BARREN HONOUR1



healthy voices broke in. Those two ac-
clamations differ from each other more
strikingly than does the full round shout
of a Highland regiment " doubling" to
charge, from the hoarse, cracked " hour-
ra" of a squadron of Don Cossacks.
  With these dispositions, you may con-
ceive that, albeit Newmanham rather
covets land as an investment (they make
very fair and not unkindly seigneur,
those Novi homines), she cherishes little
love or respect for the landed interest,
its representatives, and traditions. Yet,
when a brother magnate from Tarenton
or New Byrsa comes to visit one of these
mighty burghers, to what object of inte-
rest does the host invariably first direct
the attention of his honored guest De-
ferring to another day the inspection of
his own factory, and of all other town
wonders, he orders round the gorgeous
barouche, with the high-stepping greys,
overlaid with as much precious metal as
the Beautiful Gate, and takes the stran-
ger fifteen miles away, to view the de-
mesne which, through the vicissitudes
of six centuries, has been the abiding-
place of the Vavasours of Dene.
  The house is not so ancient, nor does
it stand on the site of the old Castle.
All that would burn of that crumbled
down in a whirlwind of flame, one black
winter's night during the Wars of the
Roses. There had long been a feud
between the Vavasours and a neigrhbor-
ing family nearly as powerful and over-
bearing. Sir Hugh Mauleverer was a
shrewd, provident man, and cool even in
his desperation. When he saw signs of
the tide turning against Lancaster, he
determined to settle one score, at least,
before he went to the wall. So, on New-
Year's eve, when the 'drinking was deep,
and they kept careless watch at Dene
Castle, the Lancastrians came down in
force, and made their way almost into
the banqueting hall unopposed. Then
there was a struggle-short, but very
sharp. The retainers of the Vavasour,
though taken by surprise, were all fully
armed, and, partly from fidelity, partly
because they feared their stern master
more than any power of heaven or hell,
partly because they had no other chance,
fought like mad wild cats. However,



three to one are heavy odds. All his
four sons had gone down before him,
and not a dozen men were left at his
back, when Simon Vavasour struck his
last blow. It was a good, honest, bitter
blow, well meant and well delivered, for
it went through steel and bone so deep
into Hugh Mauleverer's brain that his
slayer could not draw out the blade;
the grey old wolf never stirred a finger
after that to help himself, and never ut-
tered a sound, except one low, savage
laugh as they hewed him in pieces on
his own hearth-stone. XVhen the slaugh-
ter was over, the sack, of course, began,
but the young Mauleverer, though heated
by the fight, and somewhat discomposed
by his father's death, could not forget the
courtesy and charity on which he rather
prided himself. So, when every living
thing that had down on its lip was put
out of pain, he would not suffer the wo-
men and children to be outraged or tor-
tured, magnanimously dismissing them
to wander where they would into the
wild weather, with the flames of Dene
Castle to light them on their way. Most
of them perished before daybreak; but
one child, a grandson of the baron's, was
saved at the price of its mother's life.
She stripped herself of nearly her last
garment to cover the heir of her house,
and kissed him once as she gave him to
the strongest of the women to carry, and
then lay down wearily in the snow-drift
to die.
  When Walter Vavasour came to man-
hood, the House of York was firm on
the throne, and another manor or two
rewarded his family for what it had suf-
fered in their cause. He commenced
building on the site of the present man-
sion; but it was reserved for his grand-
son (who married one of the greatest
heiresses at the court of Henry VIII.)
to complete the stately edifice as it now
stands, at the cost of all his wife's for-
tune, and a good part of his own.
  There are more dangerous follies thanL
a building mania; and perhaps it would
have been well for Fulke Vavasour if he
had ruined himself more utterly in its
indulgence. Poveity might have kept
him out of worse scrapes. If he resem-
bled his portrait, his personal beauty



21