influence through society at large, it frequently happened that more time was consumed in rummaging amidst this unexplored chaos than would have sufficed to transact the whole affair for which any article was required.  A round stool in the middle of this “Thesaurus"—­the only unoccupied place except the ceiling—­was the throne of our friend, Dan Hardseg, when dispensing out his treasures with stately munificence;—­on this scanty perch was the stranger duly installed, and favoured with a benignant and knowing wink from Dan as he departed.

Waiting for the return of his patron, the pilgrim was roused from a fit of reverie by the well-remembered greeting of the jester, Humphry Lathom, or “Daft Humpy,” as he was mostly called.

“Eh, nuncle!  But if Dan catch thee, he’ll be sure to give thee a lift i’ the stocks.”

This strange creature cautiously opened the door, and was speedily engulfed in all that fearful accumulation of sloth and disorder.  By his manner, it did not seem to be his first irruption into this vast magazine; whilst, from the cautious and fearful glances he from time to time cast through the door, it would appear that he had been detected in his expeditions, and in all probability punished for the offence.  He was evidently in search of some object from amidst the various heaps of lumber he overthrew; an inarticulate mutter, accompanying every fresh attack, indicated impatience and disappointment.  Suddenly he exclaimed, drawing forth a large roll, with ludicrous expressions of delight—­

“I have thee, now!  The buck’s horns shall soon butt this great Welsh goat from his pen.”

He opened the banner.  It was the pennon of the Bradshaigh, thrown aside to rot in dust and decay.

“Don’t tell Dan, nuncle, and thou shall see rare sport.”

He said this with his usual familiarity of tone; but suddenly putting his mouth to the stranger’s ear, he whispered.  The words were inaudible, save to him for whom they were meant; and in an instant he darted from the spot, concealing the spoil amidst the folds of his apparel.  Shortly afterwards Dan made his appearance.  With wonder and dismay did he behold the ravages committed in his treasure-house—­“confusion worse confounded.”

“Beshrew me, but thou art a restless tenant.  I did not tell thee to tumble my wardrobe into haycocks.”

“I was long a-watching,” said the pilgrim; “and, in good troth, I became over curious to know the capacity of thy sty.  What tidings from my lady’s chamber?”

“A plague on her husband’s humours!  Maude says it were as much as a Jew’s thumb were worth to get thee privily to an audience, but she hath urged my lady to distribute the alms herself to-day; so betake thee to the kitchen; Maude will contrive thou shalt have some token of approach.  St Anthony! but thou hast bestirred thee bravely; such another guest, and I might as well set fire to the whole budget.  If thou be’st bent on such another rummage in the kitchen, the cook will whack thy pate with the spit, holy and hooded though it be.”