence. He left amongst them officers and knights as
traitorous, and spirits well-nigh as evil as his own, and they obeyed
him to the letter, for amongst the most inveterate, the most
treacherous, and most dishonorable persecutors of the Bruce stood first
and foremost the Comyns of Buchan. Ah! the land was changed from the
time when the noble countess held sway there, and so they felt to their
cost.
"It was a grand yet fearful sight, those low hanging woods and glens all
in one flame; the spring had been particularly dry and windy, and the
branches caught almost with a spark, and crackled and sparkled, and
blazed, and roared, till for miles round we could see and hear the work
of devastation. Aye, the coward earl little knew what was passing in his
territories, while he congratulated himself on his safe flight into
England. It was a just vengeance, a deserved though terrible
retaliation, and the king felt it as such, my masters. He had borne with
the villains as long as he could, and would have borne with them still,
had he not truly felt nothing would quench their enmity, and in
consequence secure Scotland's peace and safety, but their utter
extermination, and all the time he regretted it, I know, for there was a
terrible look of sternness and determination about him while the work
lasted; he never relaxed into a smile, he never uttered a jovial word,
and we followed him, our own wild spirits awed into unwonted silence.
There was not a vestige of natural or human life in the district--all
was one mass of black, discolored ashes, utter ruin and appalling
devastation. Not a tower of Buchan remains."
"All--sayest thou all?" said Sir Amiot, suddenly, yet slowly, and with
difficulty. "Left not the Bruce one to bear his standard, and thus mark
his power?"
"Has not your worship remarked that such is never the Bruce's policy?
Three years ago, he had not force enough to fortify the castles he took
from the English, and leaving them standing did but offer safe harbors
for the foe, so it was ever his custom to dismantle, as utterly to
prevent their reestablishment; and if he did this with the castles of
his own friends, who all, as the Douglas saith, 'love better to hear the
lark sing than the mouse squeak,' it was not likely he would spare
Buchan's. But there was one castle, I remember, cost him a bitter
struggle to demolish. It was the central fortress of the district,
distinguished, I believe, by the name of 'the Tower of Buchan,' and had
been the residence of that right noble lady, the Countess Isabella and
her children. Nay, from what I overheard his grace say to Lord Edward,
it had formerly given him shelter and right noble hospitality, and a
dearer, more precious remembrance still to his noble heart--it had been
for many months the happy home of his brother, Sir Nigel, and we know
what magic power all associated with _him_ has upon the king; and had it
not been for the expostulations of Lord Edward, his rough yet earnest
entreaty, methinks that fortress had been standing yet. That sternness,
terrible to behold, for it ever tells of some mighty inward passions
conquered, again gathered on our sovereign's brow, but he turned his
charger's head, and left to Lord Edward the destruction of the fortress,
and he made quick work of it; you will scarce find two stones together
of its walls."
"He counselled right," echoed many voices, the eagerness with which they
had listened, and now spoke, effectually turning their attention from
their mysterious leader, who at old Murdoch's last words had with
difficulty prevented the utterance of a deep groan, and then, as if
startled at his own emotion, sprung up from his reclining posture, and
joined his voice to those of his men. "He counselled, and did rightly,"
they repeated; "it would have been an ill deed to spare a traitor's den
for such softening thoughts. Could we but free the Countess Isabella,
she would not want a home in Buchan--nay, the further from her cruel
husband's territories the better and for her children--the one, poor
innocent, is cared for, and the other--"
"Aye, my masters, and trust me, that other was in our sovereign's heart
as forcibly as the memories he spoke. That which we know now concerning
him was then undreamed of; it was only faintly rumored that Lord Douglas
had been deceived, and Alan of Buchan had not fallen by a father's hand,
or at least by his orders; that he was in life, in close confinement; my
old ears did catch something of this import from the king, as he spoke
with his brother."
"What import?" asked Sir Amiot, hoarsely.
"Only, your worship, that, for the sake of the young heir of Buchan, he
wished that such total devastation could have been spared; if he were
really in life, as rumor said, it was hard to act as if he were
forgotten by his friends."
"And what was Sir Edward's reply?"
"First, that he doubted the rumor altogether; secondly, that if he did
return to the king, his loss might be more than made up; and thirdly,
that it was more than probable that, young as he was, if he really did
live, the arts of his father would prevail, and he would purchase his
freedom by homage and fidelity to England."
"Ha! said he so--and the king?"
"Did not then think with him, nay, declared he would stake his right
hand that the boy, young as he was, had too much of his mother's noble
spirit for such a deed. It was well the stake was not accepted, for, by
St. Andrew, as the tale now goes, King Robert would have lost."
"As the tale now goes, thou unbelieving skeptic," replied one of his
comrades, laughing; "has not the gallant been seen, recognized--is he
not known as one of King Edward's minions, and lords it bravely? But
hark! there are chargers pricking over the plain. Hurrah! Sir Edward and
Lord James," and on came a large body of troopers and infantry even as
he spoke.
Up started Sir Amiot's men in eager readiness to greet and join; their
armor and weapons they had laid aside were resumed, and ere their
comrades reached them all were in readiness. Sir Amiot, attended by his
esquires and a page, galloped forward, and the two knights, perceiving
his advance, spurred on before their men, and hasty and cordial
greetings were exchanged. We should perhaps note that Sir Amiot's manner
slightly differed in his salutation of the two knights. To Lord Edward
Bruce he was eager, frank, cordial, as that knight himself; to the
other, whom one glance proclaimed as the renowned James Lord Douglas,
there was an appearance of pride or reserve, and it seemed an effort to
speak with him at all. Douglas perhaps did not perceive this, or was
accustomed to it, for it seemed to affect him little; and Lord Edward's
bluff address prevented all manifestation of difference between his
colleagues, even if there existed any.
"Ready to mount and ride; why that's well," he cried. "We are beyond our
time, but it is little reck, we need but spur the faster, which our men
seem all inclined to do. What news? why, none since we parted, save that
his grace has resolved on the siege of Perth without further delay."
"Nay, but that is news, so please you," replied Sir Amiot. "When I
parted from his grace, there was no talk of it."
"There was talk of it, but no certainty; for our royal brother kept his
own counsel, and spoke not of this much-desired event till his way lay
clear before him. There have been some turbulent spirits in the
camp--your humble servant, this black lord, and Randolph amongst
them--who in truth conspired to let his grace know no peace by night or
day till this object was attained; but our prudent monarch gave us
little heed till his wiser brain arranged the matters we but burned to
execute."
"And what, think you, fixed this resolve?"
"Simply that for a time we are clear of English thieves and Norman
rogues, and can march northward, and sit down before Perth without fear
of being called southward again. Edward will have enow on his hands to
keep his own frontiers from invasion; 'twill be some time ere he see the
extent of our vengeance, and meanwhile our drift is gained."
"Aye, it were a sin and crying shame to let Perth remain longer in
English hands," rejoined Douglas; "strongly garrisoned it may be; but
what matter?"
"What matter! why, 'tis great matter," replied Sir Edward, joyously.
"What glory were it to sit down before a place and take it at first
charge? No, give me good fighting, tough assault, and brave defence.
Think you I would have so urged the king, did I not scent a glorious
struggle before the walls? Strongly garrisoned! I would not give one
link of this gold chain for it, were it not. But a truce to this idle
parley; we must make some miles ere nightfall. Sir Knight of the Branch,
do your men need further rest? if not, give the word, and let them fall
in with their comrades, and on."
"Whither?" demanded Sir Amiot, as he gave the required orders. "Where
meet we the king?"
"In the Glen of Auchterader, south of the Erne. Lady Campbell and
Isoline await us there, with the troops left as their guard at
Dumbarton. So you perceive our friend Lord Douglas here hath double
cause to use the spur; times like these afford little leisure for
wooing, and such love-stricken gallants as himself must e'en make the
most of them."
"And trust me for doing so," laughingly rejoined Douglas. "Scoff' at me
as you will, Edward, your time will come."
"Not it," answered the warrior; "glory is my mistress. I love better to
clasp my true steel than the softest and fairest hand in Christendom; to
caress my noble steed and twine my hand thus in his flowing mane, and
feel that he bears me gallantly and proudly wherever my spirit lists,
than to press sweet kisses on a rosy lip, imprisoned by a woman's
smile."
"Nay, shame on thee!" replied Douglas, still jestingly. "Thou a true
knight, and speak thus; were there not other work to do, I would e'en
run a tilt with thee, to compel thee to forswear thy foul treason
against the fair."
"Better spend thy leisure in wooing Isoline; trust me, she will not be
won ere wooed. How now, Sir Knight of the Branch, has the fiend
melancholy taken possession of thee again? give her a thrust with thy
lance, good friend, and unseat her. Come, soul of fire as thou art in
battle, why dost thou mope in ashes in peace? Thou speakest neither for
nor against these matters of love; wilt woo or scorn the little god?"
"Perchance both, perchance neither," replied the knight, and his voice
sounded sadly, though he evidently sought to speak in jest. He had
fallen back from the side of Douglas during the previous conversation,
but the flashing eye denoted that it had passed not unremarked. He now
rode up to the side of Lord Edward, keeping a good spear's length from
Lord James, and their converse turning on martial subjects, became more
general. Their march being performed without any incident of note, we
will, instead of following them, take a brief retrospective glance on
those historical events which had so completely and gloriously turned
the fate of Scotland and her patriots, in those five years which the
thread of our narrative compels us to leave a blank.
END OF VOL. I.
* * * * *
GRACE AGUILAR'S WORKS.
HOME INFLUENCE.
MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE.
VALE OF CEDARS.
WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP.
DAYS OF BRUCE.
WOMEN OF ISRAEL.
HOME SCENES AND HEART STUDIES.
_1 vol., 12mo, Illustrated, price $1, with a Memoir of the Author,_
HOME INFLUENCE,
A TALE FOR MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS.
By GRACE AGUILAR.
"Grace Aguilar wrote and spoke as one inspired; she condensed and
spiritualized, and all her thoughts and feelings were steeped in the
essence of celestial love and truth. To those who really knew Grace
Aguilar, all eulogium falls short of her deserts, and she has left a
blank in her particular walk of literature, which we never expect to see
filled up."--_Pilgrimages to English Shrines, by Mrs. Hall._
"A clever and interesting tale, corresponding well to its name,
illustrating the silent, constant influence of a wise and affectionate
parent over characters the most diverse."--_Christian Lady's Magazine._
"This interesting volume unquestionably contains many valuable hints on
domestic education, much powerful writing, and a _moral_ of vast
importance."--_Englishwoman's Magazine._
"It is very pleasant, after reading a book, to speak of it in terms of
high commendation. The tale before us is an admirable one, and is
executed with taste and ability. The language is beautiful and
appropriate; the analysis of character is skilful and varied. The work
ought to be in the hands of all who are interested in the proper
training of the youthful mind."--_Palladium._
"In reviewing this work, we hardly know what words in the English
language are strong enough to express the admiration we have felt in its
perusal."--_Bucks Chronicle._
"The object and end of the writings of Grace Aguilar were to improve the
heart, and to lead her readers to the consideration of higher motives
and objects than this world can ever afford."--_Bell's Weekly
Messenger._
"'Home Influence' will not be forgotten by any who have perused
it."--_Critic._
"A well-known and valuable tale."--_Gentleman's Magazine._
"A work which, possesses an extraordinary amount of influence to elevate
the mind and educate the heart, by showing that rectitude and virtue
conduce no less to material prosperity, and worldly comfort and
happiness, than to the satisfaction of the conscience, the approval of
the good, and the hope and certainty of bliss hereafter."--_Herts County
Press._
* * * * *
THE SEQUEL TO HOME INFLUENCE.
THE MOTHER'S RECOMPENSE.
A SEQUEL TO
_"Home Influence, a Tale for Mothers and Daughters."_
By GRACE AGUILAR.
1 VOL., 12MO. CLOTH. $1. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
"Grace Aguilar belonged to the school of which Maria Edgeworth was the
foundress. The design of the book is carried out forcibly and
constantly, 'The Home Influence' exercised in earlier years being shown
in its active germination."--_Atlas._
"The writings of Grace Aguilar have a charm inseparable from productions
in which feeling is combined with intellect; they go directly to the
heart. 'Home Influence,' the deservedly popular story to which this is a
sequel, admirably teaches the lesson implied in its name. In the present
tale we have the same freshness, earnestness, and zeal--the same spirit
of devotion, and love of virtue--the same enthusiasm and sincere
religion which characterized that earlier work. We behold the mother now
blessed in the love of good and affectionate offspring, who, parents
themselves, are, after her example, training _their_ children in the way
of rectitude and piety."--_Morning Chronicle._
"This beautiful story was completed when the authoress was little above
the age of nineteen, yet it has the sober sense of middle age. There is
no age nor sex that will not profit by its perusal, and it will afford
as much pleasure as profit to the reader."--_Critic._
"The same kindly spirit, the same warm charity and fervor of devotion
which breathes in every line of that admirable book, 'Home Influence,'
will be found adorning and inspiring 'The Mother's Recompense.'"--_Morning
Advertiser._
"The good which, she (Grace Aguilar) has effected is acknowledged on all
hands, and it cannot be doubted but that the appearance of this volume
will increase the usefulness of one who may yet be said to be still
speaking to the heart and to the affections of human nature."--_Bell's
Messenger._
"It will be found an interesting supplement, not only to the book to
which it specially relates, but to all the writer's other
works."--_Gentleman's Magazine._
"'The Mother's Recompense' forms a fitting close to its predecessor,
'Home Influence.' The results of maternal care are fully developed, its
rich rewards are set forth, and its lesson and its moral are powerfully
enforced."--_Morning Post._
"We heartily commend this volume; a better or more useful present to a
youthful friend or a young wife could not well be selected."--_Herts
County Press._
"We look upon 'The Days of Bruce' as an elegantly-written and
interesting romance, and place it by the side of Miss Porter's 'Scottish
Chiefs.'"--_Gentleman's Magazine._
"A very pleasing and successful attempt to combine ideal delineation of
character with the records of history. Very beautiful and very true are
the portraits of the female mind and heart which Grace Aguilar knew how
to draw. This is the chief charm of all her writings, and in 'The Days
of Bruce' the reader will have the pleasure of viewing this skillful
portraiture in the characters of Isoline and Agnes, and Isabella of
Buchan."--_Literary Gazette._
"What a fertile mind was that of Grace Aguilar! What an early
development of reflection, of feeling, of taste, of power of invention,
or true and earnest eloquence! 'The Days of Bruce' is a composition of
her early youth, but full of beauty. Grace Aguilar knew the female heart
better than any writer of our day, and in every fiction from her pen we
trace the same masterly analysis and development of the motives and
feelings of woman's nature. 'The Days of Bruce' possesses also the
attractions of an extremely interesting story, that absorbs the
attention, and never suffers it to flag till the last page is closed,
and then the reader will lay down the volume with regret."--_Critic._
* * * * *
HOME SCENES AND HEART STUDIES,
By GRACE AGUILAR.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
One volume, 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00.
The Perez Family. The Stone-Cutter's Boy of Possagno. Amete and
Yafeh. The Fugitive. The Edict; A Tale of 1492. The Escape; A Tale of
1755. Red Rose Villa. Gonzalvo's Daughter. The Authoress.
Helon.
Lucy.
The Spirit's Entreaty.
Idalie.
Lady Gresham's Fete.
The Group of Sculpture.
The Spirit of Night.
Recollections of a Rambler.
Cast thy Bread upon the Waters.
The Triumph of Love.
* * * * *
THE WOMEN OF ISRAEL;
Or, Characters and Sketches from the Holy Scriptures, illustrative
of the past History, present Duties, and future Destiny of Hebrew
Females, as based on the Word of God.
By GRACE AGUILAR.
Two volumes, 12mo. Price $2.00.
PRINCIPAL CONTENTS.
FIRST PERIOD--WIVES OF THE PATRIARCHS.
Eve.--Sarah.--Rebekah.--Leah and Rachel.
SECOND PERIOD--THE EXODUS AND THE LAW.
Egyptian Captivity, and Jochebed.--The Exodus--Mothers of Israel.--Laws
for Wives in Israel.--Laws for Widows and Daughters In
Israel.--Maid-servants in Israel, and other Laws.
THIRD PERIOD--BETWEEN THIS DELIVERY OF THE LAW AND THE MONARCHY.
Miriam.--Tabernacle Workers--Caleb's Daughter.--Deborah.--Wife of
Manoah.--Naomi.--Hannah.
FOURTH PERIOD--THE MONARCHY.
Michal.--Abigail.--Wise Women of Tekoah.--Woman of
Abel.--Rispah.--Prophet's Widow.--The Shunamite.--Little Israelitish
Maid.--Huldah.
FIFTH PERIOD--BABYLONIAN CAPTIVITY.
The Captivity.--Review of Book of Ezra.--Suggestions as to the identity
of the Ahasuerus of Scripture.--Esther.--Review of Events narrated in Ezra
and Nehemiah.
SIXTH PERIOD--CONTINUANCE OF THE SECOND TEMPLE.
Review of Jewish History, from the Return from Babylon to the Appeal of
Hycanus and Aristobulus to Pompey.--Jewish History from the Appeal to
Pompey to the Death of Herod.--Jewish History from the Death of Herod to
the War.--The Martyr Mother.--Alexandra.--Mariamne.--Salome.--Helena.
--Berenice.
SEVENTH PERIOD--WOMEN OF ISRAEL IN THE PRESENT AS INFLUENCED BY THE PAST.
The War and Dispersion.--Thoughts on the Talmud.--Talmudic Ordinances
and Tales.--Effects of Dispersion and Persecution.--General Remarks.
"A work that is sufficient of itself to create and crown a
reputation."--_Pilgrimages to English Shrines, by Mrs. S. C. Hall._
* * * * *
WOMAN'S FRIENDSHIP.
A STORY OF DOMESTIC LIFE.
By GRACE AGUILAR.
_With Illustrations. One volume, 12mo. Cloth. Price, $1.00._
"To show us how divine a thing
A woman may be made."--Wordsworth.
"This story illustrates, with feeling and power, that beneficial
influence which women exercise, in their own quiet way, over characters
and events in our every-day life."--_Britannia._
"The book is one of more than ordinary interest in various ways, and
presents an admirable conception of the depths and sincerity of female
friendship, as exhibited in England by English women."--_Weekly
Chronicle._
"We began to read the volume late in the evening; and, although it
consists of about 400 pages, our eyes could not close in sleep until we
had read the whole. This excellent book should find a place on every
drawing-room table--nay, in every library in the kingdom."--_Bucks
Chronicle._
"We congratulate Miss Aguilar on the spirit, motive, and composition of
this story. Her aims are eminently moral, and her cause comes
recommended by the most beautiful associations. These, connected with
the skill here evinced in their development, insure the success of her
labors."--_Illustrated News._
"As a writer of remarkable grace and delicacy, she devoted herself to
the inculcation of the virtues, more especially those which are the
peculiar charm of women."--_Critic._
"It is a book for all classes of readers; and we have no hesitation in
saying, that it only requires to be generally known to become
exceedingly popular. In our estimation it has far more attractions
than Miss Burney's celebrated, but overestimated, novel of
'Cecilia.'"--_Herts County Press._
"This very interesting and agreeable tale has remained longer without
notice on our part than we could have desired; but we would now endeavor
to make amends for the delay, by assuring our readers that it is a most
ably-written publication, full of the nicest points of information and
utility that could have been by any possibility constructed; and, as a
proof of its value, it may suffice to say, that it has been taken from
our table again and again by several individuals, from the
recommendation of those who had already perused it, and be prevented our
giving an earlier attention to its manifold claims for the favorable
criticism. It is peculiarly adapted for the young, and wherever it goes
will be received with gratification, and command very extensive
approbation."--_Bell's Weekly Messenger._
"This is a handsome volume: just such a book as we would expect to find
among the volumes composing a lady's library. Its interior corresponds
with its exterior; it is a most fascinating tale, full of noble and just
sentiments."--_Palladium._
* * * * *
THE VALE OF CEDARS
or,
THE MARTYR.
A STORY OF SPAIN IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.
By GRACE AGUILAR.
_With Illustrations. 1 vol., 12mo. Cloth, $1.00._
"The authoress of this most fascinating volume has selected for her field
one of the most remarkable eras in modern history--the reigns of Ferdinand
and Isabella. The tale turns on the extraordinary extent to which concealed
Judaism had gained footing at that period in Spain. It is marked by much
power of description, and by a woman's delicacy of touch, and it will add
to its writer's well-earned reputation."--_Eclectic Review._
"The scene of this interesting tale is laid during the reign of
Ferdinand and Isabella. The Vale of Cedars is the retreat of a Jewish
family, compelled by persecution to perform their religions rites with
the utmost secrecy. On the singular position of this fated race in the
most Catholic land of Europe, the interest of the tale mainly
depends; whilst a few glimpses of the horrors of the terrible
Inquisition are afforded the reader, and heighten the interest
of the narrative."--_Sharpe's Magazine._
"Any thing which proceeds from the pen of the authoress of this volume
is sure to command attention and appreciation. There is so much of
delicacy and refinement about her style, and each a faithful delineation
of nature in all she attempts, that she has taken her place amongst the
highest class of modern writers of fiction. We consider this to be one
of Miss Aguilar's best efforts."--_Bell's Weekly Messenger._
"We heartily commend the work to our readers as one exhibiting, not
merely talent, but genius, and a degree of earnestness, fidelity to
Nature, and artistic grace, rarely found."--_Herts County Press._
"The 'Vale of Cedars' is indeed one of the most touching and interesting
stories that have ever issued from the press. There is a life-like
reality about it which is not often observed in works of this nature;
while we read it we felt as if we were witnesses of the various scenes
it depicts."--_Bucks Chronicle._
"It is a tale of deep and pure devotion, very touchingly
narrated."--_Atlas._
"The authoress has already received our commendation; her present work
is calculated to sustain, her reputation."--_Illustrated News._
"It is indeed a historical romance of a high class. Seeing how steady
and yet rapid was her improvement--how rich the promise of her
genius--it is impossible to close this notice of her last and best work,
without lamenting that the authoress was so untimely snatched from a
world she appeared destined, as certainly she was singularly qualified,
to adorn and to improve."--_Critic._
New York: D. APPLETON & CO.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Days of Bruce Vol 1, by Grace Aguilar