Lady Godiva is the famous patroness of Coventry, England, who built herself an everlasting name by an unexampled deed of magnanimity and devotion. About the year 1040 Leofric, Earl of Mercia and Lord of Coventry, imposed certain exactions upon the inhabitants Lard and grievous to be borne. His wife, the lady Godiva, besought her husband to give them relief, and pleaded so earnestly that, to escape from her importunities, he would grant her the favor, but only on the impossible condition that she would ride naked through the town. Godiva ordered proclamation to be made that on a certain day no one should be in the streets, or even look from their houses, when, "clothed on with chastity," she rode through the town; and her husband, in admiration of her intrepid devotion, performed his promise. Tennyson's poem, "Godiva," is well known.

Byron's tale called "The Giaour" is supposed to be told by a Turkish fisherman who had been employed all the day in the gulf of Aegina, and landed his boat at night-fall on the Piraeus, now called the harbor of Port Leone. He was eye-witness of all the incidents, and in one of them a principal agent (see line 352: "I hear the sound of coming feet.........".)

The tale is this: Leilah, the beautiful concubine of the caliph Hassan, falls in love with a giaour, flees from the seraglio, is overtaken by an emir, put to death, and cast into the sea. The giaour cleaves Hassan's skull, flees for his life, and becomes a monk. Six years afterwards he tells his history to his father confessor on his death-bed, and prays him to "lay his body with the humblest dead, and not even to inscribe his name on his tomb." Accordingly, he is called "the Giaour," and is known by no other name (1813).

El Dorado ("the Golden or Gilded Land"), originally existed but vaguely in the imaginations of the Spanish conquerors of America, whose insatiable avarice, feeding greedily on the marvellous accounts readily supplied by the natives - who were only anxious to get rid of their robber-guests - loved to dream of richer rewards than those of Mexico and Peru. But after Orellana's voyage down the Amazon, in 1540, the report was greatly embellished, and the locality of the fabulous region placed near the head springs of the Orinoco. Many a soldier of fortune perished in the search, many a brave troop of adventurers brought but a fraction of their number back, before the vast Lake of Parime, with Manoa, the city of gold, on its northern shore, was reluctantly relegated to the atlas of the poets. The most famous expeditions were those of Philip von Hutten (1541-46) and Sir Walter Raleigh; the last was that of Antonio Santos, in 1780.

Every land and age has heard of Bluebeard, the hero of the well-known nursery tale, so named from the color of his beard. The story is widely known in Western Europe, but the form in which it has become familiar is not an independent version, but a free translation of that given by Per-rault in his famous "Contes " (1697). In this story Bluebeard is a seigneur of great wealth, who marries the daughter of a neighbor in the country, and a month after the wedding goes from home on a journey leaving his wife the keys of his castle, but forbidding her to enter one room. She cannot resist her curiosity, opens the door to find the bodies of all Bluebeard's former wives, and at once sees the fate to which she herself is doomed. Bluebeard, on his return, discovers, from a spot of blood upon the key, which could not be cleaned off, that his wife had broken his command, and tells her that she must die. She begs for a short respite to commend herself to God, sends her sister Anne to the top of the tower to look round if any help is near, and finally is just on the point of having her head cut off, when her two brothers burst in and despatch Bluebeard. There are many versions of the story, all agreeing in essential details.

It is found in the German, French, Greek, Tuscan, Icelandic, Esthonian, Gaelic and Basque folk-lore.

Few but have read somewhat of the Flying Dutchman, a phantom ship, seen in stormy weather off the Cape of Good Hope, and thought to forebode ill-luck. The legend is that it was a vessel laden with precious metal, but a horrible murder having been committed on board, the plague broke out among the crew, and no port would allow the ship to enter, so that it was doomed to float about like a ghost, and never to enjoy rest. Another legend is that a Dutch captain, homeward bound, met with long-continued headwinds off the Cape, but swore he would double the cape and not put back, if he strove till the day of doom. He was taken at his word, and there he still beats, but never succeeds in rounding the point. Captain Marryat has a novel founded on this legend, called "The Phantom Ship," 1836.

The "Wandering Jew " was last seen in the seventeenth century. On January 1, 1644, he appeared at Paris, and created a great sensation among all ranks. He claimed to have lived sixteen hundred years, and to have traveled through all regions of the world. He was visited by many prominent personages, and no one could accost him in a language of which he was ignorant. He replied readily and without embarrassment to any questions propounded, and he was never confounded by any amount of cross-questioning. He seemed familiar with the history of persons and events from the time of Christ, and claimed an acquaintance with all the celebrated characters of sixteen centuries. Of himself he said that he was usher of the court of judgment in Jerusalem, where all criminal cases were tried at the time of our Savior; that his name was Michab Ader; and that for thrusting Jesus out of the hall with these words, "Go, why tarriest thou?" the Messiah answered him, "I go, but tarry thou till I come," thereby condemning him to live till the day of judgment.

The learned looked upon him as an impostor or madman, yet took their departure bewildered and astonished.

The famous John Gilpin was a linen-draper, living in London. His wife said to him, ' 'Though we have been married twenty years, we have taken no holiday;" and at her advice the well-to-do linen-draper agreed to make a family party, and dine at the Bell, at Edmonton. Mrs. Gilpin, her sister, and four children went in the chaise, and Gilpin promised to follow on horseback, having borrowed a horse from his friend, a calender. As madam had left the wine behind, Gilpin girded it fast in two stone bottles to his belt, and started on his way. The horse being fresh, began to trot, and then to gallop; and John, being a bad rider, grasped the mane with both his hands. On went the horse, off flew John Gilpin's cloak, together with his hat and wig. The dogs barked, the children screamed, the turnpike men (thinking he was riding for a wager) flung open their gates. He flew through Edmonton, and never stopped till he reached Ware, when his friend, the calender, gave him welcome, and asked him to dismount. Gilpin, however, declined, saying his wife would be expecting him.

So the calender furnished him with another hat and wig, and Gilpin harked back again, when similar disasters occurred, till the horse stopped at his house in London.