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clouded sky – that I could think no more, than I. It might be nothing of conse and fell asleep.

quence: it might be a note to myself. I imagine that, had I never again seen Should I open it? Why should I not the young man, I should not have suf- open it? Here no doubt was an opportufered. I think that, by slow, natural de- nity to set things right between my heart grees, his phantasmas presence would and my uncle; I could take it to him unhave ceased to haunt me, and I should opened. But if - I hardly dared even in bave grown gradually capable of my duties thought to complete that if – might not as before. I do not mean that I should that be a wrong to the youth of my vision ? have forgotten him, but neither should I Might it not represent a confidence re. have been troubled on remembering bim. posed in me? Might it not be the messenI know I should never have regretted ger of a heart trusting me before it ever having seen him. Like a thunderstorm, knew my name? Would it not be to with all its unsettling influences, would inaugurate our acquaintance with an act the experience have passed from me. I of treachery, or at least distrust? Right had nothing to blame myself for. I should or wrong, thus my heart reasoned, and to have felt — not that a glory had passed its reasoning I gave heed. “ It will," I away from the earth, but that I had had a said, “ be time enough to resolve when I vision of bliss. What it was I should know the matter that requires resolve.” not have had the power to recall, but it This, I now know, was juggling, for the would have left with me the faith that I question was there already - whether I had beheld what was too ethereal for my should be open with my uncle or not. memory to store. I should have consoled “What if I should,” I said to myself, myself both with the dreain and with the “the moment I knew the contents of the conviction that I should not dream it paper, reproach myself that I had not read again. The peaceful sense of recovered it at once." nearness to my uncle would have been far I sat down on the heather amid the more precious to me than the dream. The roses, and unfolded it. This is what I sudden fire of transfiguration that had for found written with a pencil:a moment flamed out of the all and then again withdrawn inward, would have be- “I am the man to whom you talked so come a memory only, but the child-way of kindly over your garden wall yesterday. seeing things would have remained with Will you, I wonder, think me presuming me, nor do I think that would ever have and impertinent. Presuming I may be, left me; it is the care and the prudence of but impertinent, surely not. the wise that bleaches the grass, and holds would not my heart tell me so, seeing it the red rose of life over sulphur-fumes; is all on your side ? but it was not thus my history was to un- “ My name is John Day; I do not yet fold itself.

know yours. I have not dared to inquire Outwearied with inward conflict, I slept after it, lest I should hear of some ima dreamless sleep.

passable gulf between us. The fear of

such a gulf haunts me. I can think of CHAPTER XII.

nothing but the face I saw over the wall through the clusters of lilac, but the wall

seems to keep rising as if it would hide A COOL wind went through the curtains


forever. of my couch, and I awoke. The blooms " Is it wrong to think thus of you withof the peasant-briars and the court-roses out your leave? If one may not love the were waving together over my head. The loveliest, then is the world but a fly-trap sigh of the wind went breathing itself out hung in the great heaven, to catch and over the far heath, and as it passed ruin souls. through my 'forest of lowly planis and “If I am writing nonsense - I cannot small bushes, it found and fanned the tell whether I am or not - it is because cheeks that had lain down hot and athirst my wits wander with my eyes to gaze at for air. It gave me life new and fresh. I you through the leaves of the wild rose lay for a few minutes, and then as I was under which you are asleep. Loveliest of rising something futtered to the ground. faces, may no gentlest wiod of thought I thought it was a leaf from a white rose ripple thy perfect calm until I have said above me, but I looked, and there lay a what I must, and laid it where you will folded paper.

It had been find it. folded hastily and had no address, but “I live at Rising, the manor-house over who could have a better right to unfold it the heath. I am the son of Lady Cairn.

If I were,


I took it up

to me.

haste to go.

edge by a former marriage. I am twenty on the great borse; then in the morning I years of age, and have just ended my last was taken away without haviog seen her. term at Oxford. May I come and see I had never to my knowledge heard who you? If you will not see me, why then lived there. I was not born inquisitive, did you walk into my quiet house, and and there were miles between us. turn everything upside down ? I shall I sat still, nor thought of moving. I come to-morrow night in the dusk, and had no need or impulse to move a finger. wait in the heather, outside the fence. If I lived essentially — independent of outer you come, thank God! If you do not, I ways of life. I knew now what had come shall believe you could not, and come

It was no merely idiosyncratic again and again and again, till hope is experience, for the youth had the same; dead. But I warn you I am a terrible it was love! How otherwise could we be hoper.

thus drawn together from both sides? * It would startle, perhaps offend you, Also it seemed verily good enough to be to wake and see me so near you; but I that wondrous thing ever on the lips of cannot bear to leave you asleep. It seems poets and tale-weaving magicians. Was as if something might happen to you. I it not far beyond any notion of it their will write until you move, and then make words had given me? The secret of life

was opened to me. • My heart swells with words too shy to But my uncle! There lay bitterness. go out. Surely a Will bas brought us to Was I false to him, that now the thought gether. I believe in fate, never in chance. of him was a pain ? Had I begun a new

“When we see each other again will life apart from him? To tell him would the wall be down between us, or shall I perhaps check the terrible_separation. know it will part us all our mortal lives? But how was I to tell him ? For the first Longer than that it cannot. If you say time I knew that I had no mother. Would to me, I must not see you, but I will Mr. Day's mother be my mother, too, and think of you,' not one shall ever know I help me? But from no woman but my have other than a light heart. Even now own mother, hardly even from her would I begin the endeavor to be such that, I ask mediation with the uncle I had loved wben we meet at last, as meet we must, and trusted all my life and with my whole you shall not say, 'Is this the man, alas i heart. I had never known father or ivho dared to love me!”

mother, save as he had been father and "I love you as one might love a woman. mother and everybody to me.

What was angel who, at the mere breath going to I to do? Gladly would I have hurried to fashion a word unfit, would spread her some desert place, and there waited for wings and soar. Do not, I pray you, fear the light I needed. That I was no longer to let me come. There are things that in any uncertainty as to the word that must be done in faith, else they never described my condition, did not, I found, bave being; let this be one of thepi. You make it easy to use the word to my uncle. stir !”

Perhaps," I argued, as I struggled in

the toils of my new liberty, “my uncle As I ame to these last words, hur- knows nothing of this kind of love, and riedly written, I heard behind me, over wo:ild be unable to understand me. Sup. the height, the quick gallop of a horse, pos.. I confessed to him what I felt and knew the piece of firm turf he was towards a man I had spoken to but once, crossing. The same moment I was there to tell him the way to Dumbleton, would in spirit, and the imagination was almost he not think me out of my mind ?” vision. I saw him speeding away - "to At length I betbought me that, so long come again !” said my beart, solemn with as I did not know what to do, I was not gladoess.

required to do anything; I must wait till Rising Manor was the house to which I did know what to do. But with the the lady took me that dread night when thought came suffering enough to be the first I knew what it was to be alone in wages of any sin, that, so far as I knew, I darkness and silence and space. Was had ever committed. For the conviction that lady bis mother? Had she rescued awoke that already the love that had hithme to give me her son? I could hardly erto been the chief joy of my being, had be willing to believe it. But I had never begun to pale and fade. Was it possible actually seen the lady, or I had forgotten I was ceasing to love my uncle? What what she was like. The way was mostly could any love be worth if mine should dark, and during a great portion of it, 1 fail my uncle ? Love itself must be a was too weary to look up to where she sat I mockery, and life but a ceaseless sliding

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down to the fearful valley of indifference. I rose, went into the house, and up to Even if I never ceased to love him, it was the study, took a silk sock I was koitting just as bad to love him less. Had he not for my uncle, and sat down to wait what been everything to me? - and this man, would come.

I could think no more ; I what had he ever done for me? Doubtless could only wait. we are to love even our enemies; but are we to love them as tenderly as we love our friends? Or are we to love the friend of yesterday, of whom we know nothing

From The Fortnightly Review. though we may believe everything, as we

RURAL LIFE IN FRANCE IN THE love those who have taken all the trouble

FOURTEENTH CENTURY. to make true men and women of us? “What can the matter be with my soul ? '

The food of country people in the fourI said. “Can that soul be right made, in teenth century, as to-day, was chiefly pork which one love begins to wither the mo- in all its forms of bacon, ham, brawn, or ment another begios to grow? If I be pudding; and pork was relatively little so made, I cannot help being worthless." | cheaper than in many a remote and rural

It was then first, I think, that I re- place to-day. Butter, cheese, eggs, were ceived a notion - anything like a true no very plentiful; herrings were an article of tion, that is, of my need of a God

almost daily diet (they cost a sol the hun. whence afterward I came to see the one dred, about a halfpenny apiece), as also in need of the whole race. Of course, not the north of France, a kind of salted whale being able to make ourselves, it needed a called craspois, a truly Viking dish, of God to make us; but that making were a which the popularity has wholly vansmall thing indeed, if he left us so unfinished.* In Normandy pea-soup was then, ished that we could come to nothing right; as now, a favorite food. f Wine, beer, and if be left us so that we could think or mead were freely drunk by all classes. do or be nothing right; if our souls In 1392, a homeless pin-maker on the were created so puny, for instance, that tramp breakfasts off wine and fish; there was not room in them to love as workmen out of employment dine at the they could not help loving, without ceas. village inn off bread, meat, and red wine ing to love where they are bound by every at fourpence the pint. In the same year obligation to love right heartily, and more the provisions left in the house of the wife and more deeply. But had I not been of the Duke of Bourbon's minstrel were : growing all the time I had been in the bacon to the value of four sous or sbil. world? There must then be the possi- lings, six large loaves of bread, a great bility of growing still. If there was not

pot full of green peas, two penn'orth of room in me, there must be room in God onions, and a shilling's worth of salt.|| for me to become larger. The room in But the best criterion we get of the daily God must be made rooin in me. God had food of the rural population is the record not done making me, in fact, and I sorely preserved in the accounts of manors and needed him to go on making me; I sorely imonasteries of the dinners afforded to needed to be made out. What if this new laborers on corvée, or doled out day by joy and this new terror had come, had day in return for some bounden service. been sent, in order to make me grow? At Thus, the smith of the monastery of Juleast the doors were open; I could go out mièges received in return for his occa. and forsake myself. If a living power sional services a daily ration of two small had caused me — for I did not cause my; loaves, a measure of wine of medium self - then that living power knew all quality, and either six eggs, four herrings, about me, knew every smalloess that dis- or some equivalent dish. A vintager of tressed me.

Where should I find him ? St. Ouen, on corvée, was supplied every He could not be so far that the misery of day with two rolls and a mess of peas and one of his own children could not reach bacon with salt.** A tenant of the monks him. I turned my face into the grass and at Bayeux, during his corvée, was entitled prayed as I had never prayed before. to a daily meal of a white loaf, a brown had always gone to church, and made the loaf, five eggs, or three herrings, with a responses attentively, but I knew that was not praying, and had tried to pray better

• Léopold Delisle, L'Agriculture Normande, p. 189 than that. But now I was asking from

Registres du Châtelet for 1392, i. 174. God something I sorely wanted. “Father

Ś Ibid., 427, in heaven," I said, “I am so miserable !

i Ibid., i. 526.

Delisle, L'Agriculture Normande, 189. Please, help me!”

** L'Agriculture Normande.

† Ibid.

gallon of beer.* The monks of Monte-half as much on those selected for her bourg gave their men a loaf, a mess of wardrobe. The wife of another burgher pea-soup, three eggs, and the quarter of a chooses three-and-twenty doublets, delicheese, or, if they chose, six eggs, and no cate in quality and of a vermeil color. cheese ; on fast days they made shift with Over this garment the women of the fourthree berrings and some nuts; they teenth century put a tight long bodice of washed down this ample meal with as strong cloth, to which they attached, by much beer as they chose to drink.* A hooks or lacets, a pair of tight, long sleeves, tenant of the monks of St Ouen, received, generally of some costly material, silk in return for his corvée, not only bread being used on great occasions even by aod wine, pea soup and bacon, but fresh the poorer classes. Over this again they or salt beef and poultry. All this is in slipped a very long dress, touching the Normandy. In Anjou, the men on corvée ground on all sides, tight in the bodice dine more sparely off wine and bread and but sleeveless, or with loose, hanging garlic; but the carpenters on a farm re- sleeves; it was generally much trimmed ceive in addition to a daily wage of one with silk and braid. A farm-servant buys sol eight deniers, five penn'orth of meat a piece of red silk to trim her gonella, anper person; the hedgers and ditchers also other chooses one of blue cloth worth one dine off bread and meat. In almost livre ; the simplest that we find, made of every one of the numerous records that a coarse, pale cloth called blanket, comes, we have of the daily fare of the laboring with the trimmings, to nearly fourteen class in fourteenth-century France, we sols. The gown was surmounted by a find a dish of eggs, a mess of peas and heavy girdle, richly ornamented, from bacon, half a chicken, a few herrings, or a which the purse and keys of the house. generous slice of meat, added to the mod. wife dangled. Out of doors a long, draped ero laborer's dinner of bread and cheese mantle, trimmed to match the gonella, was and beer.

usually worn. Our rural ancestors of every class went The women of the later fourteenth cenwell and warmly clad. The farm laborers tury were fastidious in dressing their bair. of the fourteenth century wore better gar. We all know the hennin, the tall, slender ments than our ploughmen use to-day. sugar-loaf of buckram, from which floated Men of every class appear to have pos. a gauzy veil. The peasants naturally did sessed linen shirts and linen drawers, hose not wear this inconvenient and romantic of strong cloth, and leather shoes; a coat headdress. They braided their hair with of warm russet or fustian, an ample cloak ribbons and galoons intertwined in every resembling the limousin or Tuscan fer. plait. A woman with long hair would use raiuolo, and (sometimes attached to this about seven yards of ribbon; over this she garment, sometimes separate) a long-tailed placed a strong net of silk or thread; the hood of cloth. Masons, laborers, work. whole was enveloped in a veil of thin silk, men of every class, completed this cos- the favorite ornament of country-women, - tume by a pair of gloves; London gloves and frequently given as a wedding preswere held in high esteem. Bonis, the ent. A very handsome veil of German merchant of Montauban, sold them to his silk would cost as much as seventeen sols; country clients at seven sols the dozen. a commoner one, of good Aleppo silk,

from five to ten sols; still a veil quite The women were as seosible in their presentable in appearance, of a rougher attire. They all wore a long chemise of silk, could be had as low as three sols (we linen, and over this a garment called a may suppose about twelve shillings of our doublet, jo form resembling the linen money). Almost every peasant in well-tobodice sewn to a white petticoat, which is do circumstances afforded his wife and still used in dressing little girls. The daughter this piece of elegance, probably wedding doublet of the butcher's daughter worn on fine occasions. The artisans, of Montauban took about five yards of fine small farmers, and farm servants of the white linen of Paris, costing fifteen sols fourteenth century were less economical the ell -a measure which exceeded the in ornament than their descendants. The modero metre by about two nails. The butcher of the little country town of Mon. butcher was evidently a man of means; taubao gives his daughter, for her wedfor we find his wife ordering some doub. ding day, a silver necklace, a purse, a lets for herself at £3 1os. apiece, while a girdle of silk, a string of amber beads, a neighboring noble's wife spends not quite pair of embroidered gloves, a veil of Ger• L'Agricultore Normande, 190.

man silk, two silk nets for her hair, and t Joubert, Vie Privée en Anjou, p. 94. mapy-colored silks and threads for the



embroidery of her wedding gown. An quality and the quantity of his purcbases. artisan affords his child a veil of German The goat-herd and the shepherd are all in silk, a net to match, a string of amber, a russet; but see the drover as he comes purse and girdle, the whole expense com- home from market resplendentio his maning to £1 6s., or about five guineas of our tle checked with black and green; he currency. A servant on one of Bonis's sports a hood striped with grey and yel. farms buys for his wife a silk wimple ; low; hood and cloak are in accordance gloves, hair-ribbons, and ornamented hair. with the most fashionable standard of the nets are common fairinys.

day. Here out in the fields we seldom We see all these good people, dressed use such brilliant colors; russet, blanket, soberly or splendidly according to their grey, blue, and English green are rank, but almost always comfortably usual wear. It is only when the koigbt, dressed, as we turn the pages of the ac- the doctor, or ihe merchant from the town counts of Bonis or the palpitating “ Regis-, is drawn this way that we see the real ters of the Châtelet " (the Newgate Calen- taste of the bon ton; the particolor green dar of an earlier age). Along the country and vermeil, white and blue, vert perdu roads, the notary jogs on business, dressed and slate color, yellow and black, white in violet cloth richly furred, solidly seated and vermeil, that are, with the universal on his ample cob. He passes the country black and green, the last cry of the mode. squire (the grandchild of the last rich The check and stripe are popular alike semi-noble vavassour) hooded in black, in town and country. It may, perhaps, parti-colored russet, and wrapped in a interest my readers to see the price paid houppelande of English green, furred by the country people of the fourteenth with squirrel, the long end of his cloak century for their comfortable clothes. In falling over the left shoulder. The shep. order to have an idea of the relation of herd on the hill drives his flock; he is this expense to their revenue, let us rewarmly clad in strong brown woollen. member that the wage of a laborer varied, The thatcher, as he steps across the fields according to his age and position, from from his daughter's churching, is dressed five deniers to one sol two deniers per all in his best in a large check of brown day: and white and blue. There stands the If not in every village, at least in every farmer, all in sombre russet, with an ele-châtellerie, there was a doctor, a surgeon, gant hood striped black and yellow; there and a barber surgeon;* the laborers apo are gold rings on his hand, over his pear to have used their services freely and gloves, and gold clasps to his girdle. At to have rewarded them with liberality. the little village in the serving-maid One of Bonis's day-laborers falling isl, comes out, dressed in iron-grey, with a sends to Montauban for the physician of bunch of pink roses in her hands. The the place, and pays him for several visits mason of the hamlet stands at his gate, the sum of four sols two deniers — which chatting with a fellow of his craft, and the we may compare to nearly kl 155. of our tramp in search of work; the home-stay. money. Another pays his doctor as much ing workman is well clad in whitish grey, as eighteen sols, say £3 125. And in the with darker grey hose and a grey.blue accounts of Bonis we find frequent menhood; the traveller has a long brown tion of drugs and medicinal spices of an cottehardie, lined with ai old coat, a expensive sort, sold to the agricultural brown hood buckled under the chin, laborers of the district. brown hose, and strong leather shoes with The doctors of the Middle Ages and steel buckles. At the corner of the road later, even so late as the middle of the fifa wandering beggar waits for alms, dressed teenth century, were chiefly inspired by in a mantle of faded russet patched with the theories of the Arabs. Louis XI., as we an older light-blue garment, and a hood of know, made the Paris University copy in Heaven knows what color, not worth two | extenso the great work of Aboo Bekr iba deoiers. His wife squats beside him, Zacaria er Razi, the famous physician of slovenly dressed in an old, patched cas- the tenth century, whose masterpiece, “ EI sock tied round her waist with a reed. Mansoori,” is a résumé of Arabian theraShe has no hair, and a strip of dirty cloth peutics. This book, commonly known as tied round her head but half conceals her “ Razi," was very popular throughout the baldness. They are the only really shabby fourteenth century. A copy of it, bought people that we meet (save the wandering by Bonis for four livres, assisted him in friars, who make a virtue of it); but few the preparation of his drugs, and of the are so magnificent as the drover, a person plasters, unguents, electuaries and tisanes of importance, it would appear, from the • Joubert, Vie Privée en Anjou, p. 6a

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