"Well spoken, my Reverend Sir, like a peaceful gownsman, and quite becoming the doctrine of that Gospel of which thou art a sacred minister. But as for me, I like the din of battle, the neighing of the noble war-horse, and the battle-stirring trumpet's brazen voice, the groan of death, where contending squadrons commingle in the dreadful shock, chorused by the cheering shout of victory."
The Colonel had just, in an emphatic tone of voice, twice shouted "victory!" and had fiercely made another gallant attack upon the Malines ham, when the door of the apartment was rudely opened, and entered by a party of Gen d'Armes, who immediately proceeded to arrest them as prisoners of war, on suspicion of being spies; and after a short interval they both were led off and escorted to prison, where, attended by the Colonel's servant, for the present we needs must leave them, however reluctant, in durance vile.
The above Chapter, unquestionably in unison both with the history and chronology of our Tale, should indeed occupy a much more remote station in this our Romance of the days of superstition; but as we felt and considered it of importance, and besides imping too our flight with some portion of epic boldness, we have nobly dared and adventured to dash at once "in medias res;" in the pursuance of which truly magnanimous determination, courteous reader, we shall tell thee fair and softly, yet in candour, that we shall necessarily be obliged (if thou wilt so graciously permit us) to make some retrograde motions in the subsequent chapters.
But, gentle reader, if thou wilt deign to recollect, that once a year even mighty Sol himself, beneath Cancer, the influential sign of the summer solstice, becomes retrograde. When thus we plead such high authority thou wilt not perhaps deny an extension of the same privilege, albeit to a disk, small and insignificant even as ours, undiscernible by the eye of a Brinkley or a Herschell![6]
Permit us then, kind and patient reader, to retrace our steps and story to the early part of this our notable history; then shalt thou learn the birth of our interesting heroine, and become acquainted with personages, characters, and events, connected with our Tale, which we trust thou mayst find to be withal not unpalatable to thy taste; for which favour, and all retrogressions, and progressions, and egressions, (we hope no transgressions!) thanks and health to thee, mild and patient reader! We laud thee for thy gentle forbearance and good humour in having accompanied us thus far in this our long peregrination; wishing, courteous reader, that thou couldst bestow on us the "plaudite" of old Plautus, but without his valete, as we shall meet anon!
CHAPTER II.
Still in the vale the village bells ring round, Still in Tyrconnel hall the jests resound; For now the caudle-cup is circling there, Now glad at heart the gossips breathe their prayer, And crowding, stop the cradle to admire The babe.
Human Life.
The lovely Adelaide Raymond, the heroine of our Tale, was the only child of Raymond Duke of Tyrconnel. An old prophecy or tradition had immemorially prevailed, that what time a raven should build her nest in the ducal coronet which decorated the summit of the loftiest pavilion-tower of the castle, a male heir, upon this event, should then be wanting to the noble house of Tyrconnel. And this sad occurrence, so deprecated by the dark and credulous terror and tenor of those superstitious times, actually occurred some months previous to Adelaide's birth: a raven had then built her nest within the ducal coronet; and a few posts after brought an account that Lord Richard Raymond, the Duke's only brother, had been killed in a duel at Paris. From this partial fulfilment of the augury the Duke's dependants were filled with the melancholy forebodings that the Duchess, expiring during the pains of parturition, should give birth either to a still-born, or a female infant.