hich, as
is not unusual for princes in romance, he falls in with a deer of
extraordinary size and swiftness, and pursues it closely, till he has
outstripped his whole retinue, tired out hounds and horse, and finds
himself alone under the gloom of an extensive forest, upon which
night is descending. Under the apprehensions natural to a situation so
uncomfortable, the king recollects that he has heard how poor men, when
apprehensive of a bad nights lodging, pray to Saint Julian, who, in the
Romish calendar, stands Quarter-Master-General to all forlorn travellers
that render him due homage. Edward puts up his orisons accordingly, and
by the guidance, doubtless, of the good Saint, reaches a small path,
conducting him to a chapel in the forest, having a hermit's cell in its
close vicinity. The King hears the reverend man, with a companion of his
solitude, telling his beads within, and meekly requests of him quarters
for the night. "I have no accommodation for such a lord as ye be," said
the Hermit. "I live here in the wilderness upon roots and rinds, and may
not receive into my dwelling even the poorest wretch that lives, unless
it were to save his life." The King enquires the way to the next
town, and, understanding it is by a road which he cannot find without
difficulty, even if he had daylight to befriend him, he declares, that
with or without the Hermit's consent, he is determined to be his guest
that night. He is admitted accordingly, not without a hint from the
Recluse, that were he himself out of his priestly weeds, he would care
little for his threats of using violence, and that he gives way to him
not out of intimidation, but simply to avoid scandal.

The King is admitted into the cell--two bundles of straw are shaken
down for his accommodation, and he comforts himself that he is now under
shelter, and that

"A night will soon be gone."

Other wants, however, arise. The guest becomes clamorous for supper,
observing,

"For certainly, as I you say,
I ne had never so sorry a day,
That I ne had a merry night."

But this indication of his taste for good cheer, joined to the
annunciation of his being a follower of the Court, who had lost himself
at the great hunting-match, cannot induce the niggard Hermit to produce
better fare than bread and cheese, for which his guest showed little
appetite; and "thin drink," which was even less acceptable. At length
the King presses his host on a point to whi