was celebrated for a habit of injudicious selection in the matter of public appointments-putting usually the right man in the wrong place, and vice versa. Falstaff-burning to distinguish himself in the service of his native land (and having his own private reasons for wishing to do so at a convenient distance)-exerted his court interest to obtain a colonial appointment. At the head of an invading army, or in command of a beleaguered city, there is no reason to doubt that he would have acquitted himself with satisfaction to all parties; but, Government having nothing more suitable to offer him than a deputy-collectorship of the wool duties (for which, it is true, he was certainly qualified on the grounds accepted by British Governments in all ages-his mother's father having been a wool-stapler), what could be expected but a directly contrary result? The exact deficit in the Falstaff accounts has not been preserved in the public records. But there is no reason to doubt that it was on a scale commensurate with the greatness of our hero's soul, inasmuch as, after a few months' probation, an intimation was forwarded to him that his resignation of office would be accepted. It is at least probable that the nation required his services in a wider and more honourable field. But of this we have no means of judging accurately, an adverse destiny placing it out of the ex-deputy-collector's power to avail himself of any such pending advantages. Adverse destiny, in his case, took the shape of an Anglo-French jailer.

Falstaff, in fact, like all men born to sway large destinies, had a lavish disregard of trifling expenditure. Like Julius Cæsar, he contracted debts; that is to say, as much like Julius Cæsar as possible - our hero lacking that arch-insolvent's facilities of obtaining credit. With two millions of somebody else's money (about the amount, I believe, on the Julian schedule), what would not Falstaff have done? It is difficult to answer. It may be safely stated, however, that it was from no fault of John Falstaff's that Julius Cæsar had the best of him in this respect.

At any rate, having started this historic parallel between these two great men, we may bring it to a triumphant close by stating that young Falstaff, like young Cæsar, was now a captive in the hands of pirates and waiting for his ransom.

It was in search of this talisman that the faithful attendant, alluded to in the opening of the present chapter, had been despatched, on a somewhat forlorn hope, to England. The faithful attendant returned without it, having no better substitute to offer than the tidings of Sir Gilbert's death. The prodigal but philosophic son declared, with a sigh, that, under the circumstances, he must try and make that do.

He sent for the pirate chieftains, in modern English, for his detaining

-

creditors,

A PRISONER AT CALAIS.

39

a Flemish clothier and a Lombard money-lender. He informed them of the death of his obdurate parent, with whom he had been at variance for years, but of whose princely estate he was now the undisputed possessor. Now was the time for him to show his gratitude to the real friends who had stood by him in the hour of need; who had been long-suffering in his extravagance; lenient even in their tardy severity. What could he do for them? "Pay us our money," suggested the matter-of-fact traders.

Falstaff treated the proposition with disdain. Of course he would pay them a dozen times over if they liked. But he would be still in their debt. No; nothing would satisfy him but that his dear friends should accompany him to England, to assist him in taking possession of his inheritance. Falstaff Castle was close to the coast-they might see it almost on a fine day. He would want their assistance in refurnishing his ancestral halls. He must take them to court, and introduce them to his bosom friend the young king, with whom (now the unnaturally adverse court influence of his father was removed) he was all powerful. In a word, the heir of Falstaff would not be able to enjoy his fortune unless he secured that of two friends at the same time.

It is no discredit to the intellectual powers of these simple traders that they suffered themselves to be won over by the eloquence of their greathearted captive. They agreed to release him from durance-previously securing themselves. by the most terribly binding documents (such as our hero, at all periods of his life, was ready to sign with the greatest alacrity) -and to accompany him to England.

In those days the traveller crossed from Calais to Dover in an open galley; that is to say, when he crossed at all: for, in a large proportion of cases, the galley went down about half way and gave the traveller a premature opportunity of studying the engineering difficulties of the proposed submarine railway.

In a still greater frequency of cases the traveller waited several days at Calais for a fair wind. When it came, the gallant rowers hoisted what they called a sail, stuck an image of the Virgin in the prow of the boat, prayed to it and became sick like men.

Jack and his faithful attendant, being Britons, and endowed with that peculiar native salt in their veins for which the analytical chemists have as yet found no name, were good sailors. The Fleming and the Lombard were bad ones, and howled dismally at the bottom of the boat. The crew were Frenchmen. No further explanation of their condition is necessary.

When the galley had made about three parts of her course, our hero's faithful attendant broke silence with

"Don't you think now would be about the time, sir?”

"What for?"

"What for! why, to pitch them overboard, of course."

Falstaff wheeled suddenly round on his seat, and looked his faithful attendant full in the face. There was approval in the scrutiny, mingled with compassion.

"And do you suppose, young man," the master inquired, with a transparent assumption of severity, "that I am going to be guilty of such an act of treachery?"

"Then what the plague else did you bring 'em here for?" was the sulky reply. "They've got your bonds in their pockets. The sailors are all sick none of 'em would be a bit the wiser."

"Away, tempter!" said Jack, with twinkling eyes. "How dare you lure an innocent youth to his destruction? Avaunt thee, fiend! Sathanas!"

"Come! I'm not going to stand being called out of names."

Vade retro

"Then hearken to the voice of Wisdom. Suppose I were to commit the breach of confidence and gratitude you so insidiously propose, and, in your own words, pitch these worthy gentlemen overboard. What then?"

"Well, it would be a matter between ourselves and the lobsters."

"And pray, sir, in that case WHO IS TO PAY OUR EXPENSES ΤΟ LONDON?"

The faithful attendant opened his eyes as wide as they would go, which was not very far, and a grin of intelligence dawned upon his usually stolid countenance. MUTUAL ESTEEM once more reigned between the master and servant.

A word as to this faithful attendant. Two years ago, having borrowed sufficient money for his continental outfit, and to liquidate such debts as might militate against his departure, our hero, with a serene mind and an easy conscience, had entered St. Paul's Church in search of a serving man. A certain aisle in the cathedral was at that period the central exchange or rendezvous for unhired domestics. A servant out of place would not attempt such profanation in the present day. In fact, a beneficent and considerate Dean and Chapter have wisely placed it beyond the means of such a person to do so.

Our hero passed a great many candidates for employment, some of whom he rejected as being all fool, others as too exclusively rogue. Neither of which elements, unmixed, would suit him. At length he came upon a stern looking young man, with straight thick eyebrows, a gash for a mouth, and a nose vermilion beyond his years. The red nose argued chronic and perennial thirst. This, in its turn, was suggestive of easily-purchased fidelity.

THE FAITHFUL ATTENDANT.

41

"My friend," said Jack to him of the proboscis ; "I like your looks." "You ought to," replied the salamandrine; "I have been twelve years looking after you."

It was little Peter! subsequently nicknamed Bardolph, in honour of a fancied resemblance to a nobleman of the Court. What wonderful vicissitudes Peter may have undergone since the memorable evening when he straddled away from home in that very small leathern suit we may not pause to inquire. He was promptly retained by his old leader, whom he never quitted alive. Peter took kindly to the name of Bardolph; and, in the course of time, believed himself allied to the noble family from which it had been derived.

Falstaff and his travelling companions touched English soil between Dover and Deal. Who knows-for history delights in such coincidences—but it may have been on the very spot where some fourteen hundred years previously, that very identical Julius Cæsar, between whom and our hero so many points of resemblance have been established, landed on a similar errand -only with a few more people to back him?

The Fleming and the Lombard were put on shore alive, to their considerable astonishment. Bardolph was despatched to the nearest inn, on the coast, of which he knew every inch, in search of horses.

Our hero reviewed his position.

"I don't quite know what to do with them, now I have got them," he meditated. "I am afraid they won't find the Falstaff Estates quite up to my representations. I must make it out that I have been robbed by servants during my exile. At any rate, one thing is decided. THEY DON'T GO WITHOUT PAYING FOR IT."

Bardolph returned running, with yellow cheeks, purple lips, and a blue nose, altogether a remarkable facial chromatic phenomenon.

His tidings were startling.

The lads of Kent had risen in open rebellion, and were devastating the land with fire and sword. They had burnt and sacked every gentleman's seat in the county, having hanged such of the proprietors as they could lay hands on, and were now marching on to London. Horses, shelter, or provisions were out of the question.

Falstaff was delighted. Had he been Destiny itself, he could scarcely have pre-ordained things more in accordance with his present wishes. He mastered his real emotion, and counterfeited another. He tore his hair, and threw himself writhing and moaning on the beach.

His visitors were naturally curious to know what had happened.

The matter was this, he told them-when he could collect his scattered

F

thoughts: he was a ruined man. The peasantry were in arms-had declared themselves against the landowners. His ancestral castle had doubtless, ere this, perished in the flames. Nothing remained for him but a nameless grave, which he would thank his companions to dig for him on the beach.

The commercial mind is sceptical in all ages. The Fleming and the Lombard-not by any means sure that they had acted wisely in the first instance in trusting themselves to the mercies of their plausible debtorbecame doubly suspicious. They held a brief consultation apart, the result of which was a somewhat lugubrious proposal that they should proceed experimentally to Dover.

Towards Dover they walked; Falstaff mechanically yielding to his conductors, as one whom despair had robbed of volition.

Remarkable as the statement may read, it soon proved that Bardolph had spoken the truth. Smoking homesteads, trampled crops, with here and there a smouldering rick or coppice, too well corroborated his story. Scared and crouching figures, emerging from concealment, warned the travellers not to approach the town as they valued their lives. Numbers of the rebels, maddened with success, were still in possession of the neighbourhood, vowing destruction to every man with a delicate skin and a whole coat over it. What was to be done?

Falstaff, magnanimously forgetting his own troubles in his anxiety for his guests, suggested that the latter should return to whence they came, leaving him to his fate. In another hour it might be too late. Their boat would be seized.

Not if the commercial gentlemen knew it. If every rebel in ten thousand rebels had been in ten parts, and every part a rebel, they would have faced the entire insurgent camp rather than those terrible waves a second time in the same day. Besides, the thing was out of the question. The gallant crew - including the body servants of the two merchants-learning that plunder was the order of the day, had hastened in divers directions across country to enrol themselves under the national banner like the truest imaginable Britons. The unlucky foreigners begged of our hero not to desert them, promising that, if he would see them safely through the present difficulty, he should have no cause to complain of their-ahem!-leniency.

John winked aside; and repressed an inclination to execute, there, on the beach, what might have anticipated the invention of hornpipes by some centuries.

He wrung the hands of his two friends, and vowed that, at all hazards, he would stand by them. Still he was at a loss to decide for the present emer

gency.