zephyr freer than I--or emptier. Yet hath heaven
need of her needy sons, and the meanest of Olympus, denizens hath his
part to play amidst the earthlings. Know, then, that on the second day
after I had ceased to eat my bread at her Majesty's cost, I met, in
eager haste, a certain Irish Achilles who knoweth more of war than
verse, and whose arm is more terrible with the sword than is my hand
with the pen. This Sir Ludar--such is gratitude and reverence!--_O
tempora! O mores_!--would have given me the go-by, had I not stood
boldly in his way, that he might at least see how great an honour he
avoided. When he saw me, to be brief, my Hollander, he honoured himself
by seeing in me the god Mercury, who beareth messages to the dim regions
of the earth. He bade me tell thee, by a means the receipt hereof will
apprise thee, that the cause goeth perilously. What cause, I know not;
but, be it what it may, it taketh him hence, on what, perchance, may be
his last journey. He biddeth you remember your oath, and would have me
advertise you that one Merriman hath been heard of in these parts,
travelling for London, with a party, of whom one is the lady of the
castle on the river, with her ward. He is a dark mysterious man, this
Irish wolf-hound of thine, my Hollander, and, did I not suspect him to
have a secret tooth for the olives of Parnassus, I had not thus
condescended to act as go between you. When I enquired of him
concerning her, that incomparable swan, that bright and shining star,
that white snowflake, that Cupid's elder sister, my lady-love--to serve
whom I counted as nought the perils of a certain fell voyage you wot
of--when I enquired him of her, he asked me back, Did I desire to
flounder in the castle moat? By which talk it appeared to me much care
hath weakened his mind, and I misdoubt me his present journey bodes no
good. My Hollander, I beg not any man's bread, yet am I hard put to it
to show the world that heaven doth not desert her favourites. If the
pity of a 'prentice can reach from you to Chester, lend it me, I pray
you, as I sit here gazing into the empyrean for my next meal. If I may,
I shall shorten the space betwixt us. Meanwhile, count for thyself a
lodging in at least one poetic breast, which is that of thy patron and
friend, Thomas Graves.

"_Post Scriptum_: I have overtook my messenger--a poor country carrier--
to tell thee strange news. This Ludar hath returned suddenly from his
journey i