"Hold thy cursed prate, thou foul-mouthed ronyon!" said the gallant, in that deep sort of voice which usually heralds a monstrous passion.

“Thou art a scurvy knave that would willingly do such dirty work as other men would scorn," replied the lady with infinite disgust.

"Away, thou callet!" exclaimed the other contemptuously. "Thou wouldst needs pass for a lady, forsooth, and hast a monstrous hankering after gentility. Fine o' my life! Moll Crupper a lady! Alack, for good manners! The sadler's daughter transformed into Lady Arabella Comfit. Here's goodly coney-catching! A fine morning to you, an' it please you, my lady! I commend myself very heartily to your ladyship's excellent consideration. Believe me I am infinitely bound to you for your ladyship's exquisite sweet condescension, and very humbly take my leave of your ladyship's most absolute and very admirable noble nature."

So saying her companion, with a profusion of mock respect, was making his way towards the door, when Moll Crupper, who liked so little to be minded of her bad disposedness, evidently liked less to be told of her low origin, for she darted from her chair with a violent execration, and sprung upon her accuser with the fury of a tigress, pulling him by the hair with one hand, whilst she curried his face famously with the other. But this was borne with anything save patience by the gallant.

No lack of coarse abuse mingled with the commonest oaths accompanied her endeavours to do him hurt, till after twisting her wrists till she desisted of her attack, and cried out with the pain, he pushed her away from him with such force, that she fell on the floor as if every sign of life had fled. This put the gallant in some sort of fear, for he had many reasons for wishing at that moment no great harm should happen to her, so he ran and lifted her up with an extraordinary shew of affection. But the pretended lady was far from being dead. She knew what was going forward, and was disposed to take advantage of it, for she was well aware she could not exist without the assistance of her companion. She remained motionless as a stone, till her associate in villainy had exhausted every epithet of affection upon her, and every species of execration upon himself. Then she

gradually opened her eyes, gradually employed her limbs, and gradually found the use of her tongue, as she had been in the habit of doing during a long series of similar, conflicts.

"What a wretch have I been to use thee so uncivilly, my sweet life," said he, with all a lover's fondness, as she rose from the floor, half reclining in his arms, drawing her hands over her face with a look that bespoke a perfect unconsciousness of what had been going forward. "I know not what devilish spirit possesseth me. 'Slight, I could go

and beat out my brains against a post, I feel such hatred of myself; for never truer woman lived than thou art, my dear Moll, and so exquisite a creature to love, I shall never meet any where."

"Nay, nay, I have been to blame, sweet heart," replied the fictitious Lady Arabella very kindly. "I had no need to have angered thee, for thou hast ever been a monstrous deal more good to me than I have deserved."

"Say not so, my wanton," exclaimed her companion with increased affectionateness. "Thy deserts are beyond all reckoning, and I hold thee in such absolute love as cannot cease unless my life be extinguished."

"Dear heart, how I love thee for saying that," cried she, in a perfect ecstacy. "Thou art a noble, bountiful, brave gentleman as ever breathed, and I care not a rush for the finest fellow that wears a head, for he can be nought in comparison with thy inestimable sweet goodness."

What followed may be readily imagined. Each of these two worthies, who a moment since joined so soundly in mutual abuse, and were desperate to do some mischief, now held up each other's qualities as beyond all parallel, and would have gone through all manner of dangers to have saved the other from hurt. But these sort of scenes had been common with them for a long time past. They caressed, abused, and drubbed one another with

infinite heartiness-and the next moment caressed, abused, and drubbed, and with more heartiness than ever. But it so happened on this occasion, having gone through the regular series, they left off at the first stage of the next, in consequence of the gallant being forced to take his departure without further delay.

CHAPTER III.

And then THE LOVER

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to his mistress's eyebrow.

He coude songes make and wel' endite,

SHAKSPEARE.

Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write.
So hote he loved that by nightertale

He slep no more than doth the nightingale.
Curteis he was, lowly, and servisable,

And carf before his fader at the table.

If I had wytt for to endyte

Off my lady both fayre and free,

CHAUCER.

Of her goodnesse then wolde I write-
Shall no man know her name for me.

OLD SONG..

SIR MARMADUKE DE LARGESSE, his worthy chaplain, and his old acquaintance the Antiquary, were sitting round a table in the library seemingly wonderfully intent upon something. The good old knight sat back in his seat with one hand upon the handle of his rapier, and the other resting upon the arm of his high-backed chair, his benevolent cheerful countenance impressed with a sort of curious pleasure, and his white beard and hair looking more silvery than ever they had. At a little distance from him sat Sir Johan, getting to be almost as lustily limbed as his patron, his plump sleek fea