ungeon of the fortress. His hand gropes its way till it feels an
iron gate oppose it; nor can he discover a single chink, but at length
perceives by his touch a loose nail; he places his sword in its head and
screws it out. Through this cranny he sees Melusina in the horrid form
she is compelled to assume. That tender mistress, transformed into a
monster bathing in a fount, flashing the spray of the water from a scaly
tail! He repents of his fatal curiosity: she reproaches him, and their
mutual happiness is for ever lost. The moral design of the tale
evidently warns the lover to revere a _Woman's Secret_!

Such are the works which were the favourite amusements of our English
court, and which doubtless had a due effect in refining the manners of
the age, in diffusing that splendid military genius, and that tender
devotion to the fair sex, which dazzle us in the reign of Edward III.,
and through that enchanting labyrinth of History constructed by the
gallant Froissart. In one of the revenue rolls of Henry III. there is an
entry of "Silver clasps and studs for his majesty's _great book of
Romances_." Dr. Moore observes that the enthusiastic admiration of
chivalry which Edward III. manifested during the whole course of his
reign, was probably, in some measure, owing to his having studied the
_clasped book_ in his great grandfather's library.

The Italian romances of the fourteenth century were spread abroad in
great numbers. They formed the polite literature of the day. But if it
is not permitted to authors freely to express their ideas, and give full
play to the imagination, these works must never be placed in the study
of the rigid moralist. They, indeed, pushed their indelicacy to the
verge of grossness, and seemed rather to seek than to avoid scenes,
which a modern would blush to describe. They, to employ the expression
of one of their authors, were not ashamed to name what God had created.
Cinthio, Bandello, and others, but chiefly Boccaccio, rendered
libertinism agreeable by the fascinating charms of a polished style and
a luxuriant imagination.

This, however, must not be admitted as an apology for immoral works; for
poison is not the less poison, even when delicious. Such works were, and
still continue to be, the favourites of a nation stigmatized for being
prone to impure amours. They are still curious in their editions, and
are not parsimonious in their price for what they call an uncastrated
copy. There are man