John Deane of Nottingham: Historic Adventures by Land and Sea. William Henry Giles Kingston

and scattered groves, above which rose the hoary giants of ancient days; and by the borders of the streams and rivulets which find their way into the Trent numberless trees had been allowed to stand. Wide strips also of grass-land were to be found running even with the road or between different estates, extending sometimes in an unbroken line for several miles together, with oaks and elms and beeches stretching out their umbrageous branches to meet from either side, and preserving by their shade the soft velvet of the turf even during the heats of summer.

      Thus the old forest trees, if marshalled in close order, would have formed a wood of no inconsiderable magnitude.

      The noon-day sun of the warm summer was shining down on the branches of the wide-spreading trees shading a long woodland glade, such as has been described running from the north towards Nottingham, the walls of whose siege-battered castle could be seen in the far distance, where on a slight eminence the trees opening out afforded a momentary glance of the country in front.

      Just at that spot a gentleman of middle age, mounted on a strong, active horse, accompanied by a young lady on a graceful palfrey, was riding at a leisurely pace along the glade in the direction of the town. The gold lace with which his long, loose riding-coat was trimmed, his embroidered waistcoat, the gold ornament which secured the turned-up flaps of his beaver, and more than all, the jewel-hilted sword by his side, bespoke a person of position. He wore also leather breeches and buff-leather boots, the usual horseman’s dress of the period.

      The fair girl by his side sat her horse with that perfect ease which habit alone can give. Her blue riding-coat was turned up with white, with broad flaps and pockets, the petticoat below being of the same colour; her waistcoat was elegantly embroidered, and the small three-cornered hat with a jewel in front which she wore on the top of her light auburn hair, undisfigured by powder, completed her unassuming yet most becoming costume. Her figure was tall and slight, and her fair and brilliant complexion increased the beauty of her well-formed features, expressive of wit and humour, at the same time indicating thought and feeling.

      Such at sixteen was Alethea Harwood, the only child of the Worshipful Mr. Rupert Harwood, of Harwood Grange, the gentleman on the tall horse by whose side she rode.

      “I have no great affection for yonder town,” observed Squire Harwood, pointing southward with his hand. “I cannot forget my father’s account of the times when Red-nosed Noll ruled the roost, and that arch-traitor Hutchinson held the castle, and insulted all the Cavaliers in the town and neighbourhood by his preaching, and his cant, and his strict rules and regulations; and now, forsooth, every man and woman in the place thinks fit to stand up for the usurper William, and not an expression of sympathy do I hear for the cruel fate of our lawful Sovereign King James.”

      “Poor king! it was treacherous in his ministers and officers to desert him; but what could be expected of men brought up in the days of the Commonwealth?” observed Alethea, with a slight tone of scorn in her sweet voice. “However, perhaps, when they get tired of the Prince of Orange, our king will have his own again.”

      “Pray Heaven he may!” ejaculated the Jacobite squire. “And now, daughter, let me counsel you to deport yourself with becoming dignity and reserve during our visit to the Deane family. Mr. Deane is, I own, a man of credit and honour, and would never desire to injure a human being. I am, moreover, indebted to him for certain sums advanced on my estate, and of dire necessity only accepted; so that I wish he should be treated with all courtesy and respect. But he is an obstinate supporter of this vile government, and with him and one or two other exceptions, as I feel is my duty to my order and party, I hate them all, root and branch; they are a money-making, mean-spirited, trading set. It surprises me that any of the nobility and old families of the country can adhere to them. What, however, can be expected from stocking-weavers and such like? Well, well! I was speaking of that worthy man Deane. There is his wife, a good dame and a careful mother, and his two daughters. You know them better than I do—passable girls though, they seem to me; not exactly such as I might have chosen as your companions; but tempora mutantur, as we used to say at college! I’faith, most of my Latin has slipped out of my memory. And then there are those two sons. The eldest, Jasper, seems a quiet, proper-behaved young man enough. College has polished him up a little, but of the other I know but little; a broad-shouldered lad he seemed, not ill fitted to fight his way through life, as far as outward figure goes. And Master Jasper, what is to be his course in life? Will his father bring him up as a gentleman?”

      “His sister Polly told me that Master Jasper is to become a physician, to follow in the footsteps of their esteemed cousin, Dr. Nathaniel Deane,” answered Alethea. “I suppose that might be considered the calling of a gentleman.”

      “Humph!” ejaculated the Squire, as if he had not quite made up his mind on the subject. “That, according to my notions, depends on the original position of a person. It is better than that of some others, my lord’s chaplain, or the reverend vicar’s curate, as was the lot of some of my college chums; however, I dare say, with so renowned a guide, Master Jasper will prove an honour to the profession. But the breeze feels cool beneath these trees; we will canter on, or you will not have time to change your habit, and be in readiness for Mistress Deane’s entertainment.”

      At a touch of Alethea’s whip, her palfrey broke into an easy canter, and her father’s steed moving on at a trot, they soon reached Parliament Street on the confines of Nottingham, and passing Saint Anne’s Well, they entered through Bridlesmith’s Gate the broad market-place. This was, then as now, the widest open space in the town, and had many fine mansions standing round it. On their left was that long thoroughfare called the Pavement, with the grim old castle walls at the farther end, and the sparkling Trent on the other side; while close to them were butchers’ and other shops, as well as those of the handicraftsmen, from which the different entrances on that side of the once fortified town took their names.

      As Mr. Harwood and his daughter emerged from the somewhat ill-paved and narrow street into the broad market-place, their ears were assailed by loud cries and shouts of men and boys, numbers of whom were issuing from the narrow passages which led out of Parliament Street, while from doors and windows appeared eager faces of spectators bending forward to ascertain the cause of the disturbance. The shouts, mingled with the barking of dogs, grew louder and louder, till they approached the Squire and his daughter. Now the mob was seen to move in one direction, and now in another.

      “It is nothing, I believe, but some apprentice-lads baiting an ox,” observed Mr. Harwood as they moved forward.

      Just at that moment the crowd, with a pack of barking dogs, came rushing on helter-skelter in hot pursuit of a brindled cow—so it seemed—whose heels its canine tormentors were ever and anon attacking, making it start forward with the pain they inflicted. At the same time a youth with his coat off and a stick in his hand was endeavouring to drive off the dogs, and shouting to the mob of rough-looking apprentices who were urging them on, to desist from the pursuit. His orders were, however, treated with but little attention, for the mob of lads and boys extending for some distance on either side continued their shouts and cries, with peals of laughter at the frantic movements of the unhappy animal. So completely was the road blocked up that Mr. Harwood and his daughter were compelled to turn back to avoid them. Just, however, as they were about to do so, the maddened cow dashed forward, and before Alethea could turn her horse, its horns had struck the animal’s side, and caught the skirt of her riding-dress. Dashing on, it would have dragged her from her seat, had not the young man who had been attempting to save the creature from its tormentors at that moment sprang forward and disentangled her dress, preventing her from falling from her palfrey.

      “Stand back, you young ruffians!” shouted Mr. Harwood to the mob. “Understand that I am a justice of the peace, and that I will summon you one and all before the magistrates of the town for this uproar.”

      The mob of apprentices, seeing the harm which their frolic might have produced, hung back, many of them taking to their heels, while others called off the dogs, which they had before been inciting to pursue the cow, which continued its course through Bridlesmith’s Gate, glad to escape its pursuers.

      “I have to thank you, young man, for the service you have rendered my daughter and me, and should be