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Robin the Divell and William Longbeard are historical romances. L. was also a voluminous translator. He was one of the founders of the regular English drama, but his own plays are heavy and tedious. His romances, popular in their day, are sentimental and over-refined in language, but are enlivened by lyrical pieces in which he is far more successful than in his dramatic work.
"O dear!" said the little simpleton, "everybody hates me. I wish I were dead. I'm sure I don't know what it means. The more I try to be good, the less they all like me." "My dear fellow," said Mr. Longbeard, "I am sorry for you. But I can do nothing to help you. It will always be so, until you do better." "Why, I do as well as I can now," replied the young goat. "You ape the sheep too much."
It is curious to remark the avidity manifested in all ages, and in all countries, to obtain possession of some relic of any persons who have been much spoken of, even for their crimes. When William Longbeard, leader of the populace of London, in the reign of Richard I, was hanged at Smithfield, the utmost eagerness was shown to obtain a hair from his head, or a shred from his garments.
The court received the admission, and the facts were submitted to the jury, by consent, as proven; although the chief-justice took occasion to remark, Longbeard dissenting, that, while the jury were certainly judges of the law, in one sense, yet there was another sense in which they were not judges of the law.
A story about King Berendey; his son Prince Ivan; about the cunning of the immortal King Koshchey, and about the wisdom of his daughter, Princess Mary. Once upon a time there lived King Berendey, called Longbeard, for his beard reached far below his knees. He lived very happily with his wife the queen, but God gave no children to them, and this grieved the king very much.
Slipping out from his hands like a fish, the cup dived straight to the bottom, and again it was swimming on the surface as if nothing had happened. "Now wait," thought King Longbeard, "I will drink without you," and stretching himself upon the grass, he began to drink with eagerness the cold spring water, forgetting about his beard, which was drowned in the water.
Quadaquina must have love enough for his kinsman to prevent the folly." "Not because Quadaquina loves, but because Ohquamehud is his father's brother." "It is well. Ohquamehud must do the Longbeard no harm, and Quadaquina must watch them both, and, if need be, warn the Longbeard of the danger."
Poet and journalist, s. of a naval officer, was b. at Perth, and ed. at the Royal Caledonian Asylum, London, and at Brussels, but much of his early life was spent in France. Coming to London in 1834, he engaged in journalism, pub. Songs and Poems , wrote a History of London, Popular Delusions, and a romance, Longbeard.
Ireland's only colony unless we except the immature settlement in the Isle of Man, under Cormac Longbeard was declared independent of the parent country, through the moral influence of its illustrious Apostle, whose name many of its kings and nobles were of old proud to bear Mal-Colm, meaning "servant of Columb," or Columbkill.
Ohquamehud's face darkened as he said: "The arts of the Longbeard have blown a cloud between me and my kindred, so that they cannot see me, and it is time my feet were turned towards the setting sun." "It is the fire-water that puts out the eyes of Ohquamehud, and makes him forget what he owes to the wife of Huttamoiden," exclaimed the boy, with suppressed passion.
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