And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?—
No! by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no!—
Up drawbridge, grooms-what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."—

Lord Marmion turned,—well was his need,-
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung-
The ponderous gate behind him rung :
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume!

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Nor lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim:

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clinched hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!"

But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.—
A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed!
Did ever knight so foul a deed!
Saint Mary, mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
"Tis pity of him, too," he cried;
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride:
I warrant him a warrior tried."-
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

THE TRIAL BY COMBAT.

"THERE is yet one chance of life left to me," said Rebecca, แ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable—miserable, at least, of late-but I will not cast away the gift of God, while he affords me the means of defending it. I deny this charge -I maintain my innocence, and I declare the falsehood of this accusation-I challenge the privilege of trial by combat, and will appear by my champion."

"And who, Rebecca," replied the Grand Master, "will lay lance in rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion of a Jewess?" "God will raise me up a champion," said Rebecca: "it cannot be that in merry England, the hospitable, the generous, the free, where so many are ready to peril their lives for honour, there will not be found one to fight for justice. But it is enough that I challenge the trial by combat-there lies my gage."

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung it down before the Grand Master, with an air of mingled simplicity and dignity, which excited universal surprise and admiration.

"Give me her glove," said Beaumanoir. "This is indeed," he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and slender fingers, "a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly.-Seest thou, Rebecca; as this thin and light glove of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the Temple, for it is our Order which thou hast defied."

"Cast my innocence into the scale," answered Rebecca, "and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron."

"Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast made?"

"I do persist, noble sir," answered Rebecca.

"So be it then, in the name of Heaven," said the Grand Master; "and may God show the right!"

"Amen," replied the Preceptors around him, and the word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly.

"Brethren," said Beaumanoir, "you are aware that we might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the trial by combat; but though a Jewess and an unbeliever, she is also a stranger and defenceless, and God forbid that she should ask the benefit of our laws, and that it should be refused to her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers as well as men of religion, and shame it were to us, upon any pretence, to refuse proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case: Rebecca, the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised on the person of a noble knight of our holy Order, and hath challenged the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, is it your opinion that we should deliver the gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our champion on the field?"

"To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns," said the Preceptor of Goodalricke, "and who, moreover, best knows how the truth stands in this matter."

"It is well," said the Grand Master.-"Rebecca, in those lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according to doom.-Let this our judgment be recorded, and the record read aloud, that no one may pretend ignorance.”

Rebecca spoke not, but she looked up to heaven, and folding her hands, remained for a minute without change of attitude. She then modestly reminded the Grand Master that she ought to be permitted some opportunity of free communication with her friends, for the purpose of making her condition known to them, and procuring, if possible, some champion to fight in her behalf.

"It is just and lawful," said the Grand Master; "choose what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free communication with thee in thy prison-chamber."

"Is there," said Rebecca, "any one here, who, either for love of a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand of a distressed being?"

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the presence of the

Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Judaism. Not even the prospect of reward, far less any feelings of compassion alone, could surmount this apprehension.

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, and then exclaimed, "Is it really thus ?-And, in English land, am I to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which remains to me, for want of an act of charity which would not be refused to the worst criminal?"

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “I am but a maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to her charitable assistance.—I will do thine errand,” he added, addressing Rebecca, "as well as a crippled object can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done by my tongue. Alas! when I boasted of thy charity, I little thought I was leading thee into danger!"

"God," said Rebecca, is the disposer of all. He can turn back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. To execute his message the snail is as sure a messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York-here is that will pay for horse and man -let him have this scroll. I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do I judge that I am not to die this death, and that a champion will be raised up for me. Farewell!-Life and death are in thy haste."

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded him from touching a document so suspicious; but Higg was resolute in the service of his benefactress.

"I will get me," he said, "my neighbour Buthan's good capul,* and I will be at York within as brief space as man and beast may.'"

But, as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far; for within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory he met with two riders, whom, by their dress and huge yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more nearly, discovered that one Capul, that is, horse; in a more limited sense, work-horse.

*

of them was his ancient employer, Isaac of York. The other was the Rabbi Ben Samuel; and both had approached as near to the Preceptory as they dared, on hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a chapter for the trial of a sorceress.

"How now, brother?" said Ben Samuel, interrupting his harangue to look towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll which Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell from his mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible.

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recovery of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebotomy, when the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but it was to dash his cap from his head, and to throw dust on his gray hairs. The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emotion to the effects of insanity; and, adhering to his original purpose, began once again to handle his implements. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error.

"Child of my sorrow," he said, "well shouldst thou be called Benoni, instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death bring down my gray hairs to the grave?"

Brother," said the Rabbi, in great surprise, "I trust that the child of thy house yet liveth?"

"She liveth," answered Isaac, "but she is captive unto those men of Belial, and they will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth nor her comely favour. Oh! she was as a crown of green palms to my gray locks; and she must wither in a night, like the gourd of Jonah!-Child of my love!-child of my old age!-O Rebecca, daughter of Rachel! the darkness of the shadow of death hath encompassed thee."

"Yet read the scroll," said the Rabbi; "peradventure it may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance."

"Do thou read, brother," answered Isaac, "for mine eyes are as a fountain of water."

The physician read, but in their native language, the following words :