THE HAWKERS.

OR THE LADY ISABEL.

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BY D. MAXWELL.

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It was a merry day in Torbay castle. Never had a brighter sun shone on a fair lady than that which now poured its mellow beams over the gay hawking party assembled in the court yard,—while, as if all were exhilarated by the unclouded sky above, shouts, jests, and sallies, sly compliments and merry laughter saluted the ear on every hand. There was the ringing of bridles, the champing of bits, the barking of dogs, the shouts of serving men, the orders of the falconers, the low whispers of gay gallants, or the half suppressed laughter of a bevy of merry young girls, making altogether a concord of sounds, strange and yet somewhat sweet, and not a little in unison with the old grim walls around and the bracing character of the morning. Foremost in the group, and directly under the massy archway of the gate, stood a rugged old falconer, who looked as if he might have been an appanage of the castle from the time of the conqueror, sustaining several casts of toure and leses of hawks, hooded and ready for the field. To his right was the favorite page of the mistress of the castle, holding the white palfrey of the Lady Isabel, the only daughter of the Earl. A few dogs lay about awaiting the setting forth of the cavalcade. In the rear the hawking party was assembled in what seemed at first a promiscuous group, but it would have been found on a closer examination, that the younger cavaliers had each placed himself as near to his lady’s bridle as possible, while the older sportsmen were drawn apart by themselves, eagerly canvassing the chances of the day’s sport.