dom met to carouse over the happy event. The carousal was prolonged into the night; their lights failed them; and they used the wax of the seals of their deeds of manumission for candles. Their lord, hearing of this, reclaimed them, and the law sustained his claim. In another case, a wealthy farmer, of servile origin, was called upon to pay an exorbitant rent. He refused. The abbot, who was his superior lord, sent a force of men to his house, who broke it open, beat him and his servants, smashed his fences, and carried off as much of his stock as they pleased. The farmer brought an action against the abbot, but the abbot simply pleaded that the man was his nativus, his born serf, and no serf could sue his owner in a court of law. There were hundreds of such cases. Old court rolls were produced with the names of tenants or their ancestors in them as bondmen; if no formal deed could be produced on the other side, the case was at an end. Forgeries were freely made, and . still more freely suspected: legal learning and skill were all on the side of the rich. This was how "the craft of clerks" became hateful to the peasantry, so that among the more ignorant, ability to read and write was regarded as a criminal accomplishment.

The

Of course there was another side to the quarrel between master and bondman. master could make out a good enough case to justify his conscience in pressing for his legal rights. It was he that was the ill-used man in his own eyes; the serf that was ungrateful and unreasonable. It was for the kindness and indulgence of himself and his fathers that he was now made to suffer. In effect, it came to this, that he was like a big brother, who should allow the use of his toys to a younger when he did not want them himself, or when he chanced to be in a generous mood. The day comes when the big brother wants to have them back, and he finds to his anger that a new right of property has been established, and that they are no longer regarded as his. If he tries to reclaim them, bickerings and heart-burnings arise. With children of a larger growth the resentment on both sides is proportionately fierce.

To such outrageous lengths were technical rights, real or spurious, pushed by the lords of the soil, and such pitiless cruelty was used in enforcing them, that the champions of the enraged peasantry saw no hope of relief except in the total abolition of serfdom by the issue of wholesale charters of manumission direct from the king. They still had a touching faith in him as the fountain of justice, the supreme source of law and order. To him they still looked for protection against

pillage and extortion, if only his ear could be disabused of the false persuasions of evil counsellors.

The leaders whom we have seen at work organising combination among the discontented peasants knew the value of a definite demand, the justice of which was widely felt in binding scattered units together. A novel and unpopular tax to which every adult was liable gave them great additional leverage.

The time was now ripe for formulating their demands and supporting them by what is now known in international politics as a "moral demonstration; the demonstration being made in this case not with ironclads, but by a great rising of the poor commons with arms in their hands. It was hoped that the mere show of strength would suffice. That their professions on this head were sincere was abundantly proved by their subsequent conduct.

But first the young king-from whom personally they were to demand emancipation, and of whom they had more hope than of older men hardened in their iniquities-must be clearly informed as to their objects and assured of their loyalty to his person. No show of strength could be made till midsummer, when the days were long and the nights were warm and there was little work to be done in the fields: but meantime the king's mind might be prepared for their demands.

And for this mission John Kirby, who passed under the name of Simon d'Ypres and other aliases, thought of Ralph Hardelot. It was a mission not without danger, as Kirby well knew. But Ralph was of the stuff of which martyrs are made. There was no reason why he should be denied his destiny. At any rate, somebody must be had for the service, and Ralph was at hand.

His liberation from Cambridge Castle was easy enough. It was a simple matter of bribery. With an inconsistency of which perhaps he was not conscious, Kirby did not hesitate to make use of the corruption that it was his aim to uproot. If it did cross his mind that there was any harm in bribing Ralph's gaolers, the end doubtless justified

the means.

into her hands by a beggar as she came out of St. Paul's in the train of the princess. This rude tablet had written on it the single word-FREE.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

RALPH IS HELPED BY THE PRINCESS TO AN AUDIENCE OF THE KING.

FEBRUARY and March had passed, and the warm rains of April had begun before the princess was called upon to redeem her promise to procure an interview with the king. Lawrence Kirby more than once saw Clara, and brought her news of Ralph's welfare. The excuse he gave for the delay was that Ralph had suffered so much from his three months' imprisonment in Cambridge Castle, that it would take him some time to recover his strength. There was another reason, but of this Clara was not informed. Simon d'Ypres was in no hurry. The champions of the commons did not consider it advisable to approach the king too long before the peasants were ready for action.

Meantime in the upper regions the great game of politics went on as keenly as if no interruption were threatened from beneath. If the signs of discontent and subterraneous convulsion were seen, they were not regarded.

The Earl of Buckingham's great expedition into France had proved a disastrous failure. The Duke of Brittany had promised aid, but found at the last moment that his subjects would not follow him. His towns had shut their gates against the allies whom he had invited. Our hold on France had not been strengthened by the King's death.

But other enterprises were on foot. The same wind and tide that brought back Buckingham and part of his discomfited army, brought into the port of Plymouth an ambassador from the king of Portugal, professing great indignation that the heiresses of Don Pedro were kept out of their rights by the King of Castile, and offering, with English co-operation, to win the crown for John of Gaunt.

The unfortunate chancellor smiled grimly over this generous offer as he thought of the ways and means. The collection of the tax for Buckingham's expedition, now a recognised abortion, was not proceeding happily. Two moieties had been due in January. The reception given to the collectors had made him apprehensive of Whitsuntide, when the last moiety fell to be paid. Where was the money to be found for the cherished ambition

and grand adventure of another king's uncle? But of this base embarrassment nothing was visible to Sir John Ferrand, the King of Portugal's ambassador. He and the Earl of Buckingham rode lovingly together from Plymouth to the Court of Westminster, and there for the first fifteen days of April he was royally entertained, and courteously pressed to prolong his stay for the grand celebration of St. George's Day at Windsor.

One day during the Portuguese ambassador's stay at Westminster, the king called at the Wardrobe, where the princess was lodged, and was told that Ralph Hardelot was in waiting to see him. The princess was most unwilling to encourage her son, who was not yet quite fifteen, to do anything without the advice of his appointed guardians and councillors, but she held herself bound by her promise to Clara, and thought no harm could come of giving the young man an opportunity of clearing himself.

Richard looked displeased at first, but catching Clara in the act of stealing an anxious look at his countenance, he turned to her, and began to rally her on another subject. "Ah, Mistress Clara," he said, “I have tidings for you about your doughty husband. He has come back with my uncle of Buckingham, not a scratch the worse, and gone down to Sturmere to settle accounts with his tenants. Three shiploads of good men were cast away and perished on the voyage homeward: pity he was not among them, but Satan is kind to his own. Well, well, if Father Neptune refuses to rid you your encumbrance, we must put our trust in the Pope. I trust, dear madam," he added, turning to his mother, "that Clara's suit to the Holy Father has been more favoured by Fortune than our armies in France?"

of

The boy had a boy's love of teasing. But the princess, seeing Clara's blank dismay, good-naturedly came to the rescue.

"But you will not, my dear son," she said, "reject poor Clara's supplication that you will see her champion?"

"It is not for "But he has

The king turned to Clara. my own sake," she faltered. been slandered to your royal grace.' "Did he not flee from his accusers?" asked the king.

"Not," said the princess, "it appears, till long after you were told that he had fled. And he would not take freedom when it was offered to him, lest flight should look like guilt in your eyes."

This was more fully explained to the king. But still he hesitated and looked uneasy. "What can the traitor say? " he asked petulantly. "He can only deny what the

others have said. However," he added, after a pause, during which Clara felt her heart beating with anxious excitement, "I suppose I must see him."

Haste was made to bring Ralph into his presence. At the sight of him the boy's prepossession in his favour revived. There was little change in Ralph's appearance, except that he looked thinner and his face had a more steadfast expression. He bore himself with courteous humility in the royal presence, but his tall figure still had the lithe, alert carriage of ready strength, and his eyes when he spoke still had the frankness and fearlessness which had won the confidence of the chivalrous boy-king at their first meeting.

The king received him with gracious dignity. "Are you not," he said, "afraid to show your face in our presence?"

"I have no cause, sire," answered Ralph. "I laboured honestly to acquit myself of your majesty's gracious instructions."

"We have heard otherwise," said the king, and was silent and thoughtful for a space. "But it may be," he resumed, "that the movers of the common people are slandered also. Did not the churls say that our proffer of inquiry into their grievances was a trick?"

"Nay, sire," answered Ralph. "On the contrary, they were right joyful of it, and I was myself called for in their assembly as one who had had the honour of hearing your merciful disposition from your own lips, to assure the people that they might trust in your clemency.'

"This is strangely unlike what we heard," said the king, turning to his mother with a perplexed air. "What am I to believe?"

"You should question him farther, dear son," said the princess, meeting his looks of doubt and mistrust with a benign smile.

Richard shook his head and muttered inaudibly to himself. After a pause he asked: "You say they were content to have an inquiry?"

66

They were content, sire," answered Ralph, "but I pray your grace to hold me excused if I say that this would not content them now. It is of this principally that I am charged to speak to you, sire."

"Charged to speak to me," cried the king in surprise. "Do you come then as a commissary from them?" He turned to the princess excitedly. "My gracious mother," he said, "is not this a trick that you have played on me? I understood that it was of himself that this gentleman desired to speak, and now he addresses me as the messenger of discontented subjects whom inquiry will not content."

Before the princess, who was indeed as much surprised as the king himself, could frame a rep'y, Ralph threw himself on his knees.

I pray you, sire, to pardon me if my devotion to your grace and my zeal for the contentment of the realm carry me too far. I do not come as a commissary; I come of my own motive."

This was strictly true; for Simon d'Ypres had so managed that Ralph had volunteered to speak to the King.

"I know these men," Ralph continued, "I know what they feel and what they say among themselves; I know how loyal and true in their hearts they are to you, and how they look to you as they did before to your noble father for comfort and redress; and I beseech you of your grace to hear me."

The king was partly appeased, but still doubtful whether he ought not to terminate the interview. He looked doubtfully towards the princess, and said to her: "If this matter concerns the realm, I ought not to hear it except in the presence of my council." But it was evident from his manner that curiosity was tempting him strongly.

"You can inform your council afterwards," said the princess softly. She also was interested in the ominous statement that mere inquiry would no longer give satisfaction.

"I ought, sire, to say," added Ralph, "that the commons put little trust in your present council."

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Say on, then," said the king hastily. "Tell me plainly what they want.'

Thus authorized, Ralph proceeded in carefully respectful language, and with repeated protestations of the firm loyalty of his clients, to lay before the king a statement of what they considered necessary to the satisfaction of discontent.

It needed all the grace and temperance of speech that Ralph could command to obtain a patient hearing. For the facts were startling enough. It had come to this, that nothing short of the abolition of villeinage and other forms of bondage would suffice.

This was what Ralph had charged himself to make known to the king as best he could; and as he discoursed with respectful gravity of the high duties of rulers set by God over the people to shield the weak against the tyranny of the strong, he was warmed into unconscious eloquence by the answering glow in the eyes of the generous youth.

The seed had not fallen on barren ground; if disinterested youth could have had its way, much bloodshed might have been averted.

OF all the eccentricities of Oriental architecture, few are so remarkable, or have given rise to so much conjecture concerning their origin, as the fantastic pagodas of China and Japan.

Those tall towers, which, like the minarets which tell of the worship of Islam, are landmarks seen from afar, sometimes happily placed on crags or hillocks, but more often rising from the dead level of China's great plains.

But unlike those slender, pillar-like towers, from whose summit the faithful are called to worship, the primary purpose of these pagodas is to act as a relic-shrine, wherein to store some fragment of a Buddhist saint, or some scrap of his clothing; and moreover, they are invariably built in several distinct stories, each with a separate, projecting, and more or less ornamental, overhanging roof and verandah.

Those of which I can speak from personal observation, vary in number from three stories (as at the Temple of Heaven at Peking, Fig. 1) to thirteen, as at the pagoda

of Pa-Li-Chuang, near to Peking, or that at Tung-Chow on the way thither. Five, seven, or nine are, however, much more frequently

seen.

These pagodas are very numerous and of all sizes, from mere miniatures to two hundred feet in height, and a diameter at the base of sixty to seventy feet. In China the majority of these structures are octagonal, and from each corner hangs a small bell which tinkles with every breath of wind (Fig. 2). The general effect, however, is that of a tall circular tower, formed by a series of low structures piled one above the other.

In some cases, but rarely, the pagoda is square, and this is the form which has been copied by the Japanese, and as my first acquaintance with pagodas of this type commenced in Japan, I therein found nothing to suggest the original idea which led to their erection, and which has there been wholly lost sight of.

What that idea was it is now my object

to trace.

All the pagodas I saw in Japan were of much the same type, generally built in five stories, with very fine dark-red woodwork, and harmonious grey tiles, while beneath the

temple wherein is placed the relic-shrine, which, in some cases, is a miniature pagoda. while the walls around are adorned with numerous images of Buddha.

In many cases we find a pagoda erected within the court of a Buddhist temple, as the storehouse of its relics. The honour thus due to Buddha was extended to such of his priests as were most distinguished for their learning and devotion, so that in many cases, pagodas were erected to contain the ashes saved from the funeral pyre.

In later times, however, this primary purpose seems to have been abandoned, and many of the more recent pagodas are said to have been built on the ancient model, but solely with a view to geomantic influences, the tall towers being supposed to have some mysterious effect on that strange, undefinable fung-shui - the mystic spirit of the

FIG. 2.-PAGODA AT PA-LI-CHUANG, NEAR PEKIN. From a Drawing by C. F. GORDON CUMMING.

shadow of each projecting roof are innumerable boldly carved dragons' heads peering from beneath the eaves, and panels of fine wood-carving between the stories. The summit is invariably crowned by an honorific symbol in metal, consisting of nine rings, discs or cupolas as the case may be, piled one above the other (Fig. 3). On further examination, we shall find that these rings and these accumulated roofs are developments of the same original simple emblem.

With regard to the construction of these towers, there are instances in which the pagoda is of solid masonry throughout, but far more frequently it consists of two towers, one within the other, and between them winds a spiral staircase which leads to the summit. In this case, the inner tower is generally divided into as many rooms as there are stories, the lower floor forming the

FIG. 3.-FIVE-STORIED PAGODA WITH NINE RING TEE, AT
YASAKA, JAPAN.
From a Drawing by C. F. GORDON CUMMING.

dragon who rules over wind and water, and who controls all human destinies. Several of the finest nine-storied pagodas in the neighbourhood of Canton have been erected