other."

Thus parted the two burghers. The glover retired to his bed, and,
it is to be supposed, to rest. The lover was not so fortunate. His
bodily frame easily bore the fatigue which he had encountered in
the course of the night, but his mind was of a different and more
delicate mould. In one point of view, he was but the stout burgher
of his period, proud alike of his art in making weapons and wielding
them when made; his professional jealousy, personal strength, and
skill in the use of arms brought him into many quarrels, which
had made him generally feared, and in some instances disliked. But
with these qualities were united the simple good nature of a child,
and at the same time an imaginative and enthusiastic temper, which
seemed little to correspond with his labours at the forge or his
combats in the field. Perhaps a little of the hare brained and
ardent feeling which he had picked out of old ballads, or from
the metrical romances, which were his sole source of information
or knowledge, may have been the means of pricking him on to some
of his achievements, which had often a rude strain of chivalry in
them; at least, it was certain that his love to the fair Catharine
had in it a delicacy such as might have become the squire of low
degree, who was honoured, if song speaks truth, with the smiles of
the King of Hungary's daughter. His sentiments towards her were
certainly as exalted as if they had been fixed upon an actual
angel, which made old Simon, and others who watched his conduct,
think that his passion was too high and devotional to be successful
with maiden of mortal mould. They were mistaken, however. Catharine,
coy and reserved as she was, had a heart which could feel and
understand the nature and depth of the armourer's passion; and
whether she was able to repay it or not, she had as much secret