THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE.

Of Sir John Bolle, of Thorpe Hall, in Lincolnshire, who distinguished himself at Cadiz, in 1596, tradition records a romantic story.

Among the prisoners taken at that memorable siege, one fair captive of great beauty, high rank, and immense wealth, was the peculiar charge of our gallant knight, and, as customary in such interesting situations, became deeply enamoured of her chivalrous captor, so much so, that she proposed accompanying him to England as his page. Faithful, however, to his conjugal vows, Sir John rejected the lady's suit, who in consequence retired to a convent, having previously transmitted to her unconscious rival in England her jewels, and other ornaments of value, including her own portrait drawn in greena circumstance which obtained for the original, in the neighbourhood of Thorpe Hall, the designation of the "Green Lady”—and still, according to the superstition of successive generations, that seat is deemed haunted by the lady in green, "who is wont," says the credulous historian, "nightly to take her station beneath a particular tree close to the mansion." It is also stated, that during the life of Sir John's son, Sir Charles Bolle, a knife and fork were laid for her especial use, should she feel disposed to take her place at the festive board. The attachment of the Green Lady gave rise to a

curious ballad, written about this period, entitled, "The Spanish Lady's Love for an Englishman," a beautiful edition of which has recently been illustrated by Lady Dalmeny.

The following version is taken from Dr. Percy's "Relics of Ancient English Poetry:"

"Gallant Captain, show some pity

To a ladye in distresse;
Leave me not within this city,

For to dye in heavinesse :

Thou hast this present day my body free,
But my heart in prison still remains with thee."

"How shouldst thou, fair lady, love me,
Whom thou knowest thy country's foe?
Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee:
Serpents lie where flowers grow."

"All the harme I wish to thee, most courteous knight,
God grant the same upon my head may fully light.

"Blessed be the time and season

That you came to Spanish ground;
If our foes you may be termed,

Gentle foes we have you found:

With our city, you have won our hearts eche one,
Then to your country bear away that is your owne."

"Rest you still, most gallant lady;
Rest you still, and weep no more;
Of fair lovers there is plenty,

Spain doth yield a plenteous store." "Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.

"Leave me not unto a Spaniard,

You alone enjoy my heart;

I am lovely, young, and tender,

Love is likewise my desert:

Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest,
The wife of every Englishman is counted blest."

"It wold be a shame, fair lady, For to bear a woman hence, English soldiers never carry

Any such without offence."

"I'll quickly change myself, if it be so,

And like a page I'll follow thee, where'er thou go."

"I have neither gold nor silver
To maintain thee in this case;

And to travel is great charges,

As you know, in every place."

"My chains and jewels every one shall be thy own,

And eke five hundred pounds in gold that lies unknown."

"On the seas are many dangers,

Many storms do there arise;

Which will be to ladies dreadful,

And force tears from watery eyes.”

66 Well, in troth, I shall endure extremity,

For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee."

"Courteous lady, leave this fancy,

Here comes all that breeds the strife;

I in England have already

A sweet woman to my wife :

I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain,

Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

“O, how happy is that woman That enjoys so true a friend! Many happy days God send her!—

Of my suit I make an end.

On my knees I pardon crave for my offence,

Which did from love and true affection first commence.

Commend me to thy lovely lady,

Bear to her this chain of gold; And these bracelets for a token;

Grieving that I was so bold;

All my jewells in like sort take thou with thee,
For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.

"I will spend my days in prayer,

Love and all her laws defye; In a nunnery will I shroud me,

Far from any companye :

But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this,
To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.

"Thus farewell, most gallant Captain! Farewell, too, my heart's content! Count not Spanish ladies wanton,

Though to thee my love was bent:

Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee:"
"The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladie."

THE PRINCELY CHANDOS.

How loved, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;

A heap of dust alone remains of thee,

'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be.

WERE you ever, gentle reader, at the roadside village of Edgeware? It is a pretty rural spot, not more than eight miles from London, closely adjoining rich Hertfordshire, with its green and shady lanes, its sunny meads, and its luxuriant homes. In that favoured vicinage, on a plain now verdant, and "smiling in scorn,"

There stood a structure of majestic frame,

Which from the neighbouring Canons took its name:

a palace of such gorgeous magnificence, that it seemed suited rather to the prince than the subject. All that wealth, taste, and pride could collect together were here assembled; the most eminent architects had been employed in its construction; artists came from Italy to adorn its walls; and costly marble formed the pillars and the ornaments. Such was the abode of James Brydges, Duke of Chandos-a nobleman whose unbounded magnificence, lavish expenditure, and overweening vanity, obtained for him the designation of "princely." He was the representative of the old