well to know ere we engage in a passage at arms, for by S. Wolstan, an our forces be equally matched I ask no better than to chastise that caitiff knight anon."

"I saw naught but the tail of their company," replied Kirth; "but from the tramp of their steeds I judge them to be strong."

"In spite whereof," rejoined Hodington, "I would face the hound, methinks, if only these gentle damosels were in safety; although truly, for their sakes and for that of our good pilgrims, I must fain temper valour with descretion; yet, Kirth, I would have thee follow them at thy best speed and mark if they turn back."

The page spurred his palfrey and sped in pursuit of Sir Geoffrey's party.

"Prithee, good sir knight," said Dan Simon in a stern and anxious tone, as he rode close up to Sir Walter's horse, "if forsooth thou hast a feud with this knight ahead of us, for thus I interpret thy words, I would warn thee not to risk our safety by following further on this road."

"Unless perchance," added Dan Alwyn, we could make peace between ye, for it =grieveth me, sir knight, to hear thy wrathful utterances, being our fellow-pilgrim on an errand of peace."

"Nay, pardon me, sir priest; for though I journey to escort and guard ye, I am no pilgrim, nor bound to stand aloof from tilt and tournament by the way," retorted Hodington somewhat peevishly.

"Thou journeyest on a holy errand, I ween, sir knight," answered the nuns' chaplain, “and art bound besides, as a good Christian knight, to forgive all injuries. I would therefore beseech thee to pardon——"

"A truce to sermons for the nonce!" cried Adam Bacun in his jovial tone, "for I deem good deeds are better than good words, and I for one, hearing a horseman coming, shall turn my steed and hasten back to yon church of S. Kenelm without more ado!"

The sounds which Adam Bacun heard were probably caused by Kirth's palfrey, who at that moment returned at full speed.

"Sir knight," he exclaimed as he drew near, "the company have veered round and are approaching at a trot."

"By the Saints, then," roared Adam, we have not a moment to lose. Come face about and let us fly to yonder sanctuary!" Suiting his action to his words, he spurred his steed, calling aloud to his daughter-"Come, Sybil, follow me as swiftly as thou canst."

"Well spoken, burgess Adam," cried Dan Simon with a smile upon his face, "for I esteem thy prowess, and shall follow thy stalwart and gallant lead in beating a retreat. I prefer thy tactics of war to those of this good knight, as being more in accordance with the Gospel of peace, and shall lose no time in obeying thy commands." While thus speaking he had turned his genet, and the other pilgrims had likewise faced to the rear and were scrambling up the hill as fast as their steeds could carry them, in the direction of S. Kenelm's.

Sir Walter remained for some minutes in a state of indecision, and thus afforded time for the approach of a horseman, who turned out to be a scout detached from Sir Geoffrey's company, and sent back to observe and report upon the force, the tramp of whose horses had doubtless attracted the attention of their chief.

"Ho!" cried Hodington, when he appeared in view. Who goeth there?

Whose knave art thou?"

"I serve the lord of Crowle!" returned the man-at-arms.

"Then tell thy lord that I defy him to single combat, base caitiff though he be, and will give him choice of weapons an he dare to face me, Sir Walter de Hodington."

"My lord and master dreadeth nought on earth and will show thee, sir knight, that he scorneth thy words and thine arms, but I will deliver thy challenge as in duty bound."

Scarcely had the horseman turned back than Sir Walter, who had uttered the challenge in a moment of sudden and ungovernable wrath and without reflecting upon his words, was troubled with an uneasy feeling that he was engaging in a rash proceeding to the neglect of the charge he had undertaken. His con

science however was soon quieted by the thought that his honour was too deeply concerned to suffer him to forego the first

opportunity of encountering the knight who had heaped so many insults upon him. Sir Geoffrey and he were too near neighbours to remain on terms of outward courtesy where their interests clashed. There had always been a latent jealousy between them, but this had never led to open rupture until the words which had passed on the previous day. While endeavouring to justify to himself the passage at arms which he meditated, he was troubled with some anxiety touching his convoy, whose flight he feared might lead to their dispersion. These considerations induced him to despatch Kirth with orders to assemble the fugitives at S. Kenelm's. Having done this he awaited the result of his challenge with a bold front and a sturdy trust in his good cause, banishing all solicitude as to the result of the conflict. The cheery page returned ere long with a smile on his face.

"The pilgrims," quoth he, "have handed their steeds to a swineherd's care and are clustered before the altar to prepare for martyrdom, as becometh good Christians, by my fay."

"By S. Wolstan, their prowess is not great!" returned Hodington.

"Save only the priest," replied the youth, "who bid me say, sir knight, that he deemeth thee bound to forego thy private feuds while thou art trusted with the safe conduct of pilgrims. Wherein also the burgher joined, and vowed he would petition the lord paramount for some other protector, as they could not trust their lives to one who dealt so heedlessly."

"A truce to all their saws," answered Hodington, "for by S. Wolstan, if I could but thrust that caitiff from his steed and make him bite the dust, I would, methinks, right willingly endure their taunts the whole journey through. But if that craven hound had not been dastardly, he should have turned ere this in answer to my challenge."

"Yea forsooth, sir knight,” said Kirth, "if he had meant to fight he had been here ere this." Thus speaking, the active lad sprang from his steed and handing the rein to a yeoman, crouched upon ground to discover any sounds of approaching horse. "They are out of hearing anywise," he said, "and are either lurking

the

in ambush, or have deemed it safer to waive the challenge and proceed on their way. But prithee suffer me, sir knight, to prick forward some short space to mark whether they be lying in wait, for if they have sped onward 'twere useless to abide longer."

“Well spoken,” returned his lord, SO thou be not captured by the foe or his knaves."

"No fear of that," replied the lad with a blithesome countenance as he spurred forward and disappeared along the path. He had scarcely departed ere the knight's attention was arrested by other sounds of horse and a voice behind him exclaiming

"Was it to tarry thus, like a true knight errant, and abide all comers on the road, that thou hast brought us here? Are we to be left to pray for thee forsooth whiles thou standest like a champion from morn till eve? If it be thus that thou fulfillest thy charge," continued Dan Simon, for it was he, "I for one shall return and bid the burghers seek some surer escort.”

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And I will follow thee, sir priest," added Adam Bacun who closely pursued him. "Wherefore, sir knight, unless thou wilt forego thy private feuds and undertake, as thou art bound, to see us safely to our journey's end, we are ready to turn our steeds homeward."

"Right well spoken, Adam," quoth the ecclesiastic," and I too venture to tell thee, sir knight, that thou swervest from thy duty by thus wasting our precious time on thy quarrels."

"Good sirs," returned Hodington with more show of courtesy than he might have displayed had he not felt himself in some degree deserving of blame, "I can only tell ye that it was well for your sakes that I tarried, for had we advanced sooner in the wake of yon knight, he would have turned and fought us, and even now I doubt not but that he lieth in ambush to surprise us. Beside, ye forget that it was not I who bade ye turn, but ye who fled and left me."

While he spoke Kirth returned at a gallop to announce that, having ridden for some distance, he had encountered a forester, who had told him that the knight's company had passed onward

by the Beauchamp's manor of Naunton at a swift pace.

“Then let us lose no further time. If, worthy sirs, the damosels would join us we might advance without delay." "Here cometh Sybil," quoth Adam, "and the rest are close behind."

"Perchance," remarked Kirth, "Sir Geoffrey awaiteth us under Naunton, or betwixt that and Fladbury?"

"Then, by the Saints," exclaimed the burgess, "let us turn into some other track!"

The page suggested their following a path which led by S. Eadburga's and a manor of the lord abbot of Pershore, and thence over the Lench hills into the vale of Evesham by the abbot's chapels of S. Egwin and S. Michael.

"So let it be," said the knight, "for though, God wot, I fear not the caitiff, yet for your sakes, masters, I would avoid a passage with him betwixt this and Evesham."

"Marry, thou art bound to ward off this danger and give us safe conduct," cried Dan Simon.

"Ay, by S. Austin," added the burgher, "for thine honour is as much concerned in guarding those confided to thy care as in avenging fancied insults to thyself."

Shortly after, the remainder of the company having come up, the cavalcade proceeded forward under the guidance of the page, who led them over steep hills and by wild open country, where they could ride abreast, and, when the ascents were too precipitous to prick forward, could beguile the tedium of the journey with merry converse.

No incident worthy of note occurred as they crossed the Lenches, from the southeastern declivity whereof they were greeted by the prospect of the vale of Evesham, bounded by the Cotswold hills to the south-east and by May hill and Malvern to the west, while before them towered Bredon, crowned by the castellated pile of the Beauchamp. The Avon meandered through the fertile plain, partly concealed by a knoll, destined some years later to be the scene of a conflict of which our story hath its tale to tell. Above the crest of that knoll they could see the massive towers and roofs of the great monastic

pile toward which they were bending their steps.

As they wound down a steep path to the lord abbot's manors and S. Egwin's chapel, Kirth, who was some way ahead as pioneer to the party, turned back and whispered to his lord, pointing to a distant object by the river.

"Methinks," he said, "the knight's company are skirting the Avon, maybe to intercept our course."

That cannot be their purpose, certes," replied Hodington, who had already pondered on the friar's communication of the previous day, "for they would divine that we are bound for our Lady's shrine and would not be wending near Fladbury fords. They have some other game in view, I trow!"

"Wilt suffer me, sir knight, to scout their movements and bring thee tidings of their intent?" inquired the lad, ever keen for some adventure.

"They will scent thy presence," returned his lord, "and flay thee for thy pains."

"Fear not for me, sir knight," rejoined the page, "for if Hugh Baldwyn or Harry Blustoff be of the company, as no doubt they are, I will vouch for their befriending me at a pinch. Beside, trust me to elude their ken, for I know the greenwood as well as the best of them," quoth he, drawing himself up, and yet speaking with accents of persuasion which led his master to yield almost in spite of himself.

"If thou art bent on this, my lad, speed well and follow us anon to the shrine," answered Sir Walter in a low voice; "and mark the number of his menat-arms and strive to note his purpose in this chevachie, and then come stealthily, whiles these good folk are at their prayers, and thou shalt find me ready. I will bait my steeds at the hostel fronting the abbey gate-thou knowest!"

Kirth pricked forward gaily, at an amble, toward the Avon to the west of Evesham, while the pilgrims continued in the direction of the Benedictine monastery. The pathway soon diverged into a more frequented road, by which at certain seasons throngs of pilgrims were wont to approach the noble sanctuary. The country now showed signs of cultivation, comparatively

rare in the thirteenth century and never to be seen in such perfection as in the immediate neighbourhood of the great abbeys of S. Benedict. The monks had long since converted the wilds around their shrine into a garden of fruit trees and grain, and had established that finished system of spade husbandry which has continued to the present time. The oasis of civilization which surrounded the sacred precincts must have excited the wonder of those who, like our foresters, had been accustomed to much ruder efforts of the plough; and the orchards of fruit trees, tolerably well laden in spite of the general dearth, must have evoked some feelings of envy in the burgess and the thane.

Scarcely had they reached the summit of the rising ground than the prospect of the great minster with its vast pile of monastic buildings opened out beneath their feet. This grand aggregate of which every subordinate portion was dominated by the church with its three towers, and by the massive Norman gateways, was encircled by a town which had grown up beneath its walls and was connected by a bridge with a suburb on the southern bank of the Avon. The minster would have vied with most of our west-country cathedrals and served to proclaim afar the wealth which those ages of faith had delighted to lavish upon the worship and service of Almighty God.

In a short time they had descended the knoll and were threading the narrow streets of timber houses, quaintly carved, with upper stories overhanging the thoroughfare. After traversing some winding lanes they found themselves in a spacious market place, abutting on the western front of the abbey church which cast its shadow across the open square, where vendors of images, prayer belts, strings of beads, wax tapers, and other holy wares for the use of pilgrims frequenting the shrines, displayed their merchandize in tents and open stalls and invited the passers, by their cries, to halt and purchase at their booths.

Three deeply recessed semicircular portals, profusely ornamented with Norman mouldings, occupied the base of the façade with its twin towers. Above the

central doorway were three deep Norman lights, and over these a grand rose window, enshrined in a medallion moulding. The towers were enriched with intersecting arcades, giving the effect of lancets.

Immediately opposite the minster was an hostelry for pilgrims, with massive troughs in front of a low archway, conducting into a courtyard surrounded by open galleries connecting the chambers. Our company halted in front of the inn, where the men-at-arms dismounted while the principal yeoman rode into the yard to call forth the knaves to take the horses of the pilgrims. One of the men-at-arms held Sir Walter's steed, while he sprang from his saddle and gallantly assisted the maidens to alight.

"Perchance, fair damosels," quoth he, "ye may will to rest awhile ere ye visit the shrines where these good Fathers are bent upon offering the holy mass, but if as I divine from this fair maiden's look she would first say her prayers, I will take upon me to bespeak the cheer, so that the dinner may be ready when ye have paid your homage to our Blessed Lady and good S. Egwin, unless this good burgess will undertake a task for which he is doubtless better fitted than myself."

"By S. Austin," returned Adam, with a twinkling in his eye, as he looked toward the guesten-chamber and beheld a tapster carrying a tankard of ale, “it were not fitting for a knight like thee to be burthened with the ordering of our feast, a task which is not to be despised, but which I will gladly undertake to serve my friends."

"It becometh thee right well, good Adam," said Fitzwaryne, “and I for one will trust to thy discretion on that score."

"And bear in mind,” added the knight, "that Evesham is famous for its swine and capons and hath an abundance of good fish in its waters." With this farewell admonition he stepped forward with the thane and the two maidens, in pursuit of the priests, who were already crossing the market place toward the portal of the minster. The damsels lingered for a moment at one of the stalls to purchase tapers to burn before the shrines, and then followed the ecclesiastics into the church.

No. 16.-VOL. II.]

CATHOLIC PATRIOTISM AND OUR FUTURE POLICY.

THERE

HERE is a widespread tendency in human nature to swim with public opinion. It is hard to go on fighting against the world, especially where the latter disclaims hostility, and opens its arms for a compromise. It is the old fable of the traveller who defied the storm, but yielded to the sunshine. This is no doubt the secret of what is called Liberal Catholicism, an evil, notwithstanding Mr. Gladstone's assertions to the contrary, which we are rejoiced to think is rather on the wane than on the increase, and will still further diminish in proportion to the formation amongst us of a Catholic party. The existence of strong and definite party ties would, among other solid advantages, tend to bind Catholics together, and supply them with a wholesome "public opinion" of their own, which could afford to defy the false standard of the world's opinions. The wretched

fusion of Catholics and Dissenters into one so-called Liberal party was at best an unnatural and unhealthy state of things. It arose from a chain of circumstances not very likely to recur in this country, which forced Catholics to unite themselves with their fellow-sufferers in resisting a common oppressor. The Dissenters, who then professed to be our political allies, are now flagrantly opposing themselves to us on the vital question of education both in Ireland and England, and are making Secularism the basis of the pseudo-liberalism of which they are the champions.

The world now fully credits good Catholics with anti-liberal principles, and we are almost daily reminded by our Protestant contemporaries that "Ultramontanism" is irreconcileable with the political aspirations of the times. On the other hand, there are certain well-meaning

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writers who point to past epochs of the Church to endeavour to prove that there was once an age when Catholicism and Liberalism were synonymous; when the Popes and their adherents were Guelfs, favouring the Italian republics against the Ghibelline nobility, who were the adherents of a despotic Emperor. There is no doubt that S. Francis of Assisi united the common people of Italy, as our Blessed Lord Himself had united the throng of Galilee, but it was for the selfsame end, and not for any political or mere social object. The Tertiaries grew into a powerful league of citizens, banded together for a religious object, and, as devout Catholics, were the determined adherents of the Papal cause against the infidel Frederick who was at war with him. But neither Guelfs nor any other mediæval aspirants after political freedom bore the slightest resemblance to modern liberals. Indeed it was, if anything, all the other way. The true representative of modern liberalism was the Emperor Frederick II. who was an advanced secularist, freely professing sentiments akin to those of our modern liberal philosophers, who frequently urge their preference for Marcus Aurelius over S. Louis

and King Alfred. The Church was so decidedly opposed to advanced liberalism in the thirteenth century that it sanctioned a crusade against the Albigenses, whose doctrines bore a strong affinity to those of the Emperor Frederick II., and whose Manichæan heresy was a revival of the paganism which from time to time crops up within the precincts of the Christian commonwealth; much as the old worship of the Canaanites and other aborigines of Palestine was wont to crop up among the Jews, and to ensnare and pervert even their Kings and Judges. King Solomon himself was infected with the lax morality of the heathen, and many of his successor &

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