nook, such a one in which tradition says (and tradition is sometimes malicious) the priesthood of the Romish church loved to erect their altars, and set up their carved images, and collect the riches of the earth. The valley was good arrow-flight across, the sides sloped up into hills covered with verdure as soft, and, by the nibbling of sheep, as short as the down of velvet; here and there a stray garden flower,—and here and there, a plum or a wild apple tree contrived to struggle for existence,and told with the return of spring the story of the ancient glory of the place. In the bosom lay a lake, deep and cool, and so clear, that, without seeing the bottom, which the peasants placed at the distance of many a fathom, you might see the whole shaggy outline of the pastoral hills reflected quietly on its bosom. Many green shrubs, bearing fruit or flower, flourished along the water-edge, and the chafing of the lake freaked its borders into innumerable little nooks and tongues, where the wild ducks' young-an orange tawny brood, -moved, half seen, half hid, among the water grass and the broad leaves of the lake lily. The flocks moved to and fro on the valley-side, a stray deer looked timorously down from a woody shelf above,-while high overhead on the summit of a cliff, where the ancient gods of the land were once worshipped, sat a pair of black eagles pruning their wings, and meditating a flight to remote pastures for food for their young. Their shadows and mine lay scattered along the quiet and scarce moving waters.

Eastward, the vale expanded, and then, suddenly closing, allowed scarce room for a small clear stream to pour from the lake down a deep and woody ravine, from which it escaped into a beautiful bay, shaped out like a crescent from the mainland. Between two green and conical hills, covered half way to the summits with natural wood, which seemed never to have felt the axe, I saw the eastern sea, bright with the morning sun, and agitated by a gentle

wind and the coming tide. The hills stood so close together that I could only see a long and narrow vista of ocean, with the waves leaping and rolling, but I heard the chafing of the waters against cliff and promontory, and that kind of hollow and mournful sound which waves raise when they fall on a rocky and a caverned shore. Of man's habitation, or handy work, I could see no trace; and I said to my companion, "Where is the hall of the Herons ?— where is the chapel of our lady?—where is the tower of the lake hear of them in tale and in song, and their foundations seem indeed to have had no securer resting place than what vagrant verse and varying story give."

"Alas!" said the old man, "to me the vale presents more vivid images of ancient glory, and there are marks of the name and hand of Heron, which nothing may efface, though the winds and storms of many years have passed over them." And he arose, and, leaning on my arm, descended with slow and hesitating steps to a projecting ledge of rock which shot forward into the valley, and, pointing to a gray mass below, said, “That is the vaulted hall of the Herons." I looked more intently, and saw the remains of a strong tower,-its roof of massy stone had resisted rain and storm, and men's spirit of destruction for centuries, and a thousand slender trees, and crawling shrubs, and blossoming flowers streamed out from every joint, opening even from the top of the tower down to the water edge." There," said my companion, "is the tower of Sir Hugh Heron ;to you it may seem nothing but a heap of rock and rubbish,-but to me every foot length of ground, and every piece of jointed stone, and every flower and fruit-tree utter tale and history. My eyes are old:-but you may see the flight of broad steps descending from the tower gate to the lake,-they are covered with that bush of trailing bramble. From the foot of the stairs a pavement of solid stone, not broader than

for a man and boy to walk abreast, shot into the bosom of the lake, and led to the tower, which tradition says was a place of refuge in times of feudal commotion and open war. The tower of the lake has been gradually swallowed up by the waters. Over its cope stone many fathoms of water roll now, but I have heard my father say, that when he was a boy it was still visible above the lake; now the flood has risen against the valley, and that castle, though once on a cliff where the eagle would have chosen to build, has now its very threshold washed by the waves when the wind puts them in motion."

The old man again leaned upon me, and I was conducted along a kind of winding way to the summit of another rock, towards the eastern end of the valley. "There," stands Hugh Heron's arm-chair;-a man cannot sit in it now without wetting his feet in the lake,it once overlooked it as high as the top of yon ash tree, below it lay the Cave of Repentance, but ancient sanctity, and frequent prayers, and the presence of holy relics, could not save it from the changes of nature, and the lake fills it now, and will for ever. But here is an image which the rudest hind respects;" and he pointed out on the face of the perpendicular rock beside us, the shape of a cross cut deep and sharp in the stone, while before it knelt the figure of an armed man,-his sword and helmet, in which seemed a heron plume, lay at his knees; his face was turned to the earth, and his hands were clasped in agony. Many wild flowers, and more particularly the honeysuckle, then forming for bloom, showered themselves down over the face of the crag, and crawled along the ground at our feet.

"That," said my companion, is the figure of Hugh Heron, and here it is said he came forth before the sun, and continued on his knees till the hunter was on the hill. Now look down the valley,-ye may see the ruins amongst the wild plum-trees and briars yet,there stood the chapel of our lady,-it

was small, but it was wondrous fair, and shaped by man's piety and perseverance out of the solid rock. Many pilgrims came and blessed it;-death-bed sorrows and the remorse of old age endowed it largely, and made it the richest shrine in all the north country. It was on the floor of that chapel that Hugh the Heron burnt a fire of cinnamon for seven years beside the body of the lady he loved, and our forefathers believed, that at the end of the seventh year the body was born away, and the breath of living life breathed into it, and it became a ministering spirit." My old companion looked me stedfastly in the face, shook his head, and after a short silence, said, "Ye may smile, for it is the fashion of the youth of this age to give credence to nothing, and ye may call me superstitious,-which may be I am, yet there's more matter for marvelling and sorrow about this place than for smiling and mirth." I assured my gray-headed friend that I had too deep a sympathy with all things which tradition embalmed (and she never embalmed ought but the purest and the best,) to make them matters for mirth. It was my chief wish to tell the story of Hugh Heron in strict accordance with popular belief, and to reflect back to the people a distinct image of provincial history. For this purpose I had composed in a rude manner the tale in myown mind; I would proceed to relate it to him, with the hope that where other men's memories had failed, his would be found perfect, and that his knowledge of all the varieties of the legend might enable me to infuse more of character and incident into the simple narrative. The old man smiled and shook his head, and I proceeded at his request to whisper my version in his ear; he seemed to have a dread of open speech in a place where to him every rock and stone breathed the history of the house of Heron.

66

During the wars of the two roses, (for traditional story has ever imperfect dates,) there lived a young knight,

named Sir Hugh Heron, and his castle stood in a small valley which bore his family name. Before he was eighteen, personal beauty and deeds of arms made him talked of from Tweed to Trent. His father had perished in battle with the Scots when Lord Maxwell wasted Cumberland, and left him to the love of his mother, a daughter of the noble house of Dacre, who caused him to be trained to arms, and to all chivalrous

dogs the fleetest feet and the surest mouths, and their arrows flew more sharp and sure than any in Cumberland, though it was the dwelling of the Howards, and Dacres, and Lowthers, and Graemes."

"Have you ever heard," said my old friend," that they drew a bow or flew a hawk against one of the wild herons of their native lake? No, no; none that bore the name would ever do that;

ard, and assisted in ravaging the frontier of Scotland: and when, on his return, he was drawn into an ambush by the Johnstones and Carlyles on the river Eden, he fought with such desperation, that the Laird of Lochwood returned to Scotland with but ten followers, and Hugh Heron made his way home with only seven."

"I have stood on the spot where that fierce skirmish happened," said my old friend, and a sweet little corner of border earth it is, a place for the pastime of children and the sport of fairies. It is called the fighting fold to this very day, and one who has held the plough on the spot,-for graves, and fairy rings, and holy knolls, and all, are ploughed now,-told me that spear points, and spurs, and arrowheads are turned up by the share."

"One of the seven companions of Hugh Heron in this adventure," I resumed, " was a youth of his own blood, and bearing his own name, several years older, and neither so fair in person, nor gifted in mind,-but bold and enterprising, a seeker of perils, and exceedingly skilful with the sword and bow. The peasantry who sought to distinguish the kinsmen by some descriptive to-name, cailed the latter Aymer the Black, and the former Hugh the Fair, and some scrupled not to say that their hearts and minds corresponded with the colours which described their persons. If they were companions in the battle-field, they were also comrades in the chase, and their hawks had the fairest and boldest flight-their

birds to breed and bring forth by the borders of the lake ;-there was a curse denounced against the house of Heron, if they rifled a nest, or harmed but a feather of their namesake bird ;-even the plumes of the heron, which waved above their helmets in battle, were those shed from the bird's wing, and the merit of the plume was the more, if it happened to be shed when the fowl flew, and was caught before it reached the ground. I have seen myself the wild herons of the lake, seated like a flock of doves, on the ruins of that old castle, and they drooped their wings, and laid their bills on their breasts, and sat so grey and motionless, that ye would have thought they were stricken into stone,-I have heard that such things have been."

"There is a wild tale told," I said, "of the ancestor of the house of Heron, who was left a child by rovers on a lonely island on the Scottish coast, where he was fed and nursed by a pair of wild herons. The scarlet mantle in which he was wrapt, and the gems and chains of gold and pearl which lay beside him were commonly shown when a bridal happened in the house of Heron, and the story of his nursing formed one of our early and popular romances. All that I can gather is that the herons covered him with their wings by night, and sought him food by day, till he grew up a fair and graceful child, and rose to great renown, and took the name of his strange protectors. He is mentioned in old charters by the name of Eustace de Heron. The romance went

on to say that his feathered benefactors never forsook him ;-in the battle they hovered over his head,-in the tournament they came down with a scream, and sought to annoy the enemy,-and they sat like watchers on the top of his castle by night, and built their nest, and brought forth their young on the summit of one of the towers. A minstrel's curse, and the more weighty wrath of heaven are denounced against all those who shall touch but a heron's wing, or rob a heron's nest."

"Romance do you call it?" said my companion," it is as true to the truth as the light is to the morning, and Skiddaw to the Solway side. I have heard the ballad of Eustace the Heron a thousand times in bower and in hall; and if it is a romance, what call ye Chevy Chace, and William of Cloudeslie ? That herd never lucks that herries a heron's nest, and that hunter never prospers who shoots one of these noble birds. There was Dick Dobson of Soltra-side, and young Wat Forster of Derwent, and Adam Ridderford of Ridentown, and Percie Redmain of Hernshaw, what got they by scorning old sayes and minstrel curses, I would fain know? crippled limbs and a broken neck-bone."

"It happened one night," I continued, "that some lawless sea rovers sailed into the bay: they had heard, perchance, of the rich shrine of our lady, and resolved to spoil it. They had coasted along Scotland, and, though repulsed in various attempts, they succeeded in others, and pillaged several villages, and took some small places of strength, which they plundered and burnt. Now it befel that Midsummer eve was ever a time of festivity with the house of Heron, and, as they were a devout as well as a valiant race, they concluded their evenings of mirth in humility and prayer. The two Herons, the fair and the black, with several of their comrades, had been tilting with the spear, and proving each other's skill with the sword, and armed thus,

were humbling themselves on the floor of our lady's chapel when the rovers arrived. The pirates lingered for a moment, for a hymn was then singing in honour of our lady,-the pious minstrel had recorded the riches of the shrine,

the munificence of the pilgrims,and the generosity of the gallant house of Heron,-nor were the Howards, and Dacres, and other valiant names of old Cumberland forgotten. "This is a long pious inventory, my lads," said the leader of the pirates, "of riches and relics which we shall enjoy. The gold we can spend ashore; and as for the relics, why, we are exposed to storms by sea and onslaughts by land, and we may as well have such trinkets near us when the wind is high. And now I think on't, couldn't we as well capsize a handy companion of a monk,-who might patter a bit of prayer for us, handle a partizan or boarding pike on a pinch, and drink a stoup of wine or mead, and sing us a merry ballad when we come back from a cruize. I think we might make room for such like gear. But by the deep sea, and the trade wind, I think this inventory is right long. Why, the old chanter makes too many tacks as he sails down the current of the story. I must cut this poetic yarn short,-so follow me, my merry men all, and whip out your boarding tools;-now, by your leave, my pious masters.' And with a blow of his foot he made the chapel door ring against the wall, and in he burst, followed by a score or more of his comrades. But instead of shrieking nuns and trembling priests, they saw a sight which daunted the boldest. There knelt young Hugh Heron at the head of his friends and vassals, and the gleaming of their armour filled all the chapel with light. In a moment they were on their feet, their swords out,-and well they proved their love to the shrine of our lady that night,-for blow, and shout, and hurried feet, and the groans of wounded men, filled all the vale downward to the sea side."

"I have heard old dame Eden,' said my companion, "tell the story of the attack on our lady's chapel, but neither shield, nor sword, nor burnished mail, nor battle-shout were in all her tale, and it was a curious tale enough. The blessed relics, she said, found defenders in a flood of marvellous light which rushed out of the chapel door, and smote the rovers sore, and pursued and destroyed them,-and the groans of the mariners were heard afar off. And the wondrous light flashed on the waters, and smote the vessel, and away she sailed along the ocean, and was doomed to float for a season in flames, to be a witter and a warning to all workers of evil. I cannot say that I wholly credit the tale, though I sometimes see strange wild lights shining along the waters, and we know evil men have been smiten and afflicted, and set up as a world's wonder."

"Foremost and fiercest of all," I said, "went Sir Hugh Heron,-through the gorge of the valley,-over the wild sea shore,-mid-thigh deep into the waters, he followed and sought,-whoever he hit went down, and none could stand before him. The leader of the rovers attempted to escape with a few of the bravest of his followers, and had reached the deck of his shallop, and had given the word to move, when Sir Hugh stood on the deck beside him. The combat between them was fierce and brief, and as he struck the rover down, a slender girl richly dressed, who was sleeping among a heap of furs and embroidered mantles, sprung up, uttered a wild cry, and clasping him round the knees, looked up with streaming and imploring eyes for protection and mercy. There stood the youth, his bloody sword in his hand, his eyes burning with the agitation and fury of the fight, and around him lay the bodies of his enemies, their limbs yet quivering with departing life, and their blood floating all the deck. With his left hand he shed back a fleece of dark and disordered locks from the lady's brow, and

gazed upon her till the storm subsided in his soul, and mercy and kindness returned again to his looks. He never gazed upon a fairer face. His kinsman came to his side. • What ails you,' he said, even now I saw you with flushed brow and flashing eyes, and a frame which seemed expanded beyond that of a mortal, smiting down and sparing not, and now the red blood has left your face, and your eyes can look on nothing but this young lady, as if they were under the influence of sorcery.' Sir Hugh heeded not the words of his kinsman, but replying rather to the looks of the captive, said,

Arise lady, against all will I protect thee;' and he kissed her white forehead with the awe of one who offers salutation to some precious relic.

"The young lady arose trembling, and with her eyes cast down, and clinging to his arm as if she clung for her life. I will carry you, lady,' he said,

Some

to my mother's tower, for I see you are not of the kin of those wild and lawless rovers, and with her you may remain till your kindred learn what hath befallen you.' And bearing her ashore he left his kinsman and retainers to spoil the rovers' shallop-and gold, and jewels, and rich dresses, and suits of armour, and the best tempered weapons were found in great store. were offered up at the shrine of our lady, and the remainder were carried to Heron tower. When lady Heron saw her son bearing so young and beautiful a creature in his arms, she came and supported her into her chamber, and comforted her, and told her that she had fallen into honourable hands, and questioned her of her country and her kindred. And the young maiden answered in a voice low and sweet, and in the gentle Doric of the North Country, that she was the daughter of the knight of Corehead, and her maiden name was Beatrice. Her brother had marched with the Lord of Lochwood against the forayers of the border,-her father had loosed his dogs at the foot of