five famous sons (one, to avenge his murdered brother, is
fighting valiantly in Ireland, hereafter to rule there wisely also,
as Lord Deputy and Baron of Belfast); and he meets at the
gate his cousin of Arlington, and behind him a train of four
daughters and nineteen sons, the last of whom has not yet
passed the Town-hall, while the first is at the Lychgate, who,
laughing, make way for the elder though shorter branch of that
most fruitful tree; and so on into the church, where all are
placed according to their degrees, or at least as near as may
be, not without a few sour looks, and shovings, and whisperings,
from one high-born matron and another; till the churchwardens
and sidesmen, who never had before so goodly a company to
arrange, have bustled themselves hot, and red, and frantic, and
end by imploring abjectly the help of the great Sir Richard
himself to tell them who everybody is, and which is the elder
branch, and which is the younger, and who carries eight
quarterings in their arms, and who only four, and so prevent
their setting at deadly feud half the fine ladies of North
Devon; for the old men are all safe packed away in the cor-
poration pews, and the young ones care only to get a place
whence they may eye the ladies. And at last there is a silence,
and a looking toward the door, and then distant music, flutes
and hautboys, drums and trumpets, which come braying, and
screaming, and thundering merrily up to the very church doors,
and then cease; and the churchwardens and sidesmen bustle
down to the entrance, rods in hand, and there is a general
whisper and rustle, not without glad tears and blessings from
many a woman, and from some men also, as the wonder of the
day enters, and the rector begins, not the morning service, but
the good old thanksgiving after a victory at sea.

And what is it which has thus sent old Bideford wild
with that "goodly joy and pious mirth," of which we now only
retain traditions in our translation of the Psalms? Why are
all eyes fixed, with greedy admiration, on those four weather-
beaten mariners, decked out with knots and ribbons by loving
hands; and yet more on that gigantic figure who walks before
them, a beardless boy, and yet with the frame and stature of
a Hercules, towering, like Saul of old, a head and shoulders
above all the congregation, with his golden locks flowing down
over his shoulders? And why, as the five go instinctively up
to the altar, and there fall on their knees before the rails, are
all eyes turned to the pew where Mrs. Leigh of Burrough has
hid her face between her hands, and her hood rustles and

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