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jailers, for they "put him to the question,"
i.e., tortured him. Their method of extracting
evidence from an unwilling witness was diabolically
clever in its cruelty. The process is thus
described by the sufferer: "Thrice had I ye
strapado, hoisted vp backward with my hands
bound behinde me, which strooke all the ioynts
in my armes out of ioynt, and then constrained
me to drinke salt water and quick lime, and
then fine Lawne or Callico thrust down my
throate and pluckt vp againe ready to pluck
my hart out of my belly " (Webbe is weak in
physiology) "al to make me confesse that I was
an English spie. After this, there were four
bard horses prepared to quarter me, and I was
still threatened to die except I would confesse
some thing to my harme." All their tortures
proved unavailing with the stout Englishman,
who "endured seven months in this miserie,"
but, as before among the Mahommedans, now
among the Christians, his knowledge of artillery
proved of service, and he was employed in "a
gunners Roome, at a salary of 35 crowns a
month." Pining still for his native country,
Webbe took advantage of the sailing of three
English vessels homeward bound, and escaped
in the Grace of London, by the help of Nicholas
Nottingham, master. "Thus," he writes, "came
I into England with great joy and hearts delight,
both to myselfe and all my acquaintance."

He mentions with grateful acknowledgment,
in reference to his liberation from slavery at
Constantinople, the bounty of the citizens of
London, who appear to have given liberally of
their means towards the ransom of captives.
Passing allusion is also made to the steadfast
piety of the slaves, which enabled them to
resist, as well the allurements of their
proselytising masters, as the tortures to which
they were subjected for refusing to abandon
the cross for the crescent. Webbe says of
himself, with unsophisticated sincerity, touching in
its earnestness, "Though I were but a simple
man void of learning, yet stil I had in remembraunce
that Christ dyed for me as appeareth
by the Holy Scriptures, and that Christ therein
saith: He that denyelh me before men I will deny
him before my father which is in heauen: and
again he saith, Whosoever beleiueth on me shall be
saued and haue life euerlasting. This comfort
made me resolute, that I would rather suffer al
the torments of death in the worlde, then to
deny my Saviour and Redeemer Christ lesus."

Webbe spent six months in England visiting
his friends, and then his restless spirit prompted
him again to venture abroad. He passed into
France, where he took service with Henry of
Navarre, who was then at war with the League.
This prince gave the English adventurer the
appointment of "chiefe maister gunner in the
fielde;" and in this capacity Webbe saw "the
white plume shine," at the famous battle of
Ivry, where he informs us, "I gave three
charges vppon the enemie, and they in steede
thereof, gave va fifteen shot, and yet God be
thanked prevailed not against vs." The field
was very hard fought, and the gunners had
their full share of the work. "There," the
narrator states, "were wee constrained to make
bulwarkes of the dead bodies of our enemies
and of the carcasses of dead horses; where for
my paines taking that day the king greatlye
commended me and honourably rewarded me."
The favour in which the soldier of fortune was
held at court aroused the jealousy of the French
artillery officers. "These lewde gunners,"
Webbe says in his quaint way, "practised
against me, and gave me poyson in drinke that
night; which thing when the king vnderstoode
he gaue order to the gouernor of Deepe, that
his phisition should presently see vnto me,
who gaue me speadely unicorn's horne to drinke,
and then by God and the king's great goodnesse,
I was againe restored to my former
health." This is the last event in his personal
experiences which Webbe records. And now,
after an interval of nearly three hundred years,
the curious autobiography is revived by Mr.
Edward Arber, in the interesting series of
English reprints, which he edits with much
care. Whether Webbe does not require to be
taken with at least as many grains of salt as
Prester John used, is another question.

                       TWO TO ONE.
    "Do not speak of the mischievous urchin,"
      Was my mother's unceasing refrain;
    "He fulfils every promise of pleasure
      With shame, disappointment, and pain.
    Though young, when your friend he's a serpent;
      Though little, a giant, your foe."
    How strange! that a child, and so naughty,
      To maidens full grown can work woe.

   Yet one evening my cousin and Colin,
      Where violets bloom in the wood
    Like the sky shedding blue through the branches,
      Were calling him all that is good.
    They murmured, in passionate whispers,
      His praises; then worshipped anew,
    Till my heart beat quite fast as I listened,
      And I wondered which story was true.

   By chance (so he said) I met Robin,
     And mentioned the doubt I was in.
   His busy black eyes became downcast,
     And he blushed from his hat to his chin;
   "Single-handed in vain I have fought him,"
     He sighed: "Your dear mother is right;
   But the boy we together might conquer,
     Being then two to one in the fight."

    I agreed. We began with a struggle,
      On sealing the bond in his way;
    Next, with jealousy, heart-ache, and pouting,
      Love seemed to be losing the day.
    But his art! spite of mother's remonstrance,
      Backed by cousin, how think you he won?
    By reducing the odds down to even,
      And turning us two into ONE.


"RATAPLAN, plan, plan! Rataplan, plan,
plan! Plan!" These were the sounds we
heard as we entered Puebla; nor was there
much surcease in this staccato of drumming
during the time we abode in the City
of the Angels.

It was a fiesta, a holiday, and the
angelic people were dressed in their Sunday
best. A Poblana peasant woman is