[]THE HAUNTED TOWER,

Now madam, give me leave to congratu⯑late you on your ſafe arrival on the Engliſh coaſt.

Ah Cicely, if the ſtorm that op⯑poſed our landing had fulfilled its threats, it wou'd have reliev'd me from a world of miſery.

Are you then reſolv'd to obey your father and become the victim of his ambition, by marry⯑ing [4] the young Baron of Oakland, whom you have never ſeen?

I am, at leaſt I think I am.

O, Madam! how can you determine to for⯑get Sir Palamede, he who loves you ſo.

Poor Palamede, yet, why was he abſent when I left my father's court? why did he not bid me adieu?—

Madam, moſt of your attendants are come aſhore, but it's a great way to Oakland Caſtle, and its very cold.

Where are they?

Why, Madam, at this good old lady's cot⯑tage, where there is a charming fire, and I wou'd adviſe you madam, to go there and warm yourſelf, for I am ſure you muſt be very cold.

Where are you going ſot? Stay here and wait for the reſt of Lady Elinor's attendants; and do you hear, the next voyage you take, I wou'd adviſe you to keep yourſelf ſober.

Why, that's very pretty indeed, ſo, I am to ſtay here freezing by way of a direction poſt, I got tipſey and loſt my money in France, and began to come to myſelf, when I was about half ſeas over; and now when I thought, I ſhou'd be comfortable by a good fire, I muſt remain freezing here, in all the horrors of ſobriety. It is the fate of genius to make diſcoveries by which other people profit—why, who have we here? ſure it can't be! yes it is—what my dear Maſter, Sir Palamede!

Is that Lewis?

Yes ſir, I was Lewis, till I was froze into an iſicle, how did you come over from Normandy?

In the ſame ſhip with you, though con⯑cealed from the knowledge of Lady Elinor.

I gueſs the reſt, ah! you are a happy man, you are in love; I wiſh I was in love or in liquor, then I ſhou'd have warmth enough in me to brave the weather.

I ſaw your Lady land, whither is ſhe gone?

Why, Sir, to a cottage hard by, where is ſuch a delighful fire-ſide:—Oh, I wiſh, I dar'd, follow her.

Go, thither inſtantly—and ſay, I in⯑treat permiſſion to fulfil my duty in attending her.

I'll be there immediately, but may I ſay I came by your orders.

Yes, begone!—

To what a wayward fate, am I ſubjected to love!—without hope and to purſue diſappointment.

How Lewis, Sir Palamede in the ſame ſhip with us, and coming here immediately!

Yes Madam, if he is not froze by the way.

Oh, Cicely! aſſiſt me to conceal my joy.—What can Sir Palamede [6] mean by ſurprizing me thus?—agreeably—oh! heavens he is here.

Pardon my intruſion Madam! an hum⯑ble dependant on the Lord de Courcy, may well dread his preſumption.

Sir, the clandeſtine manner, in which you quitted my father's court, renders it impoſſible for me to conſider you as his friend.

Oh, forgive me!—long I ador'd you in ſecret, and ſhou'd have fallen a ſilent ſacrifice to my preſumptuous love.

Was it well done to take advantage of my father's friendſhip for you, and watch an op⯑portunity to triumph over the weakneſs of his daughter—not that you ever will triumph over her weakneſs;—but—but why did you follow me?

Ah Sir, why did you follow my Lady?

Deſtiny compelled me hither, compelled me to a land where my footſteps are forbid⯑den, where my preſence is a treaſon, where my life is proſcrib'd!

Good heaven, what have you to fear!

Nothing: for I have loſt you.

I muſt not truſt myſelf to pity him—Yet how can I avoid it, in ſeeing him unhappy.

Sir; I beg your honour's pardon for my boldneſs, but do you accompany the Lady, becauſe my Grandſon, Martin here, will be your guide to the Baron of Oakland's Caſtle.

Why, do you know the Baron of Oak⯑land?

Aye Sir: I knew him before he was a great man!

Yes Sir, ſo did I, for all he holds his head ſo high now, and quite forgets when he was plain Edmund, the Ploughman.

What, d'ye ſay—why then who is this lord?

Ah, Sir, it does not become poor folks to ſpeak ill of people behind their backs, for that it might get to their ears again.

No Sir; as my grandmother ſays, it don't become poor folks to ſay.—

Pſha, it becomes every one to ſpeak the truth—torment my curioſity no longer.

Why, then Sir, you muſt know that about ten years ago, the old Baron, Lord William, was accuſed of being in a plot, and conſpiring againſt the life of our good King William, the Con⯑queror, and was baniſhed.

I remember it.

He took with him his only ſon, a fine youth, about twelve years of age; but, alas! Sir, he has not been heard of ſince.

I am all impatience?

Now Sir, about a year ago, Lord William's wicked accuſer died, and declared the good baron innocent.

Alas!

The King willing to make reperation, for the wrongs he had done him, endeavoured to find him, but all in vain, therefore his lands and eſtates have been in poſſeſſion of a diſtant relation of the family;—then ſir, there is a young baron the preſent heir to.—

Aye and a pretty fellow he is too,—you may go in good woman, we have no further occa⯑ſion for you I believe.

Good woman—Marry, come up I ſay, have I lived all theſe years to be call'd good wo⯑man, by a lady's waiting maid! come along Martin—a good woman indeed!

Good woman indeed!

I have heard the whole ſtory Palemede.

Oh, Cicely!—

Oh Cicely!—ah, you may ſpare your long ſpeeches, poor Palamede!—you are in a ſad delima truly, and have'nt wit enough to extricate yourſelf; but want me to help you, I pity you to be ſure, but I can't help laughing at you.

I have now ſtill ſtranger motives for wiſhing to accompany Lady Elinor to the Caſtle, motives you cannot gueſs at.

Well, Well! ſo you ſhall, leave the man⯑agement of the affair to me, and don't you ap⯑pear till we are ſetting off.

I want words to thank you.

I am very glad of it, for words would take up too much of our time at preſent, but away and wait till I ſend for you,

well wou'd we were at our journey to Oakland Caſtle, I wiſh to ſee this baron's ſon,—Dear Curioſity how I long to—gratify you!

How are ye my lads?—How are ye?

O, here comes our young Maſter, Lord Edward

Does your Lordſhip hunt to day?

No, Robert not this morning.

What Sir! do you give up the chace when the game's in view:

Huſh, that's my dear Adela, whom I told you of; ſhe arrived here yeſterday evening unknown to any body—if you betray the ſecret.

I, Sir! no, no, I am your father's butler, the poſt of all others which I love, and while I have the management of the wine cellar, it is quite indifferent to me how the world wags;—ſo I ſhall follow the Huntſmen.

But hark'ye Robert, not a word about the Haunted Tower, or you will frighten her out of her wits.

No, no, Sir—

Here comes father, ſtrutting along; ecod he did not ſtrut ſo when he followed the plough.

Heyday, how dare you appear abroad with⯑out your ſervants with you, why are you walking alone?

Why father, if one muſt always move in a crowd, one might as well be bell-weather, to a flock of ſheep.

Sirrah, Sirrah; don't put me in a paſſion, you have been civil to thoſe raſcals, I know you have, why don't you frown at 'em as I do? how often have I told you, there's nothing ſupports dignity like ill-humour: but you have no ambition.

Not much indeed.

Why, have'nt you more pride? hey, if you are not proud you dog, I'll break your bones.

Why, I can't help nature, father.

Nature; why, look at me, do you ſee any thing like nature about me? No, no, yet I, myſelf, am as vulgarly and naturally pleaſed as any body; but I'll not ſhow it, I'll defy the beſt friend I have to ſay, I have given him a civil word ſince I have been Baron of Oakland—an't I the terror of the neighbourhood.

Yes, that you are; eſpecially ſince you impriſoned the poor fellow for catching a hare—and it is proved ſince that he is innocent.

Innocent, I am very ſorry for it—that is—I ſhou'd be ſorry, if I was not a Baron—give him this money;

but don't let him know it comes from me, but tell him I have the power to hang him; for I will have no man dare to think I am in the wrong; juſtice holds her ſeat in my breaſt, and is to all parties equal and indifferent.

Very indifferent indeed.

What's that you ſay? if I deſired you to behave ill to other people, I did'nt mean you ſhould to me—do you know who I am? that I am the Baron of Oakland, and that all dignity flows me.

Yes, it flows from you pretty faſt, I think none ſeems to ſtay with you.

Don't you grumble Sirrah, but do you hear? prepare to receive the Lord de Courcy's daughter, whom I intend for your wife, I expect her arrival every day.

But perhaps I may not like her, father.

That may be, but you ſhall marry her for all that, I inſiſt on it, aye; and love her too—no,—I don't know that I may inſiſt upon that.

Ha! ha! ha!

Why, you impudent ſcoundrels, how dare you laugh ſo! I'll have no perſons to attend upon me that have'nt a proper reſpect for my dignity—follow me you raſcals—

I hope I ſhall be too ſharp for you, tho' father, for I am determined to marry nobody but Adela,

Oh, my dear Edward! I am glad you are here, I have got a thouſand queſtions to aſk you—is the Lady Elinor de Courcy arrived yet?

She is not, ſo all you have to do is, to dreſs yourſelf in the cloaths I gave you, and to paſs upon father for her.

Egad, and ſo I will—I always long'd to be a fine lady, but how ſhall I manage to be⯑have like one?

Faith, I can't tell you—however, it don't ſignify, any thing will paſs upon father.

But are you ſure now Edward, he has not much dignity, if he has, I ſhall only be confounded and look fooliſh; but is he much like a great gen⯑tleman?

Ha, ha, ha! heav'n bleſs you, father is no more like a gentleman than I am—

I am glad of it, for the preſence of our great quality folks always takes my breath away, and tho' I cough and hem, for an hour, the deuce a word can I get out.

'Tis juſt the ſame with me—tho' I am a Baron's ſon, for my part, I never feel myſelf ſo [13] much like a great man, as when I am with the ſervants—I hate talking to my betters.

I am pleaſed to hear you ſay ſo, I was afraid you would have forgot poor Adela, for the rich lady, de Courcy.

What marry a woman of quality—oh! I ſhall be a loſt man; I ſhou'd never be able to make free with her—ſhou'd ſhe uſe me ever ſo ill, I cou'd never venture to ſcold her.

But when you marry me—

Oh! I love you ſo much, that I cou'd ſcold you with the greateſt ſatisfaction.

But won't marriage—

Never fear Adela, love has hitherto been our conſtant attendants—I'll warrant you he'll follow us to church.

Ay, but they ſay, he has a ſad knack of leaving married couples at the church door.

Pſha, love and marriage are better friends then you think for.

Yes, perhaps they are beſt friends at a diſtance.

No, no, like true friends, love and mar⯑riage muſt meet together, to perfect the happineſs of both—Oh! Adela, when I come to the title and eſtate, and you are my lady.

Oh, we ſhall be as happy as the day is long.

Aye, and the night into the bargain.

Then ſuch dancing—

And ſuch tilting and cudgel playing.

And ſuch fine talking and ſinging—

And then ſuch eating and drinking.

And ſuch fine company, and then.—

Here let us remain, till I gain ſome intelligence of the object of our ſearch, I am ſure my ſiſter and her attendants muſt have been on board that very ſhip, which we ſaw at a diſtance in the late ſtorm.

Well Charles! what news of my ſiſter?

My lord, I learn that the lady de Courcy is on her road to the Baron of Oakland's Caſtle, which is at no great diſtance.

And Sir Palamede—

My lord, I am ſorry to ſay he is with her.

Infamy, and diſhonour! but I will purſue her, and avenge the wrongs of my family; go forward Charles, and procure every intelligence you can gain—I ſhall wait for you within a mile of the Baron's Caſtle.

I will, becauſe it is my duty; but wou'd I were in Normandy again, nothing ſhou'd induce me to quit it, except my regard for ſo good a maſter.

Well! Palamede, I will frankly own to you, that the account, I hear of the Baron of Oakland's ſon, is far from pleaſing me; and though I dare not diſobey my father, yet I will do every thing in my power to delay the marriage—

In ſhort, Si,r my lady agrees to my ſcheme of viſiting the caſtle as Lady Elinor's Attendant till ſhe h [...]ars further from the Baron, her father.

Tranſporting tidings!

Well Robert!

Make yourſelf perfectly eaſy, friend Hugo, every thing ſhall be in perfect order to receive Lady Elinor.

Aye, I hope ſo, for the honour of the family; It is near three ſcore years ſince I was firſt a ſervant in Oakland Caſtle, and have ſeen three poſſeſſions of it; I have come down from father to ſon, with the reſt of the old furniture.

And a fine tough piece of Engliſh Oak you are.

I remember the death of Edmund Ironſide and the reſtoration of Canute; I remember the Harolds and Hardy Canute, and the good King Edward the Confeſſor; and I remember the good Baron, who now haunts the old Tower.

Huſh! no more of that.

Ah Robert, if you were old enough to remember what I can.

I am juſt as well pleaſed as it is.

We ſhall have muſick and dancing enough at the wedding, I hope Robert—for the honor of Lord Edward.

Yes, yes, when a man is deſperate to at⯑tack matrimony, the more noiſe and buſtle the better; like trumpets in a battle, it drowns reflec⯑tion and prevents cowardice.

Are all the pikes and javelins burniſhed up, and the armoury put in order, and the large ſtag's horns in the hall duſted?

Horns are moſt ominous wedding deco⯑rations—No, no, friend Hugo, I have ordered the horns to be taken down.

Bleſs my ſoul! why, I remember 'em in the family theſe fifty years.

For which reaſon, the young lady ought not to ſee them.

Then is the Lady Elinor very beauteous Robert?

Why do you aſk Hugo, do you admire beauty yet?

Oh yes, Robert! I never could yet behold a beauteous woman without admiration; the ſetting ſun may ſurely cheer my ſight tho' it cannot warm my heart.

I hope Adela has got her fine cloaths on, to paſs for Lady Elinor—O! here ſhe comes!

Well, here I am at laſt ready dreſs'd, to paſs for a fine lady; but how long ſhall I remain ſo?

Why, you are now in the high road to ſuc⯑ceſs.

Aye: but there is ſo many turnings and windings that one is never ſure of being right,

What! Madam with ſuch a guide as Merit.

Yes, Merit is often apt to lead one a ſtray;—Oh dear! I do think the old Baron is coming—hey, O no! he is'nt—O! I wiſh the meeting was over.

You have no idea, how much you look like a woman of quality!—

Indeed?

Nature certainly intended you for a fine Lady.

Then indeed ſhew as very much miſtaken; for I never in all my life cou'd tell a lie, without bluſhing; ſo I am ſure I ſhall never do for a fine lady.

But I hope you have your leſſon by heart.

O ay, let me ſee, I am come over from Normandy, from my friends, and arrived here to day, did'nt I, Sir?

You did ma'am.

And anxious to pay my reſpects to the Baron of Oakland, left my ſervants on the road?

Yes ma'am.

O! but there's one material circumſtance I have forgot, I don't know who my father is.

That may happen in the beſt regulated families; however, I'll tell you—your father is the Baron de Courcy of Normandy, a great favorite of our good King William, and you will remember, that the King wrote to your father, recommending this marriage.

Well, I'll endeavour to recollect if I can, but you know it is not very ſtrange, I ſhou'd for⯑get what never happened.

Well madam! I will go and acquaint my lady of your arrival—and pray be careful in what you ſay.

You may depend on it Sir, I'll not ſpeak truth if I can poſſibly help it.

Theſe gay trappings hang very much in my way, I ſhall make a ſad fine lady I fear; I wiſh I cou'd [20] fancy myſelf in my every day cloaths again, when I think where I am and on what occaſion, I won⯑der at my own confidence! Nothing but love cou'd have inſpired it, and to gain my dear Edward, I wou'd attempt a thouſand times as much!

O! here he comes, ah! its all over—I ſhall never be able to get thro':

Ah! there ſhe is ſure enough—ſhe ſeems very pretty, what a fine eye ſhe has.

My courage fails me—'twill never do I find!—

Her coming ſo ſuddenly is ſo curſed un⯑lucky, I don't know what to ſay to her, I have not got my ſpeech in my pocket; ſhe turns her back upon me. I believe ſhe is very proud—

Ay, now he is laughing at my aukward⯑neſs—I wiſh he [...]d ſpeak firſt,

Well, come if I muſt ſpeak, here goes—My lady, the joy!—I ſay my lady the joy!—that is joy my lady creates happineſs—and is—is—joy my lady—which joy I ſay my lady is—I hope your Ladyſhip is pretty well.

Yes, pure well, I humbly thank your lordſhip—O lord! I am glad it's over, the firſt word is a great matter,

She's wonderous, condeſcending, Robert, conſidering her high blood,

—Well my lady, as you have been in ſuch a hurry as to leave your ſervants on the road, and only to come here on a hop, as a body may ſay; I hope your ladyſhip will have the goodneſs, to excuſe all faults.

O yes, my lord, I'll excuſe all your faults with a good deal of pleaſure.

All my faults, aye, ſhe has found me out already,

—Why to be ſure my lady, we all have faults; but if one is of a good family, you know my lady, it does'nt ſo much ſignify.

O! to be ſure not, for though ſome peo⯑ple are a little aukward and baſhful before company, yet I don't think they are a bit the worſe for that.

No, no—that's a hit at me—

For you know my lord, if one is not uſed to ſtrange company, one's very apt to look like a fool—

Ye—e—s ſo one is my lady—yes ſhe means me,

but come my lady, let's talk of ſomething elſe; how does the lord, your father, I reſpect a man of his great family.

Ay my lord, a great family indeed?

Oh, ſhe's proud enough of her high blood, tho',

well my lady! no offence, but I fancy I may venture to ſay, my family is equal to his!

Why, I thought Edward told me, he was his only child,

indeed my lord!

Aye, indeed my lady;—now my blood is up, I can talk to her,

and give me leave to aſſure your ladyſhip, whatever notions you have form'd of a great family, you'll not be diſap⯑pointed.

Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

What the devil does ſhe mean?

I declare your lordſhip makes me laugh, ha! ha! ha!

Yes I ſee I do, but I think your ladyſhip need not be ſo polite as to tell me ſo.

Nay, now your lordſhip looks angry.

Have'nt I reaſon! what did your ladyſhip mean by affronting me, in telling me of your fathers great family!

Why ſo he has, there are eleven of us, boys and girls.

Hey, what?

O what have I ſaid!

O! I ſuppoſe this is ſome quality joke, and that's the reaſon I don't underſtand it.

Come here ſirrah, there's the Lady Elinor de Courcy! go and talk to her, bid her welcome; and do you hear, don't be baſhful, and diſhonour your family; but attack her with your whole ſtock of impudence.

[...] baſhful! no I thank you, we people of faſhion know what's what.

Tol. de roll. [...]am prodigiouſly happy to ſee your ladyſhip;—hope you left all friends in Normandy well, all right and tight, had good weather, and a good ſhip, no ſea ſickneſs; even we people of faſhi⯑on are ſubject to it ſometimes, as well, as well as other people—an't we father—hey!

Why, the boy's aſſurance aſtoniſhes me—oh! he has touch'd her hand and caught it of her.

Never mind I'll bring you off with the old fellow—ha! ha! ha! a monſtrous good joke indeed, very well faith, very well, ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

Ha! ha! ha!

My dear father: Lady Elinor tells me ſhe has joked a little with you, as we people o faſhion do without meaning any thing—ha! ha! ha!

Aye we people of faſhion do, ha! ha! ha! I beg your ladyſhip woud'nt think of it.

Zounds, father don't be baſhful—

why don't you bounce a little as I do.

Well my lady, I am now going to my great hall, where I'll receive you in form, and I believe I ſhall trouble your ladyſhip with a bit of a ſpeech on the occaſion, come my lady—no, no, you muſt not go before me—I am a baron you know, conſider my dignity!

I ſay Robert, I think we ſhall be too cunning for old dignity, though:

We are at length arrived at Oakland Caſtle, continue your diſguiſe madam, but a little longer.

And do you Palamede, recommend diſ⯑guiſe, you who pretend to be a lover?

Oh! madam here comes the old Baron, but pray think of ſomething melancholy, or you will certainly laugh; nature and art have made him ſuch a ſtrange animal, that he ſeems only to be laugh'd at; but here he is!

And is this the repreſentation of our family, degrading thought! but I muſt diſſemble

So you are an attendant on lady Elinor de Courcy, hey! but who's that

Oh! that's my lady's own waiting woman, and a very great favourite of my lady's Sir,—I aſſure you.

She muſt be a great favorite of every body's for ſhe's a monſtrous pretty girl; and pray who is that gentleman, is he a favorite of your ladyſhip's?

O no! that is—that is Sir Palamede the Baron's Jeſter.

A curious character ſhe has aſſigned me, but I muſt carry it on,

Why, jeſting is a very pleaſant employment to be ſure, though not a very profitable one.—I [25] ſhou'd think—hark'ye friend, don't you ſome⯑times get a bone crack'd?

You are miſtaken, my lord, we jeſters are privileged people; we anatomize vice and folly.

Ay, that is you cut up people by way of amuſement.

Improvement my lord—ſatire well applied, is the medicine of the mind—

That may be, but I don't take phyſic, ſo you may ſpare your trouble; and ſo the baron pays you for jeſting, hey? that's one way of enjoying a jeſt, at his own expence; but I ſhou [...]d think now, ſo good-natured as the world is, that he might contrive to get laugh'd at, Gratis.

Your lordſhip finds it ſo, I have no doubt, now as a ſpecimen.

Ah! that's another hit at me, but, I dare not reſent it,

well, but if you are attendants on the lady Elinor de Courcy, where have you been all this while?

Oh! Sir, we have left my lady behind on the road.

Your lady has left you behind you mean—why ſhe's here in the caſtle.—

Indeed!

Yes, indeed, Mr. Jeſt-hunter, and, I am going to give her ladyſhip audience in my Great Hall—and if we want any body to laugh at—we'll ſend for you—there, I hit him I think.

What can he mean—give me your ad⯑vice, Palamede.

Ah, madam! you forgot that Sir Palamede is a lover, and conſequently advice is a commodity he does'nt deal in; but if you will take my opinion, ma'am?

Well?

It is plain ſome impoſter has aſſumed your ladyſhip's name, for what purpoſe we muſt endea⯑vour to find out; therefore ſuppoſe we continue our diſguiſe, wait on the mock lady Elinor, overturn her with reſpect and confound her with courteſy—

Admirable!—

Sir, the meſſenger is return'd and brought theſe letters—Aye, madam, your ſhadow is here before you, find—

Huſh! not a word, I charge you; from whom are thoſe letters?

That's what I want to know, I wiſh you wou'd aſk Sir Palamede, the queſtion?

Lady Elinor, every moment furniſhes additiona [...] reaſons for requeſting you will be guided by Cicely's advice.

Ah! Cicely, there they go, a pair of as true turtles as ever bill'd—Oh! what a fine thing mutual love is if you wou'd but let us follow their example, and fall in love with me in a ſtrange place, now!—

Oh! you may ſpare your rhetoric—I promiſe you. I prize my liberty too much to be talk'd out of it.

Where the duece is Adela? if we can but get married before ſhe is diſcovered—but, why is ſhe abſent? ſhe for whoſe ſake Oakland Caſtle reſounds with jollity, till the old walls crack to their foundations.

Ah! it's all over, there's an end of our ſcheme.

How!

I knew how it wou'd happen.

Did you, I wiſh then you had told me ſo before!

Well, it's all a ſcheme of your own.

Mine! why you know it was your ſcheme.

Why did'nt you firſt propoſe it?

Yes, becauſe I was ſure you firſt thought of it.

Why, did I ever leave my ſpinning wheel for fine cloaths? why did I quit my father's cottage.!

Becauſe I got you a better ſituation to be ſure—you won't deny that I ſent you to a relati⯑on's houſe in Suffex, ſix months ago, where you liv'd like a lady, and had nothing to learn, to read all the day along.

So much the worſe, improving the mind as they call it, only ſerves to make one lazy; in my father's cottage, induſtry took up all our time, Wealth never came near our door.

If he had, you wou'd have been glad to have aſk'd him in.

No Sir! there Innocence, and Happi⯑neſs were our gueſts.

'Twas lucky they did'nt take up much room, or the houſe woud'nt have been big enough to hold 'em—I fancy all the ſpare corners were occupied by birds and beaſts.

Well, I own it! we did all ſleep under one roof; the family, the pigs, and poultry all in harmony, peace and friendſhip.

Except now and then, when you ate ſome of your company for dinner.

Oh! oh!

Why look'ee there, now that's always your way, if one ſays any thing to you—you fall a crying!—

You want to break my heart!—I ſee that.

No, I dont—

Yes, you do—

Why, what ſignifies quarrelling now my lord.

Why, I don't know Robert, ſhe will quar⯑rel I think.

No, it is you—

Come be friends I ſay, we are all in a pret⯑ty hoble to be ſure.

Yes, and I believe you brought us into it.

'Tis my opinion he did—

Me!

Yes, I am ſure, Edward woud'nt have thought of ſuch a thing, if you had'nt put it into his head.

No, that I ſhoud'nt—

You are both very entertaining and ſo I ſhall leave you to yourſelves.

Nay, but Robert, don't deſert us.

Faith I ſhall make my peace with your father, by falling on my knees, and aſking pardon immediately.

Had'nt we better do the ſame, Edward? for conſider we are all in the ſame boat, and if we pull different ways, we ſhall certainly go to the bottom.

That is very true,—ſo Robert you ſhall be our pilot.

Well! then we muſt 'een meet the old baron in the hall of audience, at any rate; [how won⯑derfully does common intereſt beget friendſhip!]

Adela—

Well—

You forget we have been quarrelling, kiſs and friends, you know—

Well Charles, how did you come over from Normandy?

Why, Cupid lent me his wings and I hovered over your ſhip—come, come, Cicely you know as well as I, there were more lovers aboard than the Captain knew of—

I believe I had better aſk no more queſ⯑tions.

Lewis, come hither, you are ſure that not a whiſper has eſcaped you; likely to diſcover Lady Elinor.

Lord, Sir! I have done nothing but ate and drink ſince I have been here, ſo that I have no time for talking.

And our honeſt guide here:

Oh! no, Sir, he has been ſo taken up between hunger and wonder—that he has not thought of ſecrets.

You are certain the ſervants know what to do Cicely?

O yes, madam, I have given them all their leſſons, and you'll ſee them receive the mock Lady Elinor, as you cou'd wiſh, but ſee, ſhe comes!—

Now, ma'am, to compleat their aſtoniſh⯑ment!

Hem! my Lady Elinor de Courcy—now ſome men in my ſituation, wou'd make you a ſet ſpeech on the occaſion; but I ſhall give your lady⯑ſhip a touch off hand; as to your great family, my lady, all the world knows that—and as to your beauty—why that ſpeaks for itſelf, as a body may ſay;—but I ſay, when I conſider, my lady—I ſay—when I conſider how vain it wou'd be to number your numberleſs qualifications, and when I think of your goodneſs, in—confering this viſit—I want words—

I ſay, my Lady Elinor, I want words to—

Hey! egad, I do want words!—I ſay—madam—my lady⯑ſhip I,—I,—I, want words!—

If my father had not wanted words madam, he would have attempted to expreſs, his inexpreſſi⯑ble ſatisfaction—but 'tis juſt as well as it is—the leſs that's ſaid, the more there is to gueſs at.

My Lord! a gentleman wiſhes to ſpeak with you immediately.

I come to him.

I declare my lady! I am quite aſham'd that I—.

O, pray my lord make no apologies!—you know you want words, and it is quite time to have done, when one has'nt any more to ſay—

Aye, my lady, but I had a great deal more to ſay—if I had'nt loſt my ſpeech—

I can't make out the mean⯑ing of all this, I don't underſtand the jeſt!—

Nor I, upon my ſoul—but I'll try to find it out, for my part I think we are in a dream.

I am ſure it is a very pleaſant one, I have'nt the leaſt deſire to be wak'd from it.

This way my lord, this way, I am glad to ſee your lordſhip—

Huſh, my lord! remember that I am here in diſguiſe; I muſt depend on your friendſhip, to conceal me from my ſiſter's attendants, till I am revenged on Sir Palamede—

And ſo this Palamede—

He has long privately lov'd my ſiſter, but the mean advantage he has now taken of our confidence in him—

O! hang him, an abuſive ſneering knave, to paſs on me for your lordſhip's jeſter; I wiſh I had known this—

But we muſt be cautious—

dark! what noiſe is that?

Only my vaſſals carouſing, in conſequence of this marriage of your ſiſter's in our family.

The ſounds of feſtivity, but ill accord with my feelings; a more retired apartment might ſuit our purpoſe better.

Certainly, my lord, private concerns, muſt give way to public juſtice.

Come, my lads and laſſes, at this feaſt every one muſt contribute to the common ſtock of merri⯑ment, that is the only reckoning we have to pay.

YOU are ſure that the ſoldiers are plac'd at every avenue to the Caſtle?

My lord, it is impoſſible Sir Palamede ſhou'd eſcape!

And you ſay, you obſerv'd him this evening?

I did, my lord, and notwiſtanding he ap⯑pear'd to join the general feſtivity; yet at times he ſigh'd ſo piteouſly, that I cou'd not help ſaying to myſelf, your honour cou'd never find in your heart to kill ſo brave a gentleman.

Leave me and be ready at the time ap⯑pointed—and ſhall this ſlave boaſt a virtue to which I am a ſtranger—ſhall his rugged heart feel compaſſion for wretched, whilſt I unmoved doom to deſtruction, him! who has been my Com⯑panion!—my Friend!—my Brother!—

Poor Palamede, I will ſee him and converſe with him—perhaps he is not ſo guilty as he appears—at leaſt let me remember that he is unfortunate!

There ſpoke the generous feelings of de Courcy.

O, my lord de Courcy, I am glad I have found you, I have ſtrange news to tell you: only think my lord, when I thought my vaſſals had re⯑tired fatigued, and gone dutifully drunk to bed, the whole village is up and ſcouring their old hel⯑mets and armour; I am ſure there's miſchief in the wind when theſe raſcals are ſo induſtrious.

Compoſe yourſelf my lord, you ſeem quite alarm'd!—

Alarm'd my lord! why, tho' I am naturally as brave as a lion; yet I do not like to be taken thus by ſurprize; it is that which alarms me—and Sir Palamede I am ſure is at the bottom of this.

Perhaps then he has heard of my ar⯑rival, and finding himſelf diſcovered, means to op⯑poſe force by force.

You are right my lord, he has been ſend⯑ing and receiving letters and meſſages all night in a continual ebb and flow of miſchief.

S'death, can he deſcend ſo low as to miſlead the rabble into revolt—the traitor ſhall periſh—but where is my ſiſter?

I don't know my lord, but here comes my ſon, I dare ſay he'll tell you.

Do not diſcover me yet, even to him.

Why my lord, as he is ſhortly to be related to your lordſhip, I can't ſee that it ſignifies—but it ſhall be as you pleaſe; harkee ſirrah! come here, where is lady Elinor?

In her own room, I took her a cup of wine juſt now—but the dear creature prefer'd ale: ſhe ſeems prodigiouſly fond of ale.

Who! Lady Elinor, Sir?

Yes Sir, Lady Elinor, my wife that is to be; what have you to ſay to that? Sir!

Pardon me Sir,—but are you aſ⯑ſured of the lady's affections?

Aye ſirrah, are you ſure that ſhe is fond of you.

Fond of me, ha! ha! ha! dammee look at me!

I believe ſhe was once attached to another, one Sir Palamede.

I believe not friend, and my reaſon for thinking ſo, is that the dear little wench never ſaw Sir Palamede in all her life.

Sir, when you name that lady, you ſhou'd remember the reſpect due to her family.

That for her family—ſhe is a bud of beauty, which I have gather'd to wear next my heart, and the devil may take the reſt of the family-tree for me, here ſhe comes i'faith—

Ah! my dear lady Elinor—

Aſtoniſhment!—this muſt be ſome plot of Palamede's,

Why, my lord, your ſiſter does not ſeem to know you.—ah, this is another quality joke, now I'll be ſworn.

He is deceived too!

Why, my lord, I think there's a very ſtrong family likeneſs between you.

I perceive my lord, you are impoſed on, but you ſhall ſoon be avenged.

How impoſed on! O, he means they have been joking on me,—ay but he was ſerious;—egad, I believe I ſhou'd be angry,—but then if [40] I ſhou'd be in the wrong;—I'll e'en go after him and aſk whether I ought to be in a paſſion or not.

Why, I ſay Edward, the Lady Elinor's attendants did call me their lady for the jok's ſake; yet it muſt ſoon be out that I am myſelf.

That's not unlikely.

And if Lady Elinor ſhou'd be as hand⯑ſome, as we heard, and your father ſhou'd be very preſſing—

Then you think I ſhou'd deſert you!—hah.

Your deſerting me wou'd then be called by another name, for fine folks have fine names for bad actions, to make them ſeem like good ones.

Why, look'ye. my dear Adela,—I was always a blundering fellow at a fine ſpeech; [ecod I am like my father for that,] but if I thought my being a nobleman wou'd make me love you a jot the leſs, deuce take me if I had not rather remain a ploughman all my life,—now do you believe me?

I do.

Why, did I not inſiſt on Sir Palamed eexplaining this myſtery?—

Welcome, thrice welcome, ye ſcenes which re⯑mind me of happier days;—every ſtep I take—every object of remembrance, warms me with new incitements to aſſert my birthright,—

How Lady Elinor!

O Palamede! for heaven's ſake, why this myſtery?

Spare me the explanation of what is yet improper for you to know;—ſhew me eſteem by confiding in my honour,—he who is beloved by you, cannot act unworthily.

I am uneaſy only on your account,—therefore do not flatter me, or keep me longer in ſuſpence!

To night is the Criſis of my fate, and to-morrow's ſun ſhall diſpel the cloud of myſtery in which it is involved.

Cruel concealment, yet it muſt be ſo, one only have I truſted in this caſtle and he is here.

Ah! my dear young maſter, what plea⯑ſure does your old ſervant feel, in ſeeing you once more in your native land! Heaven help us, what ſtrange events have happened, ſince the good baron your father quitted England.—I long to hear your adventures in France.

It is a long ſtory my friend.

So much the better,—I like long ſtories,—I often tell long ſtories myſelf,—re⯑membrance forms the old man's banquet, and let the viands be ever ſo ordinary, memory cooks them to his liking.

Hugo this is not time for words, I muſt ſupport my claim to the honors of my anceſtors and this hour,—

What my lord?

Hear me! I have written to an old and allied friend of my father's, a powerful nobleman, and near the king's perſon, he has aſſured me of [43] my ſovereign's favour,—and I expect hourly letters from the king, acknowledging me Baron of Oakland.

Well my lord!

In the mean time my zealous friend. has adviſed me to ſurprize the caſtle without delay, to man all reſiſtance to the king's commands.

Surprize the Caſtle! why my lord, I'll fight as long as I can,

but here are only two of us.

Good old man! I ſhall not need your aſſiſtance, a guard of an hundred choſen troops ſent by the good Lord Hubert, enter'd the village in the duſk of the evening;—the news of my return is receiv'd by the vaſſels with tranſport, and they are this momemt arming in my cauſe.

Then, why do we ſtay here, I'll go and get on my armour?

It is not yet time;—the tolling of the Curfew will give me notice when all is ready: but tell me Hugo, was not my father's armour kept in an apartment in that Tower?

Yes, my lord in that very apartment over the wine cellar.

And has the armour ever been removed from thence?

Never! I'll anſwer for that,—the room has been ſhut up theſe ten years paſt to my know⯑ledge; I have ſtill preſerv [...]d my key to the door which leads to it thro' the long gallery,

Give time,

now let us be gone.

Excuſe me my lord, I'll follow you to battle; but not into that apartment.

Why not?

Ah, my lord I tremble at the thoughts of it, no living ſoul has enter'd that room for theſe ten years,—voices have been heard and lights [44] ſeen,—in ſhort it is haunted, and tho' I lov'd your worthy father when he was alive—I,—I,—I,

By heav'n's a light appears thro' the caſement at this moment.

And ſo there does, my dear maſter don't be raſh.

Hark! I hear a noiſe from the Tower, wait for me here,

and beware your fears do not betray you,

My lord,—my dear lord William don't leave me alone!—he's gone!—oh that curſed Haunted Chamber! I can't ſtay near it—I,—I, find the only means of perſerving my courage is to carry it along with me.

Why, ſure that was old Hugo, yes and with his ſword drawn, oh, he's in the plot!—O lord! O lord! there's the ſpirit playing his illumination tricks in the Haunted Chamber;—Oh, how I long to attack this old rogue Hugo, becauſe I am ſure I cou'd beat him;—aye, but then I dare not venture alone, valour with me is of a companiable nature and don't like ſolitude;—My courage is ſomething like the vine, to produce good fruit it muſt be well ſupported;—hey, ſure I hear ſome⯑body coming out of my wine-cellar!—egad, I'll ſtep aſide, I may make ſome diſcoveries here.

Well my boy, now I have made you free of our cellar.

Give me your hand, give me your hand, Maſter Robert, I'll live and die with you, of all inventions that ever were thought of, there's none to my mind like good eating and drink⯑ing.

And for that, Martin, I'll match all Kent, I know the privilege of a diligent butler too well [45] to ſuffer my maſter to taſte wine till I have approv'd of it.

Oh! the villian

That's right, that's right, give me your hand again; O Maſter Robert! what a happy dog you are to have the command of ſuch a wine cellar.

Ay, Martin, there I ſit, abſolute monarch of all the proſtrate bottles.

Mighty well!—but I'll be even with you raſcalls.

Well, can you find friend Lewis, in the garden?

No maſter Robert.

He has certainly loſt his way, let us go in ſearch of him, Martin?

Aye, Maſter Robert, do you go one way and I'll go the other.

And to prevent accidents I'll lock the cellar door for the preſent, we'll ſoon return and finiſh the evening.

And ſo the mock Lady Elinor is coming, Cicely?—Yet how can I trifle thus? While Pa⯑lamede's fate is in ſuſpence.

Ah madam! it muſt be a ſad thing to be of a good family, thank heaven! I who have no noble blood in my veins have the deareſt of all pri⯑vileges, that of chuſing a huſband for myſelf.

Theſe waiting maids peſter me to death with queſtions, here they are again,—

Now madam, to throw her off her gaurd, endeavour to provoke her and gratify your curioſity.

Why, I ſhou'd like it, but ſhe looks as if ſhe could beat me;—pray madam wou'd your ladyſhip pleaſe to go to bed?

No, my ladyſhip does not pleaſe to go to bed.

No, her ladyſhip does not pleaſe to go to bed.

It is my duty to wait on your ladyſhip.

Well. wait in another room then.

Aye, wait in another room.

Pray my lady forgive me.

No, I will not forgive you!—I can't hear it

begone! I diſcharge you my ſervice.

Now to the object of my ſearch,

kind fortune I thank thee!—ſacred to the defence of a juſt cauſe, the ſhield of the father ſhall protect his ſon, fighting for the rights of an illustrious family.

Well Lewis! ſince we have met with you at laſt, I'll give you a ſpecimen of Engliſh Hoſpi⯑tallity, we have plenty of liquor in the cellar un⯑derneath, and egad we'll make a night of it.

That's right maſter Robert, and I love good eating and drinking, ſo I'll drink with you if it is only to ſhew you I like your company.

But you have'nt told me yet about this Haunted Tower.

Well, I declare I'm glad of it for your ſake, for I am ſure you muſt be dry after telling ſuch a long ſtory.

Come my boys, lend me a hand,

What have we got here?

Some of the beſt wine in Chriſtendom, my lad; aye, and ſome of the beſt ale too, which to me, is the beſt of all liquors;—the ſcurvy old knave, my maſter, who I dare ſay is a-bed and a ſleep, little thinks the honour we are doing to his cellar.

Ha! ha! ha!

Now for't my boys, here's to ye!

Come, drink about,

"And we'll be wondrous merry."

"And we'll be wondrous merry."

Hey day! what's that?

That, oh! that's an echo, I ſuppoſe.

An echo! I never obſerv'd one here, I—

O Maſter Robert! is'nt this the chamber you ſaid was haunted?

Egad then, its haunted by a jolly ſpirit—ſo here's to the ghoſt!—

"And we'll be wondrous merry."

"And we'll be wondrous merry,"

What think ye now?

Why, I think there's a damn'd noiſe in the cellar,

Gentlemen, your moſt obedient, pray don't let me diſturb you, pray go on, my butler here, ſets you a good example; ſo pray make free with my property,—upon my life this is a very pretty Chamber to be haunted; the ghoſt has an excellent choice, but I never knew that your troubled ſpirits were, ſuch conſummers of ale and wine before.

pray who is that? is it any friend or your's gentlemen.

Yes, pleaſe your worſhipful honour, it is only Hubert with the ſupper.

O! Hubert with the ſupper, is it? deſire him to walk in

Come in Hubert, here are none but friends, O never mind me, come put the ſupper on the table.

And now gentlemen ſit down and eat heartily.

I am much oblig'd to your honour, but I am not hungry now.

If but your honour wou'd but hear me.

O! with a great deal of pleaſure, honeſt Robert, I was but ill ſituated in the cellar to hear that catch you ſung juſt now;—rogues! raſcals! robbers! whoſe only ſign of fear is, you can't bear your own conſciences, ſo you are afraid of ſpirits; where's the echo, you conjur'd up juſt now?

Indeed! me lord, we heard an echo.

Did you? well, ſing again then, and let me hear it, I'll ſhew you a pattern of reſolution you rapſcallions.

Now mark my lord,

"And we'll be wondrous merry."

"And we'll be wondrous merry."

Egad, but its an odd ſort of an echo.

Suppoſe your honour was to ſpeak to it, perhaps it wou'd anſwer you civilly.

O! I dare ſay 'twill have a proper reſpect for my dignity,—what are you ghoſt or ſpirit?

"Ghoſt or ſpirit."

O lord! O lord!—why!—why! don't ſome of you ſpeak to me?—what—what,—are you afraid of?—Robert, what makes you look ſo pale?—for my part—I!—I!—I don't believe in apparitions, do you friend?

Lord William, my dear maſter Lord William!

Hark my lord! there's a voice.

Oh! I am a loſt man,—but—why,—do you all tre-m-b-le ſo!

O lord! there's the Curfew going at this hour.

O, dear me it is the old Baron's ghoſt! I have ſeen him wear that ſhield and helmet a thou⯑ſand times.

O! my lord here's more miracles! the ſpirit has met ſome armed men and they are all fighting,—that's right,—that's right;—well done my boys—dammee they have kill'd the ghoſt, huzza.

Huzza,—huzza!—

Egad, that's rare news, come lets go and ſee what its all about, I'll lead the way, do you fol⯑low me,—hey—no Robert, you ſhall go firſt;—no,—no,—ſtop, come back—we'll all go together, and then we can take care of one another—

O Edward! I am frighten'd to death! it was an unlucky day for us when I turn'd fine lady and nothing but unlucky days have we had ever ſince.

Lucky or unlucky,—I fancy there's an end of 'em now, bad as the days were, I wiſh they were to come over again.

O dear! O dear, they are all at it.

What! what are they at?

Why, fighting, O my Lady Elinor! why don't you order your ſoldiers to fall on?—O how I hate a man that won't fight.

What, is any body kill'd my lord!

Kill'd, why we ſhall all be kill'd, men, women and children.

For ſhame my lord! why do you ſtand idle here? your ſoldiers call on you to head 'em,—where's my brother?

Your brother, why what ſignifies your brother, why they are thirty thouſand ſtrong.

I mean the Lord de Courcy.

The Lord de Courcy,—why an't you—

O, no indeed my lord, I am not,—I am quite ſick of paſſing for a fine lady.

My lord, you muſt come immediately, they are forcing the caſtle gates.

Forcing the caſtle gates, O lord I ſhall die of a fright! and never live to be kill'd.

They have gain'd the Citadel, and we ſhall be put to the ſword.

Once more my noble friend, I congra⯑tulate you on your ſucceſs.

My brother!

My father contracted you in marriage with the young Baron of Oakland;—I preſent him to you, I deem'd him my enemy till I knew him, it is now my pride to call him my friend.

This is a more valuable preſent my lord, than the life you gave me, when overpower'd by your ſoldiers in the garden you, ſtill thought me your enemy.

O dear! ſpare my life, and I'll agree to any terms.

then Sir, begging your pardon for my boldneſs, I ſuppoſe you are the ghoſt we heard of?

Yes, and you I ſuppoſe are the ſham Lady Elinor, we have heard of; egad, now I find how things are, I have reaſon to be in a paſſion.

You Sir,

have a right to an explanation, I ſcorn to owe my title to force; I am confirmed by my ſovereign in the dignity and eſtates of my father:—be aſſured however, that I ſhall be ambitious to prove myſelf your friend.

And that's an ambition I ſhall be very glad to gratify you in.

As for this young couple, I hope I ſhall have the ſatisfaction of adding to their ſtore of Hymen's comforts.

I—Thank you my lord,—I begin to be much leſs inclined to Nobility after the buſtle I have ſeen to-night, and I'm fain to comforts myſelf with the old remark,—"that a title cannot beſtow happineſs."

Yes, but I can though there is a title for which I'd give up to all others, it is the wife of my Edward.

My fluttering heart cannot expreſs the joy it feels at your triumph.

A truimph crowned by the poſſeſſion of that heart which now approves it.