You heard in the last story that Sir Robert Knolles had entered France with a large body of men-at-arms. What I am now about to tell you concerning the vainglorious knight and the valiant butcher, took place during his expedition.

Sir Robert and his army marched through the kingdom of France by short stages, and with a magnificence for which the people, and especially those of the rich provinces, paid very dearly; for the English, as they advanced and retreated, plundered whatever came in the way, and did infinite mischief wherever they went. Having passed through the countries of Artois, Vermandois, the bishopric of Laon, and the archbishopric of Rheims in Champagne, they returned to Brie, and thence drew near to Paris: in the villages round which city they quartered themselves for a day

and two nights. The King of France (Charles V.) was at that time in the city of Paris, and from his palace of S. Pol could see the fire and smoke which the enemy were making in the Gâtinois: there were also with him in the city, the constable of France and other great knights and valiant men; many of whom were sadly vexed that the English were suffered thus to ravage their fair country, and were very anxious to come to an engagement with them; but the King had most strictly forbidden them to leave the city. Moreover, the Lord de Clisson, who was one of the King's cabinet council, and more listened to than all the rest, used every argument he could, in order to prevent any knights from sallying forth. Sirs," he said, " why employ your arms against these madmen? Wait a while and they will go about their business. They cannot take your inheritance from you, nor drive you out of it by smoke."

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One Tuesday morning, shortly after this, the count de S. Pol, the viscount de Rohan, Sir Odoart de Renti, and several other French lords had come down to the barriers of S. James' Gate, just as the English began to decamp, having set fire to all the villages wherever they had lodged: these fires were distinctly seen by the knights at the barriers, and indeed, by all Paris. Now, it happened that there was a knight in the English army, more vain-glorious than wise, who had made a vow, that before he left Paris, he would advance as far as the barriers, and strike them with his lance: nor did he break his oath; for, finding that

his companions were about to decamp, he set off with his lance in his hand, his target on his neck, and indeed completely armed except his helmet, which was carried by his squire who attended him mounted on another courser.

When he came near to the city, the knight stopped and put on his helmet, which his squire laced behind for him. He then went away at full gallop, sticking his spurs into his horse, and advanced to strike the barriers. The barriers were at that time open, and the lords and barons who were within, imagined that the knight was about to enter, but he had no such intention; for as soon as he had discharged his vow, he checked his horse and turned about. The French knights, on seeing him retreat, cried out, "Away! away! thou hast acquitted thyself nobly." No doubt, many of them would have been pleased to have met him and tried their skill; but in consequence of the commands they had received, they dared not leave the barriers. I am ignorant of the name of this knight, nor do I know from what country he came, or anything else about him, except that he fought on the side of the English under Sir Robert Knolles. He left the barriers in safety; but as he was on his way back to join his own party, an adventure befel him, from which he had not so fortunate an escape. On the pavement in the suburbs, he met with a butcher, a strong and valiant man, who had in his hand a very sharp and heavy hatchet with a long handle. The butcher had noticed the knight pass him on his

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way to the barriers, and laid wait for him on his return. The knight, who thought that his object had been successfully accomplished, was returning alone, and in a careless manner, when the butcher suddenly came up to him, and gave him such a blow between the shoulders, that he was thrown by it on his horse's neck. He recovered himself; but the butcher repeated the blow, which this time caught him on the head, and with such force, that the axe entered into it. The knight now, through excess of pain, fell to the ground, and his horse galloped away towards the squire, who was waiting for his master in the field, at the extremity of the suburbs.

The squire caught the courser, but could not imagine what was become of his master, for he had seen him gallop to the barriers, strike them, and then set off on his return. He determined, therefore, to ride back and look for him; and he had not gone far, when he found him in the hands of four fellows, who were treating him as if they were hammering on an anvil : at this sight the squire was so much frightened that he could advance no farther, for he knew he could render no effectual assistance against four men; he therefore returned to his own forces as speedily as he could. He related the misfortune which had befallen his master; but there was now no remedy, for the knight was dead, and the army on its march. The French lords who were at the barriers and witnessed the action, had the knight buried in holy ground, which was very proper and much to their credit.

THE health of the Prince of Wales had been for some time failing, when he was advised to give up the care of the duchy of Aquitaine to the Duke of Lancaster, and to return to England to try what change of air and quiet would do for his recovery. Just as he was on the point of leaving Bordeaux, the usual place of his residence, his eldest son Edward died; the Prince, however, by the advice of his friends, did not wait for the funeral; but entrusting the care of it with other matters to the Duke, proceeded without delay on his journey to England.

The Duke, immediately after the Prince's departure made all necessary preparation for the funeral, which