CHAPTER X. "Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, THERE is a cry that has been often raised in ages long past, and will be for ages to come, which, with the majority of its lusty bawlers, has been, is, and will be greatly misunderstood, and that is "Liberty." What acts of tyranny have the advocates of freedom perpetrated! Like religious bigots, "they will wrangle for it, write for it, fight for it, die for it, anything but-live for it." "Licence they mean when they call Liberty.'" But should any one question the unalloyed joys of freedom in its literal intent and meaning-if any one doubts the pleasure, the ecstasy to rove o'er hill and dale, the moor and mead-if there be a sceptic upon this familiar yet unappreciated subject; let him, by design or accident, find himself immured in a cell something less than twelve feet square, enclosed by damp, slimy stone walls, upon which the green dank hangs in large unwholesome patches. Let him find himself manacled hand and foot with thick iron fetters, and sitting on a stone seat, to which he is fastened, like some wild beast, with a massive chain. Let him, thus seated, find himself gazing with difficulty upwards at a small grating, through which the rays of light lose their cheerfulness, and come struggling through sadly and reluctantly. Let him look at these bars, and bolts, and fetters, and then think of the time, let it be never so distant, when his unshackled, unrestrained limbs roamed through the wood and the wold, with the spirit of health and gladness in every thought and gesture. Let him think of the days that he went pilfering birds'-nests, and scrambled and clung, in the fearlessness of boyhood, to the frail topmost branches of the loftiest tree. Let him think of plucking the first wild flowers of spring from the roadside bank and mossy dell. Let him thinkay, let him think when he was free-free of limb, free of heart, young, full of hope, and thoughtless of every ill-and then he will no longer be indifferent to the charm of Liberty. A thin, pale streak of the early morn darted from the east, and shot itself like a far distant ray of hope-but still a ray of hope into the dark, murky cell of a prisoner, and that prisoner was Ned Swiftfoot. Three long weary nights had he passed in that place of gloom, heavily chained and ironed, and except the gaoler's occasional visits-alone. The hours, too, seemed to drag their slow length along as if time had Nothing either occasional clank turned laggard all at once. was to be heard save an without, of a bolt as it fell in its socket, and the ring of his own manacles as they clattered to his slightest movement. Poor music this for the down of heart, and yet it was the only cheer to rouse Ned to life; for dull as the sounds were, still they roused him to active thought and to reflection. "I am glad the day breaks," said he, turning upon his pallet, "anything is better here than darkness. In this cursed kennel, wherein even the gnaw of a rat is never heard, I could listen to a groan of pain with pleasure. Anything," continued he, throwing himself into a sitting posture upon the side of his bed "to break this deathlike silence." For a short time he listened attentively for something to disturb the stillness of the place; but not hearing the sign of a creature possessed of sense or motion, he lost the little control over his patience, and hissing a deep-fetched curse from his heart, ejaculated, "I've a mind to wake this dumb, tongueless hole with a view-halloo. By Saint Hubert! I could astonish the inhabitants—but what they are God only knows! except they consist in a few slipperybellied slugs, and some ill-fed crawling spiders. However," continued he, suddenly changing his reckless humour for a more quiet demeanour, and again stretching himself upon the bed, "I must no longer defy the hell-hounds that beset me. They have run me down, caught, and hobbled me, and, unlike the way I've served my game, they'll hang me by the neck. By the neck," repeated he, "shall I dance mid air from a gaunt gibbet, and for what? A crime charged to me as falsely as if I'd been an unborn infant, and yet scarcely one in a thousand will acquit me of it. Such is the force of circumstances. But, my God!" he exclaimed, |