THE GOOD KNIGHT.

All of this exercise in the phraseology of chivalry was written on a single sheet of note-paper with such generous margins that the text only covered a space of two and one-half by four inches on each page.  Next day I received the second of this knightly series: 

While I addressed thee fair and subtile words on yester even, O sweet and incomparable knight! there did enter into my presence a base enchanter who did evilly enchant and bewitch me, making me to do dire offence unto the mother tongue.  Soothly this base born enchanter did cause me to write “arms,” when soothly I did mean an “alms,” and sore grievousness be come upon me lest haply thou dost not understand this matter ere this missive reach thee.  I do beseech thee have a care to tell the fair princesses and glorious ladies that I am in very truth a courteous knight and learned eke, and that I shall neither taste food nor wine until I have slain the evil enchanter that did so foully bewitch me.  Odds bobs, I trow it was that varlet dotard, Sir Frank de Dock, who hath entreated me most naughtily since thou art departed unto that far-off province.  By this courier do I dispatch certain papers of state unto thee, and faith would I have dispatched thy wages eke, but that caitiff in minion, Sir Shekelsford, did taunt and revile me when I did supplicate him to give up.

  The incomparable Sir Melville hath all the good knights writing
  editorials this eve, from the hoary and senile Dock down to the
  knavish squire that sweeps out the castle.

  May peace bide with thee in thy waking hours and brood o’er thy
  slumbers, good gentle sir, and may heaven speed the day when in fair
  health and well-walleted thou shalt return unto

  Thy pining and sweet slave,

  THE GOOD KNIGHT. 
  December 28th, 1885.

Before another day elapsed I received the third, and, in some respects, most interesting of this series, addressed to me by my knightly title at “Blair Lodge Castle, Lake Forest,” which is less than thirty miles from Chicago: 

Joyous and merry knight:—­Soothly I wot this be the last message you shall have from me ere you be come again hence, since else than the stamp hereupon attached have I none nor ween I whence another can be gotten.  By the bright brow of Saint Aelfrida, this is a sorry world, and misery and vexation do hedge us round about!  A letter did this day come unto the joyous and buxom wench, the lady Augusta, wherein did Sir Ballantyne write how that he did not believe that the poem “Thine Eyes” was printed in Sir Slosson’s book.  Now by St. Dunstan! right merrily will he rail when so he learneth the whole truth.  Sir Melville hath not yet crossed the drawbridge of the castle, albeit it lacketh now but the length of a barleycorn till the tenth hour.  Sir Frank de Dock hath hied him home for he is truly a senile varlet and when I did supplicate him to regale me with a pasty