χαριεσσα δ’ ἠ πεφηνε, κ. τ. λ.
Patrick O’Connor.
Port St. Dermid, near Ballinocrasy,
December 28, 1820.
[Note.—The Greek Version, to which this paper was written as a preface, was the composition of the late John Louis Petit, subsequently Vicar of Uplands, Shifnal, Salop.]
THE KNIGHT AND THE KNAVE.
AΝ OLD ENGLISH TALE.
“Reginald!” said the old Baron. It is striking, and fashionable, and classical, to hurry my reader thus in medias res; else it had been my duty to have informed him that the dramatis personæ whom he finds upon the scene are the son and grandson of the redoubted Hugh d’Arennes, who did good service by the Conqueror’s side at the field of Hastings. In common with the distinguished chiefs of William’s army, he had received large grants of land, which his enterprising spirit, and his interest with the monarch and his successor, had tended to augment. His heir, however, the present head of the illustrious family, had rather studied the security than the aggrandizement of his possessions, and had grown to a green old age in retirement and seclusion, as far as was compatible with his high rank and exalted situation. The younger speaker of the colloquy was of a character, the description of which may be dismissed as easily. Not having been obliged, like the other young men of his time, to take an active part in the divisions which agitated the period of the reign of the second Henry, Reginald had not acquired the firm and energetic tone of[Pg 98] mind by which the sons of the nobility were distinguished. He had been accustomed to shape his conduct, in the most trifling concerns, according to the advice and judgment of his father; and consequently, when deprived for a short period of his monitor, seemed utterly incapable of thinking seriously, or rather seemed to have made a religious vow against thinking at all. This hopeful descendant of the noble Sir Hugh had arrived at the age of twenty, was possessed of a listless, yet handsome, set of features; a careless, yet commanding figure; a true English head at the cup, and a true English hand at the quarrel. And now, having gone through the interruption, which ought to have been the introduction, let us proceed.
“Reginald!” said the old Baron, with a slight inclination of the head, which he was in the habit of using when he wished to throw dignity into his admonitions.
“Ears hear thee,” said the son, without stirring from the huge oaken table upon which, after the fatigues of the chase, he was reclining.
“I have ordered that we should be alone, my son,” said the old man, “because I have to discourse to thee a matter which deeply and nearly concerns thy welfare. Pour for thy father, Reginald.”