THE SPLENDID SPUR.

CHAPTER I.

THE BOWLING-GREEN OF THE "CROWN."


He that has jilted the Muse, forsaking her gentle pipe to follow
the drum and trumpet, shall fruitlessly besiege her again when the
time comes to sit at home and write down his adventures. 'Tis her
revenge, as I am extremely sensible: and methinks she is the harder
to me, upon reflection how near I came to being her lifelong servant,
as you are to hear.

'Twas on November 29th, Ao. 1642--a clear, frosty day--that the King,
with the Prince of Wales (newly recovered of the measles), the
Princes Rupert and Maurice, and a great company of lords and
gentlemen, horse and foot, came marching back to us from Reading. I
was a scholar of Trinity College in Oxford at that time, and may
begin my history at three o'clock on the same afternoon, when going
(as my custom was) to Mr. Rob. Drury for my fencing lesson, I found
his lodgings empty.

They stood at the corner of Ship Street, as you turn into the Corn
Market--a low wainscoted chamber, ill-lighted but commodious. "He is
off to see the show," thought I as I looked about me; and finding an
easy cushion in the window, sat down to await him. Where presently,
being tired out (for I had been carrying a halberd all day with the
scholars' troop in Magdalen College Grove), and in despite of the