castle to Bristol, to her who came to contest with him no meaner prize than the crown, is only one among many instances which prove the noble and generous disposition of the unfortunate Stephen. Few characters have been handed down to us with more commendation, both from friend and foe, than his and while his panegyrists are loud in their praises of his unexampled courage, and his most courteous gentleness, even Malmsbury, the partizan of the empress, and bound eulogist of his patron Gloster, could say, "he was a man of great activity, but imprudent, strenuous in war, bold in attempting works of difficulty, mild and compassionate to his enemies, and courteous to all,"-acknowledging, too, that his only fault, as king, was his want of a legal title.

The whole of the following year was characterized by all the miseries of civil war-miseries which in this instance were fearfully increased by the fierce and bitter mode of warfare pursued by the nobles; and by the turbulent and barbarous conduct of the bands of mercenaries, whom Stephen had hired from Flanders to aid him in his efforts to retain possession of the throne. "More than ten thousand of these barbarians," says Ordericus Vitalis, "were scattered over England, who neither spared holy places nor reverenced religion, but devastated, burnt, and slew, wherever they came. I am unable to trace to its full extent even part of the affliction which the church of God suffered in the persons of her children, who were like sheep daily slaughtered by their cruel sword."

Nor were

these atrocities committed only by the foreign mercenaries; the garrisons of the various castles and strongholds were accustomed to sally forth, drive off from the fields both sheep and oxen, and plunder the husbandmen of their very beds.* Nay more, "the devilish and wicked men," who, the Saxon Chronicle informs us filled these castles, "cruelly tortured men for their money. They laid taxes on towns, and when they had exhausted them of every thing set them on fire. You might travel a day and not find one man living in a town, nor any land tilled. Never did the country suffer greater evils. If two or three men were riding up to a town all its inhabitants fled, taking them for plunderers. The bishops and learned men," continues the venerable Chronicle, "cursed these military robbers continually; but the effect thereof was nothing to them, for they were all foresworn, accursed, and abandoned. To till the ground was to plough the sea; the earth bare no corn, for the land was laid waste by such deeds; and men said openly, that Christ slept, and his saints."

After contemplating such a state of things, we feel almost inclined to give credence to the many tales which the chronicles of the period supply, of the sure though often long-delayed judgments which eventually befel these abandoned men. There was Robert Marmyun, a most wicked knight, who plundered churches, and burned monasteries, and at the head of his wicked band spread desolation far

* Malmsbury.

and near. One morning he set forth to plunder a church somewhere in Lincolnshire, and disdaining to dismount from his destrere, rode even up to the steps of the high altar. There he sat, while his rapacious soldiers tore cross, chalice, paten, and altar-cloth away and then giving the signal to depart, he turned his head quickly round, and shook his brand menacingly at the affrighted monks :— never again did he turn his head; by the sudden start of his horse his neck was dislocated, and he fell on the pavement a lifeless corpse. There was Geoffrey de Magnaville, too, a powerful baron; for he was earl of Essex, and his aid was alternately courted by and alternately given to both Stephen and the empress. In his earlier day he seems to have been neither inhospitable nor indevout; since he was the founder of the abbey of Walden, the which he richly endowed, and caused it to be built where four roads met, that it might be most convenient for resort of pilgrims and travellers.* But this powerful earl, having renounced his allegiance to the empress, went over to Stephen; and having soon after quarrelled with Stephen also, his castles were seized, and he was forced to fly. Then did he and his brother-in-law collect together a band of wicked men, and ride at their head, and far and wide spread the fear of that fierce and lawless company. It was he who plundered Ramsey abbey, and scarcely permitted the monks to depart with their lives; and he too it was, who used to send spies in

* Dugdale.

the garb of beggars into houses, and then, when they discovered any one to have property, they gave notice to their rapacious lord, who came down with his wicked company, and plundered him of all he possessed. But the vengeance of Heaven was at hand; for (soon after the bishop of Ely had solemnly, with tolling bell, closed books, and extinguished taper, pronounced sentence of excommunication against him,) one day going on his usual trade of plunder, his horse threw him, and falling against a stone he miserably fractured his skull. There, on the road-side, lay that once powerful baron, praying aid from the passers by, (for all his wicked company had ridden off to secure their plunder); but no aid could he procure, although helpless and dying; until at length some Templars passed by, who, moved with pity for the dying man, sat down beside him, and spread their white mantles over him until he departed. His body was subsequently conveyed to the house of the Templars in London; but, as he died under sentence of excommunication, burial was forbidden; so they wrapt the body in lead, and hung it upon a tree in the garden, until, by the prayers and exertions of his family, the sentence was reversed.

But the tale, which above all others excited the fearful wonder of our forefathers, was that of one Reimer a Poitevin, who came over to England, and joined himself to some one of the many companies of mercenaries, solely for the purpose of massacre and plunder. At length, having gained wealth sufficient to satisfy even his craving mind, he, with his wife

and child, and all his wickedly-earned spoils, went on board a vessel that was to convey him to his own land. No sooner had the ship reached the mid-sea than a fearful darkness arose, and although the sails were all set, and the wind blew fair, and the rowers plied the oars right manfully, yet the vessel stood still. The affrighted mariners, well assured that some most wicked person was among them, determined to cast lots: this was done; and three times the lots were cast, and three times it fell on Reimer. Then he, horror-stricken, confessed his evil doings; how men had asked mercy of him in vain, and how he had been foremost in all evil; and then the darkness still increasing, and the mariners being in such sore jeopardy, they took Reimer and his wife and child, and all his treasure, placed them in a boat, and cut the rope. Instantly the boat with its fatal freight was ingulfed in a whirlpool, while the bark, no longer spell-bound, cut the waves as the falcon cleaves the air, and arrived safe at her destined harbour.

Tales such as these may be mere fiction; but they were not without their use in a rude but imaginative age. The fierce retainer, whom the thought of the gallows-tree was unavailing to deter from crime, trembled, wept, and perchance repented, when the rude tale of fearful retribution met his ear, and the proud and self-willed baron, whom neither argument or entreaty might stay, stopt in his career of evil, when reminded, by the pious legend, of the thousand unexpected ways in which Heaven interposes to avenge the feeble.