should have found him. After long wandering, Cador discovered his friend in the hermitage, reduced almost to a skeleton, and apparently near his death. All other means of relief having already been tried in vain, Cador at last prevailed on the enchanter Eliaures to disclose the only method which could avail for his rescue. A maiden must be found, his equal in birth and beauty, and loving him better than herself, so that she would expose herself to the same torment to deliver him. Two vessels were then to be provided, the one filled with sour wine and the other with milk. Caradoc must enter the first, so that the wine should reach his neck, and the maiden must get into the other, and, exposing her bosom upon the edge of the vessel, invite the serpent to forsake the withered flesh of his victim for this fresh and inviting food. The vessels were to be placed three feet apart, and as the serpent crossed from one to the other a knight was to cut him in two. If he failed in his blow, Caradoc, would indeed be delivered, but it would only be to see his fair champion suffering the same cruel and hopeless torment. The sequel may be easily foreseen. Guimier willingly exposed herself to the perilous adventure, and Cador, with a lucky blow, killed the serpent. The arm, in which Caradoc had suffered so long, recovered its strength, but not its shape, in consequence of which he was called Caradoc Briefbras, Caradoc of the Shrunken Arm.

Caradoc and Guimier are the hero and heroine of the ballad of the Boy and the Mantle, which follows.

THE BOY AND THE MANTLE.

             In Carlisle dwelt King Arthur,

               A prince of passing might,

             And there maintained his Table

               Beset with many a knight.

             And there he kept his Christmas,

               With mirth and princely cheer,

             When lo! a strange and cunning boy

               Before him did appear.

             A kirtle and a mantle

               This boy had him upon,

             With brooches, rings, and ouches,

               Full daintily bedone.

             He had a sash of silk.

               About his middle meet;

             And thus with seemly curtesie

               He did King Arthur greet:

             'God speed thee, brave King Arthur,

               Thus feasting in thy bower,

             And Guenever, thy goodly queen,

               That fair and peerless flower.

             'Ye gallant lords and lordlings,

               I wish you all take heed,

             Lest what ye deem a blooming rose

               Should prove a cankered weed.'

             Then straightway from his bosom

               A little wand he drew;

             And with it eke a mantle,

               Of wondrous shape and hue.

             'Now have thou here, King Arthur,

               Have this here of me,

             And give unto thy comely queen,

               All shapen as you see.

             'No wife it shall become,

               That once hath been to blame.'

             Then every knight in Arthur's court

               Sly glanced at his dame.

             And first came Lady Guenever,

               The mantle she must try.

             This dame she was new- fangled*

               And of a roving eye.

             When she had taken the mantle,

               And all with it was clad,

             From top to toe it shivered down,

               As though with shears beshred.

             One while it was too long,

               Another while too short,

             And wrinkled on the shoulders,

               In most unseemly sort.

             Now green, now red it seemed,

               Then all of sable hue;

             'Beshrew me,' quoth King Arthur,

               'I think thou be'st not true!'

             Down she threw the mantle,

               No longer would she stay;

             But, storming like a fury,

               To her chamber flung away.

             She cursed the rascal weaver,

               That had the mantle wrought;

             And doubly cursed the froward imp

               Who thither had it brought.

             'I had rather live in deserts,

               Beneath the greenwood tree,

             Than here, base king, among thy grooms,

               The sport of them and thee.'

             Sir Kay called forth his lady,

               And bade her to come near:

             'Yet, dame, if thou be guilty,

               I pray thee now forbear.'

             This lady, pertly giggling,

               With forward step came on,

             And boldly to the little boy

               With fearless face is gone.

             When she had taken the mantle,

               With purpose for to wear,

             It shrunk up to her shoulder,

               And left her back all bare.

             Then every merry knight,

               That was in Arthur's court,

             Gibed and laughed and flouted,

               To see that pleasant sport.

             Down she threw the mantle,

               No longer bold or gay,

             But, with a face all pale and wan,

               To her chamber slunk away.

             Then forth came an old knight

               A- pattering o'er his creed,

             And proffered to the little boy

               Five nobles to his meed:

             'And all the time of Christmas

               Plum-

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