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determyned, and execution had by force of the same.
And if any Keper to whome they shal be
commytted to ward, suffre theym, or any of them,
to be at large, baille or maynprise; the same
Keper then, to forfet ccc li.; ii partes thereof to
the use of the Kyng, and the iii d part therof to
the partie that dooth sue in that behalf. And
if the said Robert, Richard Farnell, John, and
Thomas, atte day conteyned in the said Writte
or Writtes of Proclamation, appere not afore
the Kyng in his said Bench; that then they,
and ich of theym so then not apperyng, stoud
and be convicted and atteynted of the said
felonyez, murdres and robberiez, and have like
Jugement and Execution and like Forfeitures,
as usuelly is used in other atteyndres of feloniez,
murdres and robberies, had by the commen

This petition received for reply, "Soit fait
come il est desire;"but there is no ready means
of ascertaining whether the rascals came by
their deserts; most probably, in those quarrelsome
days of York and Lancaster, partisans
fighting their faction fights on great and small
occasions, they escaped, and the widow remained
without remedy.

                       THE MANSE.

THE Manse, with thirteen brick-red gables,
   Quaintly hooded with sandstone dark,
With ivied stacks of crumbling chimneys,
   Stands on the skirts of St. Cyril's park:
The diamond casements are green and shattered,
   The mullions mellow and grey with rime,
And even the vine on the porch has rotted
   In the frosts and rains of forgotten time.

All round the silent, pathless gardens
   The red fruits drop in the summer hours;
And the wind blown out of the roofless arbours
   Is faint with the breath of the levelled flowers.
High on the terrace, woodbine muffled
   With blossoms the Greek urns overflow;
And the swallows nest in the shattered statues
   That bend by the fountains, far below.

Stained and broken, the dusky arras
   Like twilight hangs in the voiceless rooms;
And the misty cirques of the fractured skylights
   Teem with imperfect lights and glooms.
All day, the sunlight, in dusty splendour,
   Inward slants on the oaken floors;
All night, the moon, with a mournful glory,
   Floats through the echoing corridors.

Many a time, In the precious seasons,
   Hidden behind the veils of fate.
A young wife smiled from the diamond lattice,
   And children laughed at the jasmined gate:
Tender affections, fond endearments,
   Brightened the life of the happy throng;
The day was buried with prayers and laughter,
   The nights were epics of peaceful song.

No more: the richly-blossomed trailer
  Garlands the round of the channelled eaves;
The dial glows in the crimson brier,
   The linnet sings in the privet leaves:
The white rose blows in the tangled hedges,
   The laurels gleam by the garden door;
But they, the gracious and gentle-hearted,
   Walk in that ancient Manse no more.

Peace unto thee! whilst roof and gable
   Mist-like rise in the owlet dusk,
And the airs of the mournful poplar alleys
  Are freighted with frankincense and musk,
Peace unto thee! the bloom shall perish,
   And Winter wither the orchard tree;
Whilst They, in the light of a fairer Eden,
   Shall breathe the air of Eternity.


I HAVE a notion that a British Resident is a
person who lives in Honduras or Hong-kong.
It may interest the British public to hear of a
British Resident who never has been to
Honduras. His name is John Limpet, and although
he is sixty-eight years old, he never has been
out of England since he attained years of
discretion. In his childhood (when he could not
help himself), he was indeed sent to learn
languages upon the continent of Europe; but
his whole play-time abroad was spent in thrashing
foreign boys who denied the supremacy of
England, and questioned the asserted magnitude
of Limpet Hall.

Limpet, of Limpet Hall, cares about everything
British, and is very angry at this time with
foreigners for forcing themselves upon his
attention. He has seized a general idea that the
Volunteer movement may be necessary to teach
foreigners to keep themselves to themselves, and
therefore the old fellow has been shouldering his
rifle with the rest of us. "They have stormed
and got possession of our newspapers," he says,
"and they are already masters of my dinner-table.
They shall have no more." Good martyr! His
old boon companions ask him what the Emperor
of the French intends to do, when he is asking
himself whether the next bottle he has up shall
be Lafitte of the mean year 'forty-five, or
Château Margaux of the noble 'forty-four. He
holds his tongue and sends for 'forty-five Lafitte.
Nevertheless, John Limpet likes a foreigner
who comes to the hall as a friend; especially,
because his talk is sure to be of England. But
his lament is over his crony Jack Sprat, who is
now all for such fat as Italy and France and
Austria, and who will none of your good British
meat and bone. Limpet expostulates with his
erring neighbour and brother justice, but Sprat
only cries, "Pooh, man! We have no time for
talking in these days about the Glorious British
Constitution, as our fathers did! Whatever was
done, whether it was a new war to be waged, or
a new shoe-tie coming into fashion, Glorious
British Constitution was the cry. Now, I hope,
we are wiser than our fathers."

"Didn't you," Limpet expostulates—"didn't
you send me to sleep last night, Sprat, with
your rigmarole on a New Austrian Constitution?
Didn't our friend Craw upset a decanter of port
with flinging his hands about while he talked
about the Glorious Italian Monarchy? And
then you all were sticking Spanish cigars into
your foreign-looking muzzles! If you still
thought properly about the British Constitution,
you might smoke clay pipes, and show your
smooth, round English chins and throats. You