was the son of a Stamford mayor. Another famous clergyman of the place, a Mr. Johnson, of the Spalding Johnsons, was the founder of Oakham and Uppingham grammar schools, twins of curiously different growth; and I must not omit the reverend antiquary to whom the history of the town owes so much, the learned Peck, who was born here in 1692. modern literature may care to be told that the town has also the credit of producing Sir Hudson Lowe. But none of these worthies can compete in glory with the great Daniel Lambert, whose monument at the back of St. Martin's Church is thus inscribed:

Readers of the most

In remembrance of that prodigy in nature DANIEL LAMBERT, a native of Leicester, who was possessed of an excellent and convivial mind, and in personal greatness he had no competitor. He measured three feet one inch round the legs, nine feet four inches round the body, and weighed fifty-two stone, eleven pounds. He departed this life on June 21, 1809, aged 39 years. As a testimony of respect, this stone is erected by his friends in Leicestershire.

N.B. The stone of 14 lbs.

The reader shall form his own conclusions as to the significance of the final statement.

One of the most interesting things in the records preserved by the Rev. Mr. Forster, one of the earliest of the long line of Stamford antiquaries, is a curious case of healing, performed upon the body of one Samuel Wallis by a stranger. The relation, written down by Wallis's own hand, is (somewhat condensed) as follows:

First of all, my sickness was a surfeit taken by carrying in of two loade of wood into my own yarde upon our greengoose faire day; it was in the year of our Lord 1645, & the day was very hot, so I tooke in hand for to carry it in my self. And when I found my self very hott, & weary, & dry, I went into the house, & dranke, & all unbrased, I layd me downe upon the grasse: And this I did at the least a half-dozen times before I had carryed it all in. At the last when I had carryed it all in, I thought myself to be very well, but only I was very hott. But in that night I fell very sick, so that many said, I should not live. So I continued very bad. But at length it turned to a feaver, & the extremity of the feaver brought me to a deep consumption. Yet I wrought of my trade for the space of four years a little ; & then I grew so weak, that I could not maintain my trade any longer. . . . Then I lay in bed for the space of two whole years, except the time of my bed making, sometime about an hour when I found myself in my best ease.

Upon Whitson Sunday, about six o'clock in the afternoon, after evening sermon, being but newly up, the woman that keept me had made me a fire, & was gone forth & had shut to the doores. And as I came from my bed by the way in the window, there I tooke a paire of spectacles, & a little booke (the booke is called, Abrahams sute for Sodom') & I read about the space of halfe an hour; then I hard one rap at the doore, so I supposed it for to be a stranger because they came not in, & being that it was the Sabbath day. So, being that the doore was shut, I was constrained for to go my self. So I laide down the booke.

So I tooke my stick in my hand &, by the wall with my other hand, I went to the doore; which I had not been so far of two years before. And when I had opened the doore, there I did behold a fine, proper, tall, grave, old man.

He said, friend, I pray thee, give an old pilgrim a cup of thy small beer. I said, Sir I pray you come in. He said, friend, call me not Sir, for I am no sir; but come in I must, for I cannot pass thy doore, before I doe come in. I said, Sir, I pray you, come in & welcome; for indeed I had thought he had been so dry, that he could not passe the doore before he had drunk: therefore thus did I expect. So we both came in together, & left the doors both open. So with my stick in one hand & by the wall with my other, I went and drew him a cup of small beer; & I gave it him in his hand, & full glad was I to sit me down. So he walked twice or thrice to & fro, & then dranke, & thus did he walk to & fro three times, before that he had drank it all off. And then he came, & set the cup in the window by me. Then I thought that he had been going, but he was not. So he walked to & fro as he did before. All this while he said nothing to me, nor I to him. Then when he came almost at me, he said, Friend, thou art not well. I said, no, truly, Sir, I have not been well these many years. He said, what is thy disease; I said, in a deep consumption, Sir, & our doctors saie I am past cure. He said, in that they say very well. But what have they given thee for it? I said, truly, sir, nothing, for I am a very poor man, & unable to follow Doctors advice; so I willingly commit my self into the hands of the Almighty God: whatever his will is I am very well content. In that, said he, thou saiest very well; but I will tell thee what to do by the help and power of the Almighty God above; I pray thee remember my words & observe them & do it. But, whatsoever thou doest, above all things, fear God & serve him.

To-morrow, when thou risest, go into thy garden, & there gather two red sage leaves & one bloudwort leaf, & put these three leaves into a cup of small beer, & let them lye in the cup the space of three day together; drinke as oft as need require, & when thou hast drunke it all off, fill the cup againe. But the forth day in the morning cast them away & put in three fresh leaves. And this do every fourth day for 12 daies together, neither more nor less. Therefore I pray thee remember my words, & observe them & do it; but how soever thou doest, above all things fear God & serve him. And for the space of these 12 dayes, thou must drink neither ale nor strong beer: yet afterwards thou maist, a little: & thou shalt see through the goodness & mercy of God unto thee, that before these 12 dayes be forth, thy disease will be cur'd, & thy body alter'd. But, said he, this is not all, for thou must change the air for thy health. Thou must go three, four, or five miles off, but if it be twenty miles off the better: & then thou must continue in the fresh air for the space of a whole month. Therefore I pray thee remember my words which I say unto thee, & observe them, & do it but howsoever thou doest, above all things fear God & serve him. Now, friend, said he, I must be going.

But he stopped on the threshold to repeat his admonition; and Samuel Wallis respected it and was cured. The famous Presbyterian divine, Mr. Samuel Clerk, in his 'Examples' tells us 'that this affair being noised abroad, divers ministers met together at Stamford to consider and consult about it; and for many reasons were induced to believe that this cure was wrought by the ministry of a good angel.'

URBANUS SYLVAN.

COUNT HANNIBAL

BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN.

CHAPTER I.

CRIMSON FAVOURS.

M. DE TAVANNES smiled. Mademoiselle averted her eyes, and shivered; as if the air, even of that close summer night, entering by the door at her elbow, chilled her. And then came a welcome interruption.

'Tavannes!'
'Sire!'

Count Hannibal rose slowly. The King had called; he had no choice but to obey and go. Yet he hung one last moment over his companion, his hateful breath stirring her hair. Our pleasure is too soon cut short, Mademoiselle,' he said, in the tone she loathed. But for a few hours only. We shall meet to-morrow. Or, it may be-earlier.'

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She did not answer, and Tavannes!' the King repeated with violence. Tavannes! Mordieu!' his Majesty continued furiously. 'Will no one fetch him? Sacré nom, am I King, or a dog of a—'

Sire, I come!' the Vicomte cried hastily, for Charles, King of France, Ninth of the name, was none of the most patient; and scarce another in the Court would have ventured to keep him waiting so long. 'I come, sire; I come!' Tavannes repeated.

He shouldered his way through the circle of courtiers, who barred the road to the presence, and in part hid Mademoiselle from observation. He pushed past the table at which Charles and the Comte de Rochefoucauld had been playing primero, and at which the latter still sat, trifling idly with the cards. Three more paces, and he reached the King, who stood in the ruelle

1 Copyright, 1901, by Stanley J. Weyman, in the United States of America. VOL. X.-NO. 55, N.S.

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with Rambouillet and the Italian Marshal. It was the latter who, a moment before, had summoned his Majesty from his game.

Mademoiselle, watching him go, saw so much; so much, and the King's roving eyes and haggard face, and the four figures, posed apart in the fuller light of the upper half of the Chamber. Then the circle of courtiers came together before her, and she sat back on her stool. A fluttering, long-drawn sigh escaped her. Now, if she could slip out and escape! Now-and she looked round. She was not far from the door; to withdraw seemed easy. But a staring, whispering knot of gentlemen and pages blocked the way; and the girl, ignorant of the etiquette of the Court and with no more than a week's experience of Paris, had not the courage to rise and pass alone through the group.

She had come to the Louvre this Saturday evening under the wing of Madame d'Yverne, her fiancé's cousin. By ill hap Madame had been summoned to the Princess Dowager's closet, and perforce had left her. Still, Mademoiselle had her betrothed, and in his charge had sat herself down to wait, nothing loth, in the great gallery, where all was bustle and gaiety and entertainment. For this, the seventh day of the fêtes, held to celebrate the marriage of the King of Navarre and Charles's sister-a marriage which was to reconcile the two factions of the Huguenots and the Catholics, so long at war-saw the Louvre as gay, as full, and as lively as the first of the fête days had found it; and in the humours of the throng, in the ceaseless passage of masks and maids of honour, guards and bishops, Swiss in the black, white and green of Anjou, and Huguenot nobles in more sombre habits, the country-bred girl had found recreation and to spare. Until gradually the evening had worn away and she had grown nervous; and M. de Tignonville, her betrothed, placing her in the embrasure of a window, had gone to seek Madame.

She had waited after his departure without much misgiving; expecting each moment to see him return. He would be back before she could count a hundred; he would be back before she could number the leagues that separated her from her beloved province, from her home by the Biscay Sea, to which even in that brilliant scene her thoughts turned fondly. But the minutes had passed, and passed, and he had not returned. Worse, in his place Tavannes-not the Marshal, but his brother Count Hannibal-had found her; he, whose odious court, at once a

menace and an insult, had subtly enveloped her for a week past. He had sat down beside her, had taken possession of her, and, profiting by her inexperience, had played on her fears and smiled at her dislike. Finally, whether she would or no, he had swept her with him into the Chamber. The rest had been an obsession, a nightmare, from which only the King's voice summoning Tavannes to his side had relieved her.

The question was how to escape before he returned, and before another, seeing her alone, adopted his role and was rude to her. Already the courtiers about her were beginning to stare, the pages to turn and titter and whisper. Direct her gaze as she might, she met some eye watching her, some couple enjoying her confusion. To make matters worse, she discovered on a sudden that she was the only woman in the Chamber; perhaps she had no right to be there at this hour. At the thought her cheeks burned, her eyes dropped; the room seemed to buzz with her name, with gross words and jests, and gibes at her expense.

At last, when the situation was growing unbearable, the group before the door parted, and Tignonville appeared. The girl rose with a cry of relief, and he came to her. The courtiers glanced at the two and smiled.

He did not conceal his astonishment. But, Mademoiselle, how came you here?' he asked in a low voice. He was as conscious of the attention they attracted as she, and as uncertain on the point of her right to be there. I left you in the gallery. I came back, missed you, and

Take

She stopped him by a gesture. 'Not here!' she muttered, with suppressed impatience. 'I will tell you outside. me-take me out, if you please, Monsieur!'

He was as glad to be gone as she was to go. The group by the doorway parted; she passed through it, he followed. In a moment the two stood in the great gallery. The crowd who had paraded here an hour before were gone, and the vast echoing apartment, used at that date as a guard-room, was well-nigh empty. Only at rare intervals, in the embrasure of a window or the recess of a door, a couple talked softly. At the farther end, at the head of the staircase which led to the hall below, and the courtyard, a group of armed Swiss lounged on guard. Mademoiselle shót a keen glance up and down, then she turned to her lover, her face hot with indignation.