Peter Carewe and the hound part company.
Another proof of the rebellious boy is to be
made. He sits upon a form in St. Paul's
School, but he is still "more desirous of liberty
than of learning; and "do the schoolmaster
what he would, he in no wise can frame the
young Peter to smell to a book, or to like of
any schooling." The father again comes to
town. The sensible schoolmaster persuades
him to put his son to some active employ.
In Paul's Walk is Sir William musing; the boy
standing in awe behind him. Sir William
there meets with an old friend, then serving
in the French court. This friend offers to take
the boy as a page, and use him like a
gentleman, and do as much for him as if he were
his own child. The offer is accepted. The
father is rid of his troublesome son— the son
is freed from the terror of his father.

Peter Carewe is for some time caressed
by his new friend. He has gay clothes—
feeds well— partakes of courtly exercises. And
yet Peter is ill at ease. He is little suited for
routine duties. He sinks, gradually, from the
hall to the stable. His fine apparel is worn
and spent. His master will provide him no
more. He becomes "a mulet, to attend his
master's mules, and so in the order of a mulet
did attend and serve his master. Howbeit,
the young boy, having by these means some
liberty, is contented with his estate." Oh,
Peter! we see thy shadow, as thou art
roystering with thy brother mulets— learning their
uncourtly language, treasuring up their low
experiences, but at length doing something
useful. Thou hast work to do, and thou dost
it. Thy real education is beginning. Thou hast
hours of leisure, and then thou learnest many
a virelay, and art merry in the dance; and thou
readest, for delight, and not at another's
command— thou readest Froissart and Comines;
— gradually thou lookest back with shame
on thy past obduracy. We see thy shadow
weeping, for thou art thinking of thy mother.

There is a gentleman come with letters of
commendation from Henry the Eighth to
Francis the First, and he is received of
the French King, and has a charge of
horse given him. It is John Carewe,
of Haccombe, a kinsman to Sir William
Carewe. He is riding to the court, and,
coming before the court-gate, where there
are sundry lackeys and horse-boys playing
together, he hears a boy call out "Carewe
Angloys! Carewe Angloys!"— "Which is
Carewe Angloys?" says John Carewe, of
Haccombe. Come forth, our Peter! Thou
art evil apparelled, thy clothes are all
to-ragged and very simple, the stains of the
stable are upon thee. Who art thou? "I
am the youngest son of Sir William Carewe,
of Devon, Knight. My name is Peter. I
offended my father, who sent me here to be a
page. My master was not pleased with me,
and I am now a poor muleter."— " Thou
injured boy, I will be to thee as a father,"

Peter Carewe is now a willing scholar.
Kindness, which opened his heart, has
fashioned his intellect. His kinsman and the
bold boy have no break in their affections.
They march together in the army which
Francis the First sends against Charles the
Fifth. On the march, John Carewe dies; but
Peter is not desolate. He has made friends.
The Marquis of Saluces takes him into his
company. At the Siege of Pavia, Francis the
First is taken prisoner, the Marquis is slain,
the French army is scattered. In his rough
career Peter has attained that practical wisdom
which the school of Exeter might have failed
to teach him. He has learnt to act for
himself. He goes boldly to the Emperor's camp;
and becomes a favourite with the Prince of
Orange. The boy that was coupled with a
hound is grown into a young man, "so honest
in his conditions, so courteous in his behaviour,
so forward in all honest exercises, and
especially in all prowess and virtue, that he has
stolen the hearts and gained the love of all
persons unto him, and especially of the Princess."

A few years pass on, and Peter Carewe is in
England. He has come with letters from the
Princess of Orange to the Court of Henry the
Eighth. He is taken at once into favour; for
young Carewe "has not only the French
tongue, which is as natural to him as his own
English tongue, but he is very witty, and full
of life." And so, he is— first a henchman, and
then one of the Privy Chamber. But Peter
has natural longings, which hard usage has not
extinguished. He asks permission to make a
journey; and he sets forth with a goodly
company of attendants.

Sir William and Lady Carewe are sitting-
alone, in a parlour of their manor-house of
Mohones Otrey. There is a trampling of
horse without. In a few minutes the door is
opened; and a gentleman, dressed in all the
costly luxury of the period, and surrounded
with the gayest of followers, falls upon his
knees. "My father, my mother, your
blessing!" He holds out a letter. Sir William
is dumb with surprise; he with difficulty
whispers to his wife, " It is Peter Carewe!"
— "No— no— my poor Peter is dead and
forlorn." " Mother, father, it is indeed your
Peter!"

Thus, leave we the shadow of Peter Carewe.
Of his after worth and greatness let the record
of Master Vowell suffice. He did creditable
things on land and at sea. The latter chivalry
produced many such heroes. His shadow
never comes before us in its panoply of loyalty
and valour. But we have seen him, in an
idle hour, as he is described by his
biographer:—"The King himself being much
delighted to sing, and Sir Peter Carewe having
a pleasant voice, the King would very often
use him to sing with him certain songs they
call fremen* songs, as namely, 'By the bank as
I lay,' and ' As I walked the wood so wild.'"
* Quere— threemen? The "three-man-song" of "The
Winter's Tale."