what they had done. Soon after the Chamberlain rebuked highly his Father, commanding him to put him out of the House; _Alas! poor Infant_, said the Father: _It is a crafty Knave_, quoth the Lord Chamberlain, _let me see him here no more_.' Soon after Queen Mary's marriage, her husband tried hard to persuade her to release her sister and the Earl, 'and nothing, says _Heylin_, did King _Philip_ more Honour amongst the _English_.' It is to be remembered to his good, that he interceded very earnestly, and in the end successfully, for another Devonshire conspirator in Wyatt's rising, Sir Peter Carew. The Earl, fearing that he might, 'upon the first disorder, be committed to the Tower, to which his Stars seemed to condemn him,' prudently resolved to go abroad; but he must have been born under a very unlucky planet, for the next year he was seized with illness, and died at Padua. With him the title became extinct for about two hundred and fifty years; then Lord Courtenay, a descendant of the Powderham branch of Courtenays, established his claim to the earldom. As the attainder of the Marquis of Exeter was never reversed, that title was never revived in this family. Among the 'Roxburghe Ballads' is one relating to the Courtenays, called 'The Stout Cripple of Cornwall.' No notes throw any light upon the possible origin of the story or offer any opinion as to the probability of the ballad being an account of a true incident, or 'founded on fact,' or wholly imaginary. 'Of a stout Cripple that kept the highway, And beg'd for his living all time of the day, A story I'll tell you that pleasant shall be-- The Cripple of Cornwall sirnamed was he. 'He crept on his hands and his knees up and downe, In a torn jacket and ragged patcht gowne; For he had never a leg to the knee-- The Cripple of Cornwall sirnamed was he. 'He was of stomake courageious and stout, For he had no cause to complaine of the gout; To go upon stilts most cunning was he, With a staff on his neck most gallant and free. 'Yea, no good-fellowship would he forsake, Were it in secret a purse to take, His help was as good as any might be, The Cripple of Cornwall sirnamed was he. 'When he upon any such service did go, The crafty young Cripple provided it so, His tools he kept close in an old hollow tree, That stood from the city a mile, two or three. 'Thus all the day long he beg'd for relief, And late in the night he play'd the false theefe, And seven years together this custom kept he, And no man thought him such a person to be. 'There were few graziers who went on the way, But unto the Cripple for passage did pay. And every brave merchant that he did descry, He emptied their purses ere they passed by.