, 1888-10-23
EDWY OF TYNEDALE.

SuInClently mater1allZeI TO render II per-
ceptible to mortal senses. Suffice it to
know that 1t belongs to q country where
castles were q part of the vitality of the
land, not picturesque cenotaphs Of o dead
past; and to those olden days when men
not having yet learned to delegate the
keeping of their consciences to q national
code of laws, came nearer to the principles
that underlie those laws.
1t was a time and country of arms.
Valor was the saint by whom all swore,
and no death was feared save q death on
the straw. And with valor ruled song.
When the clash of swords was for O mo-
ment stilled minnesingers and minstrels
sang of the sweetness of love. Are not
the tenderest blossoms of the year those
that are fostered by the snowdrift2
The Tower of Tynedale had had its bap-
tisms of blood and conscientious of song
more frequently, it may well be, than any
other castle within the same horizon
bounds. for it stood on disputed ground.
1t was q defiance in stone flung down by
an early Tynedale, and many a time had
the Branksome men dashed themselves
against it in vain assault. Once, indeed,
the portals had traitorously yielded, and
the banner of the hated house of the as
sailants had taunted the scattered Tyne
dales from the battlements of their own
tower. That dishonor had been wiped
out in the desperate courage of the recap
ture, but its memory reused to new life
the old family feud, which had its birth In
the buried past.
1t was the thought of that unforgotten
shame that made more lofty the bearing
of the lord of Tynedale as he entered the
demesne to which q long absence had made
him well nigh a stranger. The gay
laughter of his retainers, who found it Joy
enough to feel the shadow of Tynedale
oaks once more above them, seemed to his
ear but to mufle the angry mutter of de-
feated men. Age itself was forgotten, as
the very thought of the men of Drank
some sent the hand of the old lord to the
hilt of his sword. His 'steed. responding
to his unconscious touch bounded for
ward, and carried him in advance of his
train to the opening in the forest that
commanded q distant view of the tower.
And there the sunbeams that flashed
from spear head and sparkled from the
jeweled dresses of lady fair and gallant
knight and waiting esquire sank into
shadows amid the folds of the Branksome
banner, which Branksome hands had flung
nee more from the settlements of Tyne
dale tower. Dark and sullen hung the
silken folds, heavy with shame. And
dark grew the brow of the lord of Tyne
dale-dark even as the shadow of the
lOAtoNt " = NhhL LltoSdIe ultI LIS eve.
The sun sank down and the night came
swiftly to cover alike the hated banner
and the little band resting under the edge
of the wooded hill.
An Indifferent forester, to whom it mat
tered little whether the flag of the tower
were gules or argent, told the brief tale of
the days foray. An attack, q surprise, n
weak defense, a few hours of desperate
hand to hand fighting within the old walls,
and then the sunset with its revelation;
that was all.
The party camped hastily.
1--WE are helpless" said the old lord,
bitterly; within those walls a handful
may laugh ut a host; without, a handful
like this would be but n dash of summer
raindrops on the stones. False stones,
they protect friend and foe alike"
Then spoke Edwy, the heir of Tynedale.
My lord and father, an it please you, !
will enter the tower. My harpwiI be my
passport, for a minstrel hath free warrant
to hall and bower. Onoe in, it will 90
hard but | find means to open the gates to
our men ere the morning"
The old lords eye flashed. He felt the
fever of youth throb in his veins for a
moment; then it passed, but he beheld
his own spirit kindling keen and high in
the dauntless youth who faced him.
Go. my child. The honor of Tynedale
Is in your hands"
So it shortly came to pass that a
gay young minstrel boldly demand
ed admittance for his harp and
himself at tho gate where Edwy of
Tynedale might not pass for his life. A
rude welcome greeted him from the hall.
Enter, thou minstrel lad. Such n day
as this hath merited a night of song.
What ballads hast thou that are new7''
Ballads new and old in plenty to
pleasure the lords of Tynedale tower"
answered Edwy calmly, resting his harp
near the board about which lounged the
dark men of B~ranksome, ~pledging their
victory in tankards of Tynedale ale. At
his feet, trampled and stained, lay the
silken banner of his house, rudely torn
from the battlement. But no one saw the
fire that smoldered under Edwy's low
cred lids.
Sing, harper, and Oswald shall dance"
Oswald shall dance the morrow"
Edwy had already noted the bound fig
ure Of Oswald, an ancient s~ervitor of the
house, who listened unmoved to the rude
jests and taunts of the soldiery. Once,
at the first tone of Edwy's voice, q culver
passed over his blood stained cheek, but
he raised not his eyes from the floor.
Grim, stern, silent, he waited. and
If he strained his iron muscles
~5NN N"N SSANo ~ liz 4NlJ lLltll sip
and yield, no one needed. The youth with
his harp was more diverting than the i'm
passive prisoner, whom their savage gibes
moved not.
"A songl a songl After the battle cry,
the madrigall'
II have little faith in your m~adrigals
and minstrels," growled one stout wight.
They are all false. these fair fingered
squires. who love better the strumming of
a harp than the twang of a bowstring.7'
Thou art soured, Gregory, and hast
lost thy taste For love songs since Edric
spoiled thy pretty face for thee"
Fill thy tankard, Gregory, and go then
u sleep"
Gregory scowled, but profted by the
counsel.
Now, harper. give US the last ballad
in thy wallet"
Edwy's fingers had been straying over
the strings of the harp, waking those