In the latter part of the fourteenth century, an incident occurred in the family of the Earl of Suffolk, which affords a curious illustration of old manners in England.  We shall follow the account of the circumstance, given in a manuscript in the British Museum.

Sir Michel Poole, second Earl of Suffolk, had several sons and daughters.  First was Mighell, son and heir; then William, second son; and afterwards ten additional olive branches, of diverse names and both sexes—­all of whom, however, died, and went down unmarried to the cold tomb.  Some fell off like nipped blossoms in their infancy; convents and wars absorbed the rest, till only the eldest two were left of all that numerous family to perpetuate the name of Poole, and raise the fortunes of the race.  In due course of time, Sir Mighell married Elizabeth, daughter of the right noble knight, Thomas Duke of Norfolk; and these together had two children, Jane and Katharine, but, alas! no son.  Years passed on, and the hope of an heir was at an end; but before that hope was quite laid aside, the tragedy of the house began.

Jane, as yet heiress and darling, a round, bright, wilful cherub, beautiful and loving, but mighty in her passionate force, and indomitable in her infant will, beyond all power of control—­the one most cared for, and on whom was anchored such a rich argosy of hopes and first fond love—­was one day given into the safe keeping of Maud, a young serving-girl, a rough, untutored peasant-girl, who was one of the underwomen to the bower-maidens.  The king was coming to the castle that night, and every female finger that could work was employed on the last stitches of a dainty tapestry-bed, which was to receive His Majesty as became his lordly dignity.  Even the mother’s care must give way to the housewife’s duty; even love must yield to loyalty.

Left alone in an upper apartment with her young charge, Maud became weary of confinement, and resolved at all hazards to descend to the great hall, and have her share of the general amusement.  Down, accordingly, she went.  Jane, of course, accompanied her, and, contrary to orders, was allowed to romp about at pleasure.  The day was cold, and the fire burned brightly in the open hearth.  Nearer and nearer the little one crept to the blazing logs, watching the sparks fly up in a golden shower when the crackling masses fell to the ground, or when some rough soldier struck them with his mailed hand.  No one looked to her while she played by the open hearth, and tried to seize the vivid sparks; once only, a trooper caught her roughly back; but again she stole towards the great blazing logs, and this time she was less fortunate.  Suddenly, a cry was heard.  Jane’s clothes were in flames.  Maud extinguished them as she best could.  She crushed the burning with her hands in such haste as she might make; but, alas! to what a wreck had the fire reduced the child!  Her long fair hair was withered to its roots; her