BRACEBRIDGE HALL

OR

THE HUMORISTS

BY

WASHINGTON IRVING

 "Under this cloud I walk, gentlemen; pardon my rude assault. I am a traveller, who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot. "

 --CHRISTMAS ORDINARY. 

CONTENTS. 

VOLUME ONE. 

THE HALL

THE BUSY MAN

FAMILY SERVANTS

THE WIDOW

THE LOVERS

FAMILY RELIQUES

AN OLD SOLDIER

THE WIDOW'S RETINUE

READY-MONEY JACK

BACHELORS

WIVES

STORY-TELLING

STOUT GENTLEMAN

FOREST TREES

LITERARY ANTIQUARY

THE FARM-HOUSE

HORSEMANSHIP

LOVE SYMPTOMS

FALCONRY

HAWKING

SAINT MARK'S EVE

GENTILITY

FORTUNE-TELLING

LOVE-CHARMS

THE LIBRARY

STUDENT OF SALAMANCA

VOLUME TWO. 

ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN

BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS

ENGLISH GRAVITY

GYPSIES

MAY-DAY CUSTOMS

VILLAGE WORTHIES

THE SCHOOLMASTER

THE SCHOOL

VILLAGE POLITICIAN

THE ROOKERY

MAY-DAY

THE MANUSCRIPT

ANNETTE DELARBRE

TRAVELLING

THE CULPRIT

FAMILY MISFORTUNES

LOVER'S TROUBLES

THE HISTORIAN

THE HAUNTED HOUSE

DOLPH HEYLIGER

THE STORM-SHIP

THE WEDDING

THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL

BRACEBRIDGE HALL;

OR, THE HUMOURISTS. 

A MEDLEY. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT. 

 Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen; pardon my rude assault. I am a traveller who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot. 

 --CHRISTMAS ORDINARY. 

THE AUTHOR. 

WORTHY READER!

On again taking pen in hand, I would fain make a few observations atthe outset, by way of bespeaking a right understanding. The volumeswhich I have already published have met with a reception far beyond mymost sanguine expectations. I would willingly attribute this to theirintrinsic merits; but, in spite of the vanity of authorship, I cannotbut be sensible that their success has, in a great measure, been owingto a less flattering cause. It has been a matter of marvel, to myEuropean readers, that a man from the wilds of America should expresshimself in tolerable English. I was looked upon as something new andstrange in literature; a kind of demi-savage, with a feather in hishand, instead of on his head; and there was a curiosity to hear whatsuch a being had to say about civilized society. 

This novelty is now at an end, and of course the feeling of indulgencewhich it produced. I must now expect to bear the scrutiny of sternercriticism, and to be measured by the same standard with contemporarywriters; and the very favor which has been shown to my previouswritings, will cause these to be treated with the greater rigour; asthere is nothing for which the world is apt to punish a man moreseverely, than for having been over-praised. On this head, therefore, I wish to forestall the censoriousness of the reader; and I entreat hewill not think the worse of me for the many injudicious things thatmay have been said in my commendation. 

I am aware that I often travel over beaten ground, and treat ofsubjects that have already been discussed by abler pens. Indeed, various authors have been mentioned as my models, to whom I shouldfeel flattered if I thought I bore the slightest resemblance; but intruth I write after no model that I am conscious of, and I write withno idea of imitation or competition. In venturing occasionally ontopics that have already been almost exhausted by English authors, Ido it, not with the presumption of challenging a comparison, but withthe hope that some new interest may be given to such topics, whendiscussed by the pen of a stranger. 

If, therefore, I should sometimes be found dwelling with fondness onsubjects that are trite and commonplace with the reader, I beg thatthe circumstances under which I write may be kept in recollection. Having been born and brought up in a new country, yet educated frominfancy in the literature of an old one, my mind was early filled withhistorical and poetical associations, connected with places, andmanners, and customs of Europe; but which could rarely be applied tothose of my own country. To a mind thus peculiarly prepared, the mostordinary objects and scenes, on arriving in Europe, are full ofstrange matter and interesting novelty. England is as classic groundto an American as Italy is to an Englishman; and old London teems withas much historical association as mighty Rome. 

Indeed, it is difficult to describe the whimsical medley of ideas thatthrong upon his mind, on landing among English scenes. He, for thefirst time, sees a world about which he has been reading and thinkingin every stage of his existence. The recollected ideas of infancy, youth, and manhood; of the nursery, the school, and the study, comeswarming at once upon him; and his attention is distracted betweengreat and little objects; each of which, perhaps, awakens an equallydelightful train of remembrances. 

But what more especially attracts his notice, are those peculiaritieswhich distinguish an old country and an old state of society from anew one. I have never yet grown familiar enough with the crumblingmonuments of past ages, to blunt the intense interest with which I atfirst beheld them. Accustomed always to scenes where history was, in amanner, in anticipation; where every thing in art was new andprogressive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past; where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but those of young existence, and prospective improvement; there was something inexpressiblytouching in the sight of enormous piles of architecture, gray withantiquity, and sinking into-decay. I cannot describe the mute butdeep-felt enthusiasm with which I have contemplated a vast monasticruin, like Tintern Abbey, buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, andshut up from the world, as though it had existed merely for itself; ora warrior pile, like Conway Castle, standing in stern loneliness onits rocky height, a mere hollow yet threatening phantom of departedpower. They spread a grand, and melancholy, and, to me, an unusualcharm over the landscape; I, for the first time, beheld signs ofnational old age, and empire's decay, and proofs of the transient andperishing glories of art, amidst the ever-springing and revivingfertility of nature. 

But, in fact, to me every thing was full of matter; the footsteps ofhistory were every where to be traced; and poetry had breathed overand sanctified the land. I experienced the delightful freshness offeeling of a child, to whom every thing is new. I pictured to myself aset of inhabitants and a mode of life for every habitation that I saw, from the aristocratical mansion, amidst the lordly repose of statelygroves and solitary parts, to the straw-thatched cottage, with itsscanty garden and its cherished woodbine. I thought I never could besated with the sweetness and freshness of a country so completelycarpeted with verdure; where every air breathed of the balmy pasture, and the honey-suckled hedge. I was continually coming upon some littledocument of poetry, in the blossomed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object that has received asupernatural value from the muse. The first time that I heard the songof the nightingale, I was intoxicated more by the delicious crowd ofremembered associations than by the melody of its notes; and I shallnever forget the thrill of ecstasy with which I first saw the larkrise, almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight up intothe morning sky. 

In this way I traversed England, a grown-up child, delighted by everyobject, great and small; and betraying a wondering ignorance, andsimple enjoyment, that provoked many a stare and a smile from my wiserand more experienced fellow-travellers. Such too was the odd confusionof associations that kept breaking upon me, as I first approachedLondon. One of my earliest wishes had been to see this greatmetropolis. I had read so much about it in the earliest books that hadbeen put into my infant hands; and I had heard so much about it fromthose around me who had come from the "old countries. " I was familiarwith the names of its streets, and squares, and public places, beforeI knew those of my native city. It was, to me, the great centre of theworld, round which every thing seemed to revolve. I recollectcontemplating so wistfully, when a boy, a paltry little print of theThames, and London Bridge, and St. Paul's, that was in front of an oldmagazine; and a picture of Kensington Gardens, with gentlemen inthree-cornered hats and broad skirts, and ladies in hoops and lappets, that hung up in my bed-room; even the venerable cut of St. John'sGate, that has stood, time out of mind, in front of the Gentleman'sMagazine, was not without its charms to me; and I envied theodd-looking little men that appeared to be loitering about its arches. 

How then did my heart warm when the towers of Westminster Abbey werepointed out to me, rising above the rich groves of St. James's Park, with a thin blue haze about their gray pinnacles! I could not beholdthis great mausoleum of what is most illustrious in our paternalhistory, without feeling my enthusiasm in a glow. With what eagernessdid I explore every part of the metropolis! I was not content withthose matters which occupy the dignified research of the learnedtraveller; I delighted to call up all the feelings of childhood, andto seek after those objects which had been the wonders of my infancy. London Bridge, so famous in nursery songs; the far-famed Monument; Gogand Magog, and the Lions in the Tower, all brought back many arecollection of infantile delight, and of good old beings, now nomore, who had gossiped about them to my wondering ear. Nor was itwithout a recurrence of childish interest, that I first peeped intoMr. Newberry's shop, in St. Paul's Church-yard, that fountain-head ofliterature. Mr. Newberry was the first that ever filled my infant mindwith the idea of a great and good man. He published all thepicture-books of the day; and, out of his abundant love for children, he charged "nothing for either paper or print, and only apenny-halfpenny for the binding!"

I have mentioned these circumstances, worthy reader, to show you thewhimsical crowd of associations that are apt to beset my mind onmingling among English scenes. I hope they may, in some measure, pleadmy apology, should I be found harping upon stale and trivial themes, or indulging an over-fondness for any thing antique and obsolete. Iknow it is the humour, not to say cant of the day, to run riot aboutold times, old books, old customs, and old buildings; with myself, however, as far as I have caught the contagion, the feeling isgenuine. To a man from a young country, all old things are in a mannernew; and he may surely be excused in being a little curious aboutantiquities, whose native land, unfortunately, cannot boast of asingle ruin. 

Having been brought up, also, in the comparative simplicity of arepublic, I am apt to be struck with even the ordinary circumstancesincident to an aristocratical state of society. If, however, I shouldat any time amuse myself by pointing out some of the eccentricities, and some of the poetical characteristics of the latter, I would not beunderstood as pretending to decide upon its political merits. My onlyaim is to paint characters and manners. I am no politician. The more Ihave considered the study of politics, the more I have found it fullof perplexity; and I have contented myself, as I have in my religion, with the faith in which I was brought up, regulating my own conduct byits precepts; but leaving to abler heads the task of making converts. 

I shall continue on, therefore, in the course I have hitherto pursued;looking at things poetically, rather than politically; describing themas they are, rather than pretending to point out how they should be;and endeavouring to see the world in as pleasant a light ascircumstances will permit. 

I have always had an opinion that much good might be done by keepingmankind in good-humour with one another. I may be wrong in myphilosophy, but I shall continue to practise it until convinced of itsfallacy. When I discover the world to be all that it has beenrepresented by sneering cynics and whining poets, I will turn to andabuse it also; in the meanwhile, worthy reader, I hope you will notthink lightly of me, because I cannot believe this to be so very bad aworld as it is represented. 

Thine truly, GEOFFREY CRAYON. 

THE HALL. 

 The ancient house, and the best for housekeeping in this county or the next; and though the master of it write but squire, I know no lord like him. 

 --_Merry Beggars_. 

The reader, if he has perused the volumes of the Sketch-Book, willprobably recollect something of the Bracebridge family, with which Ionce passed a Christmas. I am now on another visit to the Hall, havingbeen invited to a wedding which is shortly to take place. The Squire'ssecond son, Guy, a fine, spirited young captain in the army, is aboutto be married to his father's ward, the fair Julia Templeton. Agathering of relations and friends has already commenced, to celebratethe joyful occasion; for the old gentleman is an enemy to quiet, private weddings. "There is nothing, " he says, "like launching a youngcouple gayly, and cheering them from the shore; a good outset is halfthe voyage. "

Before proceeding any farther, I would beg that the Squire might notbe confounded with that class of hard-riding, foxhunting gentlemen sooften described, and, in fact, so nearly extinct in England. I usethis rural title partly because it is his universal appellationthroughout the neighbourhood, and partly because it saves me thefrequent repetition of his name, which is one of those rough oldEnglish names at which Frenchmen exclaim in despair. 

The Squire is, in fact, a lingering specimen of the old Englishcountry gentleman; rusticated a little by living almost entirely onhis estate, and something of a humourist, as Englishmen are apt tobecome when they have an opportunity of living in their own way. Ilike his hobby passing well, however, which is, a bigoted devotion toold English manners and customs; it jumps a little with my own humor, having as yet a lively and unsated curiosity about the ancient andgenuine characteristics of my "father land. "

There are some traits about the Squire's family, also, which appear tome to be national. It is one of those old aristocratical families, which, I believe, are peculiar to England, and scarcely understood inother countries; that is to say, families of the ancient gentry, who, though destitute of titled rank, maintain a high ancestral pride; wholook down upon all nobility of recent creation, and would consider ita sacrifice of dignity to merge the venerable name of their house in amodern title. 

This feeling is very much fostered by the importance which they enjoyon their hereditary domains. The family mansion is an old manor-house, standing in a retired and beautiful part of Yorkshire. Its inhabitantshave been always regarded, through the surrounding country, as "thegreat ones of the earth;" and the little village near the Hall looksup to the Squire with almost feudal homage. An old manor-house, and anold family of this kind, are rarely to be met with at the present day;and it is probably the peculiar humour of the Squire that has retainedthis secluded specimen of English housekeeping in something like thegenuine old style. 

I am again quartered in the panelled chamber, in the antique wing ofthe house. The prospect from the window, however, has quite adifferent aspect from that which it wore on my winter visit. Thoughearly in the month of April, yet a few warm, sunshiny days have drawnforth the beauties of the spring, which, I think, are always mostcaptivating on their first opening. The parterres of the old-fashionedgarden are gay with flowers; and the gardener has brought out hisexotics, and placed them along the stone balustrades. The trees areclothed with green buds and tender leaves. When I throw open myjingling casement, I smell the odour of mignonette, and hear the humof the bees from the flowers against the sunny wall, with the variedsong of the throstle, and the cheerful notes of the tuneful littlewren. 

While sojourning in this strong-hold of old fashions, it is myintention to make occasional sketches of the scenes and charactersbefore me. I would have it understood, however, that I am not writinga novel, and have nothing of intricate plot, or marvellous adventure, to promise the reader. The Hall of which I treat, has, for aught Iknow, neither trap-door, nor sliding-panel, nor donjon-keep; andindeed appears to have no mystery about it. The family is a worthy, well-meaning family, that, in all probability, will eat and drink, andgo to bed, and get up regularly, from one end of my work to the other;and the Squire is so kind-hearted an old gentleman, that I see nolikelihood of his throwing any kind of distress in the way of theapproaching nuptials. In a word, I cannot foresee a singleextraordinary event that is likely to occur in the whole term of mysojourn at the Hall. 

I tell this honestly to the reader, lest, when he finds me dallyingalong, through every-day English scenes, he may hurry ahead, in hopesof meeting with some marvellous adventure further on. I invite him, onthe contrary, to ramble gently on with me, as he would saunter outinto the fields, stopping occasionally to gather a flower, or listento a bird, or admire a prospect, without any anxiety to arrive at theend of his career. Should I, however, in the course of my loiteringsabout this old mansion, see or hear anything curious, that might serveto vary the monotony of this every-day life, I shall not fail toreport it for the reader's entertainment:

 For freshest wits I know will soon be wearie Of any book, how grave so e'er it be, Except it have odd matter, strange and merrie, Well sauc'd with lies and glared all with glee. [1]

[Footnote 1: _Mirror for Magistrates_. ]

THE BUSY MAN. 

 A decayed gentleman, who lives most upon his own mirth and my master's means, and much good do him with it. He does hold my master up with his stories, and songs, and catches, and such tricks and jigs, you would admire--he is with him now. 

 --_Jovial Crew_. 

By no one has my return to the Hall been more heartily greeted than byMr. Simon Bracebridge, or Master Simon, as the Squire most commonlycalls him. I encountered him just as I entered the park, where he wasbreaking a pointer, and he received me with all the hospitablecordiality with which a man welcomes a friend to another one's house. I have already introduced him to the reader as a brisk oldbachelor-looking little man; the wit and superannuated beau of a largefamily connection, and the Squire's factotum. I found him, as usual, full of bustle; with a thousand petty things to do, and persons toattend to, and in chirping good-humour; for there are few happierbeings than a busy idler; that is to say, a man who is eternally busyabout nothing. 

I visited him, the morning after my arrival, in his chamber, which isin a remote corner of the mansion, as he says he likes to be tohimself, and out of the way. He has fitted it up in his own taste, sothat it is a perfect epitome of an old bachelor's notions ofconvenience and arrangement. The furniture is made up of odd piecesfrom all parts of the house, chosen on account of their suiting hisnotions, or fitting some corner of his apartment; and he is veryeloquent in praise of an ancient elbow-chair, from which he takesoccasion to digress into a censure on modern chairs, as havingdegenerated from the dignity and comfort of high-backed antiquity. 

Adjoining to his room is a small cabinet, which he calls his study. Here are some hanging shelves, of his own construction, on which areseveral old works on hawking, hunting, and farriery, and a collectionor two of poems and songs of the reign of Elizabeth, which he studiesout of compliment to the Squire; together with the Novelist'sMagazine, the Sporting Magazine; the Racing Calendar, a volume or twoof the Newgate Calendar, a book of peerage, and another of heraldry. 

His sporting dresses hang on pegs in a small closet; and about thewalls of his apartment are hooks to hold his fishing-tackle, whips, spurs, and a favourite fowling-piece, curiously wrought and inlaid, which he inherits from his grandfather. He has, also, a couple of oldsingle-keyed flutes, and a fiddle which he has repeatedly patched andmended himself, affirming it to be a veritable Cremona, though I havenever heard him extract a single note from it that was not enough tomake one's blood run cold. 

From this little nest his fiddle will often be heard, in the stillnessof mid-day, drowsily sawing some long-forgotten tune; for he prideshimself on having a choice collection of good old English music, andwill scarcely have any thing to do with modern composers. The time, however, at which his musical powers are of most use, is now and thenof an evening, when he plays for the children to dance in the hall, and he passes among them and the servants for a perfect Orpheus. 

His chamber also bears evidence of his various avocations: there arehalf-copied sheets of music; designs for needle-work; sketches oflandscapes, very indifferently executed; a camera lucida; a magiclantern, for which he is endeavoring to paint glasses; in a word, itis the cabinet of a man of many accomplishments, who knows a little ofeverything, and does nothing well. 

After I had spent some time in his apartment, admiring the ingenuityof his small inventions, he took me about the establishment, to visitthe stables, dog-kennel, and other dependencies, in which he appearedlike a general visiting the different quarters of his camp; as theSquire leaves the control of all these matters to him, when he is atthe Hall. He inquired into the state of the horses; examined theirfeet; prescribed a drench for one, and bleeding for another; and thentook me to look at his own horse, on the merits of which he dwelt withgreat prolixity, and which, I noticed, had the best stall in thestable. 

After this I was taken to a new toy of his and the Squire's, which hetermed the falconry, where there were several unhappy birds indurance, completing their education. Among the number was a finefalcon, which Master Simon had in especial training, and he told methat he would show me, in a few days, some rare sport of the goodold-fashioned kind. In the course of our round, I noticed that thegrooms, game-keeper, whippers-in, and other retainers, seemed all tobe on somewhat of a familiar footing with Master Simon, and fond ofhaving a joke with him, though it was evident they had great deferencefor his opinion in matters relating to their functions. 

There was one exception, however, in a testy old huntsman, as hot as apepper-corn; a meagre, wiry old fellow, in a threadbare velvet jockeycap, and a pair of leather breeches, that, from much wear, shone, asthough they had been japanned. He was very contradictory andpragmatical, and apt, as I thought, to differ from Master Simon nowand then, out of mere captiousness. This was particularly the casewith respect to the treatment of the hawk, which the old man seemed tohave under his peculiar care, and, according to Master Simon, was in afair way to ruin: the latter had a vast deal to say about _casting_, and _imping_, and _gleaming_, and _enseaming_, and giving the hawk the_rangle_, which I saw was all heathen Greek to old Christy; but hemaintained his point notwithstanding, and seemed to hold all thistechnical lore in utter disrespect. 

I was surprised with the good-humour with which Master Simon bore hiscontradictions, till he explained the matter tom e afterwards. OldChristy is the most ancient servant in the place, having lived amongdogs and horses the greater part of a century, and been in the serviceof Mr. Bracebridge's father. He knows the pedigree of every horse onthe place, and has bestrode the great-great-grandsires of most ofthem. He can give a circumstantial detail of every fox-hunt for thelast sixty or seventy years, and has a history for every stag's headabout the house, and every hunting trophy nailed to the door of thedog-kennel. 

All the present race have grown up under his eye, and humour him inhis old age. He once attended the Squire to Oxford, when he was astudent there, and enlightened the whole university with his huntinglore. All this is enough to make the old man opinionated, since hefinds, on all these matters of first-rate importance, he knows morethan the rest of the world. Indeed, Master Simon had been his pupil, and acknowledges that he derived his first knowledge in hunting fromthe instructions of Christy: and I much question whether the old mandoes not still look upon him rather as a greenhorn. 

On our return homewards, as we were crossing the lawn in front of thehouse, we heard the porter's bell ring at the lodge, and shortlyafterwards, a kind of cavalcade advanced slowly up the avenue. Atsight of it my companion paused, considered it for a moment, and then, making a sudden exclamation, hurried away to meet it. As itapproached, I discovered a fair, fresh-looking elderly lady, dressedin an old-fashioned riding-habit, with a broad-brimmed white beaverhat, such as may be seen in Sir Joshua Reynolds' paintings. She rode asleek white pony, and was followed by a footman in rich livery, mounted on an over-fed hunter. At a little distance in the rear camean ancient cumbrous chariot, drawn by two very corpulent horses, driven by as corpulent a coachman, beside whom sat a page dressed in afanciful green livery. Inside of the chariot was a starched primpersonage, with a look somewhat between a lady's companion and alady's maid; and two pampered curs, that showed their ugly faces, andbarked out of each window. 

There was a general turning out of the garrison, to receive this newcomer. The Squire assisted her to alight, and saluted heraffectionately; the fair Julia flew into her arms, and they embracedwith the romantic fervour of boarding-school friends: she was escortedinto the house by Julia's lover, towards whom she showed distinguishedfavour; and a line of the old servants, who had collected in the Hall, bowed most profoundly as she passed. 

I observed that Master Simon was most assiduous and devout in hisattentions upon this old lady. He walked by the side of her pony, upthe avenue; and, while she was receiving the salutations of the restof the family, he took occasion to notice the fat coachman; to pat thesleek carriage horses, and, above all, to say a civil word to mylady's gentlewoman, the prim, sour-looking vestal in the chariot. 

I had no more of his company for the rest of the morning. He was sweptoff in the vortex that followed in the wake of this lady. Once indeedhe paused for a moment, as he was hurrying on some errand of the goodlady's, to let me know that this was Lady Lillycraft, a sister of theSquire's, of large fortune, which the captain would inherit, and thather estate lay in one of the best sporting counties in all England. 

FAMILY SERVANTS. 

 Verily old servants are the vouchers of worthy housekeeping. They are like rats in a mansion, or mites in a cheese, bespeaking the antiquity and fatness of their abode. 

In my casual anecdotes of the Hall, I may often he tempted to dwell oncircumstances of a trite and ordinary nature, from their appearing tome illustrative of genuine national character. It seems to be thestudy of the Squire to adhere, as much as possible, to what heconsiders the old landmarks of English manners. His servants allunderstand his ways, and for the most part have been accustomed tothem from infancy; so that, upon the whole, his household presents oneof the few tolerable specimens that can now be met with, of theestablishment of an English country gentleman of the old school. 

By the by, the servants are not the least characteristic part of thehousehold: the housekeeper, for instance, has been born and brought upat the Hall, and has never been twenty miles from it; yet she has astately air, that would not disgrace a lady that had figured at thecourt of Queen Elizabeth. 

I am half inclined to think that she has caught it from living so muchamong the old family pictures. It may, however, be owing to aconsciousness of her importance in the sphere in which she has alwaysmoved; for she is greatly respected in the neighbouring village, andamong the farmers' wives, and has high authority in the household, ruling over the servants with quiet, but undisputed sway. 

She is a thin old lady, with blue eyes and pointed nose and chin. Herdress is always the same as to fashion. She wears a small, well-starched ruff, a laced stomacher, full petticoats, and a gownfestooned and open in front, which, on particular occasions, is ofancient silk, the legacy of some former dame of the family, or aninheritance from her mother, who was housekeeper before her. I have areverence for these old garments, as I make no doubt they have figuredabout these apartments in days long past, when they have set off thecharms of some peerless family beauty; and I have sometimes lookedfrom the old housekeeper to the neighbouring portraits, to see whetherI could not recognize her antiquated brocade in the dress of some oneof those long-waisted dames that smile on me from the walls. 

Her hair, which is quite white, is frizzed out in front, and she wearsover it a small cap, nicely plaited, and brought down under the chin. Her manners are simple and primitive, heightened a little by a properdignity of station. 

The Hall is her world, and the history of the family the only historyshe knows, excepting that which she has read in the Bible. She cangive a biography of every portrait in the picture gallery, and is acomplete family chronicle. 

She is treated with great consideration by the Squire. Indeed, MasterSimon tells me that there is a traditional anecdote current among theservants, of the Squire's having been seen kissing her in the picturegallery, when they were both young. As, however, nothing further wasever noticed between them, the circumstance caused no great scandal;only she was observed to take to reading Pamela shortly afterwards, and refused the hand of the village inn-keeper, whom she hadpreviously smiled on. 

The old butler, who was formerly footman, and a rejected admirer ofhers, used to tell the anecdote now and then, at those little cabalsthat will occasionally take place among the most orderly servants, arising from the common propensity of the governed to talk againstadministration; but he has left it off, of late years, since he hasrisen into place, and shakes his head rebukingly when it is mentioned. 

It is certain that the old lady will, to this day, dwell on the looksof the Squire when he was a young man at college; and she maintainsthat none of his sons can compare with their father when he was oftheir age, and was dressed out in his full suit of scarlet, with hishair craped and powdered, and his three-cornered hat. 

She has an orphan niece, a pretty, soft-hearted baggage, named PhoebeWilkins, who has been transplanted to the Hall within a year or two, and been nearly spoiled for any condition of life. She is a kind ofattendant and companion of the fair Julia's; and from loitering aboutthe young lady's apartments, reading scraps of novels, and inheritingsecond-hand finery, has become something between a waiting-maid and aslipshod fine lady. 

She is considered a kind of heiress among the servants, as she willinherit all her aunt's property; which, if report be true, must be around sum of good golden guineas, the accumulated wealth of twohousekeepers' savings; not to mention the hereditary wardrobe, and themany little valuables and knick-knacks, treasured up in thehousekeepers' room. Indeed, the old housekeeper has the reputation, among the servants and the villagers, of being passing rich; and thereis a japanned chest of drawers, and a large iron-bound coffer in herroom, which are supposed, by the house-maids, to hold treasures ofwealth. 

The old lady is a great friend of Master Simon, who, indeed, pays alittle court to her, as to a person high in authority; and they havemany discussions on points of family history, in which, notwithstanding his extensive information, and pride of knowledge, hecommonly admits her superior accuracy. He seldom returns to the Hall, after one of his visits to the other branches of the family, withoutbringing Mrs. Wilkins some remembrance from the ladies of the housewhere he has been staying. 

Indeed, all the children of the house look up to the old lady withhabitual respect and attachment, and she seems almost to consider themas her own, from their having grown up under her eye. The Oxonian, however, is her favourite, probably from, being the youngest, thoughhe is the most mischievous, and has been apt to play tricks upon herfrom boyhood. 

I cannot help mentioning one little ceremony, which, I believe, ispeculiar to the Hall. After the cloth is removed at dinner, the oldhousekeeper sails into the room and stands behind the Squire's chair, when he fills her a glass of wine with his own hands, in which shedrinks the health of the company in a truly respectful yet dignifiedmanner, and then retires. The Squire received the custom from hisfather, and has always continued it. 

There is a peculiar character about the servants of old Englishfamilies that reside principally in the country. They have a quiet, orderly, respectful mode of doing their duties. They are always neatin their persons, and appropriately, and if I may use the phrase, technically dressed; they move about the house without hurry or noise;there is nothing of the bustle of employment, or the voice of command;nothing of that obtrusive housewifery that amounts to a torment. Youare not persecuted by the process of making you comfortable; yet everything is done, and is done well. The work of the house is performed asif by magic, but it is the magic of system. Nothing is done by fitsand starts, nor at awkward seasons; the whole goes on like well-oiledclock-work, where there is no noise nor jarring in its operations. 

English servants, in general, are not treated with great indulgence, nor rewarded by many commendations; for the English are laconic andreserved toward their domestics; but an approving nod and a kind wordfrom master or mistress, goes as far here, as an excess of praise orindulgence elsewhere. Neither do servants often exhibit any animatedmarks of affection to their employers; yet, though quiet, they arestrong in their attachments; and the reciprocal regard of masters andservants, though not ardently expressed, is powerful and lasting inold English families. 

The title of "an old family servant" carries with it a thousand kindassociations, in all parts of the world; and there is no claim uponthe home-bred charities of the heart more irresistible than that ofhaving been "born in the house. " It is common to see gray-headeddomestics of this kind attached to an English family of the "oldschool, " who continue in it to the day of their death, in theenjoyment of steady, unaffected kindness, and the performance offaithful, unofficious duty. I think such instances of attachment speakwell for both master and servant, and the frequency of them speakswell for national character. 

These observations, however, hold good only with families of thedescription I have mentioned; and with such as are somewhat retired, and pass the greater part of their time in the country. 

As to the powdered menials that throng the halls of fashionable townresidences, they equally reflect the character of the establishmentsto which they belong; and I know no more complete epitomes ofdissolute heartlessness and pampered inutility. 

But, the good "old family servant!"--the one who has always beenlinked, in idea, with the home of our heart; who has led us to schoolin the days of prattling childhood; who has been the confidant of ourboyish cares, and schemes, and enterprises; who has hailed us as wecame home at vacations, and been the promoter of all our holidaysports; who, when we, in wandering manhood, have left the paternalroof, and only return thither at intervals--will welcome us with a, joy inferior only to that of our parents; who, now grown gray andinfirm with age, still totters about the house of our fathers, in fondand faithful servitude; who claims us, in a manner, as his own; andhastens with querulous eagerness to anticipate his fellow-domestics inwaiting upon us at table; and who, when we retire at night to thechamber that still goes by our name, will linger about the room tohave one more kind look, and one more pleasant word about times thatare past--who does not experience towards such a being a feeling ofalmost filial affection?

I have met with several instances of epitaphs on the gravestones ofsuch valuable domestics, recorded with the simple truth of naturalfeeling. I have two before me at this moment; one copied from atombstone of a church-yard in Warwickshire:

"Here lieth the body of Joseph Batte, confidential servant to GeorgeBirch, Esq. , of Hamstead Hall. His grateful friend and master causedthis inscription to be written in memory of his discretion, fidelity, diligence, and continence. He died (a bachelor) aged 84, having lived44 years in the same family. "

The other was taken from a tombstone in Eltham churchyard:

"Here lie the remains of Mr. James Tappy, who departed this life onthe 8th of September, 1818, aged 84, after a faithful service of 60years in one family; by each individual of which he lived respected, and died lamented by the sole survivor. "

Few monuments, even of the illustrious, have given me the glow aboutthe heart that I felt while copying this honest epitaph in thechurch-yard of Eltham. I sympathized with this "sole survivor" of afamily mourning over the grave of the faithful follower of his race, who had been, no doubt, a living memento of times and friends that hadpassed away; and in considering this record of long and devotedservice, I called to mind the touching speech of Old Adam, in "As YouLike It, " when tottering after the youthful son of his ancient master:

 "Master, go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp, with love and loyalty!"

[NOTE. --I cannot but mention a tablet which I have seen somewhere inthe chapel of Windsor Castle, put up by the late king to the memory ofa family servant, who had been a faithful attendant of his lamenteddaughter, the Princess Amelia. George III. Possessed much of thestrong domestic feeling of the old English country gentleman; and itis an incident curious in monumental history, and creditable to thehuman heart, a monarch erecting a monument in honour of the humblevirtues of a menial. ]

THE WIDOW. 

 She was so charitable and pitious She would weep if that she saw a mous Caught in a trap, if it were dead or Wed: Of small hounds had she, that she fed With rost flesh, milke, and wastel bread, But sore wept she if any of them were dead, Or if man smote them with a yard smart. 

 --CHAUCER. 

Notwithstanding the whimsical parade made by Lady Lillycraft on herarrival, she has none of the petty stateliness that I had imagined;but, on the contrary, she has a degree of nature andsimple-heartedness, if I may use the phrase, that mingles well withher old-fashioned manners and harmless ostentation. She dresses inrich silks, with long waist; she rouges considerably, and her hair, which is nearly white, is frizzed out, and put up with pins. Her faceis pitted with the small-pox, but the delicacy of her features showsthat she may once have been beautiful; and she has a very fair andwell-shaped hand and arm, of which, if I mistake not, the good lady isstill a little vain. 

I have had the curiosity to gather a few particulars concerning her. She was a great belle in town, between thirty and forty years since, and reigned for two seasons with all the insolence of beauty, refusingseveral excellent offers; when, unfortunately, she was robbed of hercharms and her lovers by an attack of the small-pox. She retiredimmediately into the country, where she some time after inherited anestate, and married a baronet, a former admirer, whose passion hadsuddenly revived; "having, " as he said, "always loved her mind ratherthan her person. "

The baronet did not enjoy her mind and fortune above six months, andhad scarcely grown very tired of her, when he broke his neck in afox-chase, and left her free, rich, and disconsolate. She has remainedon her estate in the country ever since, and has never shown anydesire to return to town, and revisit the scene of her early triumphsand fatal malady. All her favourite recollections, however, revert tothat short period of her youthful beauty. She has no idea of town butas it was at that time; and continually forgets that the place andpeople must have changed materially in the course of nearly half acentury. She will often speak of the toasts of those days as if stillreigning; and, until very recently, used to talk with delight of theroyal family, and the beauty of the young princes and princesses. Shecannot be brought to think of the present king otherwise than as anelegant young man, rather wild, but who danced a minuet divinely; andbefore he came to the crown, would often mention him as the "sweetyoung prince. "

She talks also of the walks in Kensington Garden, where the gentlemenappeared in gold-laced coats, and cocked hats, and the ladies inhoops, and swept so proudly along the grassy avenues; and she thinksthe ladies let themselves sadly down in their dignity, when they gaveup cushioned head-dresses, and high-heeled shoes. She has much to saytoo of the officers who were in the train of her admirers; and speaksfamiliarly of many wild young blades, that are now, perhaps, hobblingabout watering-places with crutches and gouty shoes. 

Whether the taste the good lady had of matrimony discouraged her ornot, I cannot say; but though her merits and her riches have attractedmany suitors, she has never been tempted to venture again into thehappy state. This is singular, too, for she seems of a most soft andsusceptible heart; is always talking of love and connubial felicity, and is a great stickler for old-fashioned gallantry, devotedattentions, and eternal constancy, on the part of the gentlemen. Shelives, however, after her own taste. Her house, I am told, must havebeen built and furnished about the time of Sir Charles Grandison:every thing about it is somewhat formal and stately; but has beensoftened down into a degree of voluptuousness, characteristic of anold lady, very tender-hearted and romantic, and that loves her ease. The cushions of the great arm-chairs, and wide sofas, almost bury youwhen you sit down on them. Flowers of the most rare and delicate kindare placed about the rooms, and on little japanned stands; and sweetbags lie about the tables and mantel-pieces. The house is full of petdogs, Angora cats, and singing birds, who are as carefully waited uponas she is herself. 

She is dainty in her living, and a little of an epicure, living onwhite meats, and little lady-like dishes, though her servants havesubstantial old English fare, as their looks bear witness. Indeed, they are so indulged, that they are all spoiled; and when they losetheir present place, they will be fit for no other. Her ladyship isone of those easy-tempered beings that are always doomed to be muchliked, but ill served by their domestics, and cheated by all theworld. 

Much of her time is passed in reading novels, of which she has a mostextensive library, and has a constant supply from the publishers intown. Her erudition in this line of literature is immense; she haskept pace with the press for half a century. Her mind is stuffed withlove-tales of all kinds, from the stately amours of the old books ofchivalry, down to the last blue-covered romance, reeking from thepress; though she evidently gives the preference to those that cameout in the days of her youth, and when she was first in love. Shemaintains that there are no novels written now-a-days equal to Pamelaand Sir Charles Grandison; and she places the Castle of Otranto at thehead of all romances. 

She does a vast deal of good in her neighbourhood, and is imposed uponby every beggar in the county. She is the benefactress of a villageadjoining to her estate, and takes an especial interest in all itslove-affairs. She knows of every courtship that is going on; everylovelorn damsel is sure to find a patient listener and a sage adviserin her ladyship. She takes great pains to reconcile all love-quarrels, and should any faithless swain persist in his inconstancy, he is sureto draw on himself the good lady's violent indignation. 

I have learned these particulars partly from Frank Bracebridge, andpartly from Master Simon. I am now able to account for the assiduousattention of the latter to her ladyship. Her house is one of hisfavourite resorts, where he is a very important personage. He makesher a visit of business once a year, when he looks into all heraffairs; which, as she is no manager, are apt to get into confusion. He examines the books of the overseer, and shoots about the estate, which, he says, is well stocked with game, notwithstanding that it ispoached by all the vagabonds in the neighbourhood. 

It is thought, as I before hinted, that the captain will inherit thegreater part of her property, having always been her chief favourite;for, in fact, she is partial to a red coat. She has now come to theHall to be present at his nuptials, having a great disposition tointerest herself in all matters of love and matrimony. 

THE LOVERS. 

 Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away; for, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in the land. 

 --SONG OF SOLOMON. 

To a man who is a little of a philosopher, and a bachelor to boot; andwho, by dint of some experience in the follies of life, begins to lookwith a learned eye upon the ways of man, and eke of woman; to such aman, I say, there is something very entertaining in noticing theconduct of a pair of young lovers. It may not be as grave andscientific a study as the loves of the plants, but it is certainly asinteresting. 

I have, therefore, derived much pleasure, since my arrival at theHall, from observing the fair Julia and her lover. She has all thedelightful, blushing consciousness of an artless girl, inexperiencedin coquetry, who has made her first conquest; while the captainregards her with that mixture of fondness and exultation with which ayouthful lover is apt to contemplate so beauteous a prize. 

I observed them yesterday in the garden, advancing along one of theretired walks. The sun was shining with delicious warmth, making greatmasses of bright verdure, and deep blue shade. The cuckoo, that"harbinger of spring, " was faintly heard from a distance; the thrushpiped from the hawthorn; and the yellow butterflies sported, andtoyed, and coquetted in the air. 

The fair Julia was leaning on her lover's arm, listening to hisconversation, with her eyes cast down, a soft blush on her cheek, anda quiet smile on her lips, while in the hand that hung negligently byher side was a bunch of flowers. In this way they were saunteringslowly along; and when I considered them and the scene in which theywere moving, I could not but think it a thousand pities that theseason should ever change, or that young people should ever growolder, or that blossoms should give way to fruit, or that loversshould ever get married. 

From what I have gathered of family anecdote, I understand that thefair Julia is the daughter of a favourite college friend of theSquire; who, after leaving Oxford, had entered the army, and servedfor many years in India, where he was mortally wounded in a skirmishwith the natives. In his last moments he had, with a faltering pen, recommended his wife and daughter to the kindness of his early friend. 

The widow and her child returned to England helpless and almosthopeless. When Mr. Bracebridge received accounts of their situation, he hastened to their relief. He reached them just in time to soothethe last moments of the mother, who was dying of a consumption, and tomake her happy in the assurance that her child should never want aprotector. 

The good Squire returned with his prattling charge to his strong-hold;where he had brought her up with a tenderness truly paternal. As hehas taken some pains to superintend her education, and form her taste, she has grown up with many of his notions, and considers him thewisest, as well as the best of men. Much of her time, too, has beenpassed with Lady Lillycraft, who has instructed her in the manners ofthe old school, and enriched her mind with all kinds of novels andromances. Indeed, her ladyship has had a great hand in promoting thematch between Julia and the captain, having had them together at hercountry-seat, the moment she found there was an attachment growing upbetween them; the good lady being never so happy as when she has apair of turtles cooing about her. 

I have been pleased to see the fondness with which the fair Julia isregarded by the old servants at the Hall. She has been a pet with themfrom childhood, and every one seems to lay some claim to hereducation; so that it is no wonder that she should be extremelyaccomplished. The gardener taught her to rear flowers, of which she isextremely fond. Old Christy, the pragmatical huntsman, softens whenshe approaches; and as she sits lightly and gracefully in her saddle, claims the merit of having taught her to ride; while the housekeeper, who almost looks upon her as a daughter, intimates that she first gaveher an insight into the mysteries of the toilet, having beendressing-maid, in her young days, to the late Mrs. Bracebridge. I aminclined to credit this last claim, as I have noticed that the dressof the young lady had an air of the old school, though managed withnative taste, and that her hair was put up very much in the style ofSir Peter Lely's portraits in the picture gallery. 

Her very musical attainments partake of this old-fashioned character, and most of her songs are such as are not at the present day to befound on the piano of a modern performer. I have, however, seen somuch of modern fashions, modern accomplishments, and modern fineladies, that I relish this tinge of antiquated style in so young andlovely a girl; and I have had as much pleasure in hearing her warbleone of the old songs of Herrick, or Carew, or Suckling, adapted tosome simple old melody, as I have had from listening to a lady amateurskylark it up and down through the finest bravura of Rossini orMozart. We have very pretty music in the evenings, occasionally, between her and the captain, assisted sometimes by Master Simon, whoscrapes, dubiously, on his violin; being very apt to get out, and tohalt a note or two in the rear. Sometimes he even thrums a little onthe piano, and takes a part in a trio, in which his voice cangenerally be distinguished by a certain quavering tone, and anoccasional false note. 

I was praising the fair Julia's performance to him, after one of hersongs, when I found he took to himself the whole credit of havingformed her musical taste, assuring me that she was very apt; and, indeed, summing up her whole character in his knowing way, by adding, that "she was a very nice girl, and had no nonsense about her. "

FAMILY RELIQUES. 

 My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye, The dimple on her cheek: and such sweet skill Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown, These lips look fresh and lively as her own. False colours last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set upon her tongue, Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom; look, a painted board Circumscribes all!

 --DEKKER. 

An old English family mansion is a fertile subject for study. Itabounds with illustrations of former times, and traces of the tastes, and humours, and manners of successive generations. The alterationsand additions, in different styles of architecture; the furniture, plate, pictures, hangings; the warlike and sporting implements ofdifferent ages and fancies; all furnish food for curious and amusingspeculation. As the Squire is very careful in collecting andpreserving all family reliques, the Hall is full of remembrances ofthe kind. In looking about the establishment, I can picture to myselfthe characters and habits that have prevailed at different eras of thefamily history. I have mentioned, on a former occasion, the armour ofthe crusader which hangs up in the Hall. There are also severaljack-boots, with enormously thick soles and high heels, that belongedto a set of cavaliers, who filled the Hall with the din and stir ofarms during the time of the Covenanters. A number of enormous drinkingvessels of antique fashion, with huge Venice glasses, andgreen-hock-glasses, with the apostles in relief on them, remain asmonuments of a generation or two of hard livers, that led a life ofroaring revelry, and first introduced the gout into the family. 

I shall pass over several more such indications of temporary tastes ofthe Squire's predecessors; but I cannot forbear to notice a pair ofantlers in the great hall, which is one of the trophies of ahard-riding squire of former times, who was the Nimrod of these parts. There are many traditions of his wonderful feats in hunting stillexisting, which are related by old Christy, the huntsman, who getsexceedingly nettled if they are in the least doubted. Indeed, there isa frightful chasm, a few miles from the Hall, which goes by the nameof the Squire's Leap, from his having cleared it in the ardour of thechase; there can be no doubt of the fact, for old Christy shows thevery dints of the horse's hoofs on the rocks on each side of thechasm. 

Master Simon holds the memory of this squire in great veneration, andhas a number of extraordinary stories to tell concerning him, which herepeats at all hunting dinners; and I am told that they wax more andmore marvellous the older they grow. He has also a pair of Ripponspurs which belonged to this mighty hunter of yore, and which he onlywears on particular occasions. 

The place, however, which abounds most with mementos of past times, isthe picture gallery; and there is something strangely pleasing, thoughmelancholy, in considering the long rows of portraits which composethe greater part of the collection. They furnish a kind of narrativeof the lives of the family worthies, which I am enabled to read withthe assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the familychronicler, prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is theprogress of a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator out of thecorners of her eyes, as if she could not turn her head. In another, wefind her in the freshness of youthful beauty, when she was acelebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunategentlemen to run desperate and write bad poetry. In another, she isdepicted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms; next to theportrait of her husband, a gallant colonel in full-bottomed wig andgold-laced hat, who was killed abroad; and, finally, her monument isin the church, the spire of which may be seen from the window, whereher effigy is carved in marble, and represents her as a venerable dameof seventy-six. 

In like manner, I have followed some of the family great men through aseries of pictures, from early boyhood to the robe of dignity, ortruncheon of command; and so on by degrees, until they were garneredup in the common repository, the neighbouring church. 

There is one group that particularly interested me. It consisted offour sisters, of nearly the same age, who flourished about a centurysince, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were extremelybeautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gayety and romance this oldmansion must have been, when they were in the heyday of their charms;when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or steppeddaintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery; orprinted, with delicate feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns. Howmust they have been looked up to with mingled love, and pride, andreverence by the old family servants; and followed with almost painfuladmiration by the aching eyes of rival admirers! How must melody, andsong, and tender serenade, have breathed about these courts, and theirechoes whispered to the loitering tread of lovers! How must these veryturrets have made the hearts of the young galliards thrill, as theyfirst discerned them from afar, rising from among the trees, andpictured to themselves the beauties casketed like gems within thesewalls! Indeed, I have discovered about the place several faint recordsof this reign of love and romance, when the Hall was a kind of Courtof Beauty. 

Several of the old romances in the library have marginal notesexpressing sympathy and approbation, where there are long speechesextolling ladies' charms, or protesting eternal fidelity, or bewailingthe cruelty of some tyrannical fair one. The interviews, anddeclarations, and parting scenes of tender lovers, also bear the marksof having been frequently read, and are scored and marked with notesof admiration, and have initials written on the margins; most of whichannotations have the day of the month and year annexed to them. Several of the windows, too, have scraps of poetry engraved on themwith diamonds, taken from the writings of the fair Mrs. Philips, theonce celebrated Orinda. Some of these seem to have been inscribed bylovers; and others, in a delicate and unsteady hand, and a littleinaccurate in the spelling, have evidently been written by the youngladies themselves, or by female friends, who have been on visits tothe Hall. Mrs. Philips seems to have been their favourite author, andthey have distributed the names of her heroes and heroines among theircircle of intimacy. Sometimes, in a male hand, the verse bewails thecruelty of beauty, and the sufferings of constant love; while in afemale hand it prudishly confines itself to lamenting the parting offemale friends. The bow-window of my bed-room, which has, doubtless, been inhabited by one of these beauties, has several of theseinscriptions. I have one at this moment before my eyes, called"Camilla parting with Leonora:"

 "How perish'd is the joy that's past, The present how unsteady! What comfort can be great and last, When this is gone already;"

And close by it is another, written, perhaps, by some adventurouslover, who had stolen into the lady's chamber during her absence:

 "THEODOSIUS TO CAMILLA. 

 I'd rather in your favour live, Than in a lasting name; And much a greater rate would give For happiness than fame. 

 THEODOSIUS. 1700. "

When I look at these faint records of gallantry and tenderness; when Icontemplate the fading portraits of these beautiful girls, and think, too, that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, andpassed away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, theirrivalries, their admirers; the whole empire of love and pleasure inwhich they ruled--"all dead, all buried, all forgotten, " I find acloud of melancholy stealing over the present gayeties around me. Iwas gazing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the portrait ofthe lady whose husband was killed abroad, when the fair Julia enteredthe gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun shone throughthe row of windows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beamout each time into brightness, and relapse into shade, until the doorat the bottom of the gallery closed after her. I felt a sadness ofheart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot: a few moreyears of sunshine and shade, and all this life and loveliness, andenjoyment, will have ceased, and nothing be left to commemorate thisbeautiful being but one more perishable portrait; to awaken, perhaps, the trite speculations of some future loiterer, like myself, when Iand my scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence, andbeen forgotten. 

AN OLD SOLDIER

 I've worn some leather out abroad; let out a heathen soul or two; fed this good sword with the black blood of pagan Christians; converted a few infidels with it. --But let that pass. 

 --_The Ordinary_. 

The Hall was thrown into some little agitation, a few days since, bythe arrival of General Harbottle. He had been expected for severaldays, and had been looked for, rather impatiently, by several of thefamily. Master Simon assured me that I would like the general hugely, for he was a blade of the old school, and an excellent tablecompanion. Lady Lillycraft, also, appeared to be somewhat fluttered, on the morning of the general's arrival, for he had been one of herearly admirers; and she recollected him only as a dashing youngensign, just come upon the town. She actually spent an hour longer ather toilette, and made her appearance with her hair uncommonly frizzedand powdered, and an additional quantity of rouge. She was evidently alittle surprised and shocked, therefore, at finding the lithe, dashingensign transformed into a corpulent old general, with a double chin;though it was a perfect picture to witness their salutations; thegraciousness of her profound curtsy, and the air of the old schoolwith which the general took off his hat, swayed it gently in his hand, and bowed his powdered head. 

All this bustle and anticipation has caused me to study the generalwith a little more attention than, perhaps, I should otherwise havedone; and the few days that he has already passed at the Hall haveenabled me, I think, to furnish a tolerable likeness of him to thereader. 

He is, as Master Simon observed, a soldier of the old school, withpowdered head, side locks, and pigtail. His face is shaped like thestern of a Dutch man-of-war, narrow at top and wide at bottom, withfull rosy cheeks and a double chin; so that, to use the cant of theday, his organs of eating may be said to be powerfully developed. 

The general, though a veteran, has seen very little active service, except the taking of Seringapatam, which forms an era in his history. He wears a large emerald in his bosom, and a diamond on his finger, which he got on that occasion, and whoever is unlucky enough to noticeeither, is sure to involve himself in the whole history of the siege. To judge from the general's conversation, the taking of Seringapatamis the most important affair that has occurred for the last century. 

On the approach of warlike times on the continent, he was rapidlypromoted to get him out of the way of younger officers of merit;until, having been hoisted to the rank of general, he was quietly laidon the shelf. Since that time, his campaigns have been principallyconfined to watering-places; where he drinks the waters for a slighttouch of the liver which he got in India; and plays whist with olddowagers, with whom he has flirted in his younger days. Indeed, hetalks of all the fine women of the last half century, and, accordingto hints which he now and then drops, has enjoyed the particularsmiles of many of them. 

He has seen considerable garrison duty, and can speak of almost everyplace famous for good quarters, and where the inhabitants give gooddinners. He is a diner out of first-rate currency, when in town; beinginvited to one place, because he has been seen at another. In the sameway he is invited about the country-seats, and can describe half theseats in the kingdom, from actual observation; nor is any one betterversed in court gossip, and the pedigrees and intermarriages of thenobility. 

As the general is an old bachelor, and an old beau, and there areseveral ladies at the Hall, especially his quondam flame LadyJocelyne, he is put rather upon his gallantry. He commonly passes sometime, therefore, at his toilette, and takes the field at a late hourevery morning, with his hair dressed out and powdered, and a rose inhis button-hole. After he has breakfasted, he walks up and down theterrace in the sunshine, humming an air, and hemming between everystave, carrying one hand behind his back, and with the other touchinghis cane to the ground, and then raising it up to his shoulder. Shouldhe, in these morning promenades, meet any of the elder ladies of thefamily, as he frequently does Lady Lillycraft, his hat is immediatelyin his hand, and it is enough to remind one of those courtly groups ofladies and gentlemen, in old prints of Windsor terrace, or Kensingtongarden. 

He talks frequently about "the service, " and is fond of humming theold song, Why, soldiers, why, Should we be melancholy, boys? Why, soldiers, why, Whose business 't is to die!

I cannot discover, however, that the general has ever run any greatrisk of dying, excepting from an apoplexy or an indigestion. Hecriticises all the battles on the continent, and discusses the meritsof the commanders, but never fails to bring the conversation, ultimately, to Tippoo Saib and Seringapatam. I am told that thegeneral was a perfect champion at drawing-rooms, parades, andwatering-places, during the late war, and was looked to with hope andconfidence by many an old lady, when labouring under the terror ofBuonaparte's invasion. 

He is thoroughly loyal, and attends punctually on levees when in town. He has treasured up many remarkable sayings of the late king, particularly one which the king made to him on a field-day, complimenting him on the excellence of his horse. He extols the wholeroyal family, but especially the present king, whom he pronounces themost perfect gentleman and best whist-player in Europe. The generalswears rather more than is the fashion of the present day; but it wasthe mode in the old school. He is, however, very strict in religiousmatters, and a staunch churchman. He repeats the responses very loudlyin church, and is emphatical in praying for the king and royal family. 

At table, his loyalty waxes very fervent with his second bottle, andthe song of "God save the King" puts him into a perfect ecstasy. He isamazingly well contented with the present state of things, and apt toget a little impatient at any talk about national ruin andagricultural distress. He says he has travelled about the country asmuch as any man, and has met with nothing but prosperity; and toconfess the truth, a great part of his time is spent in visiting fromone country-seat to another, and riding about the parks of hisfriends. "They talk of public distress, " said the general this day tome, at dinner, as he smacked a glass of rich burgundy, and cast hiseyes about the ample board; "they talk of public distress, but wheredo we find it, sir? I see none. I see no reason why any one has tocomplain. Take my word for it, sir, this talk about public distress isall humbug!"

THE WIDOW'S RETINUE. 

 Little dogs and all!

 --_Lear_. 

In giving an account of the arrival of Lady Lillycraft at the Hall, Iought to have mentioned the entertainment which I derived fromwitnessing the unpacking of her carriage, and the disposing of herretinue. There is something extremely amusing to me in the number offactitious wants, the loads of imaginary conveniences, but realencumbrances, with which the luxurious are apt to burthen themselves. I like to watch the whimsical stir and display about one of thesepetty progresses. The number of robustious footmen and retainers ofall kinds bustling about, with looks of infinite gravity andimportance, to do almost nothing. The number of heavy trunks, andparcels, and bandboxes belonging to my lady; and the solicitude, exhibited about some humble, odd-looking box, by my lady's maid; thecushions piled in the carriage to make a soft seat still softer, andto prevent the dreaded possibility of a jolt; the smelling-bottles, the cordials, the baskets of biscuit and fruit; the new publications;all provided to guard against hunger, fatigue, or ennui; the ledhorses, to vary the mode of travelling; and all this preparation andparade to move, perhaps, some very good-for-nothing personage about alittle space of earth!

I do not mean to apply the latter part of these observations to LadyLillycraft, for whose simple kind-heartedness I have a very greatrespect, and who is really a most amiable and worthy being. I cannotrefrain, however, from mentioning some of the motley retinue she hasbrought with her; and which, indeed, bespeak the overflowing kindnessof her nature, which requires her to be surrounded with objects onwhich to lavish it. 

In the first place, her ladyship has a pampered coachman, with a redface, and cheeks that hang down like dew-laps. He evidently domineersover her a little with respect to the fat horses; and only drives outwhen he thinks proper, and when he thinks it will be "good for thecattle. "

She has a favourite page, to attend upon her person; a handsome boy ofabout twelve years of age, but a mischievous varlet, very muchspoiled, and in a fair way to be good for nothing. He is dressed ingreen, with a profusion of gold cord and gilt buttons about hisclothes. She always has one or two attendants of the kind, who arereplaced by others as soon as they grow to fourteen years of age. Shehas brought two dogs with her, also, out of a number of pets which shemaintains at home. One is a fat spaniel, called Zephyr--though heavendefend me from such a zephyr! He is fed out of all shape and comfort;his eyes are nearly strained out of his head; he wheezes withcorpulency, and cannot walk without great difficulty. The other is alittle, old, gray-muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, thatkindles like a coal if you only look at him; his nose turns up; hismouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth; in short, hehas altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, and totallysick of the world. When he walks, he has his tail curled up so tightthat it seems to lift his feet from the ground; and he seldom makesuse of more than three legs at a time, keeping the other drawn up as areserve. This last wretch is called Beauty. 

These dogs are full of elegant ailments, unknown to vulgar dogs; andare petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They are pampered and fed with delicacies by their fellow-minion, thepage; but their stomachs are often weak and out of order, so that theycannot eat; though I have now and then seen the page give them amischievous pinch, or thwack over the head, when his mistress was notby. They have cushions for their express use, on which they lie beforethe fire, and yet are apt to shiver and moan if there is the leastdraught of air. When any one enters the room, they make a mosttyrannical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are insolent toall the other dogs of the establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great favourite of the Squire's, who is a privileged visitor to theparlour; but the moment he makes his appearance, these intruders flyat him with furious rage; and I have admired the sovereignindifference and contempt with which he seems to look down upon hispuny assailants. When her ladyship drives out, these dogs aregenerally carried with her to take the air; when they look out of eachwindow of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs. Thesedogs are a continual source of misery to the household as they arealways in the way, they every now and then get their toes trod on, andthen there is a yelping on their part, and a loud lamentation on thepart of their mistress, that fills the room with clamour andconfusion. 

Lastly, there is her ladyship's waiting-gentlewoman, Mrs. Hannah, aprim, pragmatical old maid; one of the most intolerable and intolerantvirgins that ever lived. She has kept her virtue by her until it hasturned sour, and now every word and look smacks of verjuice. She isthe very opposite to her mistress, for one hates, and the other loves, all mankind. How they first came together I cannot imagine; but theyhave lived together for many years; and the abigail's temper beingtart and encroaching, and her ladyship's easy and yielding, the formerhas got the complete upper hand, and tyrannizes over the good lady insecret. 

Lady Lillycraft now and then complains of it, in great confidence, toher friends, but hushes up the subject immediately, if Mrs. Hannahmakes her appearance. Indeed, she has been so accustomed to beattended by her, that she thinks she could not do without her; thoughone great study of her life, is to keep Mrs. Hannah in good-humour, bylittle presents and kindnesses. 

Master Simon has a most devout abhorrence, mingled with awe, for thisancient spinster. He told me the other day, in a whisper, that she wasa cursed brimstone--in fact, he added another epithet, which I wouldnot repeat for the world. I have remarked, however, that he is alwaysextremely civil to her when they meet. 

READY-MONEY JACK. 

 My purse, it is my privy wyfe, This song I dare both syng and say, It keepeth men from grievous stryfe When every man for himself shall pay. As I ryde in ryche array For gold and silver men wyll me floryshe; But thys matter I dare well saye, Every gramercy myne own purse. 

 --_Book of Hunting_. 

On the skirts of the neighbouring village, there lives a kind of smallpotentate, who, for aught I know, is a representative of one of themost ancient legitimate lines of the present day; for the empire overwhich he reigns has belonged to his family time out of mind. Histerritories comprise a considerable number of good fat acres; and hisseat of power is in an old farm-house, where he enjoys, unmolested, thestout oaken chair of his ancestors. The personage to whom I allude is asturdy old yeoman of the name of John Tibbets, or rather, Ready-MoneyJack Tibbets, as he is called throughout the neighbourhood. 

The first place where he attracted my attention was in the church-yardon Sunday; where he sat on a tombstone after the service, with his hata little on one side, holding forth to a small circle of auditors;and, as I presumed, expounding the law and the prophets; until, ondrawing a little nearer, I found he was only expatiating on the meritsof a brown horse. He presented so faithful a picture of a substantialEnglish yeoman, such as he is often described in books, heightened, indeed, by some little finery, peculiar to himself, that I could notbut take note of his whole appearance. 

He was between fifty and sixty, of a strong, muscular frame, and atleast six feet high, with a physiognomy as grave as a lion's, and setoff with short, curling, iron-gray locks. His shirt-collar was turneddown, and displayed a neck covered with the same short, curling, grayhair; and he wore a coloured silk neckcloth, tied very loosely, andtucked in at the bosom, with a green paste brooch on the knot. Hiscoat was of dark green cloth, with silver buttons, on each of whichwas engraved a stag, with his own name, John Tibbets, underneath. Hehad an inner waistcoat of figured chintz, between which and his coatwas another of scarlet cloth, unbuttoned. His breeches were also leftunbuttoned at the knees, not from any slovenliness, but to show abroad pair of scarlet garters. His stockings were blue, with whiteclocks; he wore large silver shoe-buckles; a broad paste buckle in hishatband; his sleeve-buttons were gold seven-shilling pieces; and hehad two or three guineas hanging as ornaments to his watch-chain. 

On making some inquiries about him, I gathered that he was descendedfrom a line of farmers, that had always lived on the same spot, andowned the same property; and that half of the church-yard was taken upwith the tombstones of his race. He has all his life been an importantcharacter in the place. When a youngster, he was one of the mostroaring blades of the neighbourhood. No one could match him atwrestling, pitching the bar, cudgel play, and other athleticexercises. Like the renowned Pinner of Wakefield, he was the villagechampion; carried off the prize at all the fairs, and threw hisgauntlet at the country round. Even to this day, the old people talkof his prowess, and undervalue, in comparison, all heroes of the greenthat have succeeded him; nay, they say, that if Ready-Money Jack wereto take the field even now, there is no one could stand before him. 

When Jack's father died, the neighbours shook their heads, andpredicted that young hopeful would soon make way with the oldhomestead; but Jack falsified all their predictions. The moment hesucceeded to the paternal farm, he assumed a new character; took awife; attended resolutely to his affairs, and became an industrious, thrifty farmer. With the family property, he inherited a set of oldfamily maxims, to which he steadily adhered. He saw to everythinghimself; put his own hand to the plough; worked hard; ate heartily;slept soundly; paid for every thing in cash down; and never danced, except he could do it to the music of his own money in both pockets. He has never been without a hundred or two pounds in gold by him, andnever allows a debt to stand unpaid. This has gained him his currentname, of which, by the by, he is a little proud; and has caused him tobe looked upon as a very wealthy man by all the village. 

Notwithstanding his thrift, however, he has never denied himself theamusements of life, but has taken a share in every passing pleasure. It is his maxim that "he that works hard can afford to play. " He is, therefore, an attendant at all the country fairs and wakes, and hassignalized himself by feats of strength and prowess on every villagegreen in the shire. He often makes his appearance at horse-races, andsports his half guinea, and even his guinea at a time; keeps a goodhorse for his own riding, and to this day is fond of following thehounds, and is generally in at the death. He keeps up the rusticrevels, and hospitalities too, for which his paternal farm-house hasalways been noted; has plenty of good cheer and dancing atharvest-home, and, above all, keeps the "merry night, "[2] as it istermed, at Christmas. With all his love of amusement, however, Jack isby no means a boisterous, jovial companion. He is seldom known tolaugh even in the midst of his gayety; but maintains the same grave, lion-like demeanour. He is very slow at comprehending a joke; and isapt to sit puzzling at it with a perplexed look, while the rest of thecompany is in a roar. This gravity has, perhaps, grown on him with thegrowing weight of his character; for he is gradually rising intopatriarchal dignity in his native place. Though he no longer takes anactive part in athletic sports, yet he always presides at them, and isappealed to on all occasions as umpire. He maintains the peace on thevillage green at holiday games, and quells all brawls and quarrels bycollaring the parties and shaking them heartily, if refractory. No oneever pretends to raise a hand against him, or to contend against hisdecisions; the young men having grown up in habitual awe of hisprowess, and in implicit deference to him as the champion and lord ofthe green. 

[Footnote 2: MERRY NIGHT--a rustic merry-making in a farm-house aboutChristmas, common in some parts of Yorkshire. There is abundance ofhomely fare, tea, cakes, fruit, and ale; various feats of agility, amusing games, romping, dancing, and kissing withal. They commonlybreak up at midnight. ]

He is a regular frequenter of the village inn, the landlady havingbeen a sweetheart of his in early life, and he having always continuedon kind terms with her. He seldom, however, drinks any thing but adraught of ale; smokes his pipe, and pays his reckoning before leavingthe tap-room. Here he "gives his little senate laws;" decides bets, which are very generally referred to him; determines upon thecharacters and qualities of horses; and, indeed, plays now and thenthe part of a judge in settling petty disputes between neighbours, which otherwise might have been nursed by country attorneys intotolerable law-suits. Jack is very candid and impartial in hisdecisions, but he has not a head to carry a long argument, and is veryapt to get perplexed and out of patience if there is much pleading. Hegenerally breaks through the argument with a strong voice, and bringsmatters to a summary conclusion, by pronouncing what he calls the"upshot of the business, " or, in other words, "the long and the shortof the matter. "

Jack once made a journey to London, a great many years since, whichhas furnished him with topics of conversation ever since. He saw theold king on the terrace at Windsor, who stopped, and pointed him outto one of the princesses, being probably struck with Jack's trulyyeoman-like appearance. This is a favourite anecdote with him, and hasno doubt had a great effect in making him a most loyal subject eversince, in spite of taxes and poors' rates. He was also at Bartholomewfair, where he had half the buttons cut off his coat; and a gang ofpick-pockets, attracted by his external show of gold and silver, madea regular attempt to hustle him as he was gazing at a show; but foronce they found that they had caught a tartar; for Jack enacted asgreat wonders among the gang as Samson did among the Philistines. Oneof his neighbours, who had accompanied him to town, and was with himat the fair, brought back an account of his exploits, which raised thepride of the whole village; who considered their champion as havingsubdued all London, and eclipsed the achievements of Friar Tuck, oreven the renowned Robin Hood himself. 

Of late years, the old fellow has begun to take the world easily; heworks less, and indulges in greater leisure, his son having grown up, and succeeded to him both in the labours of the farm, and the exploitsof the green. Like all sons of distinguished men, however, hisfather's renown is a disadvantage to him, for he can never come up topublic expectation. Though a fine active fellow of three-and-twenty, and quite the "cock of the walk, " yet the old people declare he isnothing like what Ready-Money Jack was at his time of life. Theyoungster himself acknowledges his inferiority, and has a wonderfulopinion of the old man, who indeed taught him all his athleticaccomplishments, and holds such a sway over him, that I am told, evento this day, he would have no hesitation to take him in hands, if herebelled against paternal government. 

The Squire holds Jack in very high esteem, and shows him to all hisvisitors, as a specimen of old English "heart of oak. " He frequentlycalls at his house, and tastes some of his homebrewed, which isexcellent. He made Jack a present of old Tusser's "Hundred Points ofgood Husbandrie, " which has furnished him with reading ever since, andis his text-book, and manual in all agricultural and domesticconcerns. He has made dog's ears at the most favourite passages, andknows many of the poetical maxims by heart. 

Tibbets, though not a man to be daunted or flattered by highacquaintances; and though he cherishes a sturdy independence of mindand manner, yet is evidently gratified by the attentions of theSquire, whom he has known from boyhood, and pronounces "a truegentleman every inch of him. " He is also on excellent terms withMaster Simon, who is a kind of privy counsellor to the family; but hisgreat favourite is the Oxonian, whom he taught to wrestle and play atquarter-staff when a boy, and considers the most promising younggentleman in the whole country. 

BACHELORS. 

 The Bachelor most joyfully In pleasant plight doth pass his dales, Good fellowship and companie He doth maintain and keep alwaies. 

 --EVEN'S _Old Ballads_. 

There is no character in the comedy of human life that is moredifficult to play well, than that of an old Bachelor. When a singlegentleman, therefore, arrives at that critical period when he beginsto consider it an impertinent question to be asked his age, I wouldadvise him, to look well to his ways. This period, it is true, is muchlater with some men than with others; I have witnessed more than oncethe meeting of two wrinkled old lads of this kind, who had not seeneach other for several years, and have been amused by the amicableexchange of compliments on each other's appearance, that takes placeon such occasions. There is always one invariable observation: "Why, bless my soul! you look younger than when I last saw you!" Whenever aman's friends begin to compliment him about looking young, he may besure that they think he is growing old. 

I am led to make these remarks by the conduct of Master Simon and thegeneral, who have become great cronies. As the former is the youngerby many years, he is regarded as quite a youthful blade by thegeneral, who moreover looks upon him as a man of great wit andprodigious acquirements. I have already hinted that Master Simon is afamily beau, and considered rather a young fellow by all the elderlyladies of the connexion; for an old bachelor, in an old familyconnexion, is something like an actor in a regular dramatic corps, whoseems to "flourish in immortal youth, " and will continue to play theRomeos and Rangers for half a century together. 

Master Simon, too, is a little of the chameleon, and takes a differenthue with every different companion: he is very attentive andofficious, and somewhat sentimental, with Lady Lillycraft; copies outlittle namby-pamby ditties and love-songs for her, and draws quivers, and doves, and darts, and Cupids, to be worked on the corners of herpocket-handkerchiefs. He indulges, however, in very considerablelatitude with the other married ladies of the family; and has many slypleasantries to whisper to them, that provoke an equivocal laugh and atap of the fan. But when he gets among young company, such as FrankBracebridge, the Oxonian, and the general, he is apt to put on the madwag, and to talk in a very bachelor-like strain about the sex. 

In this he has been encouraged by the example of the general, whom helooks up to as a man who has seen the world. The general, in fact, tells shocking stories after dinner, when the ladies have retired, which he gives as some of the choice things that are served up at theMulligatawney club; a knot of boon companions in London. He alsorepeats the fat jokes of old Major Pendergast, the wit of the club, and which, though the general can hardly repeat them for laughing, always make Mr. Bracebridge look grave, he having a great antipathy toan indecent jest. In a word, the general is a complete instance of thedeclension in gay life, by which a young man of pleasure is apt tocool down into an obscene old gentleman. 

I saw him and Master Simon, an evening or two since, conversing with abuxom milkmaid in a meadow; and from their elbowing each other now andthen, and the general's shaking his shoulders, blowing up his cheeks, and breaking out into a short fit of irrepressible laughter, I had nodoubt they were playing the mischief with the girl. 

As I looked at them through a hedge, I could not but think they wouldhave made a tolerable group for a modern picture of Susannah and thetwo elders. It is true, the girl seemed in nowise alarmed at the forceof the enemy; and I question, had either of them been alone, whethershe would not have been more than they would have ventured toencounter. Such veteran roysters are daring wags when together, andwill put any female to the blush with their jokes; but they are asquiet as lambs when they fall singly into the clutches of a finewoman. 

In spite of the general's years, he evidently is a little vain of hisperson, and ambitious of conquests. I have observed him on Sunday inchurch, eyeing the country girls most suspiciously; and have seen himleer upon them with a downright amorous look, even when he has beengallanting Lady Lillycraft, with great ceremony, through thechurch-yard. The general, in fact, is a veteran in the service ofCupid, rather than of Mars, having signalized himself in all thegarrison towns and country quarters, and seen service in everyball-room of England. Not a celebrated beauty but he has laid siegeto; and if his word may be taken in a matter wherein no man is apt tobe over-veracious, it is incredible the success he has had with thefair. At present he is like a worn-out warrior, retired from service;but who still cocks his beaver with a military air, and talks stoutlyof fighting whenever he comes within the smell of gunpowder. 

I have heard him speak his mind very freely over his bottle, about thefolly of the captain in taking a wife; as he thinks a young soldiershould care for nothing but his "bottle and kind landlady. " But, infact, he says the service on the continent has had a sad effect uponthe young men; they have been ruined by light wines and Frenchquadrilles. "They've nothing, " he says, "of the spirit of the oldservice. There are none of your six-bottle men left, that were thesouls of a mess dinner, and used to play the very deuce among thewomen. "

As to a bachelor, the general affirms that he is a free and easy man, with no baggage to take care of but his portmanteau; but a marriedman, with his wife hanging on his arm, always puts him in mind of achamber candlestick, with its extinguisher hitched to it. I should hotmind all this, if it were merely confined to the general; but I fearhe will be the ruin of my friend, Master Simon, who already begins toecho his heresies, and to talk in the style of a gentleman that hasseen life, and lived upon the town. Indeed, the general seems to havetaken Master Simon in hand, and talks of showing him the lions when hecomes to town, and of introducing him to a knot of choice spirits atthe Mulligatawney club; which, I understand, is composed of oldnabobs, officers in the Company's employ, and other "men of Ind, " thathave seen service in the East, and returned home burnt out with curry, and touched with the liver complaint. They have their regular club, where they eat Mulligatawney soup, smoke the hookah, talk about TippooSaib, Seringapatam, and tiger-hunting; and are tediously agreeable ineach other's company. 

WIVES. 

 Believe me, man, there is no greater blisse Than is the quiet joy of loving wife; Which whoso wants, half of himselfe doth misse. Friend without change, playfellow without strife, Food without fulnesse, counsaile without pride, Is this sweet doubling of our single life. 

 --SIR P. SIDNEY. 

There is so much talk about matrimony going on around me, inconsequence of the approaching event for which we are assembled at theHall, that I confess I find my thoughts singularly exercised on thesubject. Indeed, all the bachelors of the establishment seem to bepassing through a kind of fiery ordeal; for Lady Lillycraft is one ofthose tender, romance-read dames of the old school, whose mind isfilled with flames and darts, and who breathe nothing but constancyand wedlock. She is for ever immersed in the concerns of the heart;and, to use a poetical phrase, is perfectly surrounded by "the purplelight of love. " The very general seems to feel the influence of thissentimental atmosphere; to melt as he approaches her ladyship, and, for the time, to forget all his heresies about matrimony and the sex. 

The good lady is generally surrounded by little documents of herprevalent taste; novels of a tender nature; richly bound little booksof poetry, that are filled with sonnets and love tales, and perfumedwith rose-leaves; and she has always an album at hand, for which sheclaims the contributions of all her friends. On looking over this lastrepository, the other day, I found a series of poetical extracts, inthe Squire's handwriting, which might have been intended asmatrimonial hints to his ward. I was so much struck with several ofthem, that I took the liberty of copying them out. They are from theold play of Thomas Davenport, published in 1661, entitled "The CityNight-Cap;" in which is drawn out and exemplified, in the part ofAbstemia, the character of a patient and faithful wife, which, Ithink, might vie with that of the renowned Griselda. 

I have often thought it a pity that plays and novels should always endat the wedding, and should not give us another act, and anothervolume, to let us know how the hero and heroine conducted themselveswhen married. Their main object seems to be merely to instruct youngladies how to get husbands, but not how to keep them: now this last, Ispeak it with all due diffidence, appears to me to be a desideratum inmodern married life. It is appalling to those who have not yetadventured into the holy state, to see how soon the flame of romanticlove burns out, or rather is quenched in matrimony; and how deplorablythe passionate, poetic lover declines into the phlegmatic, prosaichusband. I am inclined to attribute this very much to the defect justmentioned in the plays and novels, which form so important a branch ofstudy of our young ladies; and which teach them how to be heroines, but leave them totally at a loss when they come to be wives. The playfrom which the quotations before me were made, however, is anexception to this remark; and I cannot refuse myself the pleasure ofadducing some of them for the benefit of the reader, and for thehonour of an old writer, who has bravely attempted to awaken dramaticinterest in favour of a woman, even after she was married!

The following is a commendation of Abstemia to her husband Lorenzo:

 She's modest, but not sullen, and loves silence; Not that she wants apt words, (for when she speaks, She inflames love with wonder, ) but because She calls wise silence the soul's harmony. She's truly chaste; yet such a foe to coyness, The poorest call her courteous; and which is excellent, (Though fair and young) she shuns to expose herself To the opinion of strange eyes. She either seldom Or never walks abroad but in your company. And then with such sweet bashfulness, as if She were venturing on crack'd ice, and takes delight To step into the print your foot hath made, And will follow you whole fields; so she will drive Tediousness out of time, with her sweet character. 

Notwithstanding all this excellence, Abstemia has the misfortune toincur the unmerited jealousy of her husband. Instead, however, ofresenting his harsh treatment with clamorous upbraidings, and with thestormy violence of high, windy virtue, by which the sparks of angerare so often blown into a flame, she endures it with the meekness ofconscious, but patient, virtue; and makes the following beautifulappeal to a friend who has witnessed her long suffering:

 ------Hast thou not seen me Bear all his injuries, as the ocean suffers The angry bark to plough through her bosom, And yet is presently so smooth, the eye Cannot perceive where the wide wound was made?

Lorenzo, being wrought on by false representations, at lengthrepudiates her. To the last, however, she maintains her patientsweetness, and her love for him, in spite of his cruelty. She deploreshis error, even more than his unkindness; and laments the delusionwhich has turned his very affection into a source of bitterness. Thereis a moving pathos in her parting address to Lorenzo, after theirdivorce:

 ------Farewell, Lorenzo, Whom my soul doth love: if you e'er marry, May you meet a good wife; so good, that you May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy Of your suspicion; and if you hear hereafter That I am dead, inquire but my last words, And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you. And when you walk forth with your second choice Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me, Imagine that you see me, lean and pale, Strewing your path with flowers. -- But may she never live to pay my debts: (_weeps_) If but in thought she wrong you, may she die In the conception of the injury. Pray make me wealthy with one kiss: farewell, sir: Let it not grieve you when you shall remember That I was innocent: nor this forget, Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan, She walks but thorow thorns to find a throne. 

In a short time Lorenzo discovers his error, and the innocence of hisinjured wife. In the transports of his repentance, he calls to mindall her feminine excellence; her gentle, uncomplaining, womanlyfortitude under wrongs and sorrows:

 ------Oh, Abstemia! How lovely thou lookest now! now thou appearest Chaster than is the morning's modesty That rises with a blush, over whose bosom The western wind creeps softly; now I remember How, when she sat at table, her obedient eye Would dwell on mine, as if it were not well, Unless it look'd where I look'd: oh how proud She was, when she could cross herself to please me! But where now is this fair soul? Like a silver cloud She hath wept herself, I fear, into the dead sea. And will be found no more. 

It is but doing right by the reader, if interested in the fate ofAbstemia by the preceding extracts, to say, that she was restored tothe arms and affections of her husband, rendered fonder than ever, bythat disposition in every good heart, to atone for past injustice, byan overflowing measure of returning kindness:

 Thou wealth, worth more than kingdoms; I am now Confirmed past all suspicion; thou art far Sweeter in thy sincere truth than a sacrifice Deck'd up for death with garlands. The Indian winds That blow from off the coast and cheer the sailor With the sweet savour of their spices, want The delight flows in thee. 

I have been more affected and interested by this little dramaticpicture, than by many a popular love tale; though, as I said before, Ido not think it likely either Abstemia or patient Grizzle stand muchchance of being taken for a model. Still I like to see poetry now andthen extending its views beyond the wedding-day, and teaching a ladyhow to make herself attractive even after marriage. There is no greatneed of enforcing on an unmarried lady the necessity of beingagreeable; nor is there any great art requisite in a youthful beautyto enable her to please. Nature has multiplied attractions around her. Youth is in itself attractive. The freshness of budding beauty needsno foreign aid to set it off; it pleases merely because it is fresh, and budding, and beautiful. But it is for the married state that awoman needs the most instruction, and in which she should be most onher guard to maintain her powers of pleasing. No woman can expect tobe to her husband all that he fancied her when he was a lover. Men arealways doomed to be duped, not so much by the arts of the sex, as bytheir own imaginations. They are always wooing goddesses, and marryingmere mortals. A woman should, therefore, ascertain what was the charmthat rendered her so fascinating when a girl, and endeavour to keep itup when she has become a wife. One great thing undoubtedly was, thechariness of herself and her conduct, which an unmarried female alwaysobserves. She should maintain the same niceness and reserve in herperson and habits, and endeavour still to preserve a freshness andvirgin delicacy in the eye of her husband. She should remember thatthe province of woman is to be wooed, not to woo; to be caressed, notto caress. Man is an ungrateful being in love; bounty loses instead ofwinning him. The secret of a woman's power does not consist so much ingiving, as in withholding. 

A woman may give up too much even to her husband. It is to a thousandlittle delicacies of conduct that she must trust to keep alivepassion, and to protect herself from that dangerous familiarity, thatthorough acquaintance with every weakness and imperfection incident tomatrimony. By these means she may still maintain her power, though shehas surrendered her person, and may continue the romance of love evenbeyond the honeymoon. 

"She that hath a wise husband, " says Jeremy Taylor, "must entice himto an eternal dearnesse by the veil of modesty, and the grave robes ofchastity, the ornament of meekness, and the jewels of faith andcharity. She must have no painting but blushings; her brightness mustbe purity, and she must shine round about with sweetness andfriendship; and she shall be pleasant while she lives, and desiredwhen she dies. "

I have wandered into a rambling series of remarks on a trite subject, and a dangerous one for a bachelor to meddle with. That I may not, however, appear to confine my observations entirely to the wife, Iwill conclude with another quotation from Jeremy Taylor, in which theduties of both parties are mentioned; while I would recommend hissermon on the marriage-ring to all those who, wiser than myself, areabout entering the happy state of wedlock. 

"There is scarce any matter of duty but it concerns them both alike, and is only distinguished by names, and hath its variety bycircumstances and little accidents: and what in one is called love, inthe other is called reverence; and what in the wife is obedience, thesame in the man is duty. He provides, and she dispenses; he givescommandments, and she rules by them; he rules her by authority, andshe rules him by love; she ought by all means to please him, and hemust by no means displease her. "

STORY TELLING. 

A favorite evening pastime at the Hall, and one which the worthySquire is fond of promoting, is story telling, "a good, old-fashionedfire-side amusement, " as he terms it. Indeed, I believe he promotesit, chiefly, because it was one of the choice recreations in thosedays of yore, when ladies and gentlemen were not much in the habit ofreading. Be this as it may, he will often, at supper-table, whenconversation flags, call on some one or other of the company for astory, as it was formerly the custom to call for a song; and it isedifying to see the exemplary patience, and even satisfaction, withwhich the good old gentleman will sit and listen to some hackneyedtale that he has heard for at least a hundred times. 

In this way, one evening, the current of anecdotes and stories ranupon mysterious personages that have figured at different times, andfilled the world with doubt and conjecture; such as the Wandering Jew, the Man with the Iron Mask, who tormented the curiosity of all Europe;the Invisible Girl, and last, though not least, the Pig-faced Lady. 

At length, one of the company was called upon that had the mostunpromising physiognomy for a story teller, that ever I had seen. Hewas a thin, pale, weazen-faced man, extremely nervous, that had sat atone corner of the table, shrunk up, as it were, into himself, andalmost swallowed up in the cape of his coat, as a turtle in its shell. 

The very demand seemed to throw him into a nervous agitation; yet hedid not refuse. He emerged his head out of his shell, made a few oddgrimaces and gesticulations, before he could get his muscles intoorder, or his voice under command, and then offered to give someaccount of a mysterious personage that he had recently encountered inthe course of his travels, and one whom he thought fully entitled tobeing classed with the Man with the Iron Mask. 

I was so much struck with his extraordinary narrative, that I havewritten it out to the best of my recollection, for the amusement ofthe reader. I think it has in it all the elements of that mysteriousand romantic narrative, so greedily sought after at the present day. 

THE STOUT GENTLEMAN. 

A STAGE-COACH ROMANCE. 

 "I'll cross it, though it blast me!"

 --_Hamlet_. 

It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month of November. I had beendetained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indisposition, fromwhich I was recovering; but I was still feverish, and was obliged tokeep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wetSunday in a country inn!--whoever has had the luck to experience onecan alone judge of my situation. 

The rain pattered against the casements; the bells tolled for churchwith a melancholy sound. I went to the windows, in quest of somethingto amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely outof the reach of all amusement. The windows of my bed-room looked outamong tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of mysitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know ofnothing more calculated to make a man sick of this world, than astable-yard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw, that had been kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In onecorner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck;there were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of alllife and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a singlefeather, along which the water trickled from his back; near the cartwas a half-dozing cow chewing the cud, and standing patiently to berained on, with wreaths of vapor rising from her reeking hide; awall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking hisspectral head out of the window, with the rain dripping on it from theeaves; an unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by, utteredsomething every now and then, between a bark and a yelp; a drab of akitchen-wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard inpattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself; every thing, inshort, was comfortless and forlorn, excepting a crew of hard-drinkingducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle, and making ariotous noise over their liquor. 

I was lonely and listless, and wanted amusement. My room soon becameinsupportable. I abandoned it, and sought what is technically calledthe travellers'-room. This is a public room set apart at most inns forthe accommodation of a class of wayfarers called travellers, orriders; a kind of commercial knights-errant, who are incessantlyscouring the kingdom in gigs, on horseback, or by coach. They are theonly successors that I know of, at the present day, to theknights-errant of yore. They lead the same kind of roving adventurouslife, only changing the lance for a driving-whip, the buckler for apattern-card, and the coat of mail for an upper Benjamin. Instead ofvindicating the charms of peerless beauty, they rove about spreadingthe fame and standing of some substantial tradesman or manufacturer, and are ready at any time to bargain in his name; it being the fashionnow-a-days to trade, instead of fight, with one another. As the roomof the hotel, in the good old fighting times, would be hung round atnight with the armour of wayworn warriors, such as coats of mail, falchions, and yawning helmets; so the travellers room is garnishedwith the harnessing of their successors, with box-coats, whips of allkinds, spurs, gaiters, and oil-cloth covered hats. 

I was in hopes of finding some of these worthies to talk with, but wasdisappointed. There were, indeed, two or three in the room; but Icould make nothing of them. One was just finishing his breakfast, quarrelling with his bread and butter, and huffing the waiter; anotherbuttoned on a pair of gaiters, with many execrations at Boots for nothaving cleaned his shoes well; a third sat drumming on the table withhis fingers, and looking at the rain as it streamed down thewindow-glass; they all appeared infected by the weather, anddisappeared, one after the other, without exchanging a word. 

I sauntered to the window, and stood gazing at the people pickingtheir way to church, with petticoats hoisted mid-leg high, anddripping umbrellas. The bell ceased to toll, and the streets becamesilent. I then amused myself with watching the daughters of atradesman opposite; who, being confined to the house for fear ofwetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the frontwindows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at lengthwere summoned away by a vigilant vinegar-faced mother, and I hadnothing further from without to amuse me. 

What was I to do to pass away the long-lived day? I was sadly nervousand lonely; and every thing about an inn seems calculated to make adull day ten times duller. Old newspapers, smelling of beer andtobacco-smoke, and which I had already read half-a-dozentimes--good-for-nothing books, that were worse than rainy weather. Ibored myself to death with an old volume of the Lady's Magazine. Iread all the commonplaced names of ambitious travellers scrawled onthe panes of glass; the eternal families of the Smiths, and theBrowns, and the Jacksons, and the Johnsons, and all the other sons;and I deciphered several scraps of fatiguing inn-window poetry which Ihave met with in all parts of the world. 

The day continued lowering and gloomy; the slovenly, ragged, spongyclouds drifted heavily along; there was no variety even in the rain:it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter--patter--patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a briskshower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. 

It was quite _refreshing_ (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase ofthe day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and astage-coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuckall over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. 

The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabondboys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and thatnondescript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race thatinfest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient; the coachagain whirled on its way; and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, allslunk back again to their holes; the street again became silent, andthe rain continued to rain on. In fact, there was no hope of itsclearing up; the barometer pointed to rainy weather; mine hostess'tortoise-shell cat sat by the fire washing her face, and rubbing herpaws over her ears; and, on referring to the almanac, I found adireful prediction stretching from the top of the page to the bottomthrough the whole month, "expect--much--rain--about--this--time. "

I was dreadfully hipped. The hours seemed as if they would never creepby. The very ticking of the clock became irksome. At length thestillness of the house was interrupted by the ringing of a bell. Shortly after, I heard the voice of a waiter at the bar: "The stoutgentleman in No. 13 wants his breakfast. Tea and bread and butter withham and eggs; the eggs not to be too much done. "

In such a situation as mine, every incident is of importance. 

Here was a subject of speculation presented to my mind, and ampleexercise for my imagination. I am prone to paint pictures to myself, and on this occasion I had some materials to work upon. Had the guestup-stairs been mentioned as Mr. Smith, or Mr. Brown, or Mr. Jackson, or Mr. Johnson, or merely as "the gentleman in No. 13, " it would havebeen a perfect blank to me. I should have thought nothing of it; but"The stout gentleman!"--the very name had something in it of thepicturesque. It at once gave the size; it embodied the personage to mymind's eye, and my fancy did the rest. 

He was stout, or, as some term it, lusty; in all probability, therefore, he was advanced in life, some people expanding as they growold. By his breakfasting rather late, and in his own room, he must bea man accustomed to live at his ease, and above the necessity of earlyrising; no doubt a round, rosy, lusty old gentleman. 

There was another violent ringing. The stout gentleman was impatientfor his breakfast. He was evidently a man of importance; "well-to-doin the world;" accustomed to be promptly waited upon; of a keenappetite, and a little cross when hungry; "perhaps, " thought I, "hemaybe be some London Alderman; or who knows but he may be a Member ofParliament?"

The breakfast was sent up and there was a short interval of silence;he was, doubtless, making the tea. Presently there was a violentringing, and before it could be answered, another ringing still moreviolent. "Bless me! what a choleric old gentleman!" The waiter camedown in a huff. The butter was rancid, the eggs were overdone, the hamwas too salt:--the stout gentleman was evidently nice in his eating;one of those who eat and growl, and keep the waiter on the trot, andlive in a state militant with the household. 

The hostess got into a fume. I should observe that she was a brisk, coquettish woman; a little of a shrew, and something of a slammerkin, but very pretty withal; with a nincompoop for a husband, as shrews areapt to have. She rated the servants roundly for their negligence insending up so bad a breakfast, but said not a word against the stoutgentleman; by which I clearly perceived that he must be a man ofconsequence, entitled to make a noise and to give trouble at a countryinn. Other eggs, and ham, and bread and butter, were sent up. Theyappeared to be more graciously received; at least there was no furthercomplaint. 

I had not made many turns about the travellers'-room, when there wasanother ringing. Shortly afterwards there was a stir and an inquestabout the house. The stout gentleman wanted the Times or the Chroniclenewspaper. I set him down, therefore, for a whig; or rather, from hisbeing so absolute and lordly where he had a chance, I suspected him ofbeing a radical. Hunt, I had heard, was a large man; "who knows, "thought I, "but it is Hunt himself!"

My curiosity began to be awakened. I inquired of the waiter who wasthis stout gentleman that was making all this stir; but I could get noinformation; nobody seemed to know his name. The landlords of bustlinginns seldom trouble their heads about the names or occupations oftheir transient guests. The colour of a coat, the shape or size of theperson, is enough to suggest a travelling name. It is either the tallgentleman, or the short gentleman, or the gentleman in black, or thegentleman in snuff-colour; or, as in the present instance, the stoutgentleman. A designation of the kind once hit on answers everypurpose, and saves all further inquiry. 

Rain--rain--rain! pitiless, ceaseless rain! No such thing as putting afoot out of doors, and no occupation nor amusement within. By and by Iheard some one walking overhead. It was in the stout gentleman's room. He evidently was a large man, by the heaviness of his tread; and anold man, from his wearing such creaking soles. "He is doubtless, "thought I, "some rich old square-toes, of regular habits, and is nowtaking exercise after breakfast. "

I now read all the advertisements of coaches and hotels that werestuck about the mantel-piece. The Lady's Magazine had become anabomination to me; it was as tedious as the day itself. I wanderedout, not knowing what to do, and ascended again to my room. I had notbeen there long, when there was a squall from a neighbouring bed-room. A door opened and slammed violently; a chamber-maid, that I hadremarked for having a ruddy, good-humoured face, went down-stairs in aviolent flurry. The stout gentleman had been rude to her. 

This sent a whole host of my deductions to the deuce in a moment. Thisunknown personage could not be an old gentleman; for old gentlemen arenot apt to be so obstreperous to chamber-maids. He could not be ayoung gentleman; for young gentlemen are not apt to inspire suchindignation. He must be a middle-aged man, and confounded ugly intothe bargain, or the girl would not have taken the matter in suchterrible dudgeon. I confess I was sorely puzzled. 

In a few minutes I heard the voice of my landlady. I caught a glanceof her as she came tramping up-stairs; her face glowing, her capflaring, her tongue wagging the whole way. "She'd have no such doingsin her house, she'd warrant! If gentlemen did spend money freely, itwas no rule. She'd have no servant maids of hers treated in that way, when they were about their work, that's what she wouldn't!"

As I hate squabbles, particularly with women, and above all withpretty women, I slunk back into my room, and partly closed the door;but my curiosity was too much excited not to listen. The landladymarched intrepidly to the enemy's citadel, and entered it with astorm: the door closed after her. I heard her voice in high windyclamour for a moment or two. Then it gradually subsided, like a gustof wind in a garret; then there was a laugh; then I heard nothingmore. 

After a little while, my landlady came out with an odd smile on herface, adjusting her cap, which was a little on one side. As she wontdown-stairs, I heard the landlord ask her what was the matter; shesaid, "Nothing at all, only the girl's a fool. " I was more than everperplexed what to make of this unaccountable personage, who could puta good-natured chamber-maid in a passion, and send away a termagantlandlady in smiles. He could not be so old, nor cross, nor uglyeither. 

I had to go to work at his picture again, and to paint him entirelydifferent. I now set him down for one of those stout gentlemen thatare frequently met with, swaggering about the doors of country inns. Moist, merry fellows, in Belcher handkerchiefs, whose bulk is a littleassisted by malt liquors. Men who have seen the world, and been swornat Highgate; who are used to tavern life; up to all the tricks oftapsters, and knowing in the ways of sinful publicans. Free-livers ona small scale; who are prodigal within the compass of a guinea; whocall all the waiters by name, touzle the maids, gossip with thelandlady at the bar, and prose over a pint of port, or a glass ofnegus, after dinner. 

The morning wore away in forming of these and similar surmises. Asfast as I wove one system of belief, some movement of the unknownwould completely overturn it, and throw all my thoughts again intoconfusion. Such are the solitary operations of a feverish mind. I was, as I have said, extremely nervous; and the continual meditation on theconcerns of this invisible personage began to have its effect:--I wasgetting a fit of the fidgets. 

Dinner-time came. I hoped, the stout gentleman might dine in thetravellers'-room, and that I might at length get a view of his person;but no--he had dinner served in his own room. What could be themeaning of this solitude and mystery? He could not be a radical; therewas something too aristocratical in thus keeping himself apart fromthe rest of the world, and condemning himself to his own dull companythroughout a rainy day. And then, too, he lived too well for adiscontented politician. He seemed to expatiate on a variety ofdishes, and to sit over his wine like a jolly friend of good living. Indeed, my doubts on this head were soon at an end; for he could nothave finished his first bottle before I could faintly hear him humminga tune; and on listening, I found it to be "God save the King. " 'Twasplain, then, he was no radical, but a faithful subject; one that grewloyal over his bottle, and was ready to stand by king andconstitution, when he could stand by nothing else. But who could hebe? My conjectures began to run wild. Was he not some personage ofdistinction, traveling incog. ? "God knows!" said I, at my wit's end;"it may be one of the royal family for aught I know, for they are allstout gentlemen!"

The weather continued rainy. The mysterious unknown kept his room, and, as far as I could judge, his chair, for I did not hear him move. In the meantime, as the day advanced, the travellers'-room began to befrequented. Some, who had just arrived, came in buttoned up inbox-coats; others came home, who had been dispersed about the town. Some took their dinners, and some their tea. Had I been in a differentmood, I should have found entertainment in studying this peculiarclass of men. There were two especially, who were regular wags of theroad, and up to all the standing jokes of travellers. They had athousand sly things to say to the waiting-maid, whom they calledLouisa, and Ethelinda, and a dozen other fine names, changing the nameevery time, and chuckling amazingly at their own waggery. My mind, however, had become completely engrossed by the stout gentleman. Hehad kept my fancy in chase during a long day, and it was not now to bediverted from the scent. 

The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read the papers two orthree times over. Some drew round the fire, and told long storiesabout their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, andbreakings down. They discussed the credits of different merchants anddifferent inns; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes ofpretty chamber-maids, and kind landladies. All this passed as theywere quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture ofthe kind; after which they one after another rang for "Boots" and thechamber-maid, and walked off to bed in old shoes cut down intomarvellously uncomfortable slippers. 

There was only one man left; a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoricfellow, with a very large, sandy head. He sat by himself, with a glassof port wine negus, and a spoon; sipping and stirring, and meditatingand sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fellasleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing beforehim; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too, for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light thatremained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral, box-coats of departedtravellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the tickingof the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping topers, and the drippings of the rain, drop--drop--drop, from the eaves of thehouse. The church-bells chimed midnight. All at once the stoutgentleman began to walk overhead, pacing slowly backwards andforwards. There was something extremely awful in all this, especiallyto one in my state of nerves. These ghastly greatcoats, these gutturalbreathings, and the creaking footsteps of this mysterious being. Hissteps grew fainter and fainter, and at length died away. I could bearit no longer. I was wound up to the desperation of a hero of romance. "Be he who or what he may, " said I to myself, "I'll have a sight ofhim!" I seized a chamber candle, and hurried up to number 13. The doorstood ajar. I hesitated--I entered: the room was deserted. There stooda large, broad-bottomed elbow chair at a table, on which was an emptytumbler, and a "Times" newspaper, and the room smelt powerfully ofStilton cheese. 

The mysterious stranger had evidently but just retired. I turned off, sorely disappointed, to my room, which had been changed to the frontof the house. As I went along the corridor, I saw a large pair ofboots, with dirty, waxed tops, standing at the door of a bed-chamber. They doubtless belonged to the unknown; but it would not do to disturbso redoubtable a personage in his den; he might discharge a pistol, orsomething worse, at my head. I went to bed, therefore, and lay awakehalf the night in a terrible nervous state; and even when I fellasleep, I was still haunted in my dreams by the idea of the stoutgentleman and his wax-topped boots. 

I slept rather late the next morning, and was awakened by some stirand bustle in the house, which I could not at first comprehend; untilgetting more awake, I found there was a mail-coach starting from thedoor. Suddenly there was a cry from below, "The gentleman has forgothis umbrella! look for the gentleman's umbrella in No. 13!" I heard animmediate scampering of a chamber-maid along the passage, and a shrillreply as she ran, "Here it is! here's the gentleman's umbrella!"

The mysterious stranger then was on the point of setting off. This wasthe only chance I should ever have of knowing him. I sprang out ofbed, scrambled to the window, snatched aside the curtains, and justcaught a glimpse of the rear of a person getting in at the coach-door. The skirts of a brown coat parted behind, and gave me a full view ofthe broad disk of a pair of drab breeches. The door closed--"allright!" was the word--the coach whirled off:--and that was all I eversaw of the stout gentleman!

FOREST TREES. 

 "A living gallery of aged trees. "

One of the favourite themes of boasting with the Squire, is the nobletrees on his estate, which, in truth, has some of the finest that Ihave seen in England. There is something august and solemn in thegreat avenues of stately oaks that gather their branches together highin air, and seem to reduce the pedestrians beneath them to merepigmies. "An avenue of oaks or elms, " the Squire observes, "is thetrue colonnade that should lead to a gentleman's house. As to stoneand marble, any one can rear them at once--they are the work of theday; but commend me to the colonnades that have grown old and greatwith the family, and tell by their grandeur how long the family hasendured. "

The Squire has great reverence for certain venerable trees, gray withmoss, which he considers as the ancient nobility of his domain. Thereis the ruin of an enormous oak, which has been so much battered bytime and tempest, that scarce any thing is left; though he saysChristy recollects when, in his boyhood, it was healthy andnourishing, until it was struck by lightning. It is now a mere trunk, with one twisted bough stretching up into the air, leaving a greenbranch at the end of it. This sturdy wreck is much valued by theSquire; he calls it his standard-bearer, and compares it to a veteranwarrior beaten down in battle, but bearing up his banner to the last. He has actually had a fence built round it, to protect it as much aspossible from further injury. 

It is with great difficulty that the Squire can ever be brought tohave any tree cut down on his estate. To some he looks with reverence, as having been planted by his ancestors; to others with a kind ofpaternal affection, as having been planted by himself; and he feels adegree of awe in bringing down, with a few strokes of the axe, what ithas cost centuries to build up. I confess I cannot but sympathize, insome degree, with the good Squire on the subject. Though brought up ina country overrun with forests, where trees are apt to be consideredmere encumbrances, and to be laid low without hesitation or remorse, yet I could never see a fine tree hewn down without concern. Thepoets, who are naturally lovers of trees, as they are of every thingthat is beautiful, have artfully awakened great interest in theirfavour, by representing them as the habitations of sylvan deities;insomuch that every great tree had its tutelar genius, or a nymph, whose existence was limited to its duration. Evelyn, in his Sylva, makes several pleasing and fanciful allusions to this superstition. "As the fall, " says he, "of a very aged oak, giving a crack likethunder, has often been heard at many miles' distance; constrainedthough I often am to fell them with reluctancy, I do not at any timeremember to have heard the groans of those nymphs (grieving to bedispossessed of their ancient habitations) without some emotion andpity. " And again, in alluding to a violent storm that had devastatedthe woodlands, he says, "Methinks I still hear, sure I am that I stillfeel, the dismal groans of our forests; the late dreadful hurricanehaving subverted so many thousands of goodly oaks, prostrating thetrees, laying them in ghastly postures, like whole regiments fallen inbattle by the sword of the conqueror, and crushing all that grewbeneath them. The public accounts, " he adds, "reckon no less thanthree thousand brave oaks in one part only of the forest of Dean blowndown. "

I have paused more than once in the wilderness of America, tocontemplate the traces of some blast of wind, which seemed to haverushed down from the clouds, and ripped its way through the bosom ofthe woodlands; rooting up, shivering, and splintering the stoutesttrees, and leaving a long track of desolation. There was somethingawful in the vast havoc made among these gigantic plants; and inconsidering their magnificent remains, so rudely torn and mangled, andhurled down to perish prematurely on their native soil, I wasconscious of a strong movement of the sympathy so feelingly expressedby Evelyn. I recollect, also, hearing a traveller of poeticalTemperament expressing the kind of horror which he felt on Beholdingon the banks of the Missouri, an oak of prodigious size, which hadbeen, in a manner, overpowered by an enormous wild grape-vine. Thevine had clasped its huge folds round the trunk, and from thence hadwound about every branch and twig, until the mighty tree had witheredin its embrace. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in thehideous coils of the monster Python. It was the lion of treesperishing in the embraces of a vegetable boa. 

I am fond of listening to the conversation of English gentlemen onrural concerns, and of noticing with what taste and discrimination, and what strong, unaffected interest they will discuss topics, which, in other countries, are abandoned to mere woodmen, or rusticcultivators. I have heard a noble earl descant on park and forestscenery with the science and feeling of a painter. He dwelt on theshape and beauty of particular trees on his estate, with as much prideand technical precision as though he had been discussing the merits ofstatues in his collection I found that he had even gone considerabledistances to examine trees which were celebrated among rural amateurs;for it seems that trees, like horses, have their established points ofexcellence; and that there are some in England which enjoy veryextensive celebrity among tree-fanciers, from being perfect in theirkind. 

There is something nobly simple and pure in such a taste: it argues, Ithink, a sweet and generous nature, to have this strong relish for thebeauties of vegetation, and this friendship for the hardy and glorioussons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought connected with thispart of rural economy. It is, if I may be allowed the figure, theheroic line of husbandry. It is worthy of liberal, and free-born, andaspiring men. He who plants an oak, looks forward to future ages, andplants for posterity. Nothing can be less selfish than this. He cannotexpect to sit in its shade, nor enjoy its shelter; but he exults inthe idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth shall grow upinto a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and increasing, andbenefiting mankind, long after he shall have ceased to tread hispaternal fields. Indeed, it is the nature of such occupations to liftthe thoughts above mere worldliness. As the leaves of trees are saidto absorb all noxious qualities of the air, and to breathe forth apurer atmosphere, so it seems to me as if they drew from us all sordidand angry passions, and breathed forth peace and philanthropy. Thereis a serene and settled majesty in woodland scenery, that enters intothe soul, and dilates and elevates it, and fills it with nobleinclinations. The ancient and hereditary groves, too, that embowerthis island, are most of them full of story. They are haunted by therecollections of great spirits of past ages, who have sought forrelaxation among them from the tumult of arms, or the toils of state, or have wooed the muse beneath their shade. Who can walk, with soulunmoved, among the stately groves of Penshurst, where the gallant, theamiable, the elegant Sir Philip Sidney passed his boyhood; or can lookwithout fondness upon the tree that is said to have been planted onhis birthday; or can ramble among the classic bowers of Hagley; or canpause among the solitudes of Windsor Forest, and look at the oaksaround, huge, gray, and time-worn, like the old castle towers, and notfeel as if he were surrounded by so many monuments of long-enduringglory? It is, when viewed in this light, that planted groves, andstately avenues, and cultivated parks, have an advantage over the moreluxuriant beauties of unassisted nature. It is that they teem withmoral associations, and keep up the ever-interesting story of humanexistence. 

It is incumbent, then, on the high and generous spirits of an ancientnation, to cherish these sacred groves that surround their ancestralmansions, and to perpetuate them to their descendants. Republican as Iam by birth, and brought up as I have been in republican principlesand habits, I can feel nothing of the servile reverence for titledrank, merely because it is titled; but I trust that I am neither churlnor bigot in my creed. I can both see and feel how hereditarydistinction, when it falls to the lot of a generous mind, may elevatethat mind into true nobility. It is one of the effects of hereditaryrank, when it falls thus happily, that it multiplies the duties, and, as it were, extends the existence of the possessor. He does not feelhimself a mere individual link in creation, responsible only for hisown brief term of being. He carries back his existence in proudrecollection, and he extends it forward in honourable anticipation. Helives with his ancestry, and he lives with his posterity. To both doeshe consider himself involved in deep responsibilities. As he hasreceived much from those that have gone before, so he feels bound totransmit much to those who are to come after him. His domesticundertakings seem to imply a longer existence than those of ordinarymen; none are so apt to build and plant for future centuries, asnoble-spirited men, who have received their heritages from foregoneages. 

I cannot but applaud, therefore, the fondness and pride with which Ihave noticed English gentlemen, of generous temperaments, and higharistocratic feelings, contemplating those magnificent trees, whichrise like towers and pyramids, from the midst of their paternal lands. There is an affinity between all nature, animate and inanimate: theoak, in the pride and lustihood of its growth, seems to me to take itsrange with the lion and the eagle, and to assimilate, in the grandeurof its attributes, to heroic and intellectual man. With its mightypillar rising straight and direct towards heaven, bearing up its leafyhonours from the impurities of earth, and supporting them aloft infree air and glorious sunshine, it is an emblem of what a truenobleman _should be_; a refuge for the weak, a shelter for theoppressed, a defence for the defenceless; warding off from them thepeltings of the storm, or the scorching rays of arbitrary power. Hewho is _this_, is an ornament and a blessing to his native land. Hewho is _otherwise_, abuses his eminent advantages; abuses the grandeurand prosperity which he has drawn from the bosom of his country. Should tempests arise, and he be laid prostrate by the storm, whowould mourn over his fall? Should he be borne down by the oppressivehand of power, who would murmur at his fate?--"Why cumbereth he theground?"

A LITERARY ANTIQUARY. 

 Printed bookes he contemnes, as a novelty of this latter age; but a manuscript he pores on everlastingly; especially if the cover be all moth-eaten, and the dust make a parenthesis betweene every syllable. 

 --_Mico-Cosmographie_, 1638. 

The Squire receives great sympathy and support, in his antiquatedhumours, from the parson, of whom I made some mention on my formervisit to the Hall, and who acts as a kind of family chaplain. He hasbeen cherished by the Squire almost constantly, since the time thatthey were fellow-students at Oxford; for it is one of the peculiaradvantages of these great universities, that they often link the poorscholar to the rich patron, by early and heart-felt ties, that lastthrough life, without the usual humiliations of dependence andpatronage. Under the fostering protection of the Squire, therefore, the little parson has pursued his studies in peace. Having livedalmost entirely among books, and those, too, old books, he is quiteignorant of the world, and his mind is as antiquated as the garden atthe Hall, where the flowers are all arranged in formal beds, and theyew-trees clipped into urns and peacocks. 

His taste for literary antiquities was first imbibed in the BodleianLibrary at Oxford; where, when a student, he passed many an hourforaging among the old manuscripts. He has since, at different times, visited most of the curious libraries in England, and has ransackedmany of the cathedrals. With all his quaint and curious learning, hehas nothing of arrogance or pedantry; but that unaffected earnestnessand guileless simplicity which seem to belong to the literaryantiquary. 

He is a dark, mouldy little man, and rather dry in his manner; yet, onhis favourite theme, he kindles up, and at times is even eloquent. Nofox-hunter, recounting his last day's sport, could be more animatedthan I have seen the worthy parson, when relating his search after acurious document, which he had traced from library to library, untilhe fairly unearthed it in the dusty chapter-house of a cathedral. When, too, he describes some venerable manuscript, with its richilluminations, its thick creamy vellum, its glossy ink, and the odourof the cloisters that seemed to exhale from it, he rivals theenthusiasm of a Parisian epicure, expatiating on the merits of aPerigord pie, or a _Patté de Strasbourg_. 

His brain seems absolutely haunted with love-sick dreams aboutgorgeous old works in "silk linings, triple gold bands, and tintedleather, locked up in wire cases, and secured from the vulgar handsof the mere reader;" and, to continue the happy expressions of aningenious writer, "dazzling one's eyes like eastern beauties, peeringthrough their jealousies. "[3]

[Footnote 3: D'Israeli--_Curiosities of Literature_. ]

He has a great desire, however, to read such works in the oldlibraries and chapter-houses to which they belong; for he thinks ablack-letter volume reads best in one of those venerable chamberswhere the light struggles through dusty lancet windows and paintedglass; and that it loses half its zest, if taken away from theneighbourhood of the quaintly-carved oaken book-case and Gothicreading-desk. At his suggestion, the Squire has had the libraryfurnished in this antique taste, and several of the windows glazedwith painted glass, that they may throw a properly tempered light uponthe pages of their favourite old authors. 

The parson, I am told, has been for some time meditating a commentaryon Strutt, Brand, and Douce, in which he means to detect them insundry dangerous errors in respect to popular games and superstitions;a work to which the Squire looks forward with great interest. He is, also, a casual contributor to that long-established repository ofnational customs and antiquities, the Gentleman's Magazine, and is oneof those that every now and then make an inquiry concerning someobsolete custom or rare legend; nay, it is said that several of hiscommunications have been at least six inches in length. He frequentlyreceives parcels by coach from different parts of the kingdom, containing mouldy volumes and almost illegible manuscripts; for it issingular what an active correspondence is kept up among literaryantiquaries, and how soon the fame of any rare volume, or unique copy, just discovered among the rubbish of a library, is circulated amongthem. The parson is more busy than common just now, being a littleflurried by an advertisement of a work, said to be preparing for thepress, on the mythology of the middle ages. The little man has longbeen gathering together all the hobgoblin tales he could collect, illustrative of the superstitions of former times; and he is in acomplete fever lest this formidable rival should take the field beforehim. 

Shortly after my arrival at the Hall, I called at the parsonage, incompany with Mr. Bracebridge and the general. The parson had not beenseen for several days, which was a matter of some surprise, as he wasan almost daily visitor at the Hall. We found him in his study; asmall dusky chamber, lighted by a lattice window that looked into thechurch-yard, and was overshadowed by a yew-tree. His chair wassurrounded by folios and quartos, piled upon the floor, and his tablewas covered with books and manuscripts. The cause of his seclusion wasa work which he had recently received, and with which he had retiredin rapture from the world, and shut himself up to enjoy a literaryhoneymoon undisturbed. Never did boarding-school girl devour the pagesof a sentimental novel, or Don Quixote a chivalrous romance, with moreintense delight than did the little man banquet on the pages of thisdelicious work. It was Dibdin's Bibliographical Tour; a workcalculated to have as intoxicating an effect on the imaginations ofliterary antiquaries, as the adventures of the heroes of the roundtable, on all true knights; or the tales of the early Americanvoyagers on the ardent spirits of the age, filling them with dreams ofMexican and Peruvian mines, and of the golden realm of El Dorado. 

The good parson had looked forward to this bibliographical expeditionas of far greater importance than those to Africa or the North Pole. With what eagerness had he seized upon the history of the enterprise!with what interest had he followed the redoubtable bibliographer andhis graphical squire in their adventurous roamings among Normancastles, and cathedrals, and French libraries, and German convents anduniversities; penetrating into the prison-houses of vellummanuscripts, and exquisitely illuminated missals, and revealing theirbeauties to the world!

When the parson had finished a rapturous eulogy on this most curiousand entertaining work, he drew forth from a little drawer amanuscript, lately received from a correspondent, which had perplexedhim sadly. It was written in Norman French, in very ancientcharacters, and so faded and mouldered away as to be almost illegible. It was apparently an old Norman drinking song, that might have beenbrought over by one of William the Conqueror's carousing followers. The writing was just legible enough to keep a keen antiquity-hunter ona doubtful chase; here and there he would be completely thrown out, and then there would be a few words so plainly written as to put himon the scent again. In this way he had been led on for a whole day, until he had found himself completely at fault. 

The Squire endeavoured to assist him, but was equally baffled. The oldgeneral listened for some time to the discussion, and then asked theparson if he had read Captain Morris's, or George Stevens's, orAnacreon Moore's bacchanalian songs? On the other replying in thenegative, "Oh, then, " said the general, with a sagacious nod, "if youwant a drinking song, I can furnish you with the latest collection--Idid not know you had a turn for those kind of things; and I can lendyou the Encyclopedia of Wit into the bargain. I never travel withoutthem; they're excellent reading at an inn. "

It would not be easy to describe the odd look of surprise andperplexity of the parson, at this proposal; or the difficulty theSquire had in making the general comprehend, that though a jovial songof the present day was but a foolish sound in the ears of wisdom, andbeneath the notice of a learned man, yet a trowl, written by a tosspotseveral hundred years since, was a matter worthy of the gravestresearch, and enough to set whole colleges by the ears. 

I have since pondered much on this matter, and have figured to myselfwhat may be the fate of our current literature, when retrieved, piecemeal, by future antiquaries, from among the rubbish of ages. Whata Magnus Apollo, for instance, will Moore become, among sober divinesand dusty schoolmen! Even his festive and amatory songs, which are nowthe mere quickeners of our social moments, or the delights of ourdrawing-rooms, will then become matters of laborious research andpainful collation. How many a grave professor will then waste hismidnight oil, or worry his brain through a long morning, endeavouringto restore the pure text, or illustrate the biographical hints of"Come, tell me, says Rosa, as kissing and kissed;" and how many anarid old bookworm, like the worthy little parson, will give up indespair, after vainly striving to fill up some fatal hiatus in "Fannyof Timmol"!

Nor is it merely such exquisite authors as Moore that are doomed toconsume the oil of future antiquaries. Many a poor scribbler, who isnow, apparently, sent to oblivion by pastrycooks and cheese-mongers, will then rise again in fragments, and flourish in learnedimmortality. 

After all, thought I, time is not such an invariable destroyer as heis represented. If he pulls down, he likewise builds up; if heimpoverishes one, he enriches another; his very dilapidations furnishmatter for new works of controversy, and his rust is more preciousthan the most costly gilding. Under his plastic hand, trifles riseinto importance; the nonsense of one age becomes the wisdom ofanother; the levity of the wit gravitates into the learning of thepedant, and an ancient farthing moulders into infinitely more valuethan a modern guinea. 

THE FARM-HOUSE. 

 ------"Love and hay Are thick sown, but come up full of thistles. "

 --BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 

I was so much pleased with the anecdotes which were told me ofReady-Money Jack Tibbets, that I got Master Simon, a day or two since, to take me to his house. It was an old-fashioned farm-house built withbrick, with curiously twisted chimneys. It stood at a little distancefrom the road, with a southern exposure, looking upon a soft greenslope of meadow. There was a small garden in front, with a row ofbee-hives humming among beds of sweet herbs and flowers. Well-scouredmilking tubs, with bright copper hoops, hung on the garden paling. Fruit trees were trained up against the cottage, and pots of flowersstood in the windows. A fat, superannuated mastiff lay in the sunshineat the door; with a sleek cat sleeping peacefully across him. 

Mr. Tibbets was from home at the time of our calling, but we werereceived with hearty and homely welcome by his wife; a notable, motherly woman, and a complete pattern for wives; since, according toMaster Simon's account, she never contradicts honest Jack, and yetmanages to have her own way, and to control him in every thing. 

She received us in the main room of the house, a kind of parlour andhall, with great brown beams of timber across it, which Mr. Tibbets isapt to point out with some exultation, observing, that they don't putsuch timber in houses now-a-days. The furniture was old-fashioned, strong, and highly polished; the walls were hung with coloured printsof the story of the Prodigal Son, who was represented in a red coatand leather breeches. Over the fire-place was a blunderbuss, and ahard-favoured likeness of Ready-Money Jack, taken when he was a youngman, by the same artist that painted the tavern sign; his motherhaving taken a notion that the Tibbets had as much right to have agallery of family portraits as the folks at the Hall. 

The good dame pressed us very much to take some refreshment, andtempted us with a variety of household dainties, so that we were gladto compound by tasting some of her homemade wines. While we werethere, the son and heir-apparent came home; a good-looking youngfellow, and something of a rustic beau. He took us over the premises, and showed us the whole establishment. An air of homely butsubstantial plenty prevailed throughout; every thing was of the bestmaterials, and in the best condition. Nothing was out of place, or illmade; and you saw every where the signs of a man that took care tohave the worth of his money, and that paid as he went. 

The farm-yard was well stocked; under a shed was a taxed cart, in trimorder, in which Ready-Money Jack took his wife about the country. Hiswell-fed horse neighed from the stable, and when led out into theyard, to use the words of young Jack, "he shone like a bottle;" for hesaid the old man made it a rule that every thing about him should fareas well as he did himself. 

I was pleased to see the pride which the young fellow seemed to haveof his father. He gave us several particulars concerning his habits, which were pretty much to the effect of those I have alreadymentioned. He had never suffered an account to stand in his life, always providing the money before he purchased any thing; and, ifpossible, paying in gold and silver. He had a great dislike to papermoney, and seldom went without a considerable sum in gold about him. On my observing that it was a wonder he had never been waylaid androbbed, the young fellow smiled at the idea of any one venturing uponsuch an exploit, for I believe he thinks the old man would be a matchfor Robin Hood and all his gang. 

I have noticed that Master Simon seldom goes into any house withouthaving a world of private talk with some one or other of the family, being a kind of universal counsellor and confidant. We had not beenlong at the farm, before the old dame got him into a corner of herparlour, where they had a long, whispering conference together; inwhich I saw, by his shrugs, that there were some dubious mattersdiscussed, and by his nods that he agreed with every thing she said. 

After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walkedand talked together for nearly half an hour. Master Simon, who has theusual propensity of confidants to blab every thing to the next friendthey meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in question;the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of PhoebeWilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall. Like mostother love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities. Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms with thehousekeeper, who often visited the farm-house; but when the neighboursspoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her son and PhoebeWilkins, "Marry come up!" she scouted the very idea. The girl hadacted as lady's maid; and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets', who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverenceand thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant!

These vapourings had faithfully been carried to the housekeeper's ear, by one of their mutual go-between friends. The old housekeeper'sblood, if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets. Shehad been accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall, and among thevillagers; and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at theslight cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer. Shemaintained that her niece had been a companion rather than awaiting-maid to the young ladies. "Thank heavens, she was not obligedto work for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the land;and when somebody died, would receive something that would be worththe notice of some folks, with all their ready money. "

A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy dames, andthe young people were forbidden to think of one another. As to youngJack, he was too much in love to reason upon the matter; and being alittle heady, and not standing in much awe of his mother, was ready tosacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets' to his passion. He hadlately, however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, inconsequence of some coquetry on her part, and at present stood aloof. The politic mother was exerting all her ingenuity to widen theaccidental breach; but, as is most commonly the case, the more shemeddled with this perverse inclination of the son, the stronger itgrew. In the meantime, old Ready-Money was kept completely in thedark; both parties were in awe and uncertainty as to what might be hisway of taking the matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion. Between father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full ofbusiness, and at her wit's end. It is true there was no great dangerof honest Ready-Money's finding the thing out, if left to himself; forhe was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick ofapprehension; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused, by the cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinningabout his nose. 

Such is the distracted state of politics, in the domestic empire ofReady-Money Jack; which only shows the intrigues and internal dangersto which the best-regulated governments are liable. In this perplexedsituation of their affairs, both mother and son have applied to MasterSimon for counsel; and, with all his experience in meddling with otherpeople's concerns, he finds it an exceedingly difficult part to play, to agree with both parties, seeing that their opinions and wishes areso diametrically opposite. 

HORSEMANSHIP. 

 A coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight put both horse and man into amazement. Some said it was a great crabshell brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the canibals adored the divell. 

 --TAYLOR, THE WATER POET. 

I have made casual mention, more than once, of one of the Squire'santiquated retainers, old Christy, the huntsman. I find that hiscrabbed humour is a source of much entertainment among the young menof the family; the Oxonian, particularly, takes a mischievouspleasure, now and then, in slyly rubbing the old man against thegrain, and then smoothing him down again; for the old fellow is asready to bristle up his back as a porcupine. He rides a venerablehunter called Pepper, which is a counterpart of himself, a headycross-grained animal, that frets the flesh off its bones; bites, kicks, and plays all manner of villainous tricks. He is as tough, andnearly as old as his rider, who has ridden him time out of mind, andis, indeed, the only one that can do any thing with him. Sometimes, however, they have a complete quarrel, and a dispute for mastery, andthen, I am told, it is as good as a farce to see the heat they bothget into, and the wrong-headed contest that ensues; for they are quiteknowing in each other's ways, and in the art of teasing and frettingeach other. Notwithstanding these doughty brawls, however, there isnothing that nettles old Christy sooner than to question the merits ofthe horse; which he upholds as tenaciously as a faithful husband willvindicate the virtues of the termagant spouse, that gives him acurtain lecture every night of his life. 

The young men call old Christy their "professor of equitation;" and inaccounting for the appellation, they let me into some particulars ofthe Squire's mode of bringing up his children. There is an odd mixtureof eccentricity and good sense in all the opinions of my worthy host. His mind is like modern Gothic, where plain brick-work is set off withpointed arches and quaint tracery. Though the main ground-work of hisopinions is correct, yet he has a thousand little notions, picked upfrom old books, which stand out whimsically on the surface of hismind. 

Thus, in educating his boys, he chose Peachem, Markam, and such likeold English writers, for his manuals. At an early age he took the ladsout of their mother's hands, who was disposed, as mothers are apt tobe, to make fine, orderly children of them, that should keep out ofsun and rain and never soil their hands, nor tear their clothes. 

In place of this, the Squire turned them loose to run free and wildabout the park, without heeding wind or weather. He was, also, particularly attentive in making them bold and expert horsemen; andthese were the days when old Christy, the huntsman, enjoyed greatimportance, as the lads were put under his care to practise them atthe leaping-bars, and to keep an eye upon them in the chase. 

The Squire always objected to their riding in carriages of any kind, and is still a little tenacious on this point. He often rails againstthe universal use of carriages, and quotes the words of honest Nasheto that effect. "It was thought, " says Nashe, in his Quaternio, "akind of solecism, and to savour of effeminacy, for a young gentlemanin the flourishing time of his age to creep into a coach, and toshroud himself from wind and weather: our great delight was tooutbrave the blustering Boreas upon a great horse; to arm and prepareourselves to go with Mars and Bellona into the field, was our sportand pastime; coaches and caroches we left unto them for whom they werefirst invented, for ladies and gentlemen, and decrepit age andimpotent people. "

The Squire insists that the English gentlemen have lost much of theirhardiness and manhood, since the introduction of carriages. "Compare, "he will say, "the fine gentleman of former times, ever on horseback, booted and spurred, and travel-stained, but open, frank, manly, andchivalrous, with the fine gentleman of the present day, full ofaffectation and effeminacy, rolling along a turnpike in his voluptuousvehicle. The young men of those days were rendered brave, and lofty, and generous in their notions, by almost living in their saddles, andhaving their foaming steeds 'like proud seas under them. ' There issomething, " he adds, "in bestriding a fine horse that makes a man feelmore than mortal. He seems to have doubled his nature, and to haveadded to his own courage and sagacity the power, the speed, andstateliness of the superb animal on which he is mounted. "

"It is a great delight, " says old Nashe, "to see a young gentlemanwith his skill and cunning, by his voice, rod, and spur, better tomanage and to command the great Bucephalus, than the strongest Milo, with all his strength; one while to see him make him tread, trot, andgallop the ring; and one after to see him make him gather up roundly;to bear his head steadily; to run a full career swiftly; to stop asudden lightly; anon after to see him make him advance, to yerke, togo back, and sidelong, to turn on either hand; to gallop the gallopgalliard; to do the capriole, the chambetta, and dance the curvetty. "

In conformity to these ideas, the Squire had them all on horseback atan early age, and made them ride, slapdash, about the country, withoutflinching at hedge, or ditch, or stone wall, to the imminent danger oftheir necks. 

Even the fair Julia was partially included in this system; and, underthe instructions of old Christy, has become one of the best horsewomenin the country. The Squire says it is better than all the cosmeticsand sweeteners of the breath that ever were invented. He extols thehorsemanship of the ladies in former times, when Queen Elizabeth wouldscarcely suffer the rain to stop her accustomed ride. "And thenthink, " he will say, "what nobler and sweeter beings it made them. What a difference must there be, both in mind and body, between ajoyous, high-spirited dame of those days, glowing with health andexercise, freshened by every breeze that blows, seated loftily andgracefully on her saddle, with plume on head, and hawk on hand, andher descendant of the present day, the pale victim of routs andball-rooms, sunk languidly in one corner of an enervating carriage. "

The Squire's equestrian system has been attended with great success;for his sons, having passed through the whole course of instructionwithout breaking neck or limb, are now healthful, spirited, andactive, and have the true Englishman's love for a horse. If theirmanliness and frankness are praised in their father's hearing, hequotes the old Persian maxim, and says, they have been taught "toride, to shoot, and to speak the truth. "

It is true, the Oxonian has now and then practised the old gentleman'sdoctrines a little in the extreme. He is a gay youngster, ratherfonder of his horse than his book, with a little dash of the dandy;though the ladies all declare that he is "the flower of the flock. "The first year that he was sent to Oxford, he had a tutor appointed tooverlook him, a dry chip of the university. When he returned home inthe vacation, the Squire made many inquiries about how he liked hiscollege, his studies, and his tutor. 

"Oh, as to my tutor, sir, I've parted with him some time since. "

"You have! and, pray, why so?"

"Oh, sir, hunting was all the go at our college, and I was a littleshort of funds; so I discharged my tutor, and took a horse, you know. "

"Ah, I was not aware of that, Tom, " said the Squire, mildly. 

When Tom returned to college, his allowance was doubled, that he mightbe enabled to keep both horse and tutor. 

LOVE SYMPTOMS. 

 I will now begin to sigh, read poets, look pale, go neatly, and be most apparently in love. 

 --MARSTON. 

I should not be surprised, if we should have another pair of turtlesat the Hall; for Master Simon has informed me, in great confidence, that he suspects the general of some design upon the susceptible heartof Lady Lillycraft. I have, indeed, noticed a growing attention andcourtesy in the veteran towards her ladyship; he softens very muchin her company, sits by her at table, and entertains her with longstories about Seringapatam, and pleasant anecdotes of the Mulligatawneyclub. I have even seen him present her with a full-blown rose from thehot-house, in a style of the most captivating gallantry, and it wasaccepted with great suavity and graciousness; for her ladyshipdelights in receiving the homage and attention of the sex. 

Indeed, the general was one of the earliest admirers that dangled inher train, during her short reign of beauty; and they flirted togetherfor half a season in London, some thirty or forty years since. Shereminded him lately, in the course of a conversation about formerdays, of the time when he used to ride a white horse, and to canter sogallantly by the side of her carriage in Hyde Park; whereupon I haveremarked that the veteran has regularly escorted her since, when sherides out on horseback; and, I suspect, he almost persuades himselfthat he makes as captivating an appearance as in his youthful days. 

It would be an interesting and memorable circumstance in thechronicles of Cupid, if this spark of the tender passion, after lyingdormant for such a length of time, should again be fanned into aflame, from amidst the ashes of two burnt-out hearts. It would be aninstance of perdurable fidelity, worthy of being placed beside thoserecorded in one of the Squire's favourite tomes, commemorating theconstancy of the olden times; in which times, we are told, "Men andwymmen coulde love togyders seven yeres, and no licours lustes werebetwene them, and thenne was love, trouthe, and feythfulnes; and lo inlyke wyse was used love in King Arthur's dayes. "[4]

[Footnote 4: Morte d' Arthur. ]

Still, however, this may be nothing but a little venerable flirtation, the general being a veteran dangler, and the good lady habituated tothese kind of attentions. Master Simon, on the other hand, thinks thegeneral is looking about him with the wary eye of an old campaigner;and, now that he is on the wane, is desirous of getting into warmwinter-quarters. Much allowance, however, must be made for MasterSimon's uneasiness on the subject, for he looks on Lady Lillycraft'shouse as one of his strongholds, where he is lord of the ascendant;and, with all his admiration of the general, I much doubt whether hewould like to see him lord of the lady and the establishment. 

There are certain other symptoms, notwithstanding, that give an air ofprobability to Master Simon's intimations. Thus, for instance, I haveobserved that the general has been very assiduous in his attentions toher ladyship's dogs, and has several times exposed his fingers toimminent jeopardy, in attemptingto pat Beauty on the head. It is to behoped his advances to the mistress will be more favourably received, as all his overtures towards a caress are greeted by the pestilentlittle cur with a wary kindling of the eye, and a most venomous growl. 

He has, moreover, been very complaisant towards my lady's gentlewoman, the immaculate Mrs. Hannah, whom he used to speak of in a way that Ido not choose to mention. Whether she has the same suspicions withMaster Simon or not, I cannot say; but she receives his civilitieswith no better grace than the implacable Beauty; unscrewing her mouthinto a most acid smile, and looking as though she could bite a pieceout of him. In short, the poor general seems to have as formidablefoes to contend with, as a hero of ancient fairy tale; who had tofight his way to his enchanted princess through ferocious monsters ofevery kind, and to encounter the brimstone terrors of some fierydragon. 

There is still another circumstance, which inclines me to give veryconsiderable credit to Master Simon's suspicions. Lady Lillycraft isvery fond of quoting poetry, and the conversation often turns upon it, on which occasions the general is thrown completely out. It happenedthe other day that Spenser's Fairy Queen was the theme for the greaterpart of the morning, and the poor general sat perfectly silent. Ifound him not long after in the library, with spectacles on nose, abook in his hand, and fast asleep. On my approach, he awoke, slipt thespectacles into his pocket, and began to read very attentively. Aftera little while he put a paper in the place, and laid the volume aside, which I perceived was the Fairy Queen. I have had the curiosity towatch how he got on in his poetical studies; but though I haverepeatedly seen him with the book in his hand, yet I find the paperhas not advanced above three or four pages; the general beingextremely apt to fall asleep when he reads. 

FALCONRY. 

 Ne is there hawk which mantleth on her perch, Whether high tow'ring or accousting low, But I the measure of her flight doe search, And all her prey and all her diet know. 

 --SPENSER. 

There are several grand sources of lamentation furnished to the worthySquire, by the improvement of society and the grievous advancement ofknowledge; among which there is none, I believe, that causes him morefrequent regret than the unfortunate invention of gunpowder. To this hecontinually traces the decay of some favourite custom, and, indeed, thegeneral downfall of all chivalrous and romantic usages. "Englishsoldiers, " he says, "have never been the men they were in the days ofthe cross-bow and the long-bow; when they depended upon the strength ofthe arm, and the English archer could draw a cloth-yard shaft to thehead. These were the times when, at the battles of Cressy, Poietiers, and Agincourt, the French chivalry was completely destroyed by thebowmen of England. The yeomanry, too, have never been what they were, when, in times of peace, they were constantly exercised with the bow, and archery was a favourite holiday pastime. "

Among the other evils which have followed in the train of this fatalinvention of gunpowder, the Squire classes the total decline of thenoble art of falconry. "Shooting, " he says, "is a skulking, treacherous, solitary sport, in comparison; but hawking was a gallant, open, sunshiny recreation; it was the generous sport of huntingcarried into the skies. "

"It was, moreover, " he says, "according to Braithwate, the statelyamusement of 'high and mounting spirits;' for as the old Welsh proverbaffirms in those tunes, 'you might know a gentleman by his hawk, horse, and grayhound. ' Indeed, a cavalier was seldom seen abroadwithout his hawk on his fist; and even a lady of rank did not thinkherself completely equipped, in riding forth, unless she had atassel-gentel held by jesses on her delicate hand. It was thought inthose excellent days, according to an old writer, 'quite sufficientfor noblemen to winde their horn, and to carry their hawke fair; andleave study and learning to the children of mean people. '"

Knowing the good Squire's hobby, therefore, I have not been surprisedat finding that, among the various recreations of former times whichhe has endeavoured to revive in the little world in which he rules, hehas bestowed great attention on the noble art of falconry. In this he, of course, has been seconded by his indefatigable coadjutor, MasterSimon; and even the parson has thrown considerable light on theirlabours, by various hints on the subject, which he has met with in oldEnglish works. As to the precious work of that famous dame, JulianaBarnes; the Gentleman's Academie, by Markham; and the other well-knowntreatises that were the manuals of ancient sportsmen, they have themat their fingers' ends; but they have more especially studied some oldtapestry in the house, whereon is represented a party of cavaliers andstately dames, with doublets, caps, and flaunting feathers, mounted onhorse, with attendants on foot, all in animated pursuit of the game. 

The Squire has discountenanced the killing of any hawks in hisneighbourhood, but gives a liberal bounty for all that are brought himalive; so that the Hall is well stocked with all kinds of birds ofprey. On these he and Master Simon have exhausted their patience andingenuity, endeavouring to "reclaim" them, as it is termed, and totrain them up for the sport; but they have met with continual checksand disappointments. Their feathered school has turned out the mostuntractable and graceless scholars: nor is it the least of theirtrouble to drill the retainers who were to act as ushers under them, and to take immediate charge of these refractory birds. Old Christyand the gamekeeper both, for a time, set their faces against the wholeplan of education; Christy having been nettled at hearing what heterms a wild-goose chase put on a par with a fox-hunt; and thegamekeeper having always been accustomed to look upon hawks as arrantpoachers, which it was his duty to shoot down, and nail, in terrorem, against the out-houses. 

Christy has at length taken the matter in hand, but has done stillmore mischief by his intermeddling. He is as positive and wrong-headedabout this, as he is about hunting. Master Simon has continualdisputes with him, as to feeding and training the hawks. He reads tohim long passages from the old authors I have mentioned; but Christy, who cannot read, has a sovereign contempt for all book-knowledge, andpersists in treating the hawks according to his own notions, which aredrawn from his experience, in younger days, in the rearing ofgame-cocks. 

The consequence is, that, between these jarring systems, the poor, birds have had a most trying and unhappy time of it. Many have fallenvictims to Christy's feeding and Master Simon's physicking; for thelatter has gone to work _secundum artem_, and has given them all thevomitings and scourings laid down in the books; never were poor hawksso fed and physicked before. Others have been lost by being but half"reclaimed, " or tamed; for on being taken into the field, they have"raked" after the game quite out of hearing of the call, and neverreturned to school. 

All these disappointments had been petty, yet sore grievances to theSquire, and had made him to despond about success. He has lately, however, been made happy by the receipt of a fine Welsh falcon, whichMaster Simon terms a stately high-flyer. It is a present from theSquire's friend, Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne; and is, no doubt, adescendant of some ancient line of Welsh princes of the air, thathave long lorded it over their kingdom of clouds, from Wynnstay to thevery summit of Snowden, or the brow of Penmanmawr. 

Ever since the Squire received this invaluable present, he has been asimpatient to sally forth and make proof of it, as was Don Quixote toassay his suit of armour. There have been some demurs as to whetherthe bird was in proper health and training; but these have beenoverruled by the vehement desire to play with a new toy; and it hasbeen determined, right or wrong, in season or out of season, to have aday's sport in hawking to-morrow. 

The Hall, as usual, whenever the Squire is about to make some newsally on his hobby, is all agog with the thing. Miss Templeton, who isbrought up in reverence for all her guardian's humours, has proposedto be of the party; and Lady Lillycraft has talked also of riding outto the scene of action and looking on. This has gratified the oldgentleman extremely; he hails it as an auspicious omen of the revivalof falconry, and does not despair but the time will come when it willbe again the pride of a fine lady to carry about a noble falcon, inpreference to a parrot or a lap-dog. 

I have amused myself with the bustling preparations of that busyspirit, Master Simon, and the continual thwartings he receives fromthat genuine son of a pepper-box, old Christy. They have hadhalf-a-dozen consultations about how the hawk is to be prepared forthe morning's sport. Old Nimrod, as usual, has always got in a pet, upon which Master Simon has invariably given up the point, observing, in a good-humoured tone, "Well, well, have it your own way, Christy;only don't put yourself in a passion;" a reply which always nettlesthe old man ten times more than ever. 

HAWKING. 

 The soaring hawk, from fist that flies, Her falconer doth constrain Some times to range the ground about To find her out again; And if by sight or sound of bell, His falcon he may see, Wo ho! he cries, with cheerful voice-- The gladdest man is he. 

 --_Handful of Pleasant Delites_. 

At an early hour this morning, the Hall was in a bustle preparing forthe sport of the day. I heard Master Simon whistling and singing undermy window at sunrise, as he was preparing the jesses for the hawk'slegs, and could distinguish now and then a stanza of one of hisfavourite old ditties:

 "In peascod time, when hound to horn Gives note that buck be kill'd; And little boy, with pipe of corn, Is tending sheep a-field, " &c. 

A hearty breakfast, well flanked by cold meats, was served up in thegreat hall. The whole garrison of retainers and hangers-on were inmotion, re-enforced by volunteer idlers from the village. The horseswere led up and down before the door; every body had something to say, and something to do, and hurried hither and thither; there was adireful yelping of dogs; some that were to accompany us being eager toset off, and others that were to stay at home being whipped back totheir kennels. In short, for once, the good Squire's mansion mighthave been taken as a good specimen of one of the rantipoleestablishments of the good old feudal times. 

Breakfast being finished, the chivalry of the Hall prepared to takethe field. The fair Julia was of the party, in a hunting-dress, with alight plume of feathers in her riding-hat. As she mounted herfavourite galloway, I remarked, with pleasure, that old Christy forgothis usual crustiness, and hastened to adjust her saddle and bridle. Hetouched his cap, as she smiled on him, and thanked him; and then, looking round at the other attendants, gave a knowing nod of his head, in which I read pride and exultation at the charming appearance of hispupil. 

Lady Lillycraft had likewise determined to witness the sport. She wasdressed in her broad white beaver, tied under the chin, and ariding-habit of the last century. She rode her sleek, ambling pony, whose motion was as easy as a rocking-chair; and was gallantlyescorted by the general, who looked not unlike one of the doughtyheroes in the old prints of the battle of Blenheim. The parson, likewise, accompanied her on the other side; for this was a learnedamusement, in which he took great interest; and, indeed, had givenmuch counsel, from his knowledge of old customs. 

At length every thing was arranged, and off we set from the Hall. Theexercise on horseback puts one in fine spirits; and the scene was gayand animating. The young men of the family accompanied Miss Templeton. She sat lightly and gracefully in her saddle, her plumes dancing andwaving in the air; and the group had a charming effect, as theyappeared and disappeared among the trees, cantering along, with thebounding animation of youth. The Squire and Master Simon rodetogether, accompanied by old Christy, mounted on Pepper. The latterbore the hawk on his fist, as he insisted the bird was most accustomedto him. There was a rabble rout on foot, composed of retainers fromthe Hall, and some idlers from the village, with two or threespaniels, for the purpose of starting the game. 

A kind of corps de reserve came on quietly in the rear, composed ofLady Lillycraft, General Harbottle, the parson, and a fat footman. Herladyship ambled gently along on her pony, while the general, mountedon a tall hunter, looked down upon her with an air of the mostprotecting gallantry. 

For my part, being no sportsman, I kept with this last party, orrather lagged behind, that I might take in the whole picture; and theparson occasionally slackened his pace, and jogged on in company withme. 

The sport led us at some distance from the Hall, in a soft meadow, reeking with the moist verdure of spring. A little river ran throughit, bordered by willows, which had put forth their tender earlyfoliage. The sportsmen were in quest of herons, which were said tokeep about this stream. 

There was some disputing, already, among the leaders of the sport. TheSquire, Master Simon, and old Christy, came every now and then to apause, to consult together, like the field officers in an army; and Isaw, by certain motions of the head, that Christy was as positive asany old wrong-headed German commander. 

As we were prancing up this quiet meadow, every sound we made wasanswered by a distinct echo, from the sunny wall of an old building, that lay on the opposite margin of the stream; and I paused to listento this "spirit of a sound, " which seems to love such quiet andbeautiful places. The parson informed me that this was the ruin of anancient grange, and was supposed, by the country people, to be hauntedby a dobbie, a kind of rural sprite, something like Robin-good-fellow. They often fancied the echo to be the voice of the dobbie answeringthem, and were rather shy of disturbing it after dark. He added, thatthe Squire was very careful of this ruin, on account of thesuperstition connected with it. As I considered this local habitationof an "airy nothing, " I called to mind the fine description of an echoin Webster's Duchess of Malfry:

 --"Yond side o' th' river lies a wall, Piece of a cloister, which, in my opinion, Gives the best echo that you ever heard: So plain in the distinction of our words, That many have supposed it a spirit That answers. "

The parson went on to comment on a pleasing and fanciful appellationwhich the Jews of old gave to the echo, which they called Bath-kool, that is to say, "the daughter of the voice;" they considered it anoracle, supplying in the second temple the want of the urim andthummim, with which the first was honoured. [5] The little man was justentering very largely and learnedly upon the subject, when we werestartled by a prodigious bawling, shouting, and yelping. A flight ofcrows, alarmed by the approach of our forces, had suddenly risen froma meadow; a cry was put up by the rabble rout on foot--"Now, Christy!now is your time, Christy!" The Squire and Master Simon, who werebeating up the river banks In quest of a heron, called out eagerly toChristy to keep quiet; the old man, vexed and bewildered by theconfusion of voices, completely lost his head; in his flurry heslipped off the hood, cast off the falcon, and away flew the crows, and away soared the hawk. 

[Footnote 5: Bekker's Monde enchanté. ]

I had paused on a rising ground, close to Lady Lillycraft and herescort, from whence I had a good view of the sport. I was pleased withthe appearance of the party in the meadow, riding along in thedirection that the bird flew; their bright beaming faces turned up tothe bright skies as they watched the game; the attendants on footscampering along, looking up, and calling out; and the dogs boundingand yelping with clamorous sympathy. 

The hawk had singled out a quarry from among the carrion crew. It wascurious to see the efforts of the two birds to get above each other;one to make the fatal swoop, the other to avoid it. Now they crossedathwart a bright feathery cloud, and now they were against the clearblue sky. I confess, being no sportsman, I was more interested for thepoor bird that was striving for its life, than for the hawk that wasplaying the part of a mercenary soldier. At length the hawk got theupper hand, and made a rushing stoop at her quarry, but the lattermade as sudden a surge downwards, and slanting up again, evaded theblow, screaming and making the best of his way for a dry tree on thebrow of a neighbouring hill; while the hawk, disappointed of her blow, soared up again into the air, and appeared to be "raking" off. It wasin vain old Christy called, and whistled, and endeavoured to lure herdown: she paid no regard to him; and, indeed, his calls were drownedin the shouts and yelps of the army of militia that had followed himinto the field. 

Just then an exclamation from Lady Lillycraft made me turn my head. Ibeheld a complete confusion among the sportsmen in the little valebelow us. They were galloping and running towards the edge of a bank;and I was shocked to see Miss Templeton's horse galloping at largewithout his rider. I rode to the place to which the others werehurrying, and when I reached the bank, which almost overhung thestream, I saw at the foot of it, the fair Julia, pale, bleeding, andapparently lifeless, supported in the arms of her frantic lover. 

In galloping heedlessly along, with her eyes turned upward, she hadunwarily approached too near the bank; it had given way with her, andshe and her horse had been precipitated to the pebbled margin of theriver. 

I never saw greater consternation. The captain was distracted; LadyLillycraft fainting; the Squire in dismay, and Master Simon at hiswit's end. The beautiful creature at length showed signs of returninglife; she opened her eyes; looked around her upon the anxious group, and comprehending in a moment the nature of the scene, gave a sweetsmile, and putting her hand in her lover's, exclaimed, feebly, "I amnot much hurt, Guy!" I could have taken her to my heart for thatsingle exclamation. 

It was found, indeed, that she had escaped almost miraculously, with acontusion on the head, a sprained ankle, and some slight bruises. After her wound was stanched, she was taken to a neighbouring cottage, until a carriage could be summoned to convey her home; and when thishad arrived, the cavalcade which had issued forth so gayly on thisenterprise, returned slowly and pensively to the Hall. 

I had been charmed by the generous spirit shown by this youngcreature, who, amidst pain and danger, had been anxious only torelieve the distress of those around her. I was gratified, therefore, by the universal concern displayed by the domestics on our return. They came crowding down the avenue, each eager to render assistance. The butler stood ready with some curiously delicate cordial; the oldhousekeeper was provided with half-a-dozen nostrums, prepared by herown hands, according to the family receipt-book; while her niece, themelting Phoebe, having no other way of assisting, stood wringing herhands, and weeping aloud. 

The most material effect that is likely to follow this accident, is apostponement of the nuptials, which were close at hand. Though Icommiserate the impatience of the captain on that account, yet I shallnot otherwise be sorry at the delay, as it will give me a betteropportunity of studying the characters here assembled, with which Igrow more and more entertained. 

I cannot but perceive that the worthy Squire is quite disconcerted atthe unlucky result of his hawking experiment, and this unfortunateillustration of his eulogy on female equitation. Old Christy, too, isvery waspish, having been sorely twitted by Master Simon for havinglet his hawk fly at carrion. As to the falcon, in the confusionoccasioned by the fair Julia's disaster, the bird was totallyforgotten. I make no doubt she has made the best of her way back tothe hospitable Hall of Sir Watkyn Williams Wynne; and may verypossibly, at this present writing, be pluming her wings among thebreezy bowers of Wynnstay. 

ST. MARK'S EVE. 

 O 't is a fearful thing to be no more. Or if to be, to wander after death! To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day, And, when the darkness comes, to glide in paths That lead to graves; and in the silent vault, Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it, Striving to enter your forbidden corpse. 

 --DRYDEN. 

The conversation this evening at the supper-table took a curious turn, on the subject of a superstition, formerly very prevalent in this partof the country, relative to the present night of the year, which isthe Eve of St. Mark's. It was believed, the parson informed us, thatif any one would watch in the church porch on this eve, for threesuccessive years, from eleven to one o'clock at night, he would see, on the third year, the shades of those of the parish who were to diein the course of the year, pass by him into church, clad in theirusual apparel. 

Dismal as such a sight would be, he assured us that it was formerly afrequent thing for persons to make the necessary vigils. He had knownmore than one instance in his time. One old woman, who pretended tohave seen this phantom procession, was an object of great awe for thewhole year afterwards, and caused much uneasiness and mischief. If sheshook her head mysteriously at a person, it was like a death-warrant;and she had nearly caused the death of a sick person, by lookingruefully in at the window. 

There was also an old man, not many years since, of a sullen, melancholy temperament, who had kept two vigils, and began to excitesome talk in the village, when, fortunately for the public comfort, hedied shortly after his third watching; very probably from a cold thathe had taken, as the night was tempestuous. It was reported about thevillage, however, that he had seen his own phantom pass by him intothe church. 

This led to the mention of another superstition of an equally strangeand melancholy kind, which, however, is chiefly confined to Wales. Itis respecting what are called corpse-candles, little wandering fires, of a pale bluish light, that move about like tapers in the open air, and are supposed to designate the way some corpse is to go. One wasseen at Lanyler, late at night, hovering up and down, along the bankof the Istwith, and was watched by the neighbours until they weretired, and went to bed. Not long afterwards there came a comelycountry lass, from Montgomeryshire, to see her friends, who dwelt onthe opposite side of the river. She thought to ford the stream at thevery place where the light had been first seen, but was dissuaded onaccount of the height of the flood. She walked to and fro along thebank, just where the candle had moved, waiting for the subsiding ofthe water. She at length endeavored to cross, but the poor girl wasdrowned in the attempt. [6]

[Footnote 6: Aubrey's Miscel. ]

There was something mournful in this little anecdote of ruralsuperstition, that seemed to affect all the listeners. Indeed, it iscurious to remark how completely a conversation of the kind willabsorb the attention of a circle, and sober down its gayety, howeverboisterous. By degrees I noticed that every one was leaning forwardover the table, with eyes earnestly fixed upon the parson; and at themention of corpse-candles which had been seen about the chamber of ayoung lady who died on the eve of her wedding-day, Lady Lillycraftturned pale. 

I have witnessed the introduction of stories of the kind into variousevening circles; they were often commenced in jest, and listened towith smiles; but I never knew the most gay or the most enlightened ofaudiences, that were not, if the conversation continued for any lengthof time, completely and solemnly interested in it. There is, Ibelieve, a degree of superstition lurking in every mind; and I doubtif any one can thoroughly examine all his secret notions and impulses, without detecting it, hidden, perhaps, even from himself. It seems, infact, to be a part of our nature, like instinct in animals, actingindependently of our reason. It is often found existing in loftynatures, especially those that are poetical and aspiring. A great andextraordinary poet of our day, whose life and writings evince a mindsubject to powerful exaltations, is said to believe in omens andsecret intimations. Caesar, it is well known, was greatly under theinfluence of such belief; and Napoleon had his good and evil days, andhis presiding star. 

As to the worthy parson, I have no doubt that he is strongly inclinedto superstition. He is naturally credulous, and passes so much of histime searching out popular traditions and supernatural tales, that hismind has probably become infected by them. He has lately been immersedin the Demonolatria of Nicholas Remigus, concerning supernaturaloccurrences in Lorraine, and the writings of Joachimus Camerius, called by Vossius the Phoenix of Germany; and he entertains the ladieswith stories from them, that make them almost afraid to go to bed atnight. I have been charmed myself with some of the wild littlesuperstitions which he has adduced from Blefkénius, Scheffer, andothers, such as those of the Laplanders about the domestic spiritswhich wake them at night, and summon them to go and fish; of Thor, thedeity of thunder, who has power of life and death, health andsickness, and who, armed with the rainbow, shoots his arrows at thoseevil demons that live on the tops of rocks and mountains, and infestthe lakes; of the Jubles or Juhlafolket, vagrant troops of spirits, which roam the air, and wander up and down by forests and mountains, and the moonlight sides of hills. 

The parson never openly professes his belief in ghosts, but I haveremarked that he has a suspicious way of pressing great names into thedefence of supernatural doctrines, and making philosophers and saintsfight for him. He expatiates at large on the opinions of the ancientphilosophers about larves, or nocturnal phantoms, the spirits of thewicked, which wandered like exiles about the earth; and about thosespiritual beings which abode in the air, but descended occasionally toearth, and mingled among mortals, acting as agents between them andthe gods. He quotes also from Philo the rabbi, the contemporary of theapostles, and, according to some, the friend of St. Paul, who saysthat the air is full of spirits of different ranks; some destined toexist for a time in mortal bodies, from which being emancipated, theypass and repass between heaven and earth, as agents or messengers inthe service of the deity. 

But the worthy little man assumes a bolder tone, when he quotes fromthe fathers of the church; such as St. Jerome, who gives it as theopinion of all the doctors, that the air is filled with powers opposedto each other; and Lactantius, who says that corrupt and dangerousspirits wander over the earth, and seek to console themselves fortheir own fall by effecting the ruin of the human race; and ClemensAlexandrinus, who is of opinion that the souls of the blessed haveknowledge of what passes among men, the same as angels have. 

I am now alone in my chamber, but these themes have taken such hold ofmy imagination, that I cannot sleep. The room in which I sit is justfitted to foster such a state of mind. The walls are hung withtapestry, the figures of which are faded, and look like unsubstantialshapes melting away from sight. Over the fire-place is the portrait ofa lady, who, according to the housekeeper's tradition, pined to deathfor the loss of her lover in the battle of Blenheim. She has a mostpale and plaintive countenance, and seems to fix her eyes mournfullyupon me. The family have long since retired. I have heard their stepsdie away, and the distant doors clap to after them. The murmur ofvoices, and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reach the ear. Theclock from the church, in which so many of the former inhabitants ofthis house lie buried, has chimed the awful hour of midnight. 

I have sat by the window and mused upon the dusky landscape, watchingthe lights disappearing, one by one, from the distant village; and themoon rising in her silent majesty, and leading up all the silver pompof heaven. As I have gazed upon these quiet groves and shadowy lawns, silvered over, and imperfectly lighted by streaks of dewy moonshine, my mind has been crowded by "thick-coming fancies" concerning thosespiritual beings which

 ------"walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep. "

Are there, indeed, such beings? Is this space between us and the deityfilled up by innumerable orders of spiritual beings, forming the samegradations between the human soul and divine perfection, that we seeprevailing from humanity downwards to the meanest insect? It is asublime and beautiful doctrine, inculcated by the early fathers, thatthere are guardian angels appointed to watch over cities and nations;to take care of the welfare of good men, and to guard and guide thesteps of helpless infancy. "Nothing, " says St. Jerome, "gives up agreater idea of the dignity of our soul, than that God has given eachof us, at the moment of our birth, an angel to have care of it. "

Even the doctrine of departed spirits returning to visit the scenesand beings which were dear to them during the body's existence, thoughit has been debased by the absurd superstitions of the vulgar, initself is awfully solemn and sublime. 

However lightly it may be ridiculed, yet the attention involuntarilyyielded to it whenever it is made the subject of serious discussion;its prevalence in all ages and countries, and even amongnewly-discovered nations, that have had no previous interchange ofthought with other parts of the world, prove it to be one of thosemysteries, and almost instinctive beliefs, to which, if left toourselves, we should naturally incline. 

In spite of all the pride of reason and philosophy, a vague doubt willstill lurk in the mind, and perhaps will never be perfectly eradicated;as it is concerning a matter that does not admit of positivedemonstration. Every thing connected with our spiritual nature is fullof doubt and difficulty. "We are fearfully and wonderfully made;" weare surrounded by mysteries, and we are mysteries even to ourselves. Who yet has been able to comprehend and describe the nature of thesoul, its connection with the body, or in what part of the frame it issituated? We know merely that it does exist; but whence it came, andwhen it entered into us, and how it is retained, and where it isseated, and how it operates, are all matters of mere speculation, andcontradictory theories. If, then, we are thus ignorant of thisspiritual essence, even while it forms a part of ourselves, and iscontinually present to our consciousness, how can we pretend toascertain or to deny its powers and operations when released from itsfleshy prison-house? It is more the manner, therefore, in which thissuperstition has been degraded, than its intrinsic absurdity, that hasbrought it into contempt. Raise it above the frivolous purposes towhich it has been applied, strip it of the gloom and horror with whichit has been surrounded, and there is none of the whole circle ofvisionary creeds that could more delightfully elevate the imagination, or more tenderly affect the heart. It would become a sovereign comfortat the bed of death, soothing the bitter tear wrung from us by theagony of our mortal separation. What could be more consoling than theidea, that the souls of those whom we once loved were permitted toreturn and watch over our welfare?--that affectionate and guardianspirits sat by our pillows when we slept, keeping a vigil over our mosthelpless hours?--that beauty and innocence which had languished intothe tomb, yet smiled unseen around us, revealing themselves in thoseblest dreams wherein we live over again the hours of past endearment? Abelief of this kind would, I should think, be a new incentive tovirtue; rendering us circumspect even in our most secret moments, fromthe idea that those we once loved and honoured were invisible witnessesof all our actions. 

It would take away, too, from that loneliness and destitution which weare apt to feel more and more as we get on in our pilgrimage throughthe wilderness of this world, and find that those who set forward withus, lovingly and cheerily, on the journey, have, one by one, droppedaway from our side. Place the superstition in this light, and Iconfess I should like to be a believer in it. I see nothing in it thatis incompatible with the tender and merciful nature of our religion, nor revolting to the wishes and affections of the heart. 

There are departed beings that I have loved as I never again shalllove in this world;--that have loved me as I never again shall beloved! If such beings do ever retain in their blessed spheres theattachments which they felt on earth--if they take an interest in thepoor concerns of transient mortality, and are permitted to holdcommunion with those whom they have loved on earth, I feel as if now, at this deep hour of night, in this silence and solitude, I couldreceive their visitation with the most solemn, but unalloyed delight. 

In truth, such visitations would be too happy for this world; theywould be incompatible with the nature of this imperfect state ofbeing. We are here placed in a mere scene of spiritual thraldom andrestraint. Our souls are shut in and limited by bounds and barriers;shackled by mortal infirmities, and subject to all the grossimpediments of matter. In vain would they seek to act independently ofthe body, and to mingle together in spiritual intercourse. They canonly act here through their fleshy organs. Their earthly loves aremade up of transient embraces and long separations. The most intimatefriendship, of what brief and scattered portions of time does itconsist! We take each other by the hand, and we exchange a few wordsand looks of kindness, and we rejoice together for a few shortmoments-and then days, months, years intervene, and we see and knownothing of each other. Or, granting that we dwell together for thefull season of this our mortal life, the grave soon closes its gatesbetween us, and then our spirits are doomed to remain in separationand widowhood; until they meet again in that more perfect state ofbeing, where soul will dwell with soul in blissful communion, andthere will be neither death, nor absence, nor any thing else tointerrupt our felicity. 

 * * * * *

In the foregoing paper, I have alluded to the writings of some of theold Jewish rabbis. They abound with wild theories; but among them aremany truly poetical flights; and their ideas are often verybeautifully expressed. Their speculations on the nature of angels arecurious and fanciful, though much resembling the doctrines of theancient philosophers. In the writings of the Rabbi Eleazer is anaccount of the temptation of our first parents, and the fall of theangels, which the parson pointed out to me as having probablyfurnished some of the groundwork for "Paradise Lost. "

According to Eleazer, the ministering angels said to the Deity, "Whatis there in man, that thou makest him of such importance? Is he anything else than vanity? for he can scarcely reason a little onterrestrial things. " To which God replied, "Do you imagine that I willbe exalted and glorified only by you here above? I am the same belowthat I am here. Who is there among you that can call all the creaturesby their names?" There was none found among them that could do so. Atthat moment Adam arose, and called all the creatures by their names. Seeing which, the ministering angels said among themselves, "Let usconsult together how we may cause Adam to sin against the Creator, otherwise he will not fail to become our master. "

Sammaël, who was a great prince in the heavens, was present at thiscouncil, with the saints of the first order, and the seraphim of sixbands. Sammaël chose several out of the twelve orders to accompanyhim, and descended below, for the purpose of visiting all thecreatures which God had created. He found none more cunning and morefit to do evil than the serpent. 

The Rabbi then treats of the seduction and the fall of man; of theconsequent fall of the demon, and the punishment which God inflictedon Adam, Eve, and the serpent. "He made them all come before him;pronounced nine maledictions on Adam and Eve, and condemned them tosuffer death; and he precipitated Sammaël and all his band fromheaven. He cut off the feet of the serpent, which had before thefigure of a camel (Sammaël having been mounted on him), and he cursedhim among all beasts and animals. "

GENTILITY. 

 ------True Gentrie standeth in the trade Of virtuous life, not in the fleshy line; For bloud is knit, but Gentrie is divine. 

 --_Mirror for Magistrates_. 

I have mentioned some peculiarities of the Squire in the education ofhis sons; but I would not have it thought that his instructions weredirected chiefly to their personal accomplishments. He took greatpains also to form their minds, and to inculcate what he calls goodold English principles, such as are laid down in the writings ofPeachem and his contemporaries. There is one author of whom he cannotspeak without indignation, which is Chesterfield. He avers that he didmuch, for a time, to injure the true national character, and tointroduce, instead of open, manly sincerity, a hollow, perfidiouscourtliness. "His maxims, " he affirms, "were calculated to chill thedelightful enthusiasm of youth; to make them ashamed of that romancewhich is the dawn of generous manhood, and to impart to them a coldpolish and a premature worldliness. 

"Many of Lord Chesterfield's maxims would make a young man a mere manof pleasure; but an English gentleman should not be a mere man ofpleasure. He has no right to such selfish indulgence. His ease, hisleisure, his opulence, are debts due to his country, which he mustever stand ready to discharge. He should be a man at all points;simple, frank, courteous, intelligent, accomplished, and informed;upright, intrepid, and disinterested; one that can mingle amongfreemen; that can cope with statesmen; that can champion his countryand its rights, either at home or abroad. In a country like England, where there is such free and unbounded scope for the exertion ofintellect, and where opinion and example have such weight with thepeople, every gentleman of fortune and leisure should feel himselfbound to employ himself in some way towards promoting the prosperityor glory of the nation. In a country where intellect and action aretrammelled and restrained, men of rank and fortune may become idlersand triflers with impunity; but an English coxcomb is inexcusable; andthis, perhaps, is the reason why he is the most offensive andinsupportable coxcomb in the world. "

The Squire, as Frank Bracebridge informs me, would often hold forth inthis manner to his sons, when they were about leaving the paternalroof; one to travel abroad, one to go to the army, and one to theuniversity. He used to have them with him in the library, which is hungwith the portraits of Sidney, Surrey, Raleigh, Wyat, and others. "Lookat those models of true English gentlemen, my sons, " he would say withenthusiasm; "those were men that wreathed the graces of the mostdelicate and refined taste around the stern virtues of the soldier;that mingled what was gentle and gracious, with what was hardy andmanly; that possessed the true chivalry of spirit, which is the exaltedessence of manhood. They are the lights by which the youth of thecountry should array themselves. They were the patterns and idols oftheir country at home; they were the illustrators of its dignityabroad. 'Surrey, ' says Camden, 'was the first nobleman that illustratedhis high birth with the beauty of learning. He was acknowledged to bethe gallantest man, the politest lover, and the completest gentleman ofhis time. ' And as to Wyat, his friend Surrey most amiably testifies ofhim, that his person was majestic and beautiful, his visage 'stern andmild;' that he sung, and played the lute with remarkable sweetness;spoke foreign languages with grace and fluency, and possessed aninexhaustible fund of wit. And see what a high commendation is passedupon these illustrious friends: 'They were the two chieftains, who, having travelled into Italy, and there tasted the sweet and statelymeasures and style of the Italian poetry, greatly polished our rude andhomely manner of vulgar poetry from what it had been before, andtherefore may be justly called the reformers of our English poetry andstyle. ' And Sir Philip Sidney, who has left us such monuments ofelegant thought, and generous sentiment, and who illustrated hischivalrous spirit so gloriously in the field. And Sir Walter Raleigh, the elegant courtier, the intrepid soldier, the enterprisingdiscoverer, the enlightened philosopher, the magnanimous martyr. Theseare the men for English gentlemen to study. Chesterfield, with his coldand courtly maxims, would have chilled and impoverished such spirits. He would have blighted all the budding romance of their temperaments. Sidney would never have written his Arcadia, nor Surrey have challengedthe world in vindication of the beauties of his Geraldine. "These arethe men, my sons, " the Squire will continue, "that show to what ournational character may be exalted, when its strong and powerfulqualities are duly wrought up and refined. The solidest bodies arecapable of the highest polish; and there is no character that may bewrought to a more exquisite and unsullied brightness, than that of thetrue English gentleman. "

When Guy was about to depart for the army, the Squire again took himaside, and gave him a long exhortation. He warned him against thataffectation of cool-blooded indifference, which he was told wascultivated by the young British officers, among whom it was a study to"sink the soldier" in the mere man of fashion. "A soldier, " said he, "without pride and enthusiasm in his profession, is a mere sanguinaryhireling. Nothing distinguishes him from the mercenary bravo, but aspirit of patriotism, or a thirst for glory. It is the fashionnow-a-days, my son, " said he, "to laugh at the spirit of chivalry;when that spirit is really extinct, the profession of the soldierbecomes a mere trade of blood. " He then set before him the conduct ofEdward the Black Prince, who is his mirror of chivalry; valiant, generous, affable, humane; gallant in the field. But when he came todwell on his courtesy toward his prisoner, the king of France; how hereceived him in his tent, rather as a conqueror than as a captive;attended on him at table like one of his retinue; rode uncoveredbeside him on his entry into London, mounted on a common palfrey, while his prisoner was mounted in state on a white steed of statelybeauty; the tears of enthusiasm stood in the old gentleman's eyes. 

Finally, on taking leave, the good Squire put in his son's hands, as amanual, one of his favourite old volumes, the life of the ChevalierBayard, by Godefroy; on a blank page of which he had written anextract from the Morte d'Arthur, containing the eulogy of Sir Ectorover the body of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, which the Squire considersas comprising the excellencies of a true soldier. "Ah, Sir Launcelot!thou wert head of all Christian knights; now there thou liest: thouwert never matched of none earthly knights-hands. And thou wert thecurtiest knight that ever bare shield. And thou wert the truest friendto thy lover that ever bestrood horse; and thou wert the truest loverof a sinfull man that ever loved woman. And thou wert the kindest manthat ever strook with sword; and thou wert the goodliest person thatever came among the presse of knights. And thou wert the meekest manand the gentlest that ever eate in hall among ladies. And thou wertthe sternest knight to thy mortal foe that ever put speare in therest. "

FORTUNE-TELLING. 

 Each city, each town, and every village, Affords us either an alms or pillage. And if the weather be cold and raw. Then in a barn we tumble on straw. If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock, The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock. 

 --_Merry Beggars_. 

As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, Master Simon, and thegeneral, in a meadow not far from the village, we heard the sound of afiddle, rudely played, and looking in the direction from whence itcame, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among the trees. Thesound of music is always attractive; for, wherever there is music, there is good-humour, or good-will. We passed along a footpath, andhad a peep through a break in the hedge, at the musician and hisparty, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that if we wouldfollow him we should have some sport. 

It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of three or four littlecabins, or tents, made of blankets and sail-cloth, spread over hoopsthat were stuck in the ground. It was on one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech-tree spreading aboveit. A small rill tinkled along close by, through the fresh sward, thatlooked like a carpet. 

A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over a fire madefrom dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in red cloaks, satcrouched on the grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea; forthese creatures, though they live in the open air, have their ideas offireside comforts. There were two or three children sleeping on thestraw with which the tents were littered; a couple of donkeys weregrazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before thefire. Some of the younger gipsies were dancing to the music of afiddle, played by a tall, slender stripling, in an old frock-coat, with a peacock's feather stuck in his hat-band. 

As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine, roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our fortunes. I could not butadmire a certain degree of slattern elegance about the baggage. Herlong black silken hair was curiously plaited in numerous small braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque style that a painter mighthave been proud to have devised. 

Her dress was of figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over-clean butof a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colours; for thesebeings have a singularly fine eye for colours. Her straw hat was inher hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm. 

The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the girlbegan with the usual volubility of her race; but he drew her on oneside, near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of having his secretsoverheard. I saw he was talking to her instead of she to him, and byhis glancing towards us now and then, that he was giving the baggagesome private hints. When they returned to us, he assumed a veryserious air. "Zounds!" said he, "it's very astonishing how thesecreatures come by their knowledge; this girl has told me some thingsthat I thought no one knew but myself!" The girl now assailed thegeneral: "Come, your honour, " said she, "I see by your face you're alucky man; but you're not happy in your mind; you're not, indeed, sir;but have a good heart, and give me a good piece of silver, and I'lltell you a nice fortune. "

The general had received all her approaches with a banter, and hadsuffered her to get hold of his hand; but at the mention of the pieceof silver, he hemmed, looked grave, and, turning to us, asked if wehad not better continue our walk. "Come, my master, " said the girl, archly, "you'd not be in such a hurry, if you knew all that I couldtell you about a fair lady that has a notion for you. Come, sir; oldlove burns strong; there's many a one comes to see weddings, that goaway brides themselves. "--Here the girl whispered something in a lowvoice, at which the general coloured up, was a little fluttered, andsuffered himself to be drawn aside under the hedge, where he appearedto listen to her with great earnestness, and at the end paid herhalf-a-crown with the air of a man that has got the worth of hismoney. The girl next made her attack upon Master Simon, who, however, was too old a bird to be caught, knowing that it would end in anattack upon his purse, about which he is a little sensitive. As he hasa great notion, however, of being considered a royster, he chucked herunder the chin, played her off with rather broad jokes, and put onsomething of the rake-helly air, that we see now and then assumed onthe stage, by the sad-boy gentleman of the old school. "Ah, yourhonour, " said the girl, with a malicious leer, "you were not in such atantrum last year, when I told you about the widow, you know who; butif you had taken a friend's advice, you'd never have come away fromDoncaster races with a flea in your ear!" There was a secret sting inthis speech, that seemed quite to disconcert Master Simon. He jerkedaway his hand in a pet, smacked his whip, whistled to his dogs, andintimated that it was high time to go home. The girl, however, wasdetermined not to lose her harvest. She now turned upon me, and, as Ihave a weakness of spirit where there is a pretty face concerned, shesoon wheedled me out of my money, and, in return, read me a fortune;which, if it prove true, and I am determined to believe it, will makeme one of the luckiest men in the chronicles of Cupid. 

I saw that the Oxonian was at the bottom of all this oracular mystery, and was disposed to amuse himself with the general, whose tenderapproaches to the widow have attracted the notice of the wag. I was alittle curious, however, to know the meaning of the dark hints whichhad so suddenly disconcerted Master Simon; and took occasion to fallin the rear with the Oxonian on our way home, when he laughed heartilyat my questions, and gave me ample information on the subject. 

The truth of the matter is, that Master Simon has met with a sadrebuff since my Christmas visit to the Hall. He used at that time tobe joked about a widow, a fine dashing woman, as he privately informedme. I had supposed the pleasure he betrayed on these occasionsresulted from the usual fondness of old bachelors for being teasedabout getting married, and about flirting, and being fickle andfalse-hearted. I am assured, however, that Master Simon had reallypersuaded himself the widow had a kindness for him; in consequence ofwhich he had been at some extraordinary expense in new clothes, andhad actually got Frank Bracebridge to order him a coat from Stultz. Hebegan to throw out hints about the importance of a man's settlinghimself in life before he grew old; he would look grave, whenever thewidow and matrimony were mentioned in the same sentence; and privatelyasked the opinion of the Squire and parson about the prudence ofmarrying a widow with a rich jointure, but who had several children. 

An important member of a great family connexion cannot harp much uponthe theme of matrimony, without its taking wind; and it soon gotbuzzed about that Mr. Simon Bracebridge was actually gone to Doncasterraces, with a new horse; but that he meant to return in a curriclewith a lady by his side. Master Simon did, indeed, go to the races, and that with a new horse; and the dashing widow did make herappearance in a curricle; but it was unfortunately driven by astrapping young Irish dragoon, with whom even Master Simon'sself-complacency would not allow him to venture into competition, andto whom she was married shortly after. 

It was a matter of sore chagrin to Master Simon for several months, having never before been fully committed. The dullest head in thefamily had a joke upon him; and there is no one that likes less to bebantered than an absolute joker. He took refuge for a time at LadyLillycraft's, until the matter should blow over; and occupied himselfby looking over her accounts, regulating the village choir, andinculcating loyalty into a pet bulfinch, by teaching him to whistle"God save the King. "

He has now pretty nearly recovered from the mortification; holds uphis head, and laughs as much as any one; again affects to pity marriedmen, and is particularly facetious about widows, when Lady Lillycraftis not by. His only time of trial is when the general gets hold ofhim, who is infinitely heavy and persevering in his waggery, and willinterweave a dull joke through the various topics of a wholedinner-time. Master Simon often parries these attacks by a stanza fromhis old work of "Cupid's Solicitor for Love:"

 "'Tis in vain to wooe a widow over long, In once or twice her mind you may perceive; Widows are subtle, be they old or young, And by their wiles young men they will deceive. "

LOVE-CHARMS. 

 ------Come, do not weep, my girl, Forget him, pretty Pensiveness; there will Come others, every day, as good as he. 

 --SIR J. SUCKLING. 

The approach of a wedding in a family is always an event of greatimportance, but particularly so in a household like this, in a retiredpart of the country. Master Simon, who is a pervading spirit, and, through means of the butler and housekeeper, knows every thing thatgoes forward, tells me that the maid-servants are continually tryingtheir fortunes, and that the servants'-hall has of late been quite ascene of incantation. 

It is amusing to notice how the oddities of the head of a family flowdown through all the branches. The Squire, in the indulgence of hislove of every thing that smacks of old times, has held so many graveconversations with the parson at table, about popular superstitionsand traditional rites, that they have been carried from the parlour tothe kitchen by the listening domestics, and, being apparentlysanctioned by such high authority, the whole house has become infectedby them. 

The servants are all versed in the common modes of trying luck, andthe charms to insure constancy. They read their fortunes by drawingstrokes in the ashes, or by repeating a form of words, and looking ina pail of water. St. Mark's Eve, I am told, was a busy time with them;being an appointed night for certain mystic ceremonies. Several ofthem sowed hemp-seed to be reaped by their true lovers; and they evenventured upon the solemn and fearful preparation of the dumb-cake. This must be done fasting, and in silence. The ingredients are handeddown in traditional form: "An eggshell full of salt, an eggshell fullof malt, and an eggshell full of barley-meal. " When the cake is ready, it is put upon a pan over the fire, and the future husband willappear, turn the cake, and retire; but if a word is spoken or a fastis broken during this awful ceremony, there is no knowing whathorrible consequences would ensue!

The experiments, in the present instance, came to no result; they thatsowed the hemp-seed forgot the magic rhyme that they were topronounce--so the true lover never appeared; and as to the dumb-cake, what between the awful stillness they had to keep, and the awfulnessof the midnight hour, their hearts failed them when they had put thecake in the pan; so that, on the striking of the great house-clock inthe servants'-hall, they were seized with a sudden panic, and ran outof the room, to which they did not return until morning, when theyfound the mystic cake burnt to a cinder. 

The most persevering at these spells, however, is Phoebe Wilkins, thehousekeeper's niece. As she is a kind of privileged personage, andrather idle, she has more time to occupy herself with these matters. She has always had her head full of love and matrimony. She knows thedream-book by heart, and is quite an oracle among the little girls ofthe family, who always come to her to interpret their dreams in themornings. 

During the present gayety of the house, however, the poor girl hasworn a face full of trouble; and, to use the housekeeper's words, "has fallen into a sad hystericky way lately. " It seems that she wasborn and brought up in the village, where her father was parish-clerk, and she was an early playmate and sweetheart of young Jack Tibbets. Since she has come to live at the Hall, however, her head has been alittle turned. Being very pretty, and naturally genteel, she has beenmuch noticed and indulged; and being the housekeeper's niece, she hasheld an equivocal station between a servant and a companion. She haslearnt something of fashions and notions among the young ladies, whichhave effected quite a metamorphosis; insomuch that her finery atchurch on Sundays has given mortal offence to her former intimates inthe village. This has occasioned the misrepresentations which haveawakened the implacable family pride of Dame Tibbets. But what isworse, Phoebe, having a spice of coquetry in her disposition, showedit on one or two occasions to her lover, which produced a downrightquarrel; and Jack, being very proud and fiery, has absolutely turnedhis back upon her for several successive Sundays. 

The poor girl is full of sorrow and repentance, and would fain make upwith her lover; but he feels his security, and stands aloof. In thishe is doubtless encouraged by his mother, who is continually remindinghim what he owes to his family; for this same family pride seemsdoomed to be the eternal bane of lovers. 

As I hate to see a pretty face in trouble, I have felt quite concernedfor the luckless Phoebe, ever since I heard her story. It is a sadthing to be thwarted in love at any time, but particularly so at thistender season of the year, when every living thing, even to the verybutterfly, is sporting with its mate; and the green fields, and thebudding groves, and the singing of the birds, and the sweet smell ofthe flowers, are enough to turn the head of a love-sick girl. I amtold that the coolness of young Ready-Money lies very heavy at poorPhoebe’s heart. Instead of singing about the house as formerly, shegoes about pale and sighing, and is apt to break into tears when hercompanions are full of merriment. 

Mrs. Hannah, the vestal gentlewoman of my Lady Lillycraft, has hadlong talks and walks with Phoebe, up and down the avenue of anevening; and has endeavoured to squeeze some of her own verjuice intothe other's milky nature. She speaks with contempt and abhorrence ofthe whole sex, and advises Phoebe to despise all the men as heartilyas she does. But Phoebe's loving temper is not to be curdled; she hasno such thing as hatred or contempt for mankind in her wholecomposition. She has all the simple fondness of heart of poor, weak, loving woman; and her only thoughts at present are how to conciliateand reclaim her wayward swain. 

The spells and love-charms, which are matters of sport to the otherdomestics, are serious concerns with this love-stricken damsel. She iscontinually trying her fortune in a variety of ways. I am told thatshe has absolutely fasted for six Wednesdays and three Fridayssuccessively, having understood that it was a sovereign charm toinsure being married to one's liking within the year. She carriesabout, also, a lock of her sweetheart's hair, and a riband he oncegave her, being a mode of producing constancy in a lover. She evenwent so far as to try her fortune by the moon, which has always hadmuch to do with lovers' dreams and fancies. For this purpose, she wentout in the night of the full moon, knelt on a stone in the meadow, andrepeated the old traditional rhyme:

 "All hail to thee, moon, all hail to thee; I pray thee, good moon, now show to me The youth who my future husband shall be. "

When she came back to the house, she was faint and pale, and wentimmediately to bed. The next morning she told the porter's wife thatshe had seen some one close by the hedge in the meadow, which she wassure was young Tibbets; at any rate, she had dreamt of him all night;both of which, the old dame assured her, were most happy signs. It hassince turned out that the person in the meadow was old Christy, thehuntsman, who was walking his nightly rounds with the greatstag-hound; so that Phoebe's faith in the charm is completely shaken. 

THE LIBRARY. 

Yesterday the fair Julia made her first appearance downstairs sinceher accident; and the sight of her spread an universal cheerfulnessthrough the household. She was extremely pale, however, and could notwalk without pain and difficulty. She was assisted, therefore, to asofa in the library, which is pleasant and retired, looking out amongtrees; and so quiet, that the little birds come hopping upon thewindows, and peering curiously into the apartment. Here several of thefamily gathered round, and devised means to amuse her, and make theday pass pleasantly. Lady Lillycraft lamented the want of some newnovel to while away the time; and was almost in a pet, because the"Author of Waverley" had not produced a work for the last threemonths. 

There was a motion made to call on the parson for some of his oldlegends or ghost stories; but to this Lady Lillycraft objected, asthey were apt to give her the vapours. General Harbottle gave a minuteaccount, for the sixth time, of the Disaster of a friend in India, whohad his leg bitten off by a tiger, whilst he was hunting; and wasproceeding to menace the company with a chapter or two about TippooSaib. 

At length the captain bethought himself and said, he believed he had amanuscript tale lying in one corner of his campaigning trunk, which, if he could find, and the company were desirous, he would read tothem. The offer was eagerly accepted. He retired, and soon returnedwith a roll of blotted manuscript, in a very gentlemanlike, but nearlyillegible, hand, and a great part written on cartridge-paper. 

"It is one of the scribblings, " said he, "of my poor friend, CharlesLightly, of the dragoons. He was a curious, romantic, studious, fanciful fellow; the favourite, and often the unconscious butt of hisfellow-officers, who entertained themselves with his eccentricities. He was in some of the hardest service in the peninsula, anddistinguished himself by his gallantry. When the intervals of dutypermitted, he was fond of roving about the country, visiting notedplaces, and was extremely fond of Moorish ruins. When at his quarters, he was a great scribbler, and passed much of his leisure with his penin his hand. 

"As I was a much younger officer, and a very young man, he took me, ina manner, under his care, and we became close friends. He used oftento read his writings to me, having a great confidence in my taste, forI always praised them. Poor fellow! he was shot down close by me, atWaterloo. We lay wounded together for some time, during a hard contestthat took place near at hand. As I was least hurt, I tried to relievehim, and to stanch the blood which flowed from a wound in his breast. He lay with his head in my lap, and looked up thankfully in my face, but shook his head faintly, and made a sign that it was all over withhim; and, indeed, he died a few minutes afterwards, just as our menhad repulsed the enemy, and came to our relief. I have his favouritedog and his pistols to this day, and several of his manuscripts, whichhe gave to me at different times. The one I am now going to read, is atale which he said he wrote in Spain, during the time that he lay illof a wound received at Salamanca. "

We now arranged ourselves to hear the story. The captain seatedhimself on the sofa, beside the fair Julia, who I had noticed to besomewhat affected by the picture he had carelessly drawn of wounds anddangers in a field of battle. She now leaned her arm fondly on hisshoulder, and her eye glistened as it rested on the manuscript of thepoor literary dragoon. Lady Lillycraft buried herself in a deep, well-cushioned elbow-chair. Her dogs were nestled on soft mats at herfeet; and the gallant general took his station in an armchair, at herside, and toyed with her elegantly ornamented work-bag. The rest ofthe circle being all equally well accommodated, the captain began hisstory; a copy of which I have procured for the benefit of the reader. 

THE STUDENT OF SALAMANCA. 

 What a life do I lead with my master; nothing but blowing of bellowes, beating of spirits, and scraping of croslets! It is a very secret science, for none almost can understand the language of it. Sublimation, almigation, calcination, rubification, albification, and fermentation; with as many termes unpossible to be uttered as the arte to be compassed. 

 --LILLY'S _Gallathea_. 

Once upon a time, in the ancient city of Granada, there sojourned ayoung man of the name of Antonio de Castros. He wore the garb of astudent of Salamanca, and was pursuing a course of reading in thelibrary of the university; and, at intervals of leisure, indulging hiscuriosity by examining those remains of Moorish magnificence for whichGranada is renowned. 

Whilst occupied in his studies, he frequently noticed an old man of asingular appearance, who was likewise a visitor to the library. He waslean and withered, though apparently more from study than from age. His eyes, though bright and visionary, were sunk in his head, andthrown into shade by overhanging eyebrows. His dress was always thesame: a black doublet; a short black cloak, very rusty and threadbare;a small ruff and a large overshadowing hat. 

His appetite for knowledge seemed insatiable. He would pass whole daysin the library, absorbed in study, consulting a multiplicity ofauthors, as though he were pursuing some interesting subject throughall its ramifications; so that, in general, when evening came, he wasalmost buried among books and manuscripts. 

The curiosity of Antonio was excited, and he inquired of theattendants concerning the stranger. No one could give him anyinformation, excepting that he had been for some time past a casualfrequenter of the library; that his reading lay chiefly among workstreating of the occult sciences, and that he was particularly curiousin his inquiries after Arabian manuscripts. They added, that he neverheld communication with any one, excepting to ask for particularworks; that, after a fit of studious application, he would disappearfor several days, and even weeks, and when he revisited the library, he would look more withered and haggard than ever. The student feltinterested by this account; he was leading rather a desultory life, and had all that capricious curiosity which springs up in idleness. Hedetermined to make himself acquainted with this book-worm, and findout who and what he was. 

The next time that he saw the old man at the library, he commenced hisapproaches by requesting permission to look into one of the volumeswith which the unknown appeared to have done. The latter merely bowedhis head, in token of assent. After pretending to look through thevolume with great attention, he returned it with many acknowledgments. 

The stranger made no reply. 

"May I ask, senor, " said Antonio, with some hesitation, "may I askwhat you are searching after in all these books?"

The old man raised his head, with an expression of surprise, at havinghis studies interrupted for the first time, and by so intrusive aquestion. He surveyed the student with a side glance from head tofoot: "Wisdom, my son, " said he, calmly; "and the search requiresevery moment of my attention. " He then cast his eyes upon his book, and resumed his studies. 

"But, father, " said Antonio, "cannot you spare a moment to point outthe road to others? It is to experienced travellers like you, that westrangers in the paths of knowledge must look for directions on ourjourney. "

The stranger looked disturbed: "I have not time enough, my son, tolearn, " said he, "much less to teach. I am ignorant myself of the pathof true knowledge; how then can I show it to others?"

"Well, but, father--"

"Senor, " said the old man, mildly, but earnestly, "you must see that Ihave but few steps more to the grave. In that short space have I toaccomplish the whole business of my existence. I have no time forwords; every word is as one grain of sand of my glass wasted. Sufferme to be alone. "

There was no replying to so complete a closing of the door ofintimacy. The student found himself calmly but totally repulsed. Though curious and inquisitive, yet he was naturally modest, and onafter-thoughts he blushed at his own intrusion. His mind soon becameoccupied by other objects. He passed several days wandering among themouldering piles of Moorish architecture, those melancholy monumentsof an elegant and voluptuous people. He paced the deserted halls ofthe Alhambra, the paradise of the Moorish kings. He visited the greatcourt of the lions, famous for the perfidious massacre of the gallantAbencerrages. He gazed with admiration at its mosaic cupolas, gorgeously painted in gold and azure; its basins of marble, itsalabaster vase, supported by lions, and storied with inscriptions. 

His imagination kindled as he wandered among these scenes. They werecalculated to awaken all the enthusiasm of a youthful mind. Most ofthe halls have anciently been beautified by fountains. The fine tasteof the Arabs delighted in the sparkling purity and reviving freshnessof water; and they erected, as it were, altars on every side, to thatdelicate element. Poetry mingles with architecture in the Alhambra. Itbreathes along the very walls. Wherever Antonio turned his eye, hebeheld inscriptions in Arabic, wherein the perpetuity of Moorish powerand splendour within these walls was confidently predicted. 

Alas! how has the prophecy been falsified! Many of the basins, wherethe fountains had once thrown up their sparkling showers, were dry anddusty. Some of the palaces were turned into gloomy convents, and thebarefoot monk paced through these courts, which had once glitteredwith the array, and echoed to the music, of Moorish chivalry. 

In the course of his rambles, the student more than once encounteredthe old man of the library. He was always alone, and so full ofthought as not to notice any one about him. He appeared to be intentupon studying those half-buried inscriptions, which, are found, hereand there, among the Moorish ruins, and seem to murmur from the earththe tale of former greatness. The greater part of these have sincebeen translated; but they were supposed by many at the time, tocontain symbolical revelations, and golden maxims of the Arabian sagesand astrologers. As Antonio saw the stranger apparently decipheringthese inscriptions, he felt an eager longing to make his acquaintance, and to participate in his curious researches; but the repulse he hadmet with at the library deterred him from making any further advances. 

He had directed his steps one evening to the sacred mount, whichoverlooks the beautiful valley watered by the Darro, the fertile plainof the Vega, and all that rich diversity of vale and mountain thatsurrounds Granada with an earthly paradise. It was twilight when hefound himself at the place, where, at the present day, are situatedthe chapels, known by the name of the Sacred Furnaces. They are socalled from grottoes, in which some of the primitive saints are saidto have been burnt. At the time of Antonio's visit, the place was anobject of much curiosity. In an excavation of these grottoes, severalmanuscripts had recently been discovered, engraved on plates of lead. They were written in the Arabian language, excepting one, which was inunknown characters. The Pope had issued a bull, forbidding any one, under pain of excommunication, to speak of these manuscripts. Theprohibition had only excited the greater curiosity; and many reportswere whispered about, that these manuscripts contained treasures ofdark and forbidden knowledge. 

As Antonio was examining the place from whence these mysteriousmanuscripts had been drawn, he again observed the old man of thelibrary wandering among the ruins. His curiosity was now fullyawakened; the time and place served to stimulate it. He resolved towatch this groper after secret and forgotten lore, and to trace him tohis habitation. There was something like adventure in the thing, thatcharmed his romantic disposition. He followed the stranger, therefore, at a little distance; at first cautiously, but he soon observed him tobe so wrapped in his own thoughts, as to take little heed of externalobjects. 

They passed along the skirts of the mountain, and then by the shadybanks of the Darro. They pursued their way, for some distance fromGranada, along a lonely road that led among the hills. The gloom ofevening was gathering, and it was quite dark when the stranger stoppedat the portal of a solitary mansion. 

It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of what had oncebeen a pile of some consequence. The walls were of great thickness;the windows narrow, and generally secured by iron bars. The door wasof planks, studded with iron spikes, and had been of great strength, though at present it was much decayed. At one end of the mansion was aruinous tower, in the Moorish style of architecture. The edifice hadprobably been a country retreat, or castle of pleasure, during theoccupation of Granada by the Moors, and rendered sufficiently strongto withstand any casual assault in those warlike times. 

The old man knocked at the portal. A light appeared at a small windowjust above it, and a female head looked out: it might have served as amodel for one of Raphael's saints. The hair was beautifully braided, and gathered in a silken net; and the complexion, as well as could bejudged from the light, was that soft, rich brunette, so becoming insouthern beauty. 

"It is I, my child, " said the old man. The face instantly disappeared, and soon after a wicket-door in the large portal opened. Antonio, whohad ventured near to the building, caught a transient sight of adelicate female form. A pair of fine black eyes darted a look ofsurprise at seeing a stranger hovering near, and the door wasprecipitately closed. 

There was something in this sudden gleam of beauty that wonderfullystruck the imagination of the student. It was like a brilliant, flashing from its dark casket. He sauntered about, regarding thegloomy pile with increasing interest. A few simple, wild notes, fromamong some rocks and trees at a little distance, attracted hisattention. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond gipsy race, which at that time abounded in Spain, and lived in hovels and caves ofthe hills about the neighbourhood of Granada. Some were busy about afire, and others were listening to the uncouth music which one oftheir companions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was making with asplit reed. 

Antonio endeavoured to obtain some information of them, concerning theold building and its inhabitants. The one who appeared to be theirspokesman was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whispering voice, and a sinister roll of the eye. He shrugged his shoulders on thestudent's inquiries, and said that all was not right in that building. An old man inhabited it, whom nobody knew, and whose family appearedto be only a daughter and a female servant. He and his companions, headded, lived up among the neighbouring hills; and as they had beenabout at night, they had often seen strange lights, and heard strangesounds from the tower. Some of the country people, who worked in thevineyards among the hills, believed the old man to be one that dealtin the black art, and were not over-fond of passing near the tower atnight; "but for our parts, " said the Gitano, "we are not a people thattrouble ourselves much with fears of that kind. "

The student endeavoured to gain more precise information, but they hadnone to furnish him. They began to be solicitous for a compensationfor what they had already imparted; and, recollecting the lonelinessof the place, and the vagabond character of his companions, he wasglad to give them a gratuity, and to hasten homewards. 

He sat down to his studies, but his brain was too full of what he hadseen and heard; his eye was upon the page, but his fancy stillreturned to the tower; and he was continually picturing the littlewindow, with the beautiful head peeping out; or the door half open, and the nymph-like form within. He retired to bed, but the same objecthaunted his dreams. He was young and susceptible; and the excitedstate of his feelings, from wandering among the abodes of departedgrace and gallantry, had predisposed him for a sudden impression fromfemale beauty. 

The next morning, he strolled again in the direction of the tower. Itwas still more forlorn, by the broad glare of day, than in the gloomof evening. The walls were crumbling, and weeds and moss were growingin every crevice. It had the look of a prison, rather than adwelling-house. In one angle, however, he remarked a window whichseemed an exception to the surrounding squalidness. There was acurtain drawn within it, and flowers standing on the window-stone. Whilst he was looking at it, the curtain was partially withdrawn, anda delicate white arm, of the most beautiful roundness, was put forthto water the flowers. 

The student made a noise, to attract the attention of the fairflorist. He succeeded. The curtain was further drawn, and he had aglance of the same lovely face he had seen the evening before; it wasbut a mere glance--the curtain again fell, and the casement closed. All this was calculated to excite the feelings of a romantic youth. Had he seen the unknown under other circumstances, it is probable thathe would not have been struck with her beauty; but this appearance ofbeing shut up and kept apart, gave her the value of a treasured gem. He passed and repassed before the house several times in the course ofthe day, but saw nothing more. He was there again in the evening. Thewhole aspect of the house was dreary. The narrow windows emitted norays of cheerful light, to indicate that there was social life within. Antonio listened at the portal, but no sound of voices reached hisear. Just then he heard the clapping to of a distant door, and fearingto be detected in the unworthy act of eavesdropping, he precipitatelydrew off to the opposite side of the road, and stood in the shadow ofa ruined archway. 

He now remarked a light from a window in the tower. It was fitful andchangeable; commonly feeble and yellowish, as if from a lamp; with anoccasional glare of some vivid metallic colour, followed by a duskyglow. A column of dense smoke would now and then rise in the air, andhang like a canopy over the tower. There was altogether such aloneliness and seeming mystery about the building and its inhabitants, that Antonio was half inclined to indulge the country people'snotions, and to fancy it the den of some powerful sorcerer, and thefair damsel he had seen to be some spell-bound beauty. 

After some time had elapsed, a light appeared in the window where hehad seen the beautiful arm. The curtain was down, but it was so thinthat he could perceive the shadow of some one passing and repassingbetween it and the light. He fancied that he could distinguish thatthe form was delicate; and, from the alacrity of its movements, it wasevidently youthful. He had not a doubt but this was the bed-chamber ofhis beautiful unknown. 

Presently he heard the sound of a guitar, and a female voice singing. He drew near cautiously, and listened. It was a plaintive Moorishballad, and he recognized in it the lamentations of one of theAbencerrages on leaving the walls of lovely Granada. It was full ofpassion and tenderness. It spoke of the delights of early life; thehours of love it had enjoyed on the banks of the Darro, and among theblissful abodes of the Alhambra. It bewailed the fallen honours of theAbencerrages, and imprecated vengeance on their oppressors. Antoniowas affected by the music. It singularly coincided with the place. Itwas like the voice of past times echoed in the present, and breathingamong the monuments of its departed glory. 

The voice ceased; after a time the light disappeared, and all wasstill. "She sleeps!" said Antonio, fondly. He lingered about thebuilding, with the devotion with which a lover lingers about the bowerof sleeping beauty. The rising moon threw its silver beams on the graywalls, and glittered on the casement. The late gloomy landscapegradually became flooded with its radiance. Finding, therefore, thathe could no longer move about in obscurity, and fearful that hisloiterings might be observed, he reluctantly retired. 

The curiosity which had at first drawn the young man to the tower, wasnow seconded by feelings of a more romantic kind. His studies werealmost entirely abandoned. He maintained a kind of blockade of the oldmansion; he would take a book with him, and pass a great part of theday under the trees in its vicinity; keeping a vigilant eye upon it, and endeavouring to ascertain what were the walks of his mysteriouscharmer. He found, however, that she never went out except to mass, when she was accompanied by her father. He waited at the door of thechurch, and offered her the holy water, in the hope of touching herhand; a little office of gallantry common in Catholic countries. She, however, modestly declined without raising her eyes to see who madethe offer, and always took it herself from the font. She was attentivein her devotion; her eyes were never taken from the altar or thepriest; and, on returning home, her countenance was almost entirelyconcealed by her mantilla. 

Antonio had now carried on the pursuit for several days, and washourly getting more and more interested in the chase, but never a stepnearer to the game. His lurkings about the house had probably beennoticed, for he no longer saw the fair face at the window, nor thewhite arm put forth to water the flowers. His only consolation was torepair nightly to his post of observation, and listen to her warbling;and if by chance he could catch a sight of her shadow, passing andrepassing before the window, he thought himself most fortunate. 

As he was indulging in one of these evening vigils, which werecomplete revels of the imagination, the sound of approaching footstepsmade him withdraw into the deep shadow of the ruined archway oppositeto the tower. A cavalier approached, wrapped in a large Spanish cloak. He paused under the window of the tower, and after a little whilebegan a serenade, accompanied by his guitar, in the usual style ofSpanish gallantry. His voice was rich and manly; he touched theinstrument with skill, and sang with amorous and impassionedeloquence. The plume of his hat was buckled by jewels that sparkled inthe moon-beams; and as he played on the guitar, his cloak falling offfrom one shoulder, showed him to be richly dressed. It was evidentthat he was a person of rank. 

The idea now flashed across Antonio's mind, that the affections of hisunknown beauty might be engaged. She was young, and doubtlesssusceptible; and it was not in the nature of Spanish females to bedeaf and insensible to music and admiration. The surmise brought withit a feeling of dreariness. There was a pleasant dream of several dayssuddenly dispelled. He had never before experienced any thing of thetender passion; and, as its morning dreams are always delightful, hewould fain have continued in the delusion. 

"But what have I to do with her attachments?" thought he; "I have noclaim on her heart, nor even on her acquaintance. How do I know thatshe is worthy of affection? Or if she is, must not so gallant a loveras this, with his jewels, his rank, and his detestable music, havecompletely captivated her? What idle humour is this that I have falleninto? I must again to my books. Study, study, will soon chase away allthese idle fancies!"

The more he thought, however, the more he became entangled in thespell which his lively imagination had woven round him; and now that arival had appeared, in addition to the other obstacles that environedthis enchanted beauty, she appeared ten times more lovely anddesirable. It was some slight consolation to him to perceive that thegallantry of the unknown met with no apparent return from the tower. The light at the window was extinguished. The curtain remainedundrawn, and none of the customary signals were given to intimate thatthe serenade was accepted. 

The cavalier lingered for some time about the place, and sang severalother tender airs with a taste and feeling that made Antonio's heartache; at length he slowly retired. The student remained with foldedarms, leaning against the ruined arch, endeavouring to summon upresolution enough to depart; but there was a romantic fascination thatstill enchained him to the place. "It is the last time, " said he, willing to compromise between his feelings and his judgment, "it isthe last time; then let me enjoy the dream a few moments longer. "

As his eye ranged about the old building to take a farewell look, heobserved the strange light in the tower, which he had noticed on aformer occasion. It kept beaming up, and declining, as before. Apillar of smoke rose in the air, and hung in sable volumes. It wasevident the old man was busied in some of those operations that hadgained him the reputation of a sorcerer throughout the neighbourhood. 

Suddenly an intense and brilliant glare shone through the casement, followed by a loud report, and then a fierce and ruddy glow. A figureappeared at the window, uttering cries of agony or alarm, butimmediately disappeared, and a body of smoke and flame whirled out ofthe narrow aperture. Antonio rushed to the portal, and knocked at itwith vehemence. He was only answered by loud shrieks, and found thatthe females were already in helpless consternation. With an exertionof desperate strength he forced the wicket from its hinges, and rushedinto the house. 

He found himself in a small vaulted hall, and, by the light of themoon which entered at the door, he saw a staircase to the left. Hehurried up it to a narrow corridor, through which was rolling a volumeof smoke. He found here the two females in a frantic state of alarm;one of them clasped her hands, and implored him to save her father. 

The corridor terminated in a spiral flight of steps, leading up to thetower. He sprang up it to a small door, through the chinks of whichcame a glow of light, and smoke was spuming out. He burst it open, andfound himself in an antique vaulted chamber, furnished with a furnaceand various chemical apparatus. A shattered retort lay on the stonefloor; a quantity of combustibles, nearly consumed, with varioushalf-burnt books and papers, were sending up an expiring flame, andfilling the chamber with stifling smoke. Just within the threshold laythe reputed conjurer. He was bleeding, his clothes were scorched, andhe appeared lifeless. Antonio caught him up, and bore him down thestairs to a chamber, in which there was a light, and laid him on abed. The female domestic was despatched for such appliances as thehouse afforded; but the daughter threw herself frantically beside herparent, and could not be reasoned out of her alarm. Her dress was allin disorder; her dishevelled hair hung in rich confusion about herneck and bosom, and never was there beheld a lovelier picture ofterror and affliction. 

The skilful assiduities of the scholar soon produced signs ofreturning animation in his patient. The old man's wounds, thoughsevere, were not dangerous. They had evidently been produced by thebursting of the retort; in his bewilderment he had been enveloped inthe stifling metallic vapours, which had overpowered his feeble frame, and had not Antonio arrived to his assistance, it is possible he mightnever have recovered. 

By slow degrees' he came to his senses. He looked about with abewildered air at the chamber, the agitated group around, and thestudent who was leaning over him. 

"Where am I?" said he wildly. 

At the sound of his voice, his daughter uttered a faint exclamation ofdelight. "My poor Inez!" said he, embracing her; then, putting hishand to his head, and taking it away stained with blood, he seemedsuddenly to recollect himself, and to be overcome with emotion. 

"Ah!" cried he, "all is over with me! all gone! all vanished! gone ina moment! the labour of a lifetime lost!"

His daughter attempted to soothe him, but he became slightlydelirious, and raved incoherently about malignant demons, and aboutthe habitation of the green lion being destroyed. His wounds beingdressed, and such other remedies administered as his situationrequired, he sunk into a state of quiet. Antonio now turned hisattention to the daughter, whose sufferings had been little inferiorto those of her father. Having with great difficulty succeeded intranquillizing her fears, he endeavoured to prevail upon her toretire, and seek the repose so necessary to her frame, proffering toremain by her father until morning. "I am a stranger, " said he, "it istrue, and my offer may appear intrusive; but I see you are lonely andhelpless, and I cannot help venturing over the limits of mereceremony. Should you feel any scruple or doubt, however, say but aword, and I will instantly retire. "

There was a frankness, a kindness, and a modesty, mingled in Antonio'sdeportment, that inspired instant confidence; and his simple scholar'sgarb was a recommendation in the house of poverty. The femalesconsented to resign the sufferer to his care, as they would be thebetter able to attend to him on the morrow. On retiring, the olddomestic was profuse in her benedictions; the daughter only looked herthanks; but as they shone through the tears that filled her fine blackeyes, the student thought them a thousand times the most eloquent. 

Here, then, he was, by a singular turn of chance, completely housedwithin this mysterious mansion. When left to himself, and the bustleof the scene was over, his heart throbbed as he looked round thechamber in which he was sitting. It was the daughter's room, thepromised land toward which he had cast so many a longing gaze. Thefurniture was old, and had probably belonged to the building in itsprosperous days; but every thing was arranged with propriety. Theflowers that he had seen her attend stood in the window; a guitarleaned against a table, on which stood a crucifix, and before it lay amissal and a rosary. There reigned an air of purity and serenity aboutthis little nestling-place of innocence; it was the emblem of a chasteand quiet mind. Some few articles of female dress lay on the chairs;and there was the very bed on which she had slept--the pillow on whichher soft cheek had reclined! The poor scholar was treading enchantedground; for what fairy land has more of magic in it, than thebedchamber of innocence and beauty?

From various expressions of the old man in his ravings, and from whathe had noticed on a subsequent visit to the tower, to see that thefire was extinguished, Antonio had gathered that his patient was analchymist. The philosopher's stone was an object eagerly sought afterby visionaries in those days; but in consequence of the superstitiousprejudices of the times, and the frequent persecutions of itsvotaries, they were apt to pursue their experiments in secret; inlonely houses, in caverns and ruins, or in the privacy of cloisteredcells. 

In the course of the night, the old man had several fits ofrestlessness and delirium; he would call out upon Theophrastus, andGeber, and Albertus Magnus, and other sages of his art; and anon wouldmurmur about fermentation and projection, until, toward daylight, heonce more sunk into a salutary sleep. When the morning sun darted hisrays into the casement, the fair Inez, attended by the femaledomestic, came blushing into the chamber. The student now took hisleave, having himself need of repose, but obtaining ready permissionto return and inquire after the sufferer. 

When he called again, he found the alchymist languid and in pain, butapparently suffering more in mind than in body. His delirium had lefthim, and he had been informed of the particulars of his deliverance, and of the subsequent attentions of the scholar. He could do littlemore than look his thanks, but Antonio did not require them; his ownheart repaid him for all that he had done, and he almost rejoiced inthe disaster that had gained him an entrance into this mysterioushabitation. The alchymist was so helpless as to need much assistance;Antonio remained with him, therefore, the greater part of the day. Herepeated his visit the next day, and the next. Every day his companyseemed more pleasing to the invalid; and every day he felt hisinterest in the latter increasing. Perhaps the presence of thedaughter might have been at the bottom of this solicitude. 

He had frequent and long conversations with the alchymist. He foundhim, as men of his pursuits were apt to be, a mixture of enthusiasmand simplicity; of curious and extensive reading on points of littleutility, with great inattention to the everyday occurrences of life, and profound ignorance of the world. He was deeply versed in singularand obscure branches of knowledge, and much given to visionaryspeculations. Antonio, whose mind was of a romantic cast, had himselfgiven some attention to the occult sciences, and he entered upon thesethemes with an ardour that delighted the philosopher. Theirconversations frequently turned upon astrology, divination, and thegreat secret. The old man would forget his aches and wounds, rise uplike a spectre in his bed, and kindle into eloquence on his favouritetopics. When gently admonished of his situation, it would but prompthim to another sally of thought. 

"Alas, my son!" he would say, "is not this very decrepitude andsuffering another proof of the importance of those secrets with whichwe are surrounded? Why are we trammelled by disease, withered by oldage, and our spirits quenched, as it were, within, us, but because wehave lost those secrets of life and youth which were known to ourparents before their fall? To regain these, have philosophers beenever since aspiring; but just as they are on the point of securing theprecious secrets for ever, the brief period of life is at an end; theydie, and with them all their wisdom and experience. 'Nothing, ' as DeNuysment observes, 'nothing is wanting for man's perfection but alonger life, less crossed with sorrows and maladies, to the attainingof the full and perfect knowledge of things. '"

At length Antonio so far gained on the heart of his patient, as todraw from him the outlines of his story. 

Felix de Vasques, the alchymist, was a native of Castile, and of anancient and honourable line. Early in life he had married a beautifulfemale, a descendant from one of the Moorish families. The marriagedispleased his father, who considered the pure Spanish bloodcontaminated by this foreign mixture. It is true, the lady traced herdescent from one of the Abencerrages, the most gallant of Moorishcavaliers, who had embraced the Christian faith on being exiled fromthe walls of Granada. 

The injured pride of the father, however, was not to be appeased. Henever saw his son afterwards, and on dying left him but a scantyportion of his estate; bequeathing the residue, in the piety andbitterness of his heart, to the erection of convents, and theperformance of masses for souls in purgatory. Don Felix resided for along time in the neighbourhood of Valladolid, in a state ofembarrassment and obscurity. He devoted himself to intense study, having, while at the university of Salamanca, imbibed a taste for thesecret sciences. He was enthusiastic and speculative; he went on fromone branch of knowledge to another, until he became zealous in thesearch after the grand Arcanum. 

He had at first engaged in the pursuit with the hopes of raisinghimself from his present obscurity, and resuming the rank and dignityto which his birth entitled him; but, as usual, it ended in absorbingevery thought, and becoming the business of his existence. He was atlength aroused from this mental abstraction, by the calamities of hishousehold. A malignant fever swept off his wife and all his children, excepting an infant daughter. These losses for a time overwhelmed andstupefied him. His home had in a manner died away from around him, andhe felt lonely and forlorn. When his spirit revived within him, hedetermined to abandon the scene of his humiliation and disaster; tobear away the child that was still left him beyond the scene ofcontagion, and never to return to Castile until he should be enabledto reclaim the honours of his line. 

He had ever since been wandering and unsettled in his abode;--sometimesthe resident of populous cities, at other times of absolute solitudes. He had searched libraries, meditated on inscriptions, visited adepts ofdifferent countries, and sought to gather and concentrate the rays whichhad been thrown by various minds upon the secrets of alchymy. He had atone time travelled quite to Padua to search for the manuscripts ofPietro d'Abano, and to inspect an urn which had been dug up near Este, supposed to have been buried by Maximus Olybius, and to have containedthe grand elixir. [7]

[Footnote 7: This urn was found in 1533. It contained a lesser one, inwhich was a burning lamp betwixt two small vials, the one of gold, theother of silver, both of them full of a very clear liquor. On thelargest was an inscription, stating that Maximus Olybius shut up inthis small vessel elements which he had prepared with great toil. There were many disquisitions among the learned on the subject. It wasthe most received opinion, that this Maximus Olybius was an inhabitantof Padua, that he had discovered the great secret, and that thesevessels contained liquor, one to transmute metals to gold, and otherto silver. The peasants who found the urns, imagining this preciousliquor to be common water, spilt every drop, so that the art oftransmuting metals remains as much a secret as ever. ]

While at Padua, he had met with an adept versed in Arabian lore, whotalked of the invaluable manuscripts that must remain in the Spanishlibraries, preserved from the spoils of the Moorish academies anduniversities; of the probability of meeting with precious unpublishedwritings of Geber, and Alfarabius, and Avicenna, the great physiciansof the Arabian schools, who, it was well known, had treated much ofalchymy; but, above all, he spoke of the Arabian tablets of lead, which had recently been dug up in the neighbourhood of Granada, andwhich, it was confidently believed among adepts, contained the lostsecrets of the art. 

The indefatigable alchymist once more bent his steps for Spain, fullof renovated hope. He had made his way to Granada: he had weariedhimself in the study of Arabic, in deciphering inscriptions, inrummaging libraries, and exploring every possible trace left by theArabian sages. 

In all his wanderings, he had been accompanied by Inez through therough and the smooth, the pleasant and the adverse; never complaining, but rather seeking to soothe his cares by her innocent and playfulcaresses. Her instruction had been the employment and the delight ofhis hours of relaxation. She had grown up while they were wandering, and had scarcely ever known any home but by his side. He was family, friends, home, everything to her. He had carried her in his arms, whenthey first began their wayfaring; had nestled her, as an eagle doesits young, among the rocky heights of the Sierra Morena; she hadsported about him in childhood, in the solitudes of the Bateucas; hadfollowed him, as a lamb does the shepherd, over the rugged Pyrenees, and into the fair plains of Languedoc; and now she was grown up tosupport his feeble steps among the ruined abodes of her maternalancestors. 

His property had gradually wasted away, in the course of his travelsand his experiments. Still hope, the constant attendant of thealchymist, had led him on; ever on the point of reaping the reward ofhis labours, and ever disappointed. With the credulity that oftenattended his art, he attributed many of his disappointments to themachination of the malignant spirits that beset the paths of thealchymist and torment him in his solitary labours. "It is theirconstant endeavour, " he observed, "to close up every avenue to thosesublime truths, which would enable man to rise above the abject stateinto which he has fallen, and to return to his original perfection. "To the evil offices of these demons, he attributed his late disaster. He had been on the very verge of the glorious discovery; never werethe indications more completely auspicious; all was going onprosperously, when, at the critical moment which should have crownedhis labours with success, and have placed him at the very summit ofhuman power and felicity, the bursting of a retort had reduced hislaboratory and himself to ruins. 

"I must now, " said he, "give up at the very threshold of success. Mybooks and papers are burnt; my apparatus is broken. I am too old tobear up against these evils. The ardour that once inspired me is gone;my poor frame is exhausted by study and watchfulness, and this lastmisfortune has hurried me towards the grave. " He concluded in a toneof deep dejection. Antonio endeavoured to comfort and reassure him;but the poor alchymist had for once awakened to a consciousness of theworldly ills that were gathering around him, and had sunk intodespondency. After a pause, and some thoughtfulness and perplexity ofbrow, Antonio ventured to make a proposal. 

"I have long, " said he, "been filled with a love for the secretsciences, but have felt too ignorant and diffident to give myself upto them. You have acquired experience; you have amassed the knowledgeof a lifetime; it were a pity it should be thrown away. You say youare too old to renew the toils of the laboratory; suffer me toundertake them. Add your knowledge to my youth and activity, and whatshall we not accomplish? As a probationary fee, and a fund on which toproceed, I will bring into the common stock a sum of gold, the residueof a legacy, which has enabled me to complete my education. A poorscholar cannot boast much; but I trust we shall soon put ourselvesbeyond the reach of want; and if we should fail, why, I must depend, like other scholars, upon my brains to carry me through the world. "

The philosopher's spirits, however, were more depressed than thestudent had imagined. This last shock, following in the rear of somany disappointments, had almost destroyed the reaction of his mind. The fire of an enthusiast, however, is never so low but that it may beblown again into a flame. By degrees, the old man was cheered andreanimated by the buoyancy and ardour of his sanguine companion. He atlength agreed to accept of the services of the student, and once moreto renew his experiments. He objected, however, to using the student'sgold, notwithstanding that his own was nearly exhausted; but thisobjection was soon overcome; the student insisted on making it acommon stock and common cause;--and then how absurd was any delicacyabout such a trifle, with men who looked forward to discovering thephilosopher's stone!

While, therefore, the alchymist was slowly recovering, the studentbusied himself in getting the laboratory once more in order. It wasstrewed with the wrecks of retorts and alembics, with old crucibles, boxes and phials of powders and tinctures, and half-burnt books andmanuscripts. 

As soon as the old man was sufficiently recovered, the studies andexperiments were renewed. The student became a privileged and frequentvisitor, and was indefatigable in his toils in the laboratory. Thephilosopher daily derived new zeal and spirits from the animation ofhis disciple. He was now enabled to prosecute the enterprise withcontinued exertion, having so active a coadjutor to divide the toil. While he was poring over the writings of Sandivogius, and Philalethes, and Dominus de Nuysment, and endeavouring to comprehend the symbolicallanguage in which they have locked up their mysteries, Antonio wouldoccupy himself among the retorts and crucibles, and keep the furnacein a perpetual glow. 

With all his zeal, however, for the discovery of the golden art, thefeelings of the student had not cooled as to the object that firstdrew him to this ruinous mansion. During the old man's illness, he hadfrequent opportunities of being near the daughter; and every day madehim more sensible to her charms. There was a pure simplicity, and analmost passive gentleness, in her manners; yet with all this wasmingled something, whether mere maiden shyness, or a consciousness ofhigh descent, or a dash of Castilian pride, or perhaps all united, that prevented undue familiarity, and made her difficult of approach. The danger of her father, and the measures to be taken for his relief, had at first overcome this coyness and reserve, but as he recoveredand her alarm subsided, she seemed to shrink from the familiarity shehad indulged with the youthful stranger, and to become every day moreshy and silent. 

Antonio had read many books, but this was the first volume ofwomankind that he had ever studied. He had been captivated with thevery title-page; but the further he read, the more he was delighted. She seemed formed to love; her soft black eye rolled languidly underits long silken lashes, and wherever it turned, it would linger andrepose; there was tenderness in every beam. To him alone she wasreserved and distant. Now that the common cares of the sick-room wereat an end, he saw little more of her than before his admission to thehouse. Sometimes he met her on his way to and from the laboratory, andat such times there was ever a smile and a blush; but, after a simplesalutation, she glided on and disappeared. 

"'Tis plain, " thought Antonio, "my presence is indifferent, if notirksome to her. She has noticed my admiration, and is determined todiscourage it; nothing but a feeling of gratitude prevents hertreating me with marked distaste--and then has she not another lover, rich, gallant, splendid, musical? how can I suppose she would turn hereyes from so brilliant a cavalier, to a poor obscure student, rakingamong the cinders of her father's laboratory?"

Indeed, the idea of the amorous serenader continually haunted hismind. He felt convinced that he was a favoured lover; yet, if so, whydid he not frequent the tower?--why did he not make his approaches bynoon-day? There was mystery in this eavesdropping and musicalcourtship. Surely Inez could not be encouraging a secret intrigue! Oh!no! she was too artless, too pure, too ingenuous! But then the Spanishfemales were so prone to love and intrigue; and music and moonlightwere so seductive, and Inez had such a tender soul languishing inevery look. --"Oh!" would the poor scholar exclaim, clasping his hands, "oh, that I could but once behold those loving eyes beaming on me withaffection!"

It is incredible to those who have not experienced it, on what scantyaliment human life and human love may be supported. A dry crust, thrown now and then to a starving man, will give him a new lease ofexistence; and a faint smile, or a kind look, bestowed at casualintervals, will keep a lover loving on, when a man in his sober senseswould despair. 

When Antonio found himself alone in the laboratory, his mind would behaunted by one of these looks, or smiles, which he had received inpassing. He would set it in every possible light, and argue on it withall the self-pleasing, self-teasing logic of a lover. 

The country around him was enough to awaken that voluptuousness offeeling so favourable to the growth of passion. The window of thetower rose above the trees of the romantic valley of the Darro, andlooked down upon some of the loveliest scenery of the Vega, wheregroves of citron and orange were refreshed by cool springs and brooksof the purest water. 

The Xenel and the Darro wound their shining streams along the plain, and gleamed from among its bowers. The surrounding hills were coveredwith vineyards, and the mountains, crowned with snow, seemed to meltinto the blue sky. The delicate airs that played about the tower wereperfumed by the fragrance of myrtle and orange-blossoms, and the earwas charmed with the fond warbling of the nightingale, which, in thesehappy regions, sings the whole day long. Sometimes, too, there was theidle song of the muleteer, sauntering along the solitary road; or thenotes of the guitar, from some group of peasants dancing in the shade. All these were enough to fill the head of the young lover with poeticfancies; and Antonio would picture to himself how he could loiteramong those happy groves, and wander by those gentle rivers, and loveaway his life with Inez. 

He felt at times impatient at his own weakness, and would endeavour tobrush away these cobwebs of the mind. He would turn his thoughts, withsudden effort, to his occult studies, or occupy himself in someperplexing process; but often, when he had partially succeeded infixing his attention, the sound of Inez's lute, or the soft notes ofher voice, would come stealing upon the stillness of the chamber, and, as it were, floating round the tower. There was no great art in herperformance; but Antonio thought he had never heard music comparableto this. It was perfect witchcraft to hear her warble forth some ofher national melodies; those little Spanish romances and Moorishballads, that transport the hearer, in idea, to the banks of theGuadalquivir, or the walls of the Alhambra, and make him dream ofbeauties, and balconies, and moonlight serenades. 

Never was poor student more sadly beset than Antonio. Love is atroublesome companion in a study, at the best of tunes; but in thelaboratory of an alchymist, his intrusion is terribly disastrous. Instead of attending to the retorts and crucibles, and watching theprocess of some experiment intrusted to his charge, the student wouldget entranced in one of these love-dreams, from which he would oftenbe aroused by some fatal catastrophe. The philosopher, on returningfrom his researches in the libraries, would find every thing gonewrong, and Antonio in despair over the ruins of the whole day's work. The old man, however, took all quietly, for his had been a life ofexperiment and failure. 

"We must have patience, my son, " would he say, "as all the greatmasters that have gone before us have had. Errors, and accidents, anddelays are what we have to contend with. Did not Pontanus err twohundred times, before he could obtain even the matter on which tofound his experiments? The great Flamel, too, did he not labourfour-and-twenty years, before he ascertained the first agent? Whatdifficulties and hardships did not Cartilaceus encounter, at the verythreshold of his discoveries? And Bernard de Treves, even after he hadattained a knowledge of all the requisites, was he not delayed fullthree years? What you consider accidents, my son, are the machinationsof our invisible enemies. The treasures and golden secrets of natureare surrounded by spirits hostile to man. The air about us teems withthem. They lurk in the fire of the furnace, in the bottom of thecrucible, and the alembic, and are ever on the alert to take advantageof those moments when our minds are wandering from intense meditationon the great truth that we are seeking. We must only strive the moreto purify ourselves from, those gross and earthly feelings whichbecloud the soul, and prevent her from piercing into nature's arcana. "

"Alas!" thought Antonio, "if to be purified from all earthly feelingrequires that I should cease to love Inez, I fear I shall neverdiscover the philosopher's stone!"

In this way, matters went on for some time, at the alchymist's. Dayafter day was sending the student's gold in vapour up the chimney;every blast of the furnace made him a ducat the poorer, withoutapparently helping him a jot nearer to the golden secret. Still theyoung man stood by, and saw piece after piece disappearing without amurmur: he had daily an opportunity of seeing Inez, and felt as if herfavour would be better than silver or gold, and that every smile wasworth a ducat. 

Sometimes, in the cool of the evening, when the toils of thelaboratory happened to be suspended, he would walk with the alchymistin what had once been a garden belonging to the mansion. There werestill the remains of terraces and balustrades, and here and there amarble urn, or mutilated statue overturned, and buried among weeds andflowers run wild. It was the favourite resort of the alchymist in hishours of relaxation, where he would give full scope to his visionaryflights. His mind was tinctured with the Rosicrucian doctrines. Hebelieved in elementary beings; some favourable, others adverse to hispursuits; and, in the exaltation of his fancy, had often imagined thathe held communion with them in his solitary walks, about thewhispering groves and echoing walls of this old garden. 

When accompanied by Antonio, he would prolong these eveningrecreations. Indeed, he sometimes did it out of consideration for hisdisciple, for he feared lest his too close application, and hisincessant seclusion in the tower, should be injurious to his health. He was delighted and surprised by this extraordinary zeal andperseverance in so young a tyro, and looked upon him as destined to beone of the great luminaries of the art. Lest the student should repineat the time lost in these relaxations, the good alchymist would fillthem up with wholesome knowledge, in matters connected with theirpursuits; and would walk up and down the alleys with his disciple, imparting oral instruction, like an ancient philosopher. In all hisvisionary schemes, these breathed a spirit of lofty, though chimericalphilanthropy, that won the admiration of the scholar. Nothing sordidnor sensual, nothing petty nor selfish, seemed to enter into hisviews, in respect to the grand discoveries he was anticipating. On thecontrary, his imagination kindled with conceptions of widelydispensated happiness. He looked forward to the time when he should beable to go about the earth, relieving the indigent, comforting thedistressed; and, by his unlimited means, devising and executing plansfor the complete extirpation of poverty, and all its attendantsufferings and crimes. Never were grander schemes for general good, for the distribution of boundless wealth and universal competence, devised than by this poor, indigent alchymist in his ruined tower. 

Antonio would attend these peripatetic lectures with all the ardour ofa devotee; but there was another circumstance which may have given asecret charm to them. The garden was the resort also of Inez, whereshe took her walks of recreation; the only exercise that her secludedlife permitted. As Antonio was duteously pacing by the side of hisinstructor, he would often catch a glimpse of the daughter, walkingpensively about the alleys in the soft twilight. Sometimes they wouldmeet her unexpectedly, and the heart of the student would throb withagitation. A blush, too, would crimson the cheek of Inez, but stillshe passed on and never joined them. 

He had remained one evening until rather a late hour with thealchymist in this favourite resort. It was a delightful night after asultry day, and the balmy air of the garden was peculiarly reviving. The old man was seated on a fragment of a pedestal, looking like apart of the ruin on which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by longlessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone out with brilliantlustre in the dark-blue vault of a southern sky; for he was deeplyversed in Behmen, and other of the Rosicrucians, and talked much ofthe signature of earthly things and passing events, which may bediscerned in the heavens; of the power of the stars over corporealbeings, and their influence on the fortunes of the sons of men. 

By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming light among the groves. Antonio apparently listened with fixed attention to the sage, but hisear was drinking in the melody of Inez's voice, who was singing to herlute in one of the moonlight glades of the garden. The old man, havingexhausted his theme, sat gazing in silent reverie at the heavens. Antonio could not resist an inclination to steal a look at this coybeauty, who was thus playing the part of the nightingale, sosequestered and musical. Leaving the alchymist in his celestialreverie, he stole gently along one of the alleys. The music hadceased, and he thought he heard the sound of voices. He came to anangle of a copse that had screened a kind of green recess, ornamentedby a marble fountain. The moon shone full upon the place, and by itslight he beheld his unknown, serenading rival at the feet of Inez. Hewas detaining her by the hand, which he covered with kisses; but atsight of Antonio he started up and half drew his sword, while Inez, disengaged, fled back to the house. 

All the jealous doubts and fears of Antonio were now confirmed. He didnot remain to encounter the resentment of his happy rival at beingthus interrupted, but turned from the place in sudden wretchedness ofheart. That Inez should love another, would have been misery enough;but that she should be capable of a dishonourable amour, shocked himto the soul. The idea of deception in so young and apparently artlessa being, brought with it that sudden distrust in human nature, sosickening to a youthful and ingenuous mind; but when he thought of thekind, simple parent she was deceiving, whose affections all centred inher, he felt for a moment a sentiment of indignation, and almost ofaversion. 

He found the alchymist still seated in his visionary contemplation ofthe moon. "Come hither, my son, " said he, with his usual enthusiasm, "come, read with me in this vast volume of wisdom, thus nightlyunfolded for our perusal. Wisely did the Chaldean sages affirm, thatthe heaven is as a mystic page, uttering speech to those who canrightly understand; warning them of good and evil, and instructingthem in the secret decrees of fate. "

The student's heart ached for his venerable master; and, for a moment, he felt the futility of his occult wisdom. "Alas! poor old man!"thought he, "of what avails all thy study? Little dost thou dream, while busied in airy speculations among the stars, what a treasonagainst thy happiness is going on under thine eyes; as it were, in thyvery bosom!--Oh Inez! Inez! where shall we look for truth andinnocence, where shall we repose confidence in woman, if even you candeceive?"

It was a trite apostrophe, such as every lover makes when he finds hismistress not quite such a goddess as he had painted her. With thestudent, however, it sprung from honest anguish of heart. He returnedto his lodgings, in pitiable confusion of mind. He now deplored theinfatuation that had led him on until his feelings were so thoroughlyengaged. He resolved to abandon his pursuits at the tower, and trustto absence to dispel the fascination by which he had been spellbound. He no longer thirsted after the discovery of the grand elixir: thedream of alchymy was over; for, without Inez, what was the value ofthe philosopher's stone?

He rose, after a sleepless night, with the determination of taking hisleave of the alchymist, and tearing himself from Granada. For severaldays did he rise with the same resolution, and every night saw himcome back to his pillow, to repine at his want of resolution, and tomake fresh determinations for the morrow. In the meanwhile, he sawless of Inez than ever. She no longer walked in the garden, butremained almost entirely in her apartment. When she met him, sheblushed more than usual; and once hesitated, as if she would havespoken; but, after a temporary embarrassment, and still deeperblushes, she made some casual observation, and retired. Antonio read, in this confusion, a consciousness of fault, and of that fault's beingdiscovered. "What could she have wished to communicate? Perhaps toaccount for the scene in the garden;--but how can she account for it, or why should she account for it to me? What am I to her?--or rather, what is she to me?" exclaimed he, impatiently, with a new resolutionto break through these entanglements of the heart, and fly from thisenchanted spot for ever. 

He was returning that very night to his lodgings, full of thisexcellent determination, when, in a shadowy part of the road, hepassed a person whom he recognized, by his height and form, for hisrival: he was going in the direction of the tower. If any lingeringdoubts remained, here was an opportunity of settling them completely. He determined to follow this unknown cavalier, and, under favour ofthe darkness, observe his movements. If he obtained access to thetower, or in any way a favourable reception, Antonio felt as if itwould be a relief to his mind, and would enable him to fix hiswavering resolution. 

The unknown, as he came near the tower, was more cautious and stealthyin his approaches. He was joined under a clump of trees by anotherperson, and they had much whispering together. A light was burning inthe chamber of Inez; the curtain was down, but the casement was leftopen, as the night was warm. After some time, the light wasextinguished. A considerable interval elapsed. The cavalier and hiscompanion remained under covert of the trees, as if keeping watch. Atlength they approached the tower, with silent and cautious steps. Thecavalier received a dark-lantern from his companion, and threw off hiscloak. The other then softly brought something from the clump oftrees, which Antonio perceived to be a light ladder: he placed itagainst the wall, and the serenader gently ascended. A sickeningsensation came over Antonio. Here was indeed a confirmation of everyfear. He was about to leave the place, never to return, when he hearda stifled shriek from Inez's chamber. 

In an instant, the fellow that stood at the foot of the ladder layprostrate on the ground. Antonio wrested a stiletto from his nervelesshand, and hurried up the ladder. He sprang in at the window, and foundInez struggling in the grasp of his fancied rival; the latter, disturbed from his prey, caught up his lantern, turned its light fullupon Antonio, and, drawing his sword, made a furious assault; luckilythe student saw the light gleam along the blade, and parried thethrust with the stiletto. A fierce, but unequal combat ensued. Antoniofought exposed to the full glare of the light, while his antagonistwas in shadow: his stiletto, too, was but a poor defence against arapier. He saw that nothing would save him but closing with hisadversary, and getting within his weapon: he rushed furiously uponhim, and gave him a severe blow with the stiletto; but received awound in return from the shortened sword. At the same moment, a blowwas inflicted from behind, by the confederate, who had ascended theladder; it felled him to the floor, and his antagonists made theirescape. 

By this time, the cries of Inez had brought her father and thedomestic into the room. Antonio was found weltering in his blood, andsenseless. He was conveyed to the chamber of the alchymist, who nowrepaid in kind the attentions which the student had once bestowed uponhim. Among his varied knowledge he possessed some skill in surgery, which at this moment was of more value than even his chymical lore. Hestanched and dressed the wounds of his disciple, which on examinationproved less desperate than he had at first apprehended. For a fewdays, however, his case was anxious, and attended with danger. The oldman watched over him with the affection of a parent. He felt a doubledebt of gratitude towards him, on account of his daughter and himself;he loved him too as a faithful and zealous disciple; and he dreadedlest the world, should be deprived of the promising talents of soaspiring an alchymist. 

An excellent constitution soon medicined his wounds; and there was abalsam in the looks and words of Inez, that had a healing effect onthe still severer wounds which he carried in his heart. She displayedthe strongest interest in his safety; she called him her deliverer, her preserver. It seemed as if her grateful disposition sought, in thewarmth of its acknowledgments, to repay him for past coldness. Butwhat most contributed to Antonio's recovery, was her explanationconcerning his supposed rival. It was some time since he had firstbeheld her at church, and he had ever since persecuted her with hisattentions. He had beset her in her walks, until she had been obligedto confine herself to the house, except when accompanied by herfather. He had besieged her with letters, serenades, and every art bywhich he could urge a vehement, but clandestine and dishonourablesuit. The scene in the garden was as much of a surprise to her as toAntonio. Her persecutor had been attracted by her voice, and had foundhis way over a ruined part of the wall. He had come upon her unawares;was detaining her by force, and pleading his insulting passion, whenthe appearance of the student interrupted him, and enabled her to makeher escape. She had forborne to mention to her father the persecutionwhich she suffered; she wished to spare him unavailing anxiety anddistress, and had determined to confine herself more rigorously to thehouse; though it appeared that even here she had not been safe fromhis daring enterprise. 

Antonio inquired whether she knew the name of this impetuous admirer?She replied that he had made his advances under a fictitious name; butthat she had heard him once called by the name of Don Ambrosio deLoxa. 

Antonio knew him, by report, for one of the most determined anddangerous libertines in all Granada. Artful, accomplished, and, if hechose to be so, insinuating; but daring and headlong in the pursuit ofhis pleasures; violent and implacable in his resentments. He rejoicedto find that Inez had been proof against his seductions, and had beeninspired with aversion by his splendid profligacy; but he trembled tothink of the dangers she had run, and he felt solicitude about thedangers that must yet environ her. 

At present, however, it was probable the enemy had a temporaryquietus. The traces of blood had been found for some distance from theladder, until they were lost among thickets; and as nothing had beenheard or seen of him since, it was concluded that he had beenseriously wounded. 

As the student recovered from his wounds, he was enabled to join Inezand her father in their domestic intercourse. The chamber in whichthey usually met had probably been a saloon of state in former times. The floor was of marble; the walls partially covered with remains oftapestry; the chairs, richly carved and gilt, were crazed with age, and covered with tarnished and tattered brocade. Against the wall hunga long rusty rapier, the only relic that the old man retained of thechivalry of his ancestors. There might have been something to provokea smile, in the contrast between the mansion and its inhabitants;between present poverty and the graces of departed grandeur; but thefancy of the student had thrown so much romance about the edifice andits inmates, that every thing was clothed with charms. Thephilosopher, with his broken-down pride, and his strange pursuits, seemed to comport with the melancholy ruin he inhabited; and there wasa native elegance of spirit about the daughter, that showed she wouldhave graced the mansion in its happier days. 

What delicious moments were these to the student! Inez was no longercoy and reserved. She was naturally artless and confiding; though thekind of persecution she had experienced from one admirer had renderedher, for a time, suspicious and circumspect toward the other. She nowfelt an entire confidence in the sincerity and worth of Antonio, mingled with an overflowing gratitude. When her eyes met his, theybeamed with sympathy and kindness; and Antonio, no longer haunted bythe idea of a favoured rival, once more aspired to success. 

At these domestic meetings, however, he had little opportunity ofpaying his court, except by looks. The alchymist, supposing him, likehimself, absorbed in the study of alchymy, endeavoured to cheer thetediousness of his recovery by long conversations on the art. He evenbrought several of his half-burnt volumes, which the student had oncerescued from the flames, and rewarded him for their preservation, byreading copious passages. He would entertain him with the great andgood acts of Flamel, which he effected through means of thephilosopher's stone, relieving widows and orphans, founding hospitals, building churches, and what not; or with the interrogatories of KingKalid, and the answers of Morienus, the Roman hermit of Jerusalem; orthe profound questions which Elardus, a necromancer of the province ofCatalonia, put to the devil, touching the secrets of alchymy, and thedevil's replies. 

All these were couched, in occult language, almost unintelligible tothe unpractised ear of the disciple. Indeed, the old man delighted inthe mystic phrases and symbolical jargon in which the writers thathave treated of alchymy have wrapped their communications; renderingthem incomprehensible except to the initiated. With what rapture wouldhe elevate his voice at a triumphant passage, announcing the granddiscovery! "Thou shalt see, " would he exclaim, in the words of HenryKuhnrade, [8] "the stone of the philosophers (our king) go forth of thebed-chamber of his glassy sepulchre into the theatre of this world;that is to say, regenerated and made perfect, a shining carbuncle, amost temperate splendour, whose most subtle and depurated parts areinseparable, united into one with a concordial mixture, exceedingequal, transparent as chrystal, shining red like a ruby, permanentlycolouring or ringing, fixt in all temptations or tryals; yea, in theexamination of the burning sulphur itself, and the devouring waters, and in the most vehement persecution of the fire, always incombustibleand permanent as a salamander!"

[Footnote 8: Amphitheatre of the Eternal Wisdom. ]

The student had a high veneration for the fathers of alchymy, and aprofound respect for his instructor; but what was Henry Kuhnrade, Geber, Lully, or even Albertus Magnus himself, compared to thecountenance of Inez, which presented such a page of beauty to hisperusal? While, therefore, the good alchymist was doling out knowledgeby the hour, his disciple would forget books, alchymy, every thing butthe lovely object before him. Inez, too, unpractised in the science ofthe heart, was gradually becoming fascinated by the silent attentionsof her lover. Day by day, she seemed more and more perplexed by thekindling and strangely pleasing emotions of her bosom. Her eye wasoften cast down in thought. Blushes stole to her cheek without anyapparent cause, and light, half-suppressed sighs would follow theseshort fits of musing. Her little ballads, though the same that she hadalways sung, yet breathed a more tender spirit. Either the tones ofher voice were more soft and touching, or some passages were deliveredwith a feeling she had never before given them. Antonio, beside hislove for the abstruse sciences, had a pretty turn for music; and neverdid philosopher touch the guitar more tastefully. As, by degrees, heconquered the mutual embarrassment that kept them asunder, he venturedto accompany Inez in some of her songs. He had a voice full of fireand tenderness: as he sang, one would have thought, from the kindlingblushes of his companion, that he had been pleading his own passion inher ear. Let those who would keep two youthful hearts asunder, bewareof music. Oh! this leaning over chairs, and conning the samemusic-book, and entwining of voices, and melting away inharmonies!--the German waltz is nothing to it. 

The worthy alchymist saw nothing of all this. His mind could admit ofno idea that was not connected with the discovery of the grandarcanum, and he supposed his youthful coadjutor equally devoted. Hewas a mere child as to human nature; and, as to the passion of love, whatever he might once have felt of it, he had long since forgottenthat there was such an idle passion in existence. But, while hedreamed, the silent amour went on. The very quiet and seclusion of theplace were favourable to the growth of romantic passion. The openingbud of love was able to put forth leaf by leaf, without an adversewind to check its growth. There was neither officious friendship tochill by its advice, nor insidious envy to wither by its sneers, noran observing world to look on and stare it out of countenance. Therewas neither declaration, nor vow, nor any other form of Cupid'scanting school. Their hearts mingled together, and understood eachother without the aid of language. They lapsed into the full currentof affection, unconscious of its depth, and thoughtless of the rocksthat might lurk beneath its surface. Happy lovers! who wanted nothingto make their felicity complete, but the discovery of thephilosopher's stone!

At length, Antonio's health was sufficiently restored to enable him toreturn to his lodgings in Granada. He felt uneasy, however, at leavingthe tower, while lurking danger might surround its almost defencelessinmates. He dreaded lest Don Ambrosio, recovered from his wounds, might plot some new attempt, by secret art, or open violence. From allthat he had heard, he knew him to be too implacable to suffer hisdefeat to pass unavenged, and too rash and fearless, when his artswere unavailing, to stop at any daring deed in the accomplishment ofhis purposes. He urged his apprehensions to the alchymist and hisdaughter, and proposed that they should abandon the dangerous vicinityof Granada. 

"I have relations, " said he, "in Valentia, poor indeed, but worthy andaffectionate. Among them you will find friendship and quiet, and wemay there pursue our labours unmolested. " He went on to paint thebeauties and delights of Valentia, with all the fondness of a native, and all the eloquence with which a lover paints the fields and groveswhich he is picturing as the future scenes of his happiness. Hiseloquence, backed by the apprehensions of Inez, was successful withthe alchymist, who, indeed, had led too unsettled a life to beparticular about the place of his residence; and it was determined, that, as soon as Antonio's health was perfectly restored, they shouldabandon the tower, and seek the delicious neighbourhood of Valentia. [9]

[Footnote 9: Here are the strongest silks, the sweetest wines, theexcellent'st almonds, the best oyls, and beautifull'st females of allSpain. The very bruit animals make themselves beds of rosemary, andother fragrant flowers hereabouts; and when one is at sea, if thewinde blow from the shore, he may smell this soyl before he comes insight of it, many leagues off, by the strong odoriferous scent itcasts. As it is the most pleasant, so it is also the temperat'st climeof all Spain, and they commonly call it the second Italy; which madethe Moors, whereof many thousands were disterr'd, and banish'd henceto Barbary, to think that Paradise was in that part of the heavenswhich hung over this citie. --HOWELL'S _Letters_. ]

To recruit his strength, the student suspended his toils in thelaboratory, and spent the few remaining days, before departure, intaking a farewell look at the enchanting environs of Granada. He feltreturning health and vigour, as he inhaled the pure temperate breezesthat play about its hills; and the happy state of his mind contributedto his rapid recovery. Inez was often the companion of his walks. Herdescent, by the mother's side, from one of the ancient Moorishfamilies, gave her an interest in this once favourite seat of Arabianpower. She gazed with enthusiasm upon its magnificent monuments, andher memory was filled with the traditional tales and ballads ofMoorish chivalry. Indeed, the solitary life she had led, and thevisionary turn of her father's mind, had produced an effect upon hercharacter, and given it a tinge of what, in modern days, would betermed romance. All this was called into full force by this newpassage; for, when a woman first begins to love, life is all romanceto her. 

In one of their evening strolls, they had ascended to the mountain ofthe Sun, where is situated the Generaliffe, the palace of pleasure, inthe days of Moorish dominion, but now a gloomy convent of Capuchins. They had wandered about its garden, among groves of orange, citron, and cypress, where the waters, leaping in torrents, or gushing infountains, or tossed aloft in sparkling jets, fill the air with musicand freshness. 

There is a melancholy mingled with all the beauties of this garden, that gradually stole over the feelings of the lovers. The place isfull of the sad story of past times. It was the favourite abode of thelovely queen of Granada, where she was surrounded by the delights of agay and voluptuous court. It was here, too, amidst her own bowers ofroses, that her slanderers laid the base story of her dishonour, andstruck a fatal blow to the line of the gallant Abencerrages. 

The whole garden has a look of ruin and neglect. Many of the fountainsare dry and broken; the streams have wandered from their marblechannels, and are choked by weeds and yellow leaves. The reed whistlesto the wind, where it had once sported among roses, and shaken perfumefrom the orange-blossom. The convent-bell flings its sullen sound, orthe drowsy vesper-hymn floats along these solitudes, which onceresounded with the song, and the dance, and the lover's serenade. Wellmay the Moors lament over the loss of this earthly paradise; well maythey remember it in their prayers, and beseech Heaven to restore it tothe faithful; well may their ambassadors smite their breasts when theybehold these monuments of their race, and sit down and weep among thefading glories of Granada!

It is impossible to wander about these scenes of departed love andgayety, and not feel the tenderness of the heart awakened. It was thenthat Antonio first ventured to breathe his passion, and to express bywords what his eyes had long since so eloquently revealed. He made hisavowal with fervour, but with frankness. He had no gay prospects tohold out: he was a poor scholar, dependent on his "good spirits tofeed and clothe him. " But a woman in love is no interested calculator. Inez listened to him with downcast eyes, but in them was a humid gleamthat showed her heart was with him. She had no prudery in her nature;and she had not been sufficiently in society to acquire it. She lovedhim with all the absence of worldliness of a genuine woman; and, amidst timid smiles and blushes, he drew from her a modestacknowledgment of her affection. 

They wandered about the garden, with that sweet intoxication of thesoul which none but happy lovers know. The world about them was allfairy land; and, indeed, it spread forth one of its fairest scenesbefore their eyes, as if to fulfil their dream of earthly happiness. They looked out from between groves of orange, upon the towers ofGranada below them; the magnificent plain of the Vega beyond, streakedwith evening sunshine, and the distant hills tinted with rosy andpurple hues: it seemed an emblem of the happy future, that love andhope were decking out for them. 

As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalusians struck up adance, in one of the vistas of the garden, to the guitars of twowandering musicians. The Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet thepeople dance to it with spirit and enthusiasm. The picturesque figuresof the dancers; the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung inknots and tassels down their backs, their mantillas floating roundtheir graceful forms, their slender feet peeping from under theirbasquinas, their arms tossed up in the air to play the castanets, hada beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich eveninglandscape spreading out below them. 

When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached Antonio andInez; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompaniedby the other on the lute. It alluded to the story of the garden, thewrongs of the fair queen of Granada, and the misfortunes of theAbencerrages. It was one of those old ballads that abound in this partof Spain, and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish greatness. The heart of Inez was at that moment open to every tender impression;the tears rose into her eyes, as she listened to the tale. The singerapproached nearer to her; she was striking in her appearance;--young, beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine blackeyes. She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and, suddenly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated ofimpending danger and treachery. All this might have passed for a mereaccidental caprice of the singer, had there not been something in herlook, manner, and gesticulation that made it pointed and startling. 

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently personalapplication of the song, when she was interrupted by Antonio, whogently drew her from the place. Whilst she had been lost in attentionto the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the shadows of thetrees, whispering together. They were enveloped in the broad hats andgreat cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, and, while they wereregarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anxious to avoidobservation. Not knowing what might be their character or intention, he hastened to quit a place where the gathering shadows of eveningmight expose them to intrusion and insult. On their way down the hill, as they passed through the wood of elms, mingled with poplars andoleanders, that skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he againsaw these men apparently following at a distance; and he afterwardscaught sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro. Hesaid nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would notawaken unnecessary alarm; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or toavert any machinations that might be devising against the helplessinhabitants of the tower. 

He took his leave of them late at night, full of this perplexity. Ashe left the dreary old pile, he saw some one lurking in the shadow ofthe wall, apparently watching his movements. He hastened after thefigure, but it glided away, and disappeared among some ruins. Shortlyafter he heard a low whistle, which was answered from a littledistance. He had no longer a doubt but that some mischief was on foot, and turned to hasten back to the tower, and put its inmates on theirguard. He had scarcely turned, however, before he found himselfsuddenly seized from behind by some one of Herculean strength. Hisstruggles were in vain; he was surrounded by armed men. One threw amantle over him that stifled his cries, and enveloped him in itsfolds; and he was hurried off with irresistible rapidity. 

The next day passed without the appearance of Antonio at thealchymist's. Another, and another day succeeded, and yet he did notcome; nor had any thing been heard of him at his lodgings. His absencecaused, at first, surprise and conjecture, and at length alarm. Inezrecollected the singular intimations of the ballad-singer upon themountain, which seemed to warn her of impending danger, and her mindwas full of vague forebodings. She sat listening to every sound at thegate, or footstep on the stairs. She would take up her guitar andstrike a few notes, but it would not do; her heart was sickening withsuspense and anxiety. She had never before felt what it was to bereally lonely. She now was conscious of the force of that attachmentwhich had taken possession of her breast; for never do we know howmuch we love, never do we know how necessary the object of our love isto our happiness, until we experience the weary void of separation. 

The philosopher, too, felt the absence of his disciple almost assensibly as did his daughter. The animating buoyancy of the youth hadinspired him with new ardour, and had given to his labours the charmof full companionship. However, he had resources and consolations ofwhich his daughter was destitute. His pursuits were of a nature tooccupy every thought, and keep the spirits in a state of continualexcitement. Certain indications, too, had lately manifestedthemselves, of the most favourable nature. Forty days and forty nightshad the process gone on successfully; the old man's hopes wereconstantly rising, and he now considered the glorious moment once moreat hand, when he should obtain not merely the major lunaria, butlikewise the tinctura solaris, the means of multiplying gold, and ofprolonging existence. He remained, therefore, continually shut up inhis laboratory, watching his furnace; for a moment's inadvertencymight once more defeat all his expectations. 

He was sitting one evening at one of his solitary vigils, wrapped upin meditation; the hour was late, and his neighbour, the owl, washooting from the battlement of the tower, when he heard the door openbehind him. Supposing it to be his daughter coming to take her leaveof him for the night, as was her frequent practice, he called her byname, but a harsh voice me this ear in reply. He was grasped by thearms, and, looking up, perceived three strange men in the chamber. Heattempted to shake them off, but in vain. He called for help, but theyscoffed at his cries. "Peace, dotard!" cried one: "think'st thou theservants of the most holy inquisition are to be daunted by thyclamours? Comrades, away with him!"

Without heeding his remonstrances and entreaties, they seized upon hisbooks and papers, took some note of the apartment, and the utensils, and then bore him off a prisoner. 

Inez, left to herself, had passed a sad and lonely evening; seated bya casement which looked into the garden, she had pensively watchedstar after star sparkle out of the blue depths of the sky, and wasindulging a crowd of anxious thoughts about her lover, until therising tears began to flow. She was suddenly alarmed by the sound ofvoices, that seemed to come from a distant part of the mansion. Therewas, not long after, a noise of several persons descending the stairs. Surprised at these unusual sounds in their lonely habitation, sheremained for a few moments in a state of trembling, yet indistinctapprehension, when the servant rushed into the room, with terror inher countenance, and informed her that her father was carried off byarmed men. 

Inez did not stop to hear further, but flew down-stairs to overtakethem. She had scarcely passed the threshold, when she found herself inthe grasp of strangers. --"Away!--away!" cried she, wildly, "do notstop me--let me follow my father. "

"We come to conduct you to him, senora, " said one of the men, respectfully. 

"Where is he, then?"

"He is gone to Granada, " replied the man: "an unexpected circumstancerequires his presence there immediately; but he is among friends. "

"We have no friends in Granada, " said Inez, drawing back; but then theidea of Antonio rushed into her mind; something relating to him mighthave call her father thither. "Is senor Antonio de Castros with him?"demanded she, with agitation. 

"I know not, senora, " replied the man. "It is very possible. I onlyknow that your father is among friends, and is anxious for you tofollow him. "

"Let us go, then, " cried she, eagerly. The men led her a littledistance to where a mule was waiting, and, assisting her to mount, they conducted her slowly towards the city. 

Granada was on that evening a scene of fanciful revel. It was one ofthe festivals of the Maestranza, an association of the nobility tokeep up some of the gallant customs of ancient chivalry. There hadbeen a representation of a tournament in one of the squares; thestreets would still occasionally resound with the beat of a solitarydrum, or the bray of a trumpet from some straggling party ofrevellers. Sometimes they were met by cavaliers, richly dressed inancient costumes, attended by their squires; and at one time theypassed in sight of a palace brilliantly illuminated, from whence camethe mingled sounds of music and the dance. Shortly after, they came tothe square where the mock tournament had been held. It was thronged bythe populace, recreating themselves among booths and stalls whererefreshments were sold, and the glare of torches showed the temporarygalleries, and gay-coloured awnings, and armorial trophies, and otherparaphernalia of the show. The conductors of Inez endeavoured to keepout of observation, and to traverse a gloomy part of the square; butthey were detained at one place by the pressure of a crowd surroundinga party of wandering musicians, singing one of those ballads of whichthe Spanish populace are so passionately fond. The torches which wereheld by some of the crowd, threw a strong mass of light upon Inez, andthe sight of so beautiful a being, without mantilla or veil, lookingso bewildered, and conducted by men who seemed to take nogratification in the surrounding gayety, occasioned expressions ofcuriosity. One of the ballad-singers approached, and striking herguitar with peculiar earnestness, began to sing a doleful air, full ofsinister forebodings. Inez started with surprise. It was the sameballad-singer that had addressed her in the garden of the Generaliffe. 

It was the same air that she had then sung. It spoke of impendingdangers; they seemed, indeed, to be thickening around her. She wasanxious to speak with the girl, and to ascertain whether she reallyhad a knowledge of any definite evil that was threatening her; but, asshe attempted to address her, the mule, on which she rode, wassuddenly seized, and led forcibly through the throng by one of herconductors, while she saw another addressing menacing words to theballad-singer. The latter raised her hand with a warning gesture, asInez lost sight of her. 

While she was yet lost in perplexity, caused by this singularoccurrence, they stopped at the gate of a large mansion. One of herattendants knocked, the door was opened, and they entered a pavedcourt. "Where are we?" demanded Inez, with anxiety. "At the house of afriend, senora, " replied the man. "Ascend this staircase with me, andin a moment you will meet your father. "

They ascended a staircase, that led to a suite of splendid apartments. They passed through several, until they came to an inner chamber. Thedoor opened--some one approached; but what was her terror atperceiving, not her father, but Don Ambrosio!

The men who had seized upon the alchymist had, at least, been morehonest in their professions. They were, indeed, familiars of theinquisition. He was conducted in silence to the gloomy prison of thathorrible tribunal. It was a mansion whose very aspect withered joy, and almost shut out hope. It was one of those hideous abodes which thebad passions of men conjure up in this fair world, to rival thefancied dens of demons and the accursed. 

Day after day went heavily by, without anything to mark the lapse oftime, but the decline and reappearance of the light that feeblyglimmered through the narrow window of the dungeon in which theunfortunate alchymist was buried rather than confined. His mind washarassed with uncertainties and fears about his daughter, so helplessand inexperienced. He endeavoured to gather tidings of her from theman who brought his daily portion of food. The fellow stared, as ifastonished at being asked a question in that mansion of silence andmystery, but departed without saying a word. Every succeeding attemptwas equally fruitless. 

The poor alchymist was oppressed by many griefs; and it was not theleast, that he had been again interrupted in his labours on the verypoint of success. Never was alchymist so near attaining the goldensecret--a little longer, and all his hopes would have been realized. The thoughts of these disappointments afflicted him more even than thefear of all that he might suffer from the merciless inquisition. Hiswaking thoughts would follow him into his dreams. He would betransported in fancy to his laboratory, busied again among retorts andalembics, and surrounded by Lully, by D'Abano, by Olybius, and theother masters of the sublime art. The moment of projection wouldarrive; a seraphic form would rise out of the furnace, holding forth avessel containing the precious elixir; but, before he could grasp theprize, he would awake, and find himself in a dungeon. 

All the devices of inquisitorial ingenuity were employed to ensnarethe old man, and to draw from him evidence that might be broughtagainst himself, and might corroborate certain secret information thathad been given against him. He had been accused of practisingnecromancy and judicial astrology, and a cloud of evidence had beensecretly brought forward to substantiate the charge. It would betedious to enumerate all the circumstances, apparently corroborative, which had been industriously cited by the secret accuser. The silencewhich prevailed about the tower, its desolateness, the very quiet ofits inhabitants, had been adduced as proofs that something sinisterwas perpetrated within. The alchymist's conversations and soliloquiesin the garden had been overheard and misrepresented. The lights andstrange appearances at night, in the tower, were given with violentexaggerations. Shrieks and yells were said to have been heard fromthence at midnight, when, it was confidently asserted, the old manraised familiar spirits by his incantations, and even compelled thedead to rise from their graves, and answer to his questions. 

The alchymist, according to the custom of the inquisition, was kept incomplete ignorance of his accuser; of the witnesses produced againsthim; even of the crimes of which he was accused. He was examinedgenerally, whether he knew why he was arrested, and was conscious ofany guilt that might deserve the notice of the holy office? He wasexamined as to his country, his life, his habits, his pursuits, hisactions, and opinions. The old man was frank and simple in hisreplies; he was conscious of no guilt, capable of no art, practised inno dissimulation. After receiving a general admonition to bethinkhimself whether he had not committed any act deserving of punishmentand to prepare, by confession, to secure the well known mercy of thetribunal, he was remanded to his cell. 

He was now visited in his dungeon by crafty familiars of theinquisition, who, under pretence of sympathy and kindness, came tobeguile the tediousness of his imprisonment with friendlyconversation. They casually introduced the subject of alchymy, onwhich they touched with great caution and pretended indifference. There was no need of such craftiness. The honest enthusiast had nosuspicion in his nature: the moment they touched upon his favouritetheme, he forgot his misfortunes and imprisonment, and broke forthinto rhapsodies about the divine science. 

The conversation was artfully turned to the discussion of elementarybeings. The alchymist readily avowed his belief in them; and thatthere had been instances of their attending upon philosophers, andadministering to their wishes. He related many miracles said to havebeen performed by Apollonius Thyaneus, through the aid of spirits ordemons; insomuch that he was set up by the heathens in opposition tothe Messiah; and was even regarded with reverence by many Christians. The familiars eagerly demanded whether he believed Apollonius to be atrue and worthy philosopher. The unaffected piety of the alchymistprotected him even in the midst of his simplicity; for he condemnedApollonius as a sorcerer and an impostor. No art could draw from himan admission that he had ever employed or invoked spiritual agenciesin the prosecution of his pursuits, though he believed himself to havebeen frequently impeded by their invisible interference. 

The inquisitors were sorely vexed at not being able to inveigle himinto a confession of a criminal nature; they attributed their failureto craft, to obstinacy, to every cause but the right one, namely, thatthe harmless visionary had nothing guilty to confess. They hadabundant proof of a secret nature against him; but it was the practiceof the inquisition to endeavour to procure confession from theprisoners. An auto da fé was at hand; the worthy fathers were eagerfor his conviction, for they were always anxious to have a good numberof culprits condemned to the stake, to grace these solemn triumphs. Hewas at length brought to a final examination. 

The chamber of trial was spacious and gloomy. At one end was a hugecrucifix, the standard of the inquisition. A long table extendedthrough the centre of the room, at which sat the inquisitors and theirsecretary; at the other end, a stool was placed for the prisoner. 

He was brought in, according to custom, bare-headed and bare-legged. He was enfeebled by confinement and affliction; by constantly broodingover the unknown fate of his child, and the disastrous interruption ofhis experiments. He sat bowed down and listless; his head sunk uponhis breast; his whole appearance that of one "past hope, abandoned, and by himself given over. "

The accusation alleged against him was now brought forward in aspecific form; he was called upon by name, Felix de Vasquez, formerlyof Castile, to answer to the charges of necromancy and demonology. Hewas told that the charges were amply substantiated; and was askedwhether he was ready, by full confession, to throw himself upon thewell-known mercy of the holy inquisition. 

The philosopher testified some slight surprise at the nature of theaccusation, but simply replied, "I am innocent. "

"What proof have you to give of your innocence?"

"It rather remains for you to prove your charges, " said the old man. "I am a stranger and a sojourner in the land, and know no one out ofthe doors of my dwelling. I can give nothing in my vindication but theword of a nobleman and a Castilian. "

The inquisitor shook his head, and went on to repeat the variousinquiries that had before been made as to his mode of life andpursuits. The poor alchymist was too feeble and too weary at heart tomake any but brief replies. He requested that some man of sciencemight examine his laboratory, and all his books and papers, by whichit would be made abundantly evident that he was merely engaged in thestudy of alchymy. 

To this the inquisitor observed, that alchymy had become a mere covertfor secret and deadly sins. That the practisers of it were apt toscruple at no means to satisfy their inordinate greediness of gold. Some had been known to use spells and impious ceremonies; to conjurethe aid of evil spirits; nay, even to sell their souls to the enemy ofmankind, so that they might riot in boundless wealth while living. 

The poor alchymist had heard all patiently, or, at least, passively. He had disdained to vindicate his name otherwise than by his word; hehad smiled at the accusations of sorcery, when applied merely tohimself; but when the sublime art, which had been the study andpassion of his life, was assailed, he could no longer listen insilence. His head gradually rose from his bosom; a hectic colour camein faint streaks to his cheek; played about there, disappeared, returned, and at length kindled into a burning glow. The clammydampness dried from his forehead; his eyes, which had nearly beenextinguished, lighted up again, and burned with their wonted andvisionary fires. He entered into a vindication of his favourite art. His voice at first was feeble and broken; but it gathered strength ashe proceeded, until it rolled in a deep and sonorous volume. Hegradually rose from his seat, as he rose with his subject; he threwback the scanty black mantle which had hitherto wrapped his limbs; thevery uncouthness of his form and looks gave an impressive effect towhat he uttered; it was as though a corpse had become suddenlyanimated. 

He repelled with scorn the aspersions cast upon alchymy by theignorant and vulgar. He affirmed it to be the mother of all art andscience, citing the opinions of Paracelsus, Sandivogius, RaymondLully, and others, in support of his assertions. He maintained that itwas pure and innocent and honourable both in its purposes and means. What were its objects? The perpetuation of life and youth, and theproduction of gold. "The elixir vitae, " said he, "is no charmedpotion, but merely a concentration of those elements of vitality whichnature has scattered through her works. The philosopher's stone, ortincture, or powder, as it is variously called, is no necromantictalisman, but consists simply of those particles which gold containswithin itself for its reproduction; for gold, like other things, hasits seed within itself, though bound up with inconceivable firmness, from the vigour of innate fixed salts and sulphurs. In seeking todiscover the elixir of life, then, " continued he, "we seek only toapply some of nature's own specifics against the disease and decay towhich our bodies are subjected; and what else does the physician, whenhe tasks his art, and uses subtle compounds and cunning distillations, to revive our languishing powers, and avert the stroke of death for aseason?

"In seeking to multiply the precious metals, also, we seek but togerminate and multiply, by natural means, a particular species ofnature's productions; and what else does the husbandman, who consultstimes and seasons, and, by what might be deemed a natural magic, fromthe mere scattering of his hand, covers a whole plain with goldenvegetation? The mysteries of our art, it is true, are deeply anddarkly hidden; but it requires so much the more innocence and purityof thought, to penetrate unto them. No, father! the true alchymistmust be pure in mind and body; he must be temperate, patient, chaste, watchful, meek, humble, devout. 'My son, ' says Hermes Trismegestes, the great master of our art, 'my son, I recommend you above all thingsto fear God. ' And indeed it is only by devout castigation of thesenses, and purification of the soul that the alchymist is enabled toenter into the sacred chambers of truth. 'Labour, pray, and read, ' isthe motto of our science. As De Nuysment well observes, 'These highand singular favours are granted unto none, save only unto the sons ofGod, (that is to say, the virtuous and devout, ) who, under hispaternal benediction, have obtained the opening of the same, by thehelping hand of the queen of arts, divine Philosophy. ' Indeed, sosacred has the nature of this knowledge been considered, that we aretold it has four times been expressly communicated by God to man, having made a part of that cabalistical wisdom which was revealed toAdam to console him for the loss of Paradise; and to Moses in thebush, and to Solomon in a dream, and to Esdras by the angel. 

"So far from demons and malign spirits being the friends and abettorsof the alchymist, they are the continual foes with which he has tocontend. It is their constant endeavour to shut up the avenues tothose truths which would enable him to rise above the abject stateinto which he has fallen, and return to that excellence which was hisoriginal birthright. For what would be the effect of this length ofdays, and this abundant wealth, but to enable the possessor to go onfrom art to art, from science to science, with energies unimpaired bysickness, uninterrupted by death? For this have sages and philosophersshut themselves up in cells and solitudes; buried themselves in cavesand dens of the earth; turning from the joys of life, and thepleasance of the world; enduring scorn, poverty, persecution. For thiswas Raymond Lully stoned to death in Mauritania. For this did theimmortal Pietro D'Abano suffer persecution at Padua, and, when heescaped from his oppressors by death, was despitefully burnt ineffigy. For this have illustrious men of all nations intrepidlysuffered martyrdom. For this, if unmolested, have they assiduouslyemployed the latest hour of life, the expiring throb of existence;hoping to the last that they might yet seize upon the prize for whichthey had struggled, and pluck themselves back even from the very jawsof the grave!

"For, when once the alchymist shall have attained the object of histoils; when the sublime secret shall be revealed to his gaze, howglorious will be the change in his condition! How will he emerge fromhis solitary retreat, like the sun breaking forth from the darksomechamber of the night, and darting his beams throughout the earth!Gifted with perpetual youth and boundless riches, to what heights ofwisdom may he attain! How may he carry on, uninterrupted, the threadof knowledge, which has hitherto been snapped at the death of eachphilosopher! And, as the increase of wisdom is the increase of virtue, how may he become the benefactor of his fellow-men; dispensing, withliberal but cautious and discriminating hand, that inexhaustiblewealth which is at his disposal; banishing poverty, which is the causeof so much sorrow and wickedness; encouraging the arts; promotingdiscoveries, and enlarging all the means of virtuous enjoyment! Hislife will be the connecting band of generations. History will live inhis recollection; distant ages will speak with his tongue. The nationsof the earth will look to him as their preceptor, and kings will sitat his feet and learn wisdom. Oh glorious! oh celestial alchymy!"--

Here he was interrupted by the inquisitor, who had suffered him to goon thus far, in hopes of gathering something from his unguardedenthusiasm. "Senor, " said he, "this is all rambling, visionary talk. You are charged with sorcery, and in defence you give us a rhapsodyabout alchymy. Have you nothing better than this to offer in yourdefence?"

The old man slowly resumed his seat, but did not deign a reply. Thefire that had beamed in his eye gradually expired. His cheek resumedits wonted paleness; but he did not relapse into inanity. He sat witha steady, serene, patient look. Like one prepared not to contend, butto suffer. 

His trial continued for a long time, with cruel mockery of justice, for no witnesses were ever in this court confronted with the accused, and the latter had continually to defend himself in the dark. Someunknown and powerful enemy had alleged charges against the unfortunatealchymist, but who he could not imagine. Stranger and sojourner as hewas in the land, solitary and harmless in his pursuits, how could hehave provoked such hostility? The tide of secret testimony, however, was too strong against him; he was convicted of the crime of magic, and condemned to expiate his sins at the stake, at the approachingauto da fé. 

While the unhappy alchymist was undergoing his trial at theinquisition, his daughter was exposed to trials no less severe. DonAmbrosio, into whose hands she had fallen, was, as has before beenintimated, one of the most daring and lawless profligates in allGranada. He was a man of hot blood and fiery passions, who stopped atnothing in the gratification of his desires; yet with all this hepossessed manners, address, and accomplishments, that had made himeminently successful among the sex. From the palace to the cottage hehad extended his amorous enterprises; his serenades harassed theslumbers of half the husbands in Granada; no balcony was too high forhis adventurous attempts, nor any cottage too lowly for his perfidiousseductions. Yet he was as fickle as he was ardent; success had madehim vain and capricious; he had no sentiment to attach him to thevictim of his arts; and many a pale cheek and fading eye, languishingamidst the sparkling of jewels, and many a breaking heart, throbbingunder the rustic bodice, bore testimony to his triumphs and hisfaithlessness. 

He was sated, however, by easy conquests, and wearied of a life ofcontinual and prompt gratification. There had been a degree ofdifficulty and enterprise in the pursuit of Inez that he had neverbefore experienced. It had aroused him from the monotony of meresensual life, and stimulated him with the charm of adventure. He hadbecome an epicure in pleasure; and now that he had this coy beauty inhis power, he was determined to protract his enjoyment, by the gradualconquest of her scruples and downfall of her virtue. He was vain ofhis person and address, which he thought no woman could longwithstand; and it was a kind of trial of skill to endeavour to gain, by art and fascination, what he was secure of obtaining at any time byviolence. 

When Inez, therefore, was brought into his presence by his emissaries, he affected not to notice her terror and surprise, but received herwith formal and stately courtesy. He was too wary a fowler to flutterthe bird when just entangled in the net. To her eager and wildinquiries about her father, he begged her not to be alarmed; that hewas safe, and had been there, but was engaged elsewhere in an affairof moment, from which he would soon return; in the meantime, he hadleft word that she should await his return in patience. After somestately expressions of general civility, Don Ambrosio made aceremonious bow and retired. 

The mind of Inez was full of trouble and perplexity. The statelyformality of Don Ambrosio was so unexpected as to check theaccusations and reproaches that were springing to her lips. Had he hadevil designs, would he have treated her with such frigid ceremony whenhe had her in his power? But why, then, was she brought to his house?Was not the mysterious disappearance of Antonio connected with this? Athought suddenly darted into her mind. Antonio had again met with DonAmbrosio--they had fought--Antonio was wounded--perhaps dying! It washim to whom her father had gone--it was at his request that DonAmbrosio had sent for them, to soothe his dying moments! These, and athousand such horrible suggestions, harassed her mind; but she triedin vain to get information from the domestics; they knew nothing butthat her father had been there, had gone, and would soon return. 

Thus passed a night of tumultuous thought, and vague yet cruelapprehensions. She knew not what to do or what to believe--whether sheought to fly, or to remain; but if to fly, how was she to extricateherself?--and where was she to seek her father? As the day dawnedwithout any intelligence of him, her alarm increased; at length amessage was brought from him, saying that circumstances prevented hisreturn to her, but begging her to hasten to him without delay. 

With an eager and throbbing heart did she set forth with the men thatwere to conduct her. She little thought, however, that she was merelychanging her prison-house. Don Ambrosio had feared lest she should betraced to his residence in Granada; or that he might be interruptedthere before he could accomplish his plan of seduction. He had her nowconveyed, therefore, to a mansion which he possessed in one of themountain solitudes in the neighbourhood of Granada; a lonely, butbeautiful retreat. In vain, on her arrival, did she look around forher father or Antonio; none but strange faces met her eye: menials, profoundly respectful, but who knew nor saw anything but what theirmaster pleased. 

She had scarcely arrived before Don Ambrosio made his appearance, lessstately in his manner, but still treating her with the utmost delicacyand deference. Inez was too much agitated and alarmed to be baffled byhis courtesy, and became vehement in her demand to be conducted to herfather. 

Don Ambrosio now put on an appearance of the greatest embarrassmentand emotion. After some delay, and much pretended confusion, he atlength confessed that the seizure of her father was all a stratagem; amere false alarm, to procure him the present opportunity of havingaccess to her, and endeavouring to mitigate that obduracy, and conquerthat repugnance, which he declared had almost driven him todistraction. 

He assured her that her father was again at home in safety, andoccupied in his usual pursuits; having been fully satisfied that hisdaughter was in honourable hands, and would soon be restored to him. It was in vain that she threw herself at his feet, and implored to beset at liberty; he only replied by gentle entreaties, that she wouldpardon the seeming violence he had to use; and that she would trust alittle while to his honour. "You are here, " said he, "absolutemistress of every thing: nothing shall be said or done to offend you;I will not even intrude upon your ear the unhappy passion that isdevouring my heart. Should you require it, I will even absent myselffrom your presence; but, to part with you entirely at present, withyour mind full of doubts and resentments, would be worse than death tome. No, beautiful Inez, you must first know me a little better, andknow by my conduct that my passion for you is as delicate andrespectful as it is vehement. "

The assurance of her father's safety had relieved Inez from one causeof torturing anxiety, only to render her fears the more violent on herown account. Don Ambrosio, however, continued to treat her with artfuldeference, that insensibly lulled her apprehensions. It is true shefound herself a captive, but no advantage appeared to be taken of herhelplessness. She soothed herself with the idea that a little whilewould suffice to convince Don Ambrosio of the fallacy of his hopes, and that he would be induced to restore her to her home. Hertransports of terror and affliction, therefore, subsided, in a fewdays, into a passive, yet anxious melancholy, with which she awaitedthe hoped-for event. 

In the meanwhile, all those artifices were employed that arecalculated to charm the senses, ensnare the feelings, and dissolve theheart into tenderness. Don Ambrosio was a master of the subtle arts ofseduction. His very mansion breathed an enervating atmosphere oflanguor and delight. It was here, amidst twilight saloons and dreamychambers, buried among groves of orange and myrtle, that he shuthimself up at times from the prying world, and gave free scope to thegratification of his pleasures. 

The apartments were furnished in the most sumptuous and voluptuousmanner; the silken couches swelled to the touch, and sunk in downysoftness beneath the slightest pressure. The paintings and statues, all told some classic tale of love, managed, however, with aninsidious delicacy; which, while it banished the grossness that mightdisgust, was the more calculated to excite the imagination. There theblooming Adonis was seen, not breaking away to pursue the boisterouschase, but crowned with flowers, and languishing in the embraces ofcelestial beauty. There Acis wooed his Galatea in the shade, with theSicilian sea spreading in halcyon serenity before them. There weredepicted groups of fauns and dryads, fondly reclining in summerbowers, and listening to the liquid piping of the reed; or the wantonsatyrs, surprising some wood-nymph during her noontide slumber. There, too, on the storied tapestry, might be seen the chaste Diana, stealing, in the mystery of moonlight, to kiss the sleeping Endymion;while Cupid and Psyche, entwined in immortal marble, breathed on eachother's lips the early kiss of love. 

The ardent rays of the sun were excluded from these balmy halls; softand tender music from unseen musicians floated around, seeming tomingle with the perfumes that were exhaled from a thousand flowers. Atnight, when the moon shed a fairy light over the scene, the tenderserenade would rise from among the bowers of the garden, in which thefine voice of Don Ambrosio might often be distinguished; or theamorous flute would be heard along the mountain, breathing in itspensive cadences the very soul of a lover's melancholy. 

Various entertainments were also devised to dispel her loneliness, andto charm away the idea of confinement. Groups of Andalusian dancersperformed, in the splendid saloons, the various picturesque dances oftheir country; or represented little amorous ballets, which turnedupon some pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. Sometimesthere were bands of singers, who, to the romantic guitar, warbledforth ditties full of passion and tenderness. 

Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and voluptuousnesss; but theheart of Inez turned with distaste from this idle mockery. The tearswould rush into her eyes, as her thoughts reverted from this scene ofprofligate splendour, to the humble but virtuous home from whence shehad been betrayed; or if the witching power of music ever soothed herinto a tender reverie, it was to dwell with fondness on the image ofAntonio. But if Don Ambrosio, deceived by this transient calm, shouldattempt at such time to whisper his passion, she would start as from adream, and recoil from him with involuntary shuddering. 

She had passed one long day of more than ordinary sadness, and in theevening a band of these hired performers were exerting all theanimating powers of song and dance to amuse her. But while the loftysaloon resounded with their warblings, and the light sound of feetupon its marble pavement kept time to the cadence of the song, poorInez, with her face buried in the silken couch on which she reclined, was only rendered more wretched by the sound of gayety. 

At length her attention was caught by the voice of one of the singers, that brought with it some indefinite recollections. She raised herhead, and cast an anxious look at the performers, who, as usual, wereat the lower end of the saloon. 

One of them advanced a little before the others. It was a female, dressed in a fanciful, pastoral garb, suited to the character she wassustaining; but her countenance was not to be mistaken. It was thesame ballad-singer that had twice crossed her path, and given hermysterious intimations of the lurking mischief that surrounded her. When the rest of the performances were concluded, she seized atambourine, and, tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of herown voice. In the course of her dancing, she approached to where Inezreclined: and as she struck the tambourine, contrived dexterously tothrow a folded paper on the couch. Inez seized it with avidity, andconcealed it in her bosom. The singing and dancing were at an end; themotley crew retired; and Inez, left alone, hastened with anxiety tounfold the paper thus mysteriously conveyed. It was written in anagitated, and almost illegible handwriting: "Be on your guard! you aresurrounded by treachery. Trust not to the forbearance of Don Ambrosio;you are marked out for his prey. An humble victim to his perfidy givesyou this warning; she is encompassed by too many dangers to be moreexplicit. --Your father is in the dungeons of the inquisition!"

The brain of Inez reeled, as she read this dreadful scroll. She wasless filled with alarm at her own danger, than horror at her father'ssituation. The moment Don Ambrosio appeared, she rushed and threwherself at his feet, imploring him to save her father. Don Ambrosiostared with astonishment; but immediately regaining hisself-possession, endeavoured to soothe her by his blandishments, andby assurances that her father was in safety. She was not to bepacified; her fears were too much aroused to be trifled with. Shedeclared her knowledge of her father's being a prisoner of theinquisition, and reiterated her frantic supplications that he wouldsave him. 

Don Ambrosio paused for a moment in perplexity, but was too adroit tobe easily confounded. "That your father is a prisoner, " replied he, "Ihave long known. I have concealed it from you, to save you fromfruitless anxiety. You now know the real reason of the restraint Ihave put upon your liberty: I have been protecting instead ofdetaining you. Every exertion has been made in your father's favour;but I regret to say, the proofs of the offences of which he standscharged have been too strong to be controverted. Still, " added he, "Ihave it in my power to save him; I have influence, I have means at mybeck; it may involve me, it is true, in difficulties, perhaps indisgrace; but what would I not do, in the hope of being rewarded byyour favour? Speak, beautiful Inez, " said he, his eyes kindling withsudden eagerness; "it is with you to say the word that seals yourfather's fate. One kind word--say but you will be mine, and you willbehold me at your feet, your father at liberty and in affluence, andwe shall all be happy!"

Inez drew back from him with scorn and disbelief. "My father, "exclaimed she, "is too innocent and blameless to be convicted ofcrime; this is some base, some cruel artifice!" Don Ambrosio repeatedhis asseverations, and with them also his dishonourable proposals; buthis eagerness overshot its mark: her indignation and her incredulitywere alike awakened by his base suggestions; and he retired from herpresence, checked and awed by the sudden pride and dignity of herdemeanour. 

The unfortunate Inez now became a prey to the most harrowinganxieties. Don Ambrosio saw that the mask had fallen from his face, and that the nature of his machinations was revealed. He had gone toofar to retrace his steps, and assume the affectation of tenderness andrespect; indeed, he was mortified and incensed at her insensibility tohis attractions, and now only sought to subdue her through her fears. He daily represented to her the dangers that threatened her father, and that it was in his power alone to avert them. Inez was stillincredulous. She was too ignorant of the nature of the inquisition, toknow that even innocence was not always a protection from itscruelties; and she confided too surely in the virtue of her father, tobelieve that any accusation could prevail against him. 

At length Don Ambrosio, to give an effectual blow to her confidence, brought her the proclamation of the approaching auto da fé, in whichthe prisoners were enumerated. She glanced her eye over it, and beheldher father's name, condemned to the stake for sorcery!

For a moment she stood transfixed with horror. Don Ambrosio seizedupon the transient calm. "Think, now, beautiful Inez, " said he, with atone of affected tenderness, "his life is still in your hands; oneword from you, one kind word, and I can yet save him. "

"Monster! wretch!" cried she, coming to herself, and recoiling fromhim with insuperable abhorrence: "'Tis you that are the cause ofthis--'tis you that are his murderer!" Then, wringing her hands, shebroke forth into exclamations of the most frantic agony. 

The perfidious Ambrosio saw the torture of her soul, and anticipatedfrom it a triumph. He saw that she was in no mood, during her presentparoxysm, to listen to his words; but he trusted that the horrors oflonely rumination would break down her spirit, and subdue her to hiswill. In this, however, he was disappointed. Many were thevicissitudes of mind of the wretched Inez; at one time, she wouldembrace his knees, with piercing supplications; at another, she wouldshrink with nervous horror at his very approach; but any intimation ofhis passion only excited the same emotion of loathing and detestation. 

At length the fatal day drew nigh. "To-morrow, " said Don Ambrosio, ashe left her one evening, "to-morrow is the auto da fé. To-morrow youwill hear the sound of the bell that tolls your father to his death. You will almost see the smoke that rises from the funeral pile. Ileave you to yourself. It is yet in my power to save him. Thinkwhether you can stand to-morrow's horrors without shrinking! Thinkwhether you can endure the after-reflection, that you were the causeof his death, and that merely through a perversity in refusingproffered happiness. "

What a night was it to Inez!--her heart already harassed and almostbroken, by repeated and protracted anxieties; her strength wasted andenfeebled. On every side, horrors awaited her; her father's death, herown dishonour--there seemed no escape from misery or perdition. "Isthere no relief from man--no pity in heaven?" exclaimed she. "What--what have we done, that we should be thus wretched?"

As the dawn approached, the fever of her mind arose to agony; athousand times did she try the doors and windows of her apartment, inthe desperate hope of escaping. Alas! with all the splendour of herprison, it was too faithfully secured for her weak hands to workdeliverance. Like a poor bird, that beats its wings against its gildedcage, until it sinks panting in despair, so she threw herself on thefloor in hopeless anguish. Her blood grew hot in her veins, her tonguewas parched, her temples throbbed with violence, she gasped ratherthan breathed; it seemed as if her brain was on fire. "BlessedVirgin!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands and turning up her strainedeyes, "look down with pity, and support me in this dreadful hour!"

Just as the day began to dawn, she heard a key turn softly in the doorof her apartment. She dreaded lest it should be Don Ambrosio; and thevery thought of him gave her a sickening pang. It was a female clad ina rustic dress, with her face concealed by her mantilla. She steppedsilently into the room, looked cautiously round, and then, uncoveringher face, revealed the well-known features of the ballad-singer. Inezuttered an exclamation of surprise, almost of joy. The unknown startedback, pressed her finger on her lips enjoining silence, and beckonedher to follow. She hastily wrapped herself in her veil, and obeyed. They passed with quick, but noiseless steps through an antechamber, across a spacious hall, and along a corridor; all was silent; thehousehold was yet locked in sleep. They came to a door, to which theunknown applied a key. Inez's heart misgave her; she knew not but somenew treachery was menacing her; she laid her cold hand on thestranger's arm: "Whither are you leading me?" said she. "To liberty, "replied the other, in a whisper. 

"Do you know the passages about this mansion?"

"But too well!" replied the girl, with a melancholy shake of the head. There was an expression of sad veracity in her countenance, that wasnot to be distrusted. The door opened on a small terrace, which wasoverlooked by several windows of the mansion. 

"We must move across this quickly, " said the girl, "or we may beobserved. "

They glided over it, as if scarce touching the ground. A flight ofsteps led down into the garden; a wicket at the bottom was readilyunbolted: they passed with breathless velocity along one of thealleys, still in sight of the mansion, in which, however, no personappeared to be stirring. At length they came to a low private door inthe wall, partly hidden by a fig-tree. It was secured by rusty bolts, that refused to yield to their feeble efforts. 

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the stranger, "what is to be done? one momentmore, and we may be discovered. "

She seized a stone that lay near by: a few blows, and the bolt flewback; the door grated harshly as they opened it, and the next momentthey found themselves in a narrow road. 

"Now, " said the stranger, "for Granada as quickly as possible! Thenearer we approach it, the safer we shall be; for the road will bemore frequented. "

The imminent risk they ran of being pursued and taken, gavesupernatural strength to their limbs; they flew, rather than ran. Theday had dawned; the crimson streaks on the edge of the horizon gavetokens of the approaching sunrise; already the light clouds thatfloated in the western sky were tinged with gold and purple; thoughthe broad plain of the Vega, which now began to open upon their view, was covered with the dark haze of morning. As yet they only passed afew straggling peasants on the road, who could have yielded them noassistance in case of their being overtaken. They continued to hurryforward, and had gained a considerable distance, when the strength ofInez, which had only been sustained by the fever of her mind, began toyield to fatigue: she slackened her pace, and faltered. 

"Alas!" said she, "my limbs fail me! I can go no farther!"

"Bear up, bear up, " replied her companion, cheeringly; "a littlefarther, and we shall be safe: look! yonder is Granada, just showingitself in the valley below us. A little farther, and we shall come tothe main road, and then we shall find plenty of passengers to protectus. "

Inez, encouraged, made fresh efforts to get forward, but her wearylimbs were unequal to the eagerness of her mind; her mouth and throatwere parched by agony and terror: she gasped for breath, and leanedfor support against a rock. "It is all in vain!" exclaimed she; "Ifeel as though I should faint. "

"Lean on me, " said the other; "let us get into the shelter of yonthicket, that will conceal us from the view; I hear the sound ofwater, which will refresh you. "

With much difficulty they reached the thicket, which overhung a smallmountain-stream, just where its sparkling waters leaped over the rockand fell into a natural basin. Here Inez sank upon the ground, exhausted. Her companion brought water in the palms of her hands, andbathed her pallid temples. The cooling drops revived her; she wasenabled to get to the margin of the stream, and drink of its crystalcurrent; then, reclining her head on the bosom of her deliverer, shewas first enabled to murmur forth her heartfelt gratitude. 

"Alas!" said the other, "I deserve no thanks; I deserve not the goodopinion you express. In me you behold a victim of Don Ambrosio's arts. In early years he seduced me from the cottage of my parents: look! atthe foot of yonder blue mountain, in the distance, lies my nativevillage: but it is no longer a home for me. From thence he lured me, when I was too young for reflection; he educated me, taught me variousaccomplishments, made me sensible to love, to splendour, torefinement; then, having grown weary of me, he neglected me, and castme upon the world. Happily the accomplishments he taught me have keptme from utter want; and the love with which he inspired me has kept mefrom farther degradation. Yes! I confess my weakness; all his perfidyand wrongs cannot efface him from my heart. I have been brought up tolove him; I have no other idol: I know him to be base, yet I cannothelp adoring him. I am content to mingle among the hireling throngthat administer to his amusements, that I may still hover about him, and linger in those halls where I once reigned mistress. What merit, then, have I in assisting your escape? I scarce know whether I amacting from sympathy and a desire to rescue another victim from hispower; or jealousy, and an eagerness to remove too powerful a rival!"

While she was yet speaking, the sun rose in all its splendour; firstlighting up the mountain summits, then stealing down height by height, until its rays gilded the domes and towers of Granada, which theycould partially see from between the trees, below them. Just then theheavy tones of a bell came sounding from a distance, echoing, insullen clang, along the mountain. Inez turned pale at the sound. Sheknew it to be the great bell of the cathedral, rung at sunrise on theday of the auto da fé, to give note of funeral preparation. Everystroke beat upon her heart, and inflicted an absolute, corporeal pang. She started up wildly. "Let us begone!" cried she; "there is not amoment for delay!"

"Stop!" exclaimed the other; "yonder are horsemen coming over the browof that distant height; if I mistake not, Don Ambrosio is at theirhead. --Alas! 'tis he! we are lost. Hold!" continued she; "give me yourscarf and veil; wrap yourself in this mantilla. I will fly up yonfootpath that leads to the heights. I will let the veil flutter as Iascend; perhaps they may mistake me for you, and they must dismount tofollow me. Do you hasten forward: you will soon reach the main road. You have jewels on your fingers: bribe the first muleteer you meet, toassist you on your way. "

All this was said with hurried and breathless rapidity. The exchangeof garments was made in an instant. The girl darted up themountain-path, her white veil fluttering among the dark shrubbery, while Inez, inspired with new strength, or rather new terror, flew tothe road, and trusted to Providence to guide her tottering steps toGranada. 

All Granada was in agitation on the morning of this dismal day. Theheavy bell of the cathedral continued to utter its clanging tones, that pervaded every part of the city, summoning all persons to thetremendous spectacle that was about to be exhibited. The streetsthrough which the procession was to pass were crowded with thepopulace. The windows, the roofs, every place that could admit a faceor a foothold, were alive with spectators. In the great square, aspacious scaffolding, like an amphitheatre, was erected, where thesentences of the prisoners were to be read, and the sermon of faith tobe preached; and close by were the stakes prepared, where thecondemned were to be burnt to death. Seats were arranged for thegreat, the gay, the beautiful; for such is the horrible curiosity ofhuman nature, that this cruel sacrifice was attended with moreeagerness than a theatre, or even a bull-feast. 

As the day advanced, the scaffolds and balconies were filled withexpecting multitudes; the sun shone brightly upon fair faces andgallant dresses; one would have thought it some scene of elegantfestivity, instead of an exhibition of human agony and death. But whata different spectacle and ceremony was this, from those which Granadaexhibited in the days of her Moorish splendour! "Her galas, hertournaments, her sports of the ring, her fêtes of St. John, her music, her Zambras, and admirable tilts of canes! Her serenades, her concerts, her songs in Generaliffe! The costly liveries of the Abencerrages, their exquisite inventions, the skill and valour of the Alabaces, thesuperb dresses of the Zegries, Mazas, and Gomeles!"[10]--All thesewere at an end. The days of chivalry were over. Instead of the prancingcavalcade, with neighing steed and lively trumpet; with burnishedlance, and helm, and buckler; with rich confusion of plume, and scarf, and banner, where purple, and scarlet, and green, and orange, and everygay colour, were mingled with cloth of gold and fair embroidery;instead of this, crept on the gloomy pageant of superstition, in cowland sackcloth; with cross and coffin, and frightful symbols of humansuffering. In place of the frank, hardy knight, open and brave, withhis lady's favour in his casque, and amorous motto on his shield, looking, by gallant deeds, to win the smile of beauty, came the shaven, unmanly monk, with downcast eyes, and head and heart bleached in thecold cloister, secretly exulting in this bigot triumph. 

[Footnote 10: Rodd's Civil Wars of Granada. ]

The sound of the bells gave notice that the dismal procession wasadvancing. It passed slowly through the principal streets of the city, bearing in advance the awful banner of the Holy Office. The prisonerswalked singly, attended by confessors, and guarded by familiars of theinquisition. They were clad in different garments, according to thenature of their punishments; those who were to suffer death wore thehideous Samarra, painted with flames and demons. The procession wasswelled by choirs of boys, different religious orders and publicdignitaries, and above all, by the fathers of the faith, moving "withslow pace, and profound gravity, truly triumphing as becomes theprincipal generals of that great victory. "[11]

[Footnote 11: Gonsalvius, p. 135. ]

As the sacred banner of the inquisition advanced, the countless throngsunk on their knees before it; they bowed their faces to the veryearth as it passed, and then slowly rose again, like a greatundulating billow. A murmur of tongues prevailed as the prisonersapproached, and eager eyes were strained, and fingers pointed, todistinguish the different orders of penitents, whose habits denotedthe degree of punishment they were to undergo. But as those drew nearwhose frightful garb marked them as destined to the flames, the noiseof the rabble subsided; they seemed almost to hold in their breath;filled with that strange and dismal interest with which we contemplatea human being on the verge of suffering and death. 

It is an awful thing--a voiceless, noiseless multitude! The hushed andgazing stillness of the surrounding thousands, heaped on walls, andgates, and roofs, and hanging, as it were, in clusters, heightened theeffect of the pageant that moved drearily on. The low murmuring of thepriests could now be heard in prayer and exhortation, with the faintresponses of the prisoners, and now and then the voices of the choirat a distance, chanting the litanies of the saints. 

The faces of the prisoners were ghastly and disconsolate. Even thosewho had been pardoned, and wore the Sanbenito, or penitential garment, bore traces of the horrors they had undergone. Some were feeble andtottering, from long confinement; some crippled and distorted byvarious tortures; every countenance was a dismal page, on which mightbe read the secrets of their prison-house. But in the looks of thosecondemned to death, there was something fierce and eager. They seemedmen harrowed up by the past, and desperate as to the future. They wereanticipating, with spirits fevered by despair, and fixed and clencheddetermination, the vehement struggle with agony and death which theywere shortly to undergo. Some cast now and then a wild and anguishedlook about them, upon the shining day; the "sun-bright palaces, " thegay, the beautiful world, which they were soon to quit for ever; or aglance of sudden indignation at the thronging thousands, happy inliberty and life, who seemed, in contemplating their frightfulsituation, to exult in their own comparative security. 

One among the condemned, however, was an exception to these remarks. It was an aged man, somewhat bowed down, with a serene, thoughdejected countenance, and a beaming, melancholy eye. It was thealchymist. The populace looked upon him with a degree of compassion, which they were not prone to feel towards criminals condemned by theinquisition; but when they were told that he was convicted of thecrime of magic, they drew back with awe and abhorrence. 

The procession had reached the grand square. The first part hadalready mounted the scaffolding, and the condemned were approaching. The press of the populace became excessive, and was repelled, as itwere, in billows by the guards. Just as the condemned were enteringthe square, a shrieking was heard among the crowd. A female, pale, frantic, dishevelled, was seen struggling through the multitude. "Myfather! my father!" was all the cry she uttered, but it thrilledthrough every heart. The crowd instinctively drew back, and made wayfor her as she advanced. 

The poor alchymist had made his peace with Heaven, and, by a hardstruggle, had closed his heart upon the world, when the voice of hischild called him once more back to worldly thought and agony. Heturned towards the well-known voice; his knees smote together; heendeavoured to stretch forth his pinioned arms, and felt himselfclasped in the embraces of his child. The emotions of both were tooagonizing for utterance. Convulsive sobs and broken exclamations, andembraces more of anguish than tenderness, were all that passed betweenthem. The procession was interrupted for a moment. The astonishedmonks and familiars were filled with involuntary respect, at the agonyof natural affection. Ejaculations of pity broke from the crowd, touched by the filial piety, the extraordinary and hopeless anguish, of so young and beautiful a being. 

Every attempt to soothe her, and prevail on her to retire, wasunheeded; at length they endeavoured to separate her from her fatherby force. The movement roused her from her temporary abandonment. Witha sudden paroxysm of fury, she snatched a sword from one of thefamiliars. Her late pale countenance was flushed with rage, and fireflashed from her once soft and languishing eyes. The guards shrunkback with awe. There was something in this filial frenzy, thisfeminine tenderness wrought up to desperation, that touched even theirhardened hearts. They endeavoured to pacify her, but in vain. Her eyewas eager and quick, as the she-wolf's guarding her young. With onearm she pressed her father to her bosom, with the other she menacedevery one that approached. 

The patience of the guards was soon exhausted. They had held back inawe, but not in fear. With all her desperation the weapon was soonwrested from her feeble hand, and she was borne shrieking andstruggling among the crowd. The rabble murmured compassion; but suchwas the dread inspired by the inquisition, that no one attempted tointerfere. 

The procession again resumed its march. Inez was ineffectuallystruggling to release herself from the hands of the familiars thatdetained her, when suddenly she saw Don Ambrosio before her. "Wretchedgirl!" exclaimed he with fury, "why have you fled from your friends?Deliver her, " said he to the familiars, "to my domestics; she is undermy protection. "

His creatures advanced to seize her. "Oh, no! oh, no!" cried she, withnew terrors, and clinging to the familiars, "I have fled from nofriends. He is not my protector! He is the murderer of my father!"

The familiars were perplexed; the crowd pressed on, with eagercuriosity. "Stand off!" cried the fiery Ambrosio, dashing the throngfrom around him. Then turning to the familiars, with suddenmoderation, "My friends, " said he, "deliver this poor girl to me. Herdistress has turned her brain; she has escaped from her friends andprotectors this morning; but a little quiet and kind treatment willrestore her to tranquillity. "

"I am not mad! I am not mad!" cried she, vehemently. "Oh, saveme!--save me from these men! I have no protector on earth but myfather, and him they are murdering!"

The familiars shook their heads; her wildness corroborated theassertions of Don Ambrosio, and his apparent rank commanded respectand belief. They relinquished their charge to him, and he wasconsigning the struggling Inez to his creatures. 

"Let go your hold, villain!" cried a voice from among the crowd--andAntonio was seen eagerly tearing his way through the press of people. 

"Seize him! seize him!" cried Don Ambrosio to the familiars, "'tis anaccomplice of the sorcerer's. "

"Liar!" retorted Antonio, as he thrust the mob to the right and left, and forced himself to the spot. 

The sword of Don Ambrosio flashed in an instant from the scabbard; thestudent was armed, and equally alert. There was a fierce clash ofweapons: the crowd made way for them as they fought, and closed again, so as to hide them from the view of Inez. All was tumult and confusionfor a moment; when there was a kind of shout from the spectators, andthe mob again opening, she beheld, as she thought, Antonio welteringin his blood. 

This new shock was too great for her already overstrained intellect. Agiddiness seized upon her; every thing seemed to whirl before hereyes; she gasped some incoherent words, and sunk senseless upon theground. 

Days--weeks elapsed, before Inez returned to consciousness. At lengthshe opened her eyes, as if out of a troubled sleep. She was lying upona magnificent bed, in a chamber richly furnished with pier-glasses, and massive tables inlaid with silver, of exquisite workmanship. Thewalls were covered with tapestry; the cornices richly gilded; throughthe door, which stood open, she perceived a superb saloon, withstatues and crystal lustres, and a magnificent suite of apartmentsbeyond. The casements of the room were open to admit the soft breathof summer, which stole in, laden with perfumes from a neighbouringgarden; from whence, also, the refreshing sound of fountains and thesweet notes of birds came in mingled music to her ear. 

Female attendants were moving, with noiseless step, about the chamber;but she feared to address them. She doubted whether this was not alldelusion, or whether she was not still in the palace of Don Ambrosio, and that her escape, and all its circumstances, had not been but afeverish dream. She closed her eyes again, endeavouring to recall thepast, and to separate the real from the imaginary. The last scenes ofconsciousness, however, rushed too forcibly, with all their horrors, to her mind to be doubted, and she turned shuddering from therecollection, to gaze once more on the quiet and serene magnificencearound her. As she again opened her eyes, they rested on an objectthat at once dispelled every alarm. At the head of her bed sat avenerable form, watching over her with a look of fond anxiety--it washer father!

I will not attempt to describe the scene that ensued; nor the momentsof rapture which more than repaid all the sufferings that heraffectionate heart had undergone. As soon as their feelings had becomemore calm, the alchymist stepped out of the room to introduce astranger, to whom he was indebted for his life and liberty. Hereturned, leading in Antonio, no longer in his poor scholar's garb, but in the rich dress of a nobleman. 

The feelings of Inez were almost overpowered by these sudden reverses, and it was some time before she was sufficiently composed tocomprehend the explanation of this seeming romance. 

It appeared that the lover, who had sought her affections in the lowlyguise of a student, was only son and heir of a powerful grandee ofValentia. He had been placed at the university of Salamanca; but alively curiosity, and an eagerness for adventure, had induced him toabandon the university, without his father's consent, and to visitvarious parts of Spain. His rambling inclination satisfied, he hadremained incognito for a time at Granada, until, by farther study andself-regulation, he could prepare himself to return home with credit, and atone for his transgressions against paternal authority. 

How hard he had studied, does not remain on record. All that we knowis his romantic adventure of the tower. It was at first a mereyouthful caprice, excited by a glimpse of a beautiful face. Inbecoming a disciple of the alchymist, he probably thought of nothingmore than pursuing a light love affair. Farther acquaintance, however, had completely fixed his affections; and he had determined to conductInez and her father to Valentia, and to trust to her merits to securehis father's consent to their union. 

In the meantime, he had been traced to his concealment. His father hadreceived intelligence of his being entangled in the snares of amysterious adventurer and his daughter, and likely to become the dupeof the fascinations of the latter. Trusty emissaries had beendespatched to seize upon him by main force, and convey him withoutdelay to the paternal home. 

What eloquence he had used with his father, to convince him of theinnocence, the honour, and the high descent of the alchymist, and ofthe exalted worth of his daughter, does not appear. All that we knowis, that the father, though a very passionate, was a very reasonableman, as appears by his consenting that his son should return toGranada, and conduct Inez as his affianced bride to Valentia. 

Away, then, Don Antonio hurried back, full of joyous anticipations. Hestill forbore to throw off his disguise, fondly picturing to himselfwhat would be the surprise of Inez, when, having won her heart andhand as a poor wandering scholar, he should raise her and her fatherat once to opulence and splendour. 

On his arrival he had been shocked at finding the tower deserted byits inhabitants. In vain he sought for intelligence concerning them; amystery hung over their disappearance which he could not penetrate, until he was thunderstruck, on accidentally reading a list of theprisoners at the impending auto da fé, to find the name of hisvenerable master among the condemned. 

It was the very morning of the execution. The procession was alreadyon its way to the grand square. Not a moment was to be lost. The grandinquisitor was a relation of Don Antonio, though they had never met. His first impulse was to make himself known; to exert all his familyinfluence, the weight of his name, and the power of his eloquence, invindication of the alchymist. But the grand inquisitor was alreadyproceeding, in all his pomp, to the place where the fatal ceremony wasto be performed. How was he to be approached? Antonio threw himselfinto the crowd, in a fever of anxiety, and was forcing his way to thescene of horror, where he arrived just in time to rescue Inez, as hasbeen mentioned. 

It was Don Ambrosio that fell in their contest. Being desperatelywounded, and thinking his end approaching, he had confessed to anattending father of the inquisition, that he was the sole cause of thealchymist's condemnation, and that the evidence on which it wasgrounded was altogether false. The testimony of Don Antonio came incorroboration of this avowal; and his relationship to the grandinquisitor had, in all probability, its proper weight. Thus was thepoor alchymist snatched, in a manner, from the very flames; and sogreat had been the sympathy awakened in his case, that for once apopulace rejoiced at being disappointed of an execution. 

The residue of the story may readily be imagined, by every one versedin this valuable kind of history. Don Antonio espoused the lovelyInez, and took her and her father with him to Valentia. As she hadbeen a loving and dutiful daughter, so she proved a true and tenderwife. It was not long before Don Antonio succeeded to his father'stitles and estates, and he and his fair spouse were renowned for beingthe handsomest and happiest couple in all Valentia. 

As to Don Ambrosio, he partially recovered to the enjoyment of abroken constitution and a blasted name, and hid his remorse anddisgrace in a convent; while the poor victim of his arts, who hadassisted Inez in her escape, unable to conquer the early passion thathe had awakened in her bosom, though convinced of the baseness of theobject, retired from the world, and became an humble sister in anunnery. 

The worthy alchymist took up his abode with his children. A pavilion, in the garden of their palace, was assigned to him as a laboratory, where he resumed his researches with renovated ardour, after the grandsecret. He was now and then assisted by his son-in-law; but the latterslackened grievously in his zeal and diligence, after marriage. Stillhe would listen with profound gravity and attention to the old man'srhapsodies, and his quotations from Paracelsus, Sandivogius, andPietro D'Abano, which daily grew longer and longer. In this way thegood alchymist lived on quietly and comfortably, to what is called agood old age, that is to say, an age that is good for nothing; andunfortunately for mankind, was hurried out of life in his ninetiethyear, just as he was on the point of discovering the Philosopher'sStone. 

 * * * * *

Such was the story of the captain's friend, with which we whiled awaythe morning. The captain was, every now and then, interrupted byquestions and remarks, which I have not mentioned, lest I should breakthe continuity of the tale. He was a little disturbed, also, once ortwice, by the general, who fell asleep, and breathed rather hard, tothe great horror and annoyance of Lady Lillycraft. In a long andtender love scene, also, which was particularly to her ladyship'staste, the unlucky general, having his head a little sunk upon hisbreast, kept making a sound at regular intervals, very much like theword _pish_, long drawn out. At length he made an odd abrupt gutturalsound, that suddenly awoke him; he hemmed, looked about with a slightdegree of consternation, and then began to play with her ladyship'swork-bag, which, however, she rather pettishly withdrew. The steadysound of the captain's voice was still too potent a soporific for thepoor general; he kept gleaming up and sinking in the socket, until thecessation of the tale again roused him, when he started awake, put hisfoot down upon Lady Lillycraft's cur, the sleeping Beauty, whichyelped and seized him by the leg, and, in a moment, the whole libraryresounded with yelpings and exclamations. Never did man morecompletely mar his fortunes while he was asleep. Silence being atlength restored, the company expressed their thanks to the captain, and gave various opinions of the story. The parson's mind, I found, had been continually running upon the leaden manuscripts, mentioned inthe beginning, as dug up at Granada, and he put several eagerquestions to the captain on the subject. The general could not wellmake out the drift of the story, but thought it a little confused. "Iam glad, however, " said he, "that they burnt the old chap of thetower; I have no doubt he was a notorious impostor. "

(END OF VOL. ONE)

BRACEBRIDGE HALL;

OR, THE HUMOURISTS. 

A MEDLEY. 

BY GEOFFREY CRAYON, Gent. 

VOLUME SECOND. 

 Under this cloud I walk, Gentlemen; pardon my rude assault. I am a traveller, who, having surveyed most of the terrestrial angles of this globe, am hither arrived, to peruse this little spot. 

 --_Christmas Ordinary_. 

ENGLISH COUNTRY GENTLEMEN. 

 His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shade, till noontide's heat be spent. His life is neither tost in boisterous seas Or the vexatious world; or lost in slothful ease. Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. 

 --Phineas Fletcher. 

I take great pleasure in accompanying the Squire in his Perambulationsabout his estate, in which he is often attended by a kind of cabinetcouncil. His prime minister, the steward, is a very worthy and honestold man, that assumes a right of way; that is to say, a right to havehis own way, from having lived time out of mind on the place. He lovesthe estate even better than he does the Squire; and thwarts the lattersadly in many of his projects of improvement, being a little prone todisapprove of every plan that does not originate with himself. 

In the course of one of these perambulations, I have known the Squireto point out some important alteration which he was contemplating, inthe disposition or cultivation of the grounds; this, of course, wouldbe opposed by the steward, and a long argument would ensue, over astile, or on a rising piece of ground, until the Squire, who has ahigh opinion of the other's ability and integrity, would be fain togive up the point. This concession, I observed, would immediatelymollify the old man; and, after walking over a field or two insilence, with his hands behind his back, chewing the cud ofreflection, he would suddenly turn to the Squire, and observe, that"he had been turning the matter over in his mind, and, upon the whole, he believed he would take his honour's advice. "

Christy, the huntsman, is another of the Squire's occasionalattendants, to whom he continually refers in all matters of localhistory, as to a chronicle of the estate, having, in a manner, beenacquainted with many of the trees, from the very time that they wereacorns. Old Nimrod, as has been shown, is rather pragmatical in thosepoints of knowledge on which he values himself; but the Squire rarelycontradicts him, and is, in fact, one of the most indulgent potentatesthat ever was henpecked by his ministry. 

He often laughs about it himself, and evidently yields to these oldmen more from the bent of his own humour than from any want of properauthority. He likes this honest independence of old age, and is wellaware that these trusty followers love and honour him in their hearts. He is perfectly at ease about his own dignity, and the respect ofthose around him; nothing disgusts him sooner than any appearance offawning or sycophancy. 

I really have seen no display of royal state, that could compare withone of the Squire's progresses about his paternal fields and throughhis hereditary woodlands, with several of these faithful adherentsabout him, and followed by a body-guard of dogs. He encourages afrankness and manliness of deportment among his dependants, and is thepersonal friend of his tenants; inquiring into their concerns, andassisting them in times of difficulty and hardship. This has renderedhim one of the most popular, and of course one of the happiest, oflandlords. 

Indeed, I do not know a more enviable condition of life, than that ofan English gentleman, of sound judgment and good feelings, who passesthe greater part of his time on an hereditary estate in the country. From the excellence of the roads, and the rapidity and exactness ofthe public conveyances, he is enabled to command all the comforts andconveniences, all the intelligence and novelties of the capital, whilehe is removed from its hurry and distraction. He has ample means ofoccupation and amusement, within his own domains; he may diversify histime, by rural occupations, by rural sports, by study, and by thedelights of friendly society collected within his own hospitablehalls. 

Or, if his views and feelings are of a more extensive and liberalnature, he has it greatly in his power to do good, and to have thatgood immediately reflected back upon himself. He can render essentialservices to his country, by assisting in the disinterestedadministration of the laws; by watching over the opinions andprinciples of the lower orders around him; by diffusing among themthose lights which may be important to their welfare; by minglingfrankly among them, gaining their confidence, becoming the immediateauditor of their complaints, informing himself of their wants, makinghimself a channel through which their grievances may be quietlycommunicated to the proper sources of mitigation and relief; or bybecoming, if need be, the intrepid and incorruptible guardian of theirliberties--the enlightened champion of their rights. 

All this, it appears to me, can be done without any sacrifice ofpersonal dignity, without any degrading arts of popularity, withoutany truckling to vulgar prejudices or concurrence in vulgar clamour;but by the steady influence of sincere and friendly counsel, of fair, upright, and generous deportment. Whatever may be said of English mobsand English demagogues, I have never met with a people more open toreason, more considerate in their tempers, more tractable by argumentin the roughest times, than the English. They are remarkably quick atdiscerning and appreciating whatever is manly and honourable. Theyare, by nature and habit, methodical and orderly; and they feel thevalue of all that is regular and respectable. They may occasionally bedeceived by sophistry, and excited into turbulence by publicdistresses and the misrepresentations of designing men; but open theireyes, and they will eventually rally round the landmarks of steadytruth and deliberate good sense. They are fond of established customs;they are fond of long-established names; and that love of order andquiet which characterizes the nation, gives a vast influence to thedescendants of the old families, whose forefathers have been lords ofthe soil from time immemorial. 

It is when the rich and well-educated and highly-privileged classesneglect their duties, when they neglect to study the interests, andconciliate the affections, and instruct the opinions, and champion therights of the people, that the latter become discontented andturbulent, and fall into the hands of demagogues: the demagogue alwayssteps in, where the patriot is wanting. There is a common high-handedcant among the high-feeding, and, as they fancy themselves, high-minded men, about putting down the mob; but all true physiciansknow that it is better to sweeten the blood than attack the tumour, toapply the emollient rather than the cautery. It is absurd, in acountry like England, where there is so much freedom, and such ajealousy of right, for any man to assume an aristocratical tone, andto talk superciliously of the common people. There is no rank thatmakes him independent of the opinions and affections of hisfellow-men; there is no rank nor distinction that severs him from hisfellow-subjects; and if, by any gradual neglect or assumption on theone side, and discontent and jealousy on the other, the orders ofsociety should really separate, let those who stand on the eminencebeware that the chasm is not mining at their feet. The orders ofsociety, in all well-constituted governments, are mutually boundtogether, and important to each other; there can be no such thing in afree government as a vacuum; and whenever one is likely to take place, by the drawing off of the rich and intelligent from the poor, the badpassions of society will rush in to fill up the space, and rend thewhole asunder. 

Though born and brought up in a republic, and more and more confirmedin republican principles by every year's observation and experience, yet I am not insensible to the excellence that may exist in otherforms of government, nor to the fact that they may be more suitable tothe situation and circumstances of the countries in which they exist:I have endeavoured rather to look at them as they are, and to observehow they are calculated to effect the end which they propose. Considering, therefore, the mixed nature of the government of thiscountry, and its representative form, I have looked with admiration atthe manner in which the wealth and influence and intelligence werespread over its whole surface; not as in some monarchies, drained fromthe country, and collected in towns and cities. I have considered thegreat rural establishments of the nobility, and the lesserestablishments of the gentry, as so many reservoirs of wealth andintelligence distributed about the kingdom, apart from the towns, toirrigate, freshen, and fertilize the surrounding country. I havelooked upon them, too, as the august retreat of patriots andstatesmen, where, in the enjoyment of honourable independence andelegant leisure, they might train up their minds to appear in thoselegislative assemblies, whose debates and decisions form the study andprecedents of other nations, and involve the interests of the world. 

I have been both surprised and disappointed, therefore, at findingthat on this subject I was often indulging in an Utopian dream, ratherthan a well-founded opinion. I have been concerned at finding thatthese fine estates were too often involved, and mortgaged, or placedin the hands of creditors, and the owners exiled from their paternallands. There is an extravagance, I am told, that runs parallel withwealth; a lavish expenditure among the great; a senseless competitionamong the aspiring; a heedless, joyless dissipation among all theupper ranks, that often beggars even these splendid establishments, breaks down the pride and principles of their possessors, and makestoo many of them mere place-hunters, or shifting absentees. It is thusthat so many are thrown into the hands of government; and a court, which ought to be the most pure and honourable in Europe, is so oftendegraded by noble, but importunate time-servers. It is thus, too, thatso many become exiles from their native land, crowding the hotels offoreign countries, and expending upon thankless strangers the wealthso hardly drained from their laborious peasantry. I have looked uponthese latter with a mixture of censure and concern. Knowing the almostbigoted fondness of an Englishman for his native home, I can conceivewhat must be their compunction and regret, when, amidst the sunburntplains of France, they call to mind the green fields of England; thehereditary groves which they have abandoned; and the hospitable roofof their fathers, which they have left desolate, or to be inhabited bystrangers. But retrenchment is no plea for abandonment of country. They nave risen with the prosperity of the land; let them abide itsfluctuations, and conform to its fortunes. It is not for the rich tofly, because the country is suffering: let them share, in theirrelative proportion, the common lot; they owe it to the land that haselevated them to honour and affluence. When the poor have to diminishtheir scanty morsels of bread; when they have to compound with thecravings of nature, and study with how little they can do, and not bestarved; it is not then for the rich to fly, and diminish stillfarther the resources of the poor, that they themselves may live insplendour in a cheaper country. Let them rather retire to theirestates, and there practise retrenchment. Let them return to thatnoble simplicity, that practical good sense, that honest pride, whichform the foundation of true English character, and from them they mayagain rear the edifice of fair and honourable prosperity. 

On the rural habits of the English nobility and gentry, on the mannerin which they discharge their duties of their patrimonial possessions, depend greatly the virtue and welfare of the nation. So long as theypass the greater part of their time in the quiet and purity of thecountry; surrounded by the monuments of their illustrious ancestors;surrounded by every thing that can inspire generous pride, nobleemulation, and amiable and magnanimous sentiment; so long they aresafe, and in them the nation may repose its interests and its honour. But the moment that they become the servile throngers of courtavenues, and give themselves up to the political intrigues andheartless dissipations of the metropolis, that moment they lose thereal nobility Of their natures, and become the mere leeches of thecountry. 

That the great majority of nobility and gentry in England are endowedwith high notions of honour and independence, I thoroughly believe. They have evidenced it lately on very important questions, and havegiven an example of adherence to principle, in preference to party andpower, that must have astonished many of the venal and obsequiouscourts of Europe. Such are the glorious effects of freedom, wheninfused into a constitution. But it seems to me, that they are apt toforget the positive nature of their duties, and to fancy that theireminent privileges are only so many means of self-indulgence. Theyshould recollect, that in a constitution like that of England, thetitled orders are intended to be as useful as they are ornamental, andit is their virtues alone that can render them both. Their duties aredivided between the sovereign and the subjects; surrounding and givinglustre and dignity to the throne, and at the same time tempering andmitigating its rays, until they are transmitted in mild and genialradiance to the people. Born to leisure and opulence, they owe theexercise of their talents, and the expenditure of their wealth, totheir native country. They may be compared to the clouds; which, beingdrawn up by the sun, and elevated in the heavens, reflect and magnifyhis splendour; while they repay the earth, from which they derivetheir sustenance, by returning their treasures to its bosom infertilizing showers. 

A BACHELOR'S CONFESSIONS. 

 "I'll live a private, pensive single life. "

 --_The Collier of Croydon_. 

I was sitting in my room, a morning or two since, reading, when someone tapped at the door, and Master Simon entered. He had an unusuallyfresh appearance; he had put on a bright green riding-coat, with abunch of violets in the button-hole, and had the air of an oldbachelor trying to rejuvenate himself. He had not, however, his usualbriskness and vivacity; but loitered about the room with somewhat ofabsence of manner, humming the old song--"Go, lovely rose, tell herthat wastes her time and me;" and then, leaning against the window, and looking upon the landscape, he uttered a very audible sigh. As Ihad not been accustomed to see Master Simon in a pensive mood, Ithought there might be some vexation preying on his mind, and Iendeavoured to introduce a cheerful strain of conversation; but he wasnot in the vein to follow it up, and proposed that we should take awalk. 

It was a beautiful morning, of that soft vernal temperature, thatseems to thaw all the frost out of one's blood, and to set all naturein a ferment. The very fishes felt its influence; the cautious troutventured out of his dark hole to seek his mate; the roach and the dacerose up to the surface of the brook to bask in the sunshine, and theamorous frog piped from among the rushes. If ever an oyster can reallyfall in love, as has been said or sung, it must be on such a morning. 

The weather certainly had its effect even upon Master Simon, for heseemed obstinately bent upon the pensive mood. Instead of steppingbriskly along, smacking his dog-whip, whistling quaint ditties, ortelling sporting anecdotes, he leaned on my arm, and talked about theapproaching nuptials; from whence he made several digressions upon thecharacter of womankind, touched a little upon the tender passion, andmade sundry very excellent, though rather trite, observations upondisappointments in love. It was evident that he had something on hismind which he wished to impart, but felt awkward in approaching it. Iwas curious to see to what this strain would lead; but was determinednot to assist him. Indeed, I mischievously pretended to turn theconversation, and talked of his usual topics, dogs, horses, andhunting; but he was very brief in his replies, and invariably gotback, by hook or by crook, into the sentimental vein. 

At length we came to a clump of trees that overhung a whisperingbrook, with a rustic bench at their feet. The trees were grievouslyscored with letters and devices, which had grown out of all shape andsize by the growth of the bark; and it appeared that this grove hadserved as a kind of register of the family loves from time immemorial. Here Master Simon made a pause, pulled up a tuft of flowers, threwthem one by one into the water, and at length, turning somewhatabruptly upon me, asked me if I had ever been in love. I confess thequestion startled me a little, as I am not over-fond of makingconfessions of my amorous follies; and above all, should never dreamof choosing my friend Master Simon for a confidant. He did not wait, however, for a reply; the inquiry was merely a prelude to a confessionon his own part, and after several circumlocutions and whimsicalpreambles, he fairly disburthened himself of a very tolerable story ofhis having been crossed in love. 

The reader will, very probably, suppose that it related to the gaywidow who jilted him not long since at Doncaster races;--no suchthing. It was about a sentimental passion that he once had for a mostbeautiful young lady, who wrote poetry and played on the harp. He usedto serenade her; and, indeed, he described several tender and gallantscenes, in which he was evidently picturing himself in his mind's eyeas some elegant hero of romance, though, unfortunately for the tale, Ionly saw him as he stood before me, a dapper little old bachelor, witha face like an apple that has dried with the bloom on it. 

What were the particulars of this tender tale, I have alreadyforgotten; indeed, I listened to it with a heart like a verypebble-stone, having hard work to repress a smile while Master Simonwas putting on the amorous swain, uttering every now and then a sigh, and endeavouring to look sentimental and melancholy. 

All that I recollect is that the lady, according to his account, wascertainly a little touched; for she used to accept all the music thathe copied for her harp, and all the patterns that he drew for herdresses; and he began to flatter himself, after a long course ofdelicate attentions, that he was gradually fanning up a gentle flamein her heart, when she suddenly accepted the hand of a rich, boisterous, fox-hunting baronet, without either music or sentiment, who carried her by storm after a fortnight's courtship. 

Master Simon could not help concluding by some observation about"modest merit, " and the power of gold over the sex. As a remembranceof his passion, he pointed out a heart carved on the bark of one ofthe trees; but which, in the process of time, had grown out into alarge excrescence; and he showed me a lock of her hair, which he worein a true-lover's knot, in a large gold brooch. 

I have seldom met with an old bachelor that had not, at some time orother, his nonsensical moment, when he would become tender andsentimental, talk about the concerns of the heart, and have someconfession of a delicate nature to make. Almost every man has somelittle trait of romance in his life, which he looks back to withfondness, and about which he is apt to grow garrulous occasionally. Herecollects himself as he was at the time, young and gamesome; andforgets that his hearers have no other idea of the hero of the tale, but such as he may appear at the time of telling it; peradventure, awithered, whimsical, spindle-shanked old gentleman. With married men, it is true, this is not so frequently the case: their amorous romanceis apt to decline after marriage; why, I cannot for the life of meimagine; but with a bachelor, though it may slumber, it never dies. Itis always liable to break out again in transient flashes, and never somuch as on a spring morning in the country; or on a winter eveningwhen seated in his solitary chamber stirring up the fire and talkingof matrimony. 

The moment that Master Simon had gone through his confession, and, touse the common phrase, "had made a clean breast of it, " he becamequite himself again. He had settled the point which had been worryinghis mind, and doubtless considered himself established as a man ofsentiment in my opinion. Before we had finished our morning's stroll, he was singing as blithe as a grasshopper, whistling to his dogs, andtelling droll stories: and I recollect that he was particularlyfacetious that day at dinner on the subject of matrimony, and utteredseveral excellent jokes, not to be found in Joe Miller, that made thebride elect blush and look down; but set all the old gentlemen at thetable in a roar, and absolutely brought tears into the general's eyes. 

ENGLISH GRAVITY. 

 "Merrie England!"

 --_Ancient Phrase_. 

There is nothing so rare as for a man to ride his hobby withoutmolestation. I find the Squire has not so undisturbed an indulgence inhis humours as I had imagined; but has been repeatedly thwarted oflate, and has suffered a kind of well-meaning persecution from a Mr. Faddy, an old gentleman of some weight, at least of purse, who hasrecently moved into the neighbourhood. He is a worthy and substantialmanufacturer, who, having accumulated a large fortune by dint ofsteam-engines and spinning-jennies, has retired from business, and setup for a country gentleman. He has taken an old country-seat, andrefitted it; and painted and plastered it, until it looks not unlikehis own manufactory. He has been particularly careful in mending thewalls and hedges, and putting up notices of spring-guns and man-trapsin every part of his premises. Indeed, he shows great jealousy abouthis territorial rights, having stopped up a footpath that led acrosshis fields, and given warning, in staring letters, that whoever wasfound trespassing on those grounds would be prosecuted with the utmostrigour of the law. He has brought into the country with him all thepractical maxims of town, and the bustling habits of business; and isone of those sensible, useful, prosing, troublesome, intolerable oldgentlemen, that go about wearying and worrying society with excellentplans for public utility. 

He is very much disposed to be on intimate terms with the Squire, andcalls on him every now and then, with some project for the good of theneighbourhood, which happens to run diametrically opposite to some oneor other of the Squire's peculiar notions; but which is "too sensiblea measure" to be openly opposed. He has annoyed him excessively, byenforcing the vagrant laws; persecuting the gipsies, and endeavouringto suppress country wakes and holiday games; which he considers greatnuisances, and reprobates as causes of the deadly sin of idleness. 

There is evidently in all this a little of the ostentation ofnewly-acquired consequence; the tradesman is gradually swelling intothe aristocrat; and he begins to grow excessively intolerant of everything that is not genteel. He has a great deal to say about "thecommon people;" talks much of his park, his preserves, and thenecessity of enforcing the game-laws more strictly; and makes frequentuse of the phrase, "the gentry of the neighbourhood. "

He came to the Hall lately, with a face full of business, that he andthe Squire, to use his own words, "might lay their heads together, " tohit upon some mode of putting a stop to the frolicking at the villageon the approaching May-day. It drew, he said, idle people togetherfrom all parts of the neighbourhood, who spent the day fiddling, dancing, and carousing, instead of staying at home to work for theirfamilies. 

Now, as the Squire, unluckily, is at the bottom of these May-dayrevels, it may be supposed that the suggestions of the sagacious Mr. Faddy were not received with the best grace in the world. It is true, the old gentleman is too courteous to show any temper to a guest inhis own house; but no sooner was he gone, than the indignation of theSquire found vent, at having his poetical cobwebs invaded by thisbuzzing, bluebottle fly of traffic. In his warmth, he inveighedagainst the whole race of manufacturers, who, I found, were soredisturbers of his comfort. "Sir, " said he, with emotion, "it makes myheart bleed, to see all our fine streams dammed up, and bestrode bycotton-mills; our valleys smoking with steam-engines, and the din ofthe hammer and the loom scaring away all our rural delight. What's tobecome of merry old England, when its manor-houses are all turned intomanufactories, and its sturdy peasantry into pin-makers andstocking-weavers? I have looked in vain for merry Sherwood, and allthe greenwood haunts of Robin Hood; the whole country is covered withmanufacturing towns. I have stood on the ruins of Dudley Castle, andlooked round, with an aching heart, on what were once its feudaldomains of verdant and beautiful country. Sir, I beheld a mere _campusphlegrae_; a region of fire; reeking with coal-pits, and furnaces, andsmelting-houses, vomiting forth flames and smoke. The pale and ghastlypeople, toiling among vile exhalations, looked more like demons thanhuman beings; the clanking wheels and engines, seen through the murkyatmosphere, looked like instruments of torture in this pandemonium. What is to become of the country, with these evils rankling in itsvery core? Sir, these manufacturers will be the ruin of our ruralmanners; they will destroy the national character; they will not leavematerials for a single line of poetry!"

The Squire is apt to wax eloquent on such themes; and I could hardlyhelp smiling at this whimsical lamentation over national industry andpublic improvement. I am told, however, that he really grieves at thegrowing spirit of trade, as destroying the charm of life. He considersevery new shorthand mode of doing things, as an inroad of snug sordidmethod; and thinks that this will soon become a mere matter-of-factworld, where life will be reduced to a mathematical calculation ofconveniences, and every thing will be done by steam. 

He maintains, also, that the nation has declined in its free andjoyous spirit, in proportion as it has turned its attention tocommerce and manufactures; and that, in old times, when England was anidler, it was also a merrier little island. In support of thisopinion, he adduces the frequency and splendour of ancient festivalsand merry-makings, and the hearty spirit with which they were kept upby all classes of people. His memory is stored with the accounts givenby Stow, in his Survey of London, of the holiday revels at the inns ofcourt, the Christmas mummeries, and the masquings and bonfires aboutthe streets. London, he says, in those days, resembled the continentalcities in its picturesque manners and amusements. The court used todance after dinner, on public occasions. After the coronation dinnerof Richard II, for example, the king, the prelates, the nobles, theknights, and the rest of the company, danced in Westminster Hall tothe music of the minstrels. The example of the court was followed bythe middling classes, and so down to the lowest, and the whole nationwas a dancing, jovial nation. He quotes a lively city picture of thetimes, given by Stow, which resembles the lively scenes one may oftensee in the gay city of Paris; for he tells us that on holidays, afterevening prayers, the maidens in London used to assemble before thedoor, in sight of their masters and dames, and while one played on atimbrel, the others danced for garlands, hanged athwart the street. 

"Where will we meet with such merry groups now-a-days?" the Squirewill exclaim, shaking his head mournfully;--"and then as to the gayetythat prevailed in dress throughout all ranks of society, and made thevery streets so fine and picturesque: 'I have myself, ' says GervaiseMarkham, 'met an ordinary tapster in his silk stockings, garters deepfringed with gold lace, the rest of his apparel suitable, with cloaklined with velvet!' Nashe, too, who wrote in 1593, exclaims at thefinery of the nation: 'England, the player's stage of gorgeous attire, the ape of all nations' superfluities, the continual masquer inoutlandish habiliments. '"

Such are a few of the authorities quoted by the Squire, by way ofcontrasting what he supposes to have been the former vivacity of thenation with its present monotonous character. "John Bull, " he willsay, "was then a gay cavalier, with his sword by his side and afeather in his cap; but he is now a plodding citizen, insnuff-coloured coat and gaiters. "

By the by, there really appears to have been some change in thenational character, since the days of which the Squire is so fond oftalking; those days when this little island acquired its favourite oldtitle of "merry England. " This may be attributed in part to thegrowing hardships of the times, and the necessity of turning the wholeattention to the means of subsistence; but England's gayest customsprevailed at times when her common people enjoyed comparatively few ofthe comforts and conveniences that they do at present. It may be stillmore attributed to the universal spirit of gain, and the calculatinghabits that commerce has introduced; but I am inclined to attribute itchiefly to the gradual increase of the liberty of the subject, and thegrowing freedom and activity of opinion. 

A free people are apt to be grave and thoughtful. They have high andimportant matters to occupy their minds. They feel that it is theirright, their interest, and their duty, to mingle in public concerns, and to watch over the general welfare. The continual exercise of themind on political topics gives intenser habits of thinking, and a moreserious and earnest demeanour. A nation becomes less gay, but moreintellectually active and vigorous. It evinces less play of the fancy, but more power of the imagination; less taste and elegance, but moregrandeur of mind; less animated vivacity, but deeper enthusiasm. 

It is when men are shut out of the regions of manly thought, by adespotic government; when every grave and lofty theme is renderedperilous to discussion and almost to reflection; it is then that theyturn to the safer occupations of taste and amusement; trifles rise toimportance, and occupy the craving activity of intellect. No being ismore void of care and reflection than the slave; none dances moregayly, in his intervals of labour; but make him free, give him rightsand interests to guard, and he becomes thoughtful and laborious. 

The French are a gayer people than the English. Why? Partly fromtemperament, perhaps; but greatly because they have been accustomed togovernments which surrounded the free exercise of thought with danger, and where he only was safe who shut his eyes and ears to publicevents, and enjoyed the passing pleasure of the day. Within lateyears, they have had more opportunity of exercising their minds; andwithin late years, the national character has essentially changed. Never did the French enjoy such a degree of freedom as they do at thismoment; and at this moment the French are comparatively a grave people. 

GIPSIES. 

 What's that to absolute freedom; such as the very beggars have; to feast and revel here to-day, and yonder to-morrow; next day where they please; and so on still, the whole country or kingdom over? There's liberty! the birds of the air can take no more. 

 --_Jovial Crew_. 

Since the meeting with the gipsies, which I have related in a formerpaper, I have observed several of them haunting the purlieus of theHall, in spite of a positive interdiction of the Squire. They are partof a gang that has long kept about this neighbourhood, to the greatannoyance of the farmers, whose poultry-yards often suffer from theirnocturnal invasions. They are, however, in some measure patronized bythe Squire, who considers the race as belonging to the good old times;which, to confess the private truth, seem to have abounded withgood-for-nothing characters. 

This roving crew is called "Starlight Tom's Gang, " from the name ofits chieftain, a notorious poacher. I have heard repeatedly of themisdeeds of this "minion of the moon;" for every midnight depredationthat takes place in park, or fold or farm-yard, is laid to his charge. Starlight Tom, in fact, answers to his name; he seems to walk indarkness, and, like a fox, to be traced in the morning by the mischiefhe has done. He reminds me of that fearful personage in the nurseryrhyme:

 Who goes round the house at night? None but bloody Tom! Who steals all the sheep at night? None but one by one!

In short, Starlight Tom is the scapegoat of the neighbourhood, but socunning and adroit, that there is no detecting him. Old Christy andthe game-keeper have watched many a night, in hopes of entrapping him;and Christy often patrols the park with his dogs, for the purpose, butall in vain. It is said that the Squire winks hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent feeling towards the vagabond, because of his beingvery expert at all kinds of games, a great shot with the cross-bow, and the best morris-dancer in the country. 

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested about the skirtsof his estate, on condition that they do not come about the house. Theapproaching wedding, however, has made a kind of Saturnalia at theHall, and has caused a suspension of all sober rule. It has produced agreat sensation throughout the female part of the household; not ahousemaid but dreams of wedding favours, and has a husband running inher head. Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies: there is a publicfootpath leading across one part of the park, by which they have freeingress, and they are continually hovering about the grounds, tellingthe servant-girls' fortunes, or getting smuggled in to the youngladies. 

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very much by furnishing them withhints in private, and bewildering all the weak brains in the housewith their wonderful revelations. The general certainly was very muchastonished by the communications made to him the other evening by thegipsy girl: he kept a wary silence towards us on the subject, andaffected to treat it lightly; but I have noticed that he has sinceredoubled his attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs. 

I have seen also Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's pretty andlove-sick niece, holding a long conference with one of these oldsibyls behind a large tree in the avenue, and often looking round tosee that she was not observed. I make no doubt that she wasendeavouring to get some favourable augury about the result of herlove-quarrel with young Ready-Money, as oracles have always been moreconsulted on love affairs than upon any thing else. I fear, however, that in this instance the response was not so favourable as usual; forI perceived poor Phoebe returning pensively towards the house, herhead hanging down, her hat in her hand, and the riband trailing alongthe ground. 

At another time, as I turned a corner of a terrace, at the bottom ofthe garden, just by a clump of trees, and a large stone urn, I cameupon a bevy of the young girls of the family, attended by this samePhoebe Wilkins. I was at a loss to comprehend the meaning of theirblushing and giggling, and their apparent agitation, until I saw thered cloak of a gipsy vanishing among the shrubbery. A few momentsafter, I caught sight of Master Simon and the Oxonion stealing alongone of the walks of the garden, chuckling and laughing at theirsuccessful waggery; having evidently put the gipsy up to the thing, and instructed her what to say. 

After all, there is something strangely pleasing in these tamperingswith the future, even where we are convinced of the fallacy of theprediction. It is singular how willingly the mind will half deceiveitself, and with what a degree of awe we will listen to these babblersabout futurity. For my part, I cannot feel angry with these poorvagabonds, that seek to deceive us into bright hopes and expectations. I have always been something of a castle-builder, and have found myliveliest pleasures to arise from the illusions which fancy has castover commonplace realities. As I get on in life, I find it moredifficult to deceive myself in this delightful manner; and I should bethankful to any prophet, however false, that would conjure the cloudswhich hang over futurity into palaces, and all its doubtful regionsinto fairy-land. 

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a private good-will towardsgipsies, has suffered considerable annoyance on their account. Notthat they requite his indulgence with ingratitude, for they do notdepredate very flagrantly on his estate; but because their pilferingsand misdeeds occasion loud murmurs in the village. I can readilyunderstand the old gentleman's humour on this point; I have a greattoleration for all kinds of vagrant sunshiny existence, and mustconfess I take a pleasure in observing the ways of gipsies. TheEnglish, who are accustomed to them from childhood, and often sufferfrom their petty depredations, consider them as mere nuisances; but Ihave been very much struck with their peculiarities. I like to beholdtheir clear olive complexions, their romantic black eyes, their ravenlocks, their lithe, slender figures; and hear them in low silver tonesdealing forth magnificent promises of honours and estates, of world'swealth, and ladies' love. 

Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful andpicturesque. They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain aprimitive independence, in spite of law and gospel; of county gaolsand country magistrates. It is curious to see this obstinate adherenceto the wild, unsettled habits of savage life transmitted fromgeneration to generation, and preserved in the midst of one of themost cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the world. Theyare totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people about them. Theyseem to be, like the Indians of America, either above or below theordinary cares and anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, ofhonours, of wealth; and indifferent to the fluctuations of times; therise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, they seem to laugh at thetolling, fretting world around them, and to live according to thephilosophy of the old song:

 "Who would ambition shun, And loves to lie i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. "

In this way, they wander from county to county; keeping about thepurlieus of villages, or in plenteous neighbourhoods, where there arefat farms and rich country-seats. Their encampments are generally madein some beautiful spot--either a green shady nook of a road; or on theborder of a common, under a sheltering hedge; or on the skirts of afine spreading wood. They are always to be found lurking about fairs, and races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, andthrong, and idleness. They are the oracles of milk-maids and simpleserving-girls; and sometimes have even the honour of perusing thewhite hands of gentlemen's daughters, when rambling about theirfathers' grounds. They are the bane of good housewives and thriftyfarmers, and odious in the eyes of country justices; but, like allother vagabond beings, they have something to commend them to thefancy. They are among the last traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former times; and are whimsicallyassociated in my mind with fairies and witches, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastical personages of poetry. 

MAY-DAY CUSTOMS. 

 Happy the age, and harmless were the dayes, (For then true love and amity was found, ) When every village did a May-pole raise, And Whitsun ales and May-games did abound: And all the lusty yonkers in a rout, With merry lasses daunc'd the rod about, Then friendship to their banquets bid the guests, And poore men far'd the better for their feasts. 

 --PASQUIL'S _Palinodia_. 

The month of April has nearly passed away, and we are fast approachingthat poetical day, which was considered, in old times, as the boundarythat parted the frontiers of winter and summer. With all its caprices, however, I like the month of April. I like these laughing and cryingdays, when sun and shade seem to run in billows over the landscape. Ilike to see the sudden shower coursing over the meadow, and giving allnature a greener smile; and the bright sunbeams chasing the flyingcloud, and turning all its drops into diamonds. 

I was enjoying a morning of the kind, in company with the Squire, inone of the finest parts of the park. We were skirting a beautifulgrove, and he was giving me a kind of biographical account of severalof his favourite forest trees, when he heard the strokes of an axefrom the midst of a thick copse. The Squire paused and listened, withmanifest signs of uneasiness. He turned his steps in the direction ofthe sound. The strokes grew louder and louder as we advanced; therewas evidently a vigorous arm wielding the axe. The Squire quickenedhis pace, but in vain; a loud crack, and a succeeding crash, told thatthe mischief had been done, and some child of the forest laid low. When we came to the place, we found Master Simon and several othersstanding about a tall and beautifully straight young tree, which hadjust been felled. 

The Squire, though a man of most harmonious dispositions, wascompletely put out of tune by this circumstance. He felt like amonarch witnessing the murder of one of his liege subjects, anddemanded, with some asperity, the meaning of the outrage. It turnedout to be an affair of Master Simon's, who had selected the tree, fromits height and straightness, for a May-pole, the old one which stoodon the village green being unfit for farther service. If any thingcould have soothed the ire of my worthy host, it would have been thereflection that his tree had fallen for so good a cause; and I sawthat there was a great struggle between his fondness for his groves, and his devotion to May-day. He could not contemplate the prostratetree, however, without indulging in lamentation, and making a kind offuneral eulogy, like Mark Antony over the body of Caesar; and heforbade that any tree should thenceforward be cut down on his estate, without a warrant from himself; being determined, he said, to hold thesovereign power of life and death in his own hands. 

This mention of the May-pole struck my attention, and I inquiredwhether the old customs connected with it were really kept up in thispart of the country. The Squire shook his head mournfully; and I foundI had touched on one of his tender points, for he grew quitemelancholy in bewailing the total decline of old May-day. Though it isregularly celebrated in the neighbouring village, yet it has beenmerely resuscitated by the worthy Squire, and is kept up in a forcedstate of existence at his expense. He meets with continualdiscouragements; and finds great difficulty in getting the countrybumpkins to play their parts tolerably. He manages to have every yeara "Queen of the May;" but as to Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, the Dragon, the Hobby-Horse, and all the other motley crew that used to enliventhe day with their mummery, he has not ventured to introduce them. 

Still I looked forward with some interest to the promised shadow ofold May-day, even though it be but a shadow; and I feel more and morepleased with the whimsical yet harmless hobby of my host, which issurrounding him with agreeable associations, and making a little worldof poetry about him. Brought up, as I have been, in a new country, Imay appreciate too highly the faint vestiges of ancient customs whichI now and then meet with, and the interest I express in them mayprovoke a smile from those who are negligently suffering them to passaway. But with whatever indifference they may be regarded by those "tothe manner born, " yet in my mind the lingering flavour of them impartsa charm to rustic life, which nothing else could readily supply. 

I shall never forget the delight I felt on first seeing a May-pole. Itwas on the banks of the Dee, close by the picturesque old bridge thatstretches across the river from the quaint little city of Chester. Ihad already been carried back into former days, by the antiquities ofthat venerable place; the examination of which is equal to turningover the pages of a black-letter volume, or gazing on the picturesin Froissart. The May-pole on the margin of that poetic streamcompleted the illusion. My fancy adorned it with wreaths of flowers, and peopled the green bank with all the dancing revelry of May-day. The mere sight of this May-pole gave a glow to my feelings, and spreada charm over the country for the rest of the day; and as I traversed apart of the fair plain of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders ofWales, and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through which "the Deva wound its wizard stream, " my imaginationturned all into a perfect Arcadia. 

Whether it be owing to such poetical associations early instilled intomy mind, or whether there is, as it were, a sympathetic revival andbudding forth of the feelings at this season, certain it is, that Ialways experience, wherever I may be placed, a delightful expansion ofthe heart at the return of May. It is said that birds about this timewill become restless in their cages, as if instinct with the season, conscious of the revelry that is going on in the groves, and impatientto break from their bondage, and join in the jubilee of the year. Inlike manner I have felt myself excited, even in the midst of themetropolis, when the windows, which had been churlishly closed allwinter, were again thrown open to receive the balmy breath of May;when the sweets of the country were breathed into the town, andflowers were cried about the streets. I have considered the treasuresof flowers thus poured in, as so many missives from nature, invitingus forth to enjoy the virgin beauty of the year, before its freshnessis exhaled by the heats of sunny summer. 

One can readily imagine what a gay scene it must have been in jollyold London, when the doors were decorated with flowering branches, when every hat was decked with hawthorn, and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, the morris-dancers, and all the other fantastic masks andrevellers, were performing their antics about the May-pole in everypart of the city. 

I am not a bigoted admirer of old times and old customs, merelybecause of their antiquity: but while I rejoice in the decline of manyof the rude usages and coarse amusements of former days, I cannot butregret that this innocent and fanciful festival has fallen intodisuse. It seemed appropriate to this verdant and pastoral country, and calculated to light up the too pervading gravity of the nation. Ivalue every custom that tends to infuse poetical feeling into thecommon people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rusticmanners, without destroying their simplicity. Indeed, it is to thedecline of this happy simplicity, that the decline of this custom maybe traced; and the rural dance on the green, and the homely May-daypageant, have gradually disappeared, in proportion as the peasantryhave become expensive and artificial in their pleasures, and tooknowing for simple enjoyment. 

Some attempts, the Squire informs me, have been made of late years, bymen of both taste and learning, to rally back the popular feeling tothese standards of primitive simplicity; but the time has gone by, thefeeling has become chilled by habits of gain and traffic, the countryapes the manners and amusements of the town, and little is heard ofMay-day at present, except from the lamentations of authors, who sighafter it from among the brick walls of the city:

"For O, for O, the Hobby-Horse is forgot. "

VILLAGE WORTHIES. 

 Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not the worst dog in the street will hurt my little finger. 

 --_Collier of Croydon_. 

As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of-the-way, butgossiping, little places where a small matter makes a great stir, itis not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that ofMay-day can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is madea matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall. Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy Squire, and jumps with hishumour in every thing, is frequent just now in his visits to thevillage, to give directions for the impending fête; and as I havetaken the liberty occasionally of accompanying him, I have beenenabled to get some insight into the characters and internal politicsof this very sagacious little community. 

Master Simon is in fact the Caesar of the village. It is true theSquire is the protecting power, but his factotum is the active andbusy agent. He intermeddles in all its concerns, is acquainted withall the inhabitants and their domestic history, gives counsel to theold folks in their business matters, and the young folks in their loveaffairs, and enjoys the proud satisfaction of being a great man in alittle world. 

He is the dispenser, too, of the Squire's charity, which is bounteous;and, to do Master Simon justice, he performs this part of hisfunctions with great alacrity. Indeed, I have been entertained withthe mixture of bustle, importance, and kind-heartedness which hedisplays. He is of too vivacious a temperament to comfort theafflicted by sitting down, moping and whining, and blowing noses inconcert: but goes whisking about like a sparrow, chirping consolationinto every hole and corner of the village. I have seen an old woman, in a red cloak, hold him for half an hour together with some longphthisical tale of distress, which Master Simon listened to with manya bob of the head, smack of his dog-whip, and other symptoms ofimpatience, though he afterwards made a most faithful andcircumstantial report of the case to the Squire. I have watched him, too, during one of his pop visits into the cottage of a superannuatedvillager, who is a pensioner of the Squire, where he fidgeted aboutthe room without sitting down, made many excellent off-handreflections with the old invalid, who was propped up in his chair, about the shortness of life, the certainty of death, and the necessityof preparing for "that awful change;" quoted several texts ofscripture very incorrectly, but much to the edification of thecottager's wife; and on coming out, pinched the daughter's rosy cheek, and wondered what was in the young men that such a pretty face did notget a husband. 

He has also his cabinet counsellors in the village, with whom he isvery busy just now, preparing for the May-day ceremonies. Among theseis the village tailor, a pale-faced fellow, that plays the clarionetin the church choir; and; being a great musical genius, has frequentmeetings of the band at his house, where they "make night hideous" bytheir concerts. He is, in consequence, high in favour with MasterSimon; and, through his influence, has the making, or rather marring, of all the liveries of the Hall; which generally look as though theyhad been cut out by one of those scientific tailors of the FlyingIsland of Laputa, who took measure of their customers with a quadrant. The tailor, in fact, might rise to be one of the moneyed men of thevillage, were he not rather too prone to gossip, and keep holidays, and give concerts, and blow all his substance, real and personal, through his clarionet; which literally keeps him poor, both in bodyand estate. He has for the present thrown by all his regular work, and suffered the breeches of the village to go unmade and unmended, while he is occupied in making garlands of party-coloured rags, inimitation of flowers, for the decoration of the May-pole. 

Another of Master Simon's counsellors is the apothecary, a short andrather fat man, with a pair of prominent eyes, that diverge like thoseof a lobster. He is the village wise man; very sententious, and fullof profound remarks on shallow subjects. Master Simon often quotes hissayings, and mentions him as rather an extraordinary man; and evenconsults him occasionally, in desperate cases of the dogs and horses. Indeed, he seems to have been overwhelmed by the apothecary'sphilosophy, which is exactly one observation deep, consisting ofindisputable maxims, such as may be gathered from the mottoes oftobacco-boxes. I had a specimen of his philosophy, in my very firstconversation with him; in the course of which he observed, with greatsolemnity and emphasis, that "man is a compound of wisdom and folly;"upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, pressed very hardupon it, and whispered in my ear "That's a devilish shrewd remark!"

THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

 There will be no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no grasse hang on the heeles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell again for a penny--repentance. 

 --LILLY'S _Euphues_. 

Among the worthies of the village that enjoy the peculiar confidenceof Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much that I havethought him worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, theschoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly, somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humoured look, notoften met with in his craft. I have been interested in his favour by afew anecdotes which I have picked up concerning him. 

He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and playmate ofReady-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried ona kind of league of mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather puny, andwithal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning; Jack, onthe contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at hisbooks. Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons; Jackfought all Slingsby's battles; and they were inseparable friends. Thismutual kindness continued even after they left the school, notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took toploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternalacres; while the other loitered negligently on in the path oflearning, until he penetrated even into the confines of Latin andmathematics. 

In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voyages and travels, and was smitten with a desire to see the world. This desire increasedupon him as he grew up; so, early one bright, sunny morning, he putall his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, took staff inhand, and called in his way to take leave of his early schoolmate. Jack was just going out with the plough: the friends shook hands overthe farm-house gate; Jack drove his team a-field, and Slingsbywhistled, "Over the hills and far away, " and sallied forth gayly to"seek his fortune. "

Years and years passed by, and young Tom Slingsby was forgotten; when, one mellow Sunday afternoon in autumn, a thin man, somewhat advancedin life, with a coat out at elbows, a pair of old nankeen gaiters, anda few things tied in a handkerchief and slung on the end of a stick, was seen loitering through the village. He appeared to regard severalhouses attentively, to peer into the windows that were open, to eyethe villagers wistfully as they returned from church, and then to passsome time in the church-yard reading the tombstones. 

At length he found his way to the farm-house of Ready-Money Jack, butpaused ere he attempted the wicket; contemplating the picture ofsubstantial independence before him. In the porch of the house satReady-Money Jack, in his Sunday dress; with his hat upon his head, hispipe in his mouth, and his tankard before him, the monarch of all hesurveyed. Beside him lay his fat house-dog. The varied sounds ofpoultry were heard from the well-stocked farm-yard; the bees hummedfrom their hives in the garden; the cattle lowed in the rich meadow;while the crammed barns and ample stacks bore proof of an abundantharvest. 

The stranger opened the gate and advanced dubiously toward the house. The mastiff growled at the sight of the suspicious-looking intruder;but was immediately silenced by his master, who, taking his pipe fromhis mouth, awaited with inquiring aspect the address of this equivocalpersonage. The stranger eyed old Jack for a moment, so portly in hisdimensions, and decked out in gorgeous apparel; then cast a glanceupon his own thread-bare and starveling condition, and the scantybundle which he held in his hand; then giving his shrunk waistcoat atwitch to make it meet its receding waistband, and casting anotherlook, half sad, half humorous, at the sturdy yeoman, "I suppose, " saidhe, "Mr. Tibbets, you have forgot old times and old playmates. "

The latter gazed at him with scrutinizing look, but acknowledged thathe had no recollection of him. 

"Like enough, like enough, " said the stranger, "every body seems tohave forgotten poor Slingsby!"

"Why, no, sure! it can't be Tom Slingsby?"

"Yes, but it is, though!" replied the stranger, shaking his head. 

Ready-Money Jack was on his feet in a twinkling, thrust out his hand, gave his ancient crony the gripe of a giant, and slapping the otherhand on a bench, "Sit down there, " cried he, "Tom Slingsby!"

A long conversation ensued about old times, while Slingsby was regaledwith the best cheer that the farm-house afforded; for he was hungry aswell as wayworn, and had the keen appetite of a poor pedestrian. Theearly playmates then talked over their subsequent lives andadventures. Jack had but little to relate, and was never good at along story. A prosperous life, passed at home, has little incident fornarrative; it is only poor devils, that are tossed about the world, that are the true heroes of story. Jack had stuck by the paternalfarm, followed the same plough that his forefathers had driven, andhad waxed richer and richer as he grew older. As to Tom Slingsby, hewas an exemplification of the old proverb, "a rolling stone gathers nomoss. " He had sought his fortune about the world, without ever findingit, being a thing oftener found at home than abroad. He had been inall kinds of situations, and had learned a dozen different modes ofmaking a living; but had found his way back to his native villagerather poorer than when he left it, his knapsack having dwindled downto a scanty bundle. 

As luck would have it, the Squire was passing by the farmhouse thatvery evening, and called there, as is often his custom. He found thetwo schoolmates still gossiping in the porch, and according to thegood old Scottish song, "taking a cup of kindness yet, for auld langsyne. " The Squire was struck by the contrast in appearance andfortunes of these early playmates. Ready-Money Jack, seated in lordlystate, surrounded by the good things of this life, with golden guineashanging to his very watch-chain, and the poor pilgrim Slingsby, thinas a weasel, with all his worldly effects, his bundle, hat, andwalking-staff, lying on the ground beside him. 

The good Squire's heart warmed towards the luckless cosmopolite, forhe is a little prone to like such half-vagrant characters. He castabout in his mind how he should contrive once more to anchor Slingsbyin his native village. Honest Jack had already offered him a presentshelter under his roof, in spite of the hints, and winks, and halfremonstrances of the shrewd Dame Tibbets; but how to provide for hispermanent maintenance was the question. Luckily the Squire bethoughthimself that the village school was without a teacher. A littlefurther conversation convinced him that Slingsby was as fit for thatas for any thing else, and in a day or two he was seen swaying the rodof empire in the very school-house where he had often been horsed inthe days of his boyhood. 

Here he has remained for several years, and, being honoured by thecountenance of the Squire, and the fast friendship of Mr. Tibbets, hehas grown into much importance and consideration in the village. I amtold, however, that he still shows, now and then, a degree ofrestlessness, and a disposition to rove abroad again, and see a littlemore of the world; an inclination which seems particularly to haunthim about springtime. There is nothing so difficult to conquer as thevagrant humour, when once it has been fully indulged. 

Since I have heard these anecdotes of poor Slingsby, I have more thanonce mused upon the picture presented by him and his schoolmate, Ready-Money Jack, on their coming together again after so long aseparation. It is difficult to determine between lots in life, whereeach one is attended with its peculiar discontents. He who neverleaves his home repines at his monotonous existence, and envies thetraveller, whose life is a constant tissue of wonder and adventure;while he who is tossed about the world, looks back with many a sigh tothe safe and quiet shore which he has abandoned. I cannot helpthinking, however, that the man that stays at home, and cultivates thecomforts and pleasures daily springing up around him, stands the bestchance for happiness. There is nothing so fascinating to a young mindas the idea of travelling; and there is very witchcraft in the oldphrase found in every nursery tale, of "going to seek one's fortune. "A continual change of place, and change of object, promises acontinual succession of adventure and gratification of curiosity. Butthere is a limit to all our enjoyments, and every desire bears itsdeath in its very gratification. Curiosity languishes under repeatedstimulants, novelties cease to excite surprise, until at length wecannot wonder even at a miracle. 

He who has sallied forth into the world, like poor Slingsby, full ofsunny anticipations, finds too soon how different the distant scenebecomes when visited. The smooth place roughens as he approaches; thewild place becomes tame and barren; the fairy tints that beguiled himon, still fly to the distant hill, or gather upon the land he has leftbehind; and every part of the landscape seems greener than the spot hestands on. 

THE SCHOOL. 

 But to come down from great men and higher matters to my little children and poor school-house again; I will, God willing, go forward orderly, as I purposed, to instruct children and young men both for learning and manners. 

 --ROGER ASCHAM. 

Having given the reader a slight sketch of the village schoolmaster, he may be curious to learn something concerning his school. As theSquire takes much interest in the education of the neighbouringchildren, he put into the hands of the teacher, on first installinghim in office, a copy of Roger Ascham's Schoolmaster, and advised him, moreover, to con over that portion of old Peacham which treats of theduty of masters, and which condemns the favourite method of makingboys wise by flagellation. 

He exhorted Slingsby not to break down or depress the free spirit ofthe boys, by harshness and slavish fear, but to lead them freely andjoyously on in the path of knowledge, making it pleasant and desirablein their eyes. He wished to see the youth trained up in the mannersand habitudes of the peasantry of the good old times, and thus to laya foundation for the accomplishment of his favorite object, therevival of old English customs and character. He recommended that allthe ancient holidays should be observed, and that the sports of theboys, in their hours of play, should be regulated according to thestandard authorities laid down in Strutt, a copy of whose invaluablework, decorated with plates, was deposited in the school-house. Aboveall, he exhorted the pedagogue to abstain from the use of birch, aninstrument of instruction which the good Squire regards withabhorrence, as fit only for the coercion of brute natures that cannotbe reasoned with. 

Mr. Slingsby has followed the Squire's instructions, to the best ofhis disposition and abilities. He never flogs the boys, because he istoo easy, good-humoured a creature to inflict pain on a worm. He isbountiful in holidays, because he loves holidays himself, and has asympathy with the urchins' impatience of confinement, from havingdivers times experienced its irksomeness during the time that he wasseeing the world. As to sports and pastimes, the boys are faithfullyexercised in all that are on record, quoits, races, prison-bars, tipcat, trap-ball, bandy-ball, wrestling, leaping, and what not. Theonly misfortune is, that having banished the birch, honest Slingsbyhas not studied Roger Ascham sufficiently to find out a substitute; orrather, he has not the management in his nature to apply one; hisschool, therefore, though one of the happiest, is one of the mostunruly in the country; and never was a pedagogue more liked, or lessheeded by his disciples, than Slingsby. 

He has lately taken a coadjutor worthy of himself, being another straysheep that has returned to the village fold. This is no other than theson of the musical tailor, who had bestowed some cost upon hiseducation, hoping to see him one day arrive at the dignity of anexciseman, or at least of a parish clerk. The lad grew up, however, asidle and musical as his father; and, being captivated by the drum andfife of a recruiting party, he followed them off to the army. Hereturned not long since, out of money, and out at the elbows, theprodigal son of the village. He remained for some time lounging aboutthe place in half-tattered soldier's dress, with a foraging-cap on oneside of his head, jerking stones across the brook, or loitering aboutthe tavern-door, a burthen to his father, and regarded with greatcoldness by all warm householders. 

Something, however, drew honest Slingsby towards the youth. It mightbe the kindness he bore to his father, who is one of theschoolmaster's great cronies; it might be that secret sympathy whichdraws men of vagrant propensities towards each other; for there issomething truly magnetic in the vagabond feeling; or it might be, thathe remembered the time when he himself had come back, like thisyoungster, a wreck, to his native place. At any rate, whatever themotive, Slingsby drew towards the youth. They had many conversationsin the village tap-room about foreign parts and the various scenes andplaces they had witnessed during their wayfaring about the world. Themore Slingsby talked with him, the more he found him to his taste; andfinding him almost as learned as himself, he forthwith engaged him asan assistant, or usher, in the school. Under such admirable tuition, the school, as may be supposed, flourishes apace; and if the scholarsdo not become versed in all the holiday accomplishments of the goodold times, to the Squire's heart's content, it will not be the faultof their teachers. The prodigal son has become almost as popular amongthe boys as the pedagogue himself. His instructions are not limited toschool hours; and having inherited the musical taste and talents ofhis father, he has bitten the whole school with the mania. He is agreat hand at beating a drum, which is often heard rumbling from therear of the school-house. He is teaching half the boys of the village, also, to play the fife, and the pandean pipes; and they weary thewhole neighbourhood with their vague pipings, as they sit perched onstiles, or loitering about the barn-doors in the evenings. Among theother exercises of the school, also, he has introduced the ancient artof archery, one of the Squire's favourite themes, with such success, that the whipsters roam in truant bands about the neighbourhood, practising with their bows and arrows upon the birds of the air, andthe beasts of the field; and not unfrequently making a foray into theSquire's domains, to the great indignation of the gamekeepers. In aword, so completely are the ancient English customs and habitscultivated at this school, that I should not be surprised if theSquire should live to see one of his poetic visions realized, and abrood reared up, worthy successors to Robin Hood and his merry gang ofoutlaws. 

A VILLAGE POLITICIAN. 

 I am a rogue if I do not think I was designed for the helm of state; I am so full of nimble stratagems, that I should have ordered affairs, and carried it against the stream of a faction, with as much ease as a skipper would laver against the wind. 

 --_The Goblins_. 

In one of my visits to the village with Master Simon, he proposed thatwe should stop at the inn, which he wished to show me, as a specimenof a real country inn, the head-quarters of village gossips. I hadremarked it before, in my perambulations about the place. It has adeep, old-fashioned porch, leading into a large hall, which serves fortap-room and travellers'-room; having a wide fire-place, withhigh-backed settles on each side, where the wise men of the villagegossip over their ale, and hold their sessions during the long winterevenings. The landlord is an easy, indolent fellow, shaped a littlelike one of his own beer-barrels, and is apt to stand gossiping at hisdoor, with his wig on one side, and his hands in his pockets, whilsthis wife and daughter attend to customers. His wife, however, is fullycompetent to manage the establishment; and, indeed, from longhabitude, rules over all the frequenters of the tap-room as completelyas if they were her dependants instead of her patrons. Not a veteranale-bibber but pays homage to her, having, no doubt, been often in herarrears. I have already hinted that she is on very good terms withReady-Money Jack. He was a sweetheart of hers in early life, and hasalways countenanced the tavern on her account. Indeed, he is quite the"cock of the walk" at the tap-room. 

As we approached the inn, we heard some one talking with greatvolubility, and distinguished the ominous words, "taxes, " "poor'srates, " and "agricultural distress. " It proved to be a thin, loquacious fellow, who had penned the landlord up in one corner of theporch, with his hands in his pockets as usual, listening with an airof the most vacant acquiescence. 

The sight seemed to have a curious effect on Master Simon, as hesqueezed my arm, and, altering his course, sheered wide of the porch, as though he had not had any idea of entering. This evident evasioninduced me to notice the orator more particularly. He was meagre, butactive in his make, with a long, pale, bilious face; a black beard, soill-shaven as to bloody his shirt-collar, a feverish eye, and a hatsharpened up at the sides, into a most pragmatical shape. He had anewspaper in his hand, and seemed to be commenting on its contents, tothe thorough conviction of mine host. 

At sight of Master Simon, the landlord was evidently a littleflurried, and began to rub his hands, edge away from his corner, andmake several profound publican bows; while the orator took no othernotice of my companion than to talk rather louder than before, andwith, as I thought, something of an air of defiance. Master Simon, however, as I have before said, sheered off from the porch, and passedon, pressing my arm within his, and whispering, as we got by, in atone of awe and horror, "That's a radical! he reads Cobbett!"

I endeavoured to get a more particular account of him from mycompanion, but he seemed unwilling even to talk about him, answeringonly in general terms, that he was "a cursed busy fellow, that had aconfounded trick of talking, and was apt to bother one about thenational debt, and such nonsense;" from which I suspected that MasterSimon had been rendered wary of him by some accidental encounter onthe field of argument; for these radicals are continually roving aboutin quest of wordy warfare, and never so happy as when they can tilt agentleman logician out of his saddle. 

On subsequent inquiry, my suspicions have been confirmed. I find theradical has but recently found his way into the village, where hethreatens to commit fearful devastations with his doctrines. He hasalready made two or three complete converts, or new lights; has shakenthe faith of several others; and has grievously puzzled the brains ofmany of the oldest villagers, who had never thought about politics, orscarce any thing else, during their whole lives. 

He is lean and meagre from the constant restlessness of mind and body;worrying about with newspapers and pamphlets in his pockets, which heis ready to pull out on all occasions. He has shocked several of thestaunchest villagers, by talking lightly of the Squire and his family;and hinting that it would be better the park should be cut into smallfarms and kitchen-gardens, or feed good mutton instead of worthlessdeer. 

He is a great thorn in the side of the Squire, who is sadly afraidthat he will introduce politics into the village, and turn it into anunhappy, thinking community. He is a still greater grievance to MasterSimon, who has hitherto been able to sway the political opinions ofthe place, without much cost of learning or logic; but has been muchpuzzled of late to weed out the doubts and heresies already sown bythis champion of reform. 

Indeed, the latter has taken complete command at the tap-room of thetavern, not so much because he has convinced, as because he hasout-talked all the old-established oracles. The apothecary, with allhis philosophy, was as nought before him. He has convinced andconverted the landlord at least a dozen times; who, however, is liableto be convinced and converted the other way, by the next person withwhom he talks. It is true the radical has a violent antagonist in thelandlady, who is vehemently loyal, and thoroughly devoted to the king, Master Simon, and the Squire. She now and then comes out upon thereformer with all the fierceness of a cat-o'-mountain, and does notspare her own soft-headed husband, for listening to what she termssuch "low-lived politics. " What makes the good woman the more violent, is the perfect coolness with which the radical listens to her attacks, drawing his face up into a provoking supercilious smile; and when shehas talked herself out of breath, quietly asking her for a taste ofher home-brewed. 

The only person that is in any way a match for this redoubtablepolitician, is Ready-Money Jack Tibbets, who maintains his stand inthe tap-room, in defiance of the radical and all his works. Jack isone of the most loyal men in the country, without being able to reasonabout the matter. He has that admirable quality for a tough arguer, also, that he never knows when he is beat. He has half-a-dozen oldmaxims which he advances on all occasions, and though his antagonistmay overturn them never so often, yet he always brings them anew tothe field. He is like the robber in Ariosto, who, though his headmight be cut off half-a-hundred times, yet whipped it on his shouldersagain in a twinkling, and returned as sound a man as ever to thecharge. 

Whatever does not square with Jack's simple and obvious creed, he setsdown for "French politics;" for, notwithstanding the peace, he cannotbe persuaded that the French are not still laying plots to ruin thenation, and to get hold of the Bank of England. The radical attemptedto overwhelm him, one day, by a long passage from a newspaper; butJack neither reads nor believes in newspapers. In reply, he gave himone of the stanzas which he has by heart from his favourite, andindeed only author, old Tusser, and which he calls his Golden Rules:

 Leave princes' affairs undescanted on, And tend to such doings as stand thee upon; Fear God, and offend not the king nor his laws, And keep thyself out of the magistrate's claws. 

When Tibbets had pronounced this with great emphasis, he pulled out awell-filled leathern purse, took out a handful of gold andsilver, --paid his score at the bar with great punctuality, returnedhis money, piece by piece, into his purse, his purse into his pocket, which he buttoned up; and then, giving his cudgel a stout thump uponthe floor, and bidding the radical "good-morning, sir!" with the toneof a man who conceives he has completely done for his antagonist, hewalked with lion-like gravity out of the house. Two or three of Jack'sadmirers who were present, and had been afraid to take the fieldthemselves, looked upon this as a perfect triumph, and winked at eachother when the radical's back was turned. "Ay, ay!" said mine host, assoon as the radical was out of hearing, "let old Jack alone; I'llwarrant he'll give him his own!"

THE ROOKERY. 

 But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles, screaming loud; The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 

 --COWPER. 

In a grove of tall oaks and beeches, that crowns a terrace-walk juston the skirts of the garden, is an ancient rookery, which is one ofthe most important provinces in the Squire's rural domains. The oldgentleman sets great store by his rooks, and will not suffer one ofthem to be killed: in consequence of which, they have increasedamazingly; the tree-tops are loaded with their nests; they haveencroached upon the great avenue, and have even established, in timeslong past, a colony among the elms and pines of the church-yard, which, like other distant colonies, has already thrown off allegianceto the mother country. 

The rooks are looked up by the Squire as a very ancient and honourableline of gentry, highly aristocratical in their notions, fond of place, and attached to church and state; as their building so loftily, keeping about churches and cathedrals, and in the venerable groves ofold castles and manor-houses, sufficiently manifests. The good opinionthus expressed by the Squire put me upon observing more narrowly thesevery respectable birds, for I confess, to my shame, I had been apt toconfound them with their cousins-german the crows, to whom, at thefirst glance, they bear so great a family resemblance. Nothing, itseems, could be more unjust or injurious than such a mistake. Therooks and crows are, among the feathered tribes, what the Spaniardsand Portuguese are among nations, the least loving, in consequence oftheir neighbourhood and similarity. The rooks are old establishedhousekeepers, high-minded gentlefolk, that have had their hereditaryabodes time out of mind; but as to the poor crows, they are a kind ofvagabond, predatory, gipsy race, roving about the country without anysettled home; "their hands are against every body, and every body'sagainst them;" and they are gibbeted in every corn-field. Master Simonassures me that a female rook, that should so far forget herself as toconsort with a crow, would inevitably be disinherited, and indeedwould he totally discarded by all her genteel acquaintance. 

The Squire is very watchful over the interests and concerns of hissable neighbours. As to Master Simon, he even pretends to know many ofthem by sight, and to have given names to them; he points out several, which he says are old heads of families, and compares them to worthyold citizens, beforehand in the world, that wear cocked hats, andsilver buckles in their shoes. Notwithstanding the protectingbenevolence of the Squire, and their being residents in his empire, they seem to acknowledge no allegiance, and to hold no intercourse orintimacy. Their airy tenements are built almost out of the reach ofgun-shot; and, notwithstanding their vicinity to the Hall, theymaintain a most reserved and distrustful shyness of mankind. 

There is one season of the year, however, which brings all birds in amanner to a level, and tames the pride of the loftiest high-flyer--whichis the season of building their nests. This takes place early in thespring, when the forest trees first begin to show their buds; the long, withy ends of the branches to turn green; when the wild strawberry, andother herbage of the sheltered woodlands, put forth their tender andtinted leaves; and the daisy and the primrose peep from under thehedges. At this time there is a general bustle among the featheredtribes; an incessant fluttering about, and a cheerful chirping;indicative, like the germination of the vegetable world, of the revivinglife and fecundity of the year. 

It is then that the rooks forget their usual stateliness and their shyand lofty habits. Instead of keeping up in the high regions of theair, swinging on the breezy tree-tops, and looking down with sovereigncontempt upon the humble crawlers upon earth, they are fain to throwoff for a time the dignity of the gentleman, to come down to theground, and put on the pains-taking and industrious character of alabourer. They now lose their natural shyness, become fearless andfamiliar, and may be seen plying about in all directions, with an airof great assiduity, in search of building materials. Every now andthen your path will be crossed by one of these busy old gentlemen, worrying about with awkward gait, as if troubled with the gout, orwith corns on his toes, casting about many a prying look, turning downfirst one eye, then the other, in earnest consideration, upon everystraw he meets with; until, espying some mighty twig, large enough tomake a rafter for his air-castle, he will seize upon it with avidity, and hurry away with it to the tree-top; fearing, apparently, lest youshould dispute with him the invaluable prize. 

Like other castle-builders, these airy architects seem rather fancifulin the materials with which they build, and to like those most whichcome from a distance. Thus, though there are abundance of dry twigs onthe surrounding trees, yet they never think of making use of them, butgo foraging in distant lands, and come sailing home, one by one, fromthe ends of the earth, each bearing in his bill some precious piece oftimber. 

Nor must I avoid mentioning what, I grieve to say, rather derogatesfrom the grave and honourable character of these ancient gentlefolk;that, during the architectural season, they are subject to greatdissensions among themselves; that they make no scruple to defraud andplunder each other; and that sometimes the rookery is a scene ofhideous brawl and commotion, in consequence of some delinquency of thekind. One of the partners generally remains on the nest, to guard itfrom depredation, and I have seen severe contests, when some slyneighbour has endeavoured to filch away a tempting rafter that hascaptivated his eye. As I am not willing to admit any suspicionhastily, that should throw a stigma on the general character of soworshipful a people, I am inclined to think that these larcenies arevery much discountenanced by the higher classes, and even rigorouslypunished by those in authority; for I have now and then seen a wholegang of rooks fall upon the nest of some individual, pull it all topieces, carry off the spoils, and even buffet the luckless proprietor. I have concluded this to be some signal punishment inflicted upon him, by the officers of the police, for some pilfering misdemeanour; or, perhaps, that it was a crew of bailiffs carrying an execution into hishouse. 

I have been amused with another of their movements during the buildingseason. The steward has suffered a considerable number of sheep tograze on a lawn near the house, somewhat to the annoyance of theSquire, who thinks this an innovation on the dignity of a park, whichought to be devoted to deer only. Be this as it may, there is a greenknoll, not far from the drawing-room window, where the ewes and lambsare accustomed to assemble towards evening, for the benefit of thesetting sun. No sooner were they gathered here, at the time when thesepolitic birds were building, than a stately old rook, who Master Simonassured me was the chief magistrate of this community, would settledown upon the head of one of the ewes, who, seeming conscious of thiscondescension, would desist from grazing, and stand fixed inmotionless reverence of her august burthen; the rest of the rookerywould then come wheeling down, in imitation of their leader, untilevery ewe had two or three of them cawing, and fluttering, andbattling upon her back. Whether they requited the submission of thesheep, by levying a contribution upon their fleece for the benefit ofthe rookery, I am not certain; though I presume they followed theusual custom of protecting powers. 

The latter part of May is the time of great tribulation among therookeries, when the young are just able to leave their nests, andbalance themselves on the neighbouring branches. Now comes on theseason of "rook shooting;" a terrible slaughter of the innocents. TheSquire, of course, prohibits all invasion of the kind on histerritories; but I am told that a lamentable havoc takes place in thecolony about the old church. Upon this devoted commonwealth thevillage charges "with all its chivalry. " Every idle wight that islucky enough to possess an old gun or blunderbuss, together with allthe archery of Slingsby's school, take the field on the occasion. Invain does the little parson interfere, or remonstrate, in angry tonesfrom his study window that looks into the churchyard; there is acontinual popping, from morning till night. Being no great marksmen, their shots are not often effective; but every now and then, a greatshout from the besieging army of bumpkins makes known the downfall ofsome unlucky squab rook, which comes to the ground with the emphasisof a squashed apple-dumpling. 

Nor is the rookery entirely free from other troubles and disasters. Inso aristocratical and lofty-minded a community, which boasts so muchancient blood and hereditary pride, it is natural to suppose thatquestions of etiquette will sometimes arise and affairs of honourensue. In fact, this is very often the case; bitter quarrels break outbetween individuals, which produce sad scufflings on tree-tops, and Ihave more than once seen a regular duel take place between two doughtyheroes of the rookery. Their field of battle is generally the air; andtheir contest is managed in the most scientific and elegant manner;wheeling round and round each other, and towering higher and higher, to get the vantage-ground, until they sometimes disappear in theclouds before the combat is determined. 

They have also fierce combats now and then with an invading hawk, andwill drive him off from their territories by a _posse comitatus_. Theyare also extremely tenacious of their domains, and will suffer noother bird to inhabit the grove or its vicinity. There was a veryancient and respectable old bachelor owl, that had long had hislodgings in a corner of the grove, but has been fairly ejected by therooks; and has retired, disgusted with the world, to a neighbouringwood, where he leads the life of a hermit, and makes nightlycomplaints of his ill-treatment. 

The hootings of this unhappy gentleman may generally be heard in thestill evenings, when the rooks are all at rest; and I have oftenlistened to them of a moonlight night with a kind of mysteriousgratification. This gray-bearded misanthrope, of course, is highlyrespected by the Squire; but the servants have superstitious notionsabout him, and it would be difficult to get the dairy-maid to ventureafter dark near to the wood which he inhabits. 

Beside the private quarrels of the rooks, there are other misfortunesto which they are liable, and which often bring distress into the mostrespectable families of the rookery. Having the true baronial spiritof the good old feudal times, they are apt now and then to issue forthfrom their castles on a foray, and to lay the plebeian fields of theneighbouring country under contribution; in the course of whichchivalrous expeditions, they now and then get a shot from the rustyartillery of some refractory farmer. Occasionally, too, while they arequietly taking the air beyond the park boundaries, they have theincaution to come within the reach of the truant bowman of Slingsby'sschool, and receive a flight shot from some unlucky urchin's arrow. Insuch case, the wounded adventurer will sometimes have just strengthenough to bring himself home, and, giving up the ghost at the rookery, will hang dangling "all abroad" on a bough, like a thief on agibbet--an awful warning to his friends, and an object of greatcommiseration to the Squire. 

But, maugre all these untoward incidents, the rooks have, upon thewhole, a happy holiday life of it. When their young are reared andfairly launched upon their native element, the air, the cares of theold folks seem over, and they resume all their aristocratical dignityand idleness. I have envied them the enjoyment which they appear tohave in their ethereal heights, sporting with clamorous exultationabout their lofty bowers; sometimes hovering over them, sometimespartially alighting upon the topmost branches, and there balancingwith outstretched wings and swinging in the breeze. Sometimes theyseem to take a fashionable drive to the church and amuse themselves bycircling in airy rings about its spire; at other times a mere garrisonis left at home to mount guard in their stronghold at the grove, whilethe rest roam abroad to enjoy the fine weather. About sunset thegarrison gives notice of their return; their faint cawing will beheard from a great distance, and they will be seen far off like asable cloud, and then nearer and nearer, until they all come soaringhome. Then they perform several grand circuits in the air over theHall and garden, wheeling closer and closer until they graduallysettle down, when a prodigious cawing takes place, as though they wererelating their day's adventures. 

I like at such times to walk about these dusky groves, and hear thevarious sounds of these airy people roosted so high above me. As thegloom increases, their conversation subsides, and they seem to begradually dropping asleep; but every now and then there is a querulousnote, as if some one was quarrelling for a pillow, or a little more ofthe blanket. It is late in the evening before they completely sink torepose, and then their old anchorite neighbour, the owl, begins hislonely hooting from his bachelor's-hall in the wood. 

MAY-DAY. 

 It is the choice time of the year, For the violets now appear; Now the rose receives its birth, And pretty primrose decks the earth. Then to the May-pole come away, For it is now a holiday. 

 --_Acteon and Diana_. 

As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of those half dreams, half reveries, which are so pleasant in the country, when the birdsare singing about the window, and the sunbeams peeping through thecurtains, I was roused by the sound of music. On going down-stairs Ifound a number of villagers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearinga pole ornamented with garlands and ribands, and accompanied by thevillage band of music, under the direction of the tailor, the palefellow who plays on the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, "the May, " in their hats, and had brought greenbranches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and windows. They hadcome to give notice that the May-pole was reared on the green, and toinvite the household to witness the sports. The Hall, according tocustom, became a scene of hurry and delighted confusion. The servantswere all agog with May and music; and there was no keeping either thetongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating thesports of the green and the evening dance. 

I repaired to the village at an early hour, to enjoy the merrymaking. The morning was pure and sunny, such as a May morning is alwaysdescribed. The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn wascovered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee hummed about every bank, and the swallow played high in the air about the village steeple. Itwas one of those genial days when we seem to draw in pleasure with thevery air we breathe, and to feel happy we know not why. Whoever hasfelt the worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, onsuch a day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all alivewith long-buried recollections. "For thenne, " says the excellentromance of King Arthur, "lovers call ageyne to their mynde oldgentilnes and old servyse, and many kind dedes that were forgotten byneglygence. "

Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole towering above thecottages with its gay garlands and streamers, and heard the sound ofmusic. I found that there had been booths set up near it, for thereception of company; and a bower of green branches and flowers forthe Queen of May, a fresh, rosy-cheeked girl of the village. 

A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green in their fantasticdresses, jingling with hawks' bells, with a boy dressed up as MaidMarian, and the attendant fool rattling his box to collectcontributions from the bystanders. The gipsy-women too were alreadyplying their mystery in by-corners of the village, reading the handsof the simple country girls, and no doubt promising them all goodhusbands and tribes of children. 

The Squire made his appearance in the course of the morning, attendedby the parson, and was received with loud acclamations. He mingledamong the country people throughout the day, giving and receivingpleasure wherever he went. The amusements of the day were under themanagement of Slingsby, the schoolmaster, who is not merely lord ofmisrule in his school, but master of the revels to the village. He wasbustling about, with the perplexed and anxious air of a man who hasthe oppressive burthen of promoting other people's merriment upon hismind. He had involved himself in a dozen scrapes, in consequence of apolitic intrigue, which, by-the-by, Master Simon and the Oxonian wereat the bottom of, which had for object the election of the Queen ofMay. He had met with violent opposition from a faction ofale-drinkers, who were in favour of a bouncing bar-maid, the daughterof the innkeeper; but he had been too strongly backed not to carry hispoint, though it shows that these rural crowns, like all others, areobjects of great ambition and heart-burning. I am told that MasterSimon takes great interest, though in an Underhand way, in theelection of these May-day Queens, and that the chaplet is generallysecured for some rustic beauty that has found favour in his eyes. 

In the course of the day, there were various games of strength andagility on the green, at which a knot of village veterans presided, asjudges of the lists. Among these I perceived that Ready-Money Jacktook the lead, looking with a learned and critical eye on the meritsof the different candidates; and, though he was very laconic, andsometimes merely expressed himself by a nod, yet it was evident thathis opinions far outweighed those of the most loquacious. 

Young Jack Tibbets was the hero of the day, and carried off most ofthe prizes, though in some of the feats of agility he was rivalled bythe "prodigal son, " who appeared much in his element on this occasion;but his most formidable competitor was the notorious gipsy, theredoubtable "Starlight Tom. " I was rejoiced at having an opportunityof seeing this "minion of the moon" in broad daylight. I found him atall, swarthy, good-looking fellow, with a lofty air, something likewhat I have seen in an Indian chieftain; and with a certain lounging, easy, and almost graceful carriage, which I have often remarked inbeings of the lazzaroni order, that lead an idle loitering life, andhave a gentlemanlike contempt of labour. 

Master Simon and the old general reconnoitred the ground together, andindulged a vast deal of harmless raking among the buxom country girls. Master Simon would give some of them a kiss on meeting with them, andwould ask after their sisters, for he is acquainted with most of thefarmers' families. Sometimes he would whisper, and affect to talkmischievously with them, and, if bantered on the subject, would turnit off with a laugh, though it was evident he liked to be suspected ofbeing a gay Lothario amongst them. 

He had much to say to the farmers about their farms; and seemed toknow all their horses by name. There was an old fellow, with roundruddy face, and a night-cap under his hat, the village wit, who tookseveral occasions to crack a joke with him in the hearing of hiscompanions, to whom he would turn and wink hard when Master Simon hadpassed. 

The harmony of the day, however, had nearly, at one time, beeninterrupted by the appearance of the radical on the ground, with twoor three of his disciples. He soon got engaged in argument in the verythick of the throng, above which I could hear his voice, and now andthen see his meagre hand, half a mile out of the sleeve, elevated inthe air in violent gesticulation, and flourishing a pamphlet by way oftruncheon. He was decrying these idle nonsensical amusements in timeof public distress, when it was every one's business to think of othermatters, and to be miserable. The honest village logicians could makeno stand against him, especially as he was seconded by his proselytes;when, to their great joy, Master Simon and the general came driftingdown into the field of action. I saw that Master Simon was for makingoff, as soon as he found himself in the neighbourhood of thisfire-ship; but the general was too loyal to suffer such talk in hishearing, and thought, no doubt, that a look and a word from agentleman would be sufficient to shut up so shabby an orator. Thelatter, however, was no respecter of persons, but rather seemed toexult in having such important antagonists. He talked with greatervolubility than ever, and soon drowned them in declamation on thesubject of taxes, poor's rates, and the national debt. Master Simonendeavoured to brush along in his usual excursive manner, which hadalways answered amazingly well with the villagers; but the radical wasone of those pestilent fellows that pin a man down to facts; and, indeed, he had two or three pamphlets in his pocket, to support everything he advanced by printed documents. The general, too, foundhimself betrayed into a more serious action than his dignity couldbrook; and looked like a mighty Dutch Indiaman, grievously peppered bya petty privateer. It was in vain that he swelled and looked big, andtalked large, and endeavoured to make up by pomp of manner for povertyof matter; every home-thrust of the radical made him wheeze like abellows, and seemed to let a volume of wind out of him. 

In a word, the two worthies from the Hall were completely dumbfounded, and this too in the presence of several of Master Simon's staunchadmirers, who had always looked up to him as infallible. I do not knowhow he and the general would have managed to draw their forcesdecently from the field, had there not been a match at grinningthrough a horse-collar announced, whereupon the radical retired withgreat expression of contempt, and, as soon as his back was turned, theargument was carried against him all hollow. 

"Did you ever hear such a pack of stuff, general?" said Master Simon;"there's no talking with one of these chaps, when he once gets thatconfounded Cobbett in his head. "

"S'blood, sir!" said the general, wiping his forehead, "such fellowsought all to be transported. "

In the latter part of the day, the ladies from the Hall paid a visitto the green. The fair Julia made her appearance leaning on herlover's arm, and looking extremely pale and interesting. As she is agreat favourite in the village, where she has been known fromchildhood; and as her late accident had been much talked about, thesight of her caused very manifest delight, and some of the old womenof the village blessed her sweet face as she passed. 

While they were walking about, I noticed the schoolmaster in earnestconversation with the young girl that represented the Queen of May, evidently endeavouring to spirit her up to some formidableundertaking. At length, as the party from the Hall approached herbower, she came forth, faltering at every step, until she reached thespot where the fair Julia stood between her lover and Lady Lillycraft. The little Queen then took the chaplet of flowers from her head, andattempted to put it on that of the bride elect; but the confusion ofboth was so great, that the wreath would have fallen to the ground, had not the officer caught it, and, laughing, placed it upon theblushing brows of his mistress. There was something charming in thevery embarrassment of these two young creatures, both so beautiful, yet so different in their kinds of beauty. Master Simon told me, afterwards, that the Queen of May was to have spoken a few verseswhich the schoolmaster had written for her; but that she had neitherwit to understand, nor memory to recollect them. "Besides, " added he, "between you and I, she murders the king's English abominably; so shehas acted the part of a wise woman, in holding her tongue, andtrusting to her pretty face. "

Among the other characters from the Hall was Mrs. Hannah, my LadyLillycraft's gentlewoman; to my surprise, she was escorted by oldChristy, the huntsman, and followed by his ghost of a grayhound; but Ifind they are very old acquaintances, being drawn together by somesympathy of disposition. Mrs. Hannah moved about with starched dignityamong the rustics, who drew back from her with more awe than they didfrom her mistress. Her mouth seemed shut as with a clasp; exceptingthat I now and then heard the word "fellows!" escape from between herlips, as she got accidentally jostled in the crowd. 

But there was one other heart present that did not enter into themerriment of the scene, which was that of the simple Phoebe Wilkins, the housekeeper's niece. The poor girl has continued to pine and whinefor some time past, in consequence of the obstinate coldness of herlover; never was a little flirtation more severely punished. Sheappeared this day on the green, gallanted by a smart servant out oflivery, and had evidently resolved to try the hazardous experiment ofawakening the jealousy of her lover. She was dressed in her very best;affected an air of great gayety; talked loud and girlishly, andlaughed when there was nothing to laugh at. There was, however, anaching, heavy heart in the poor baggage's bosom, in spite of all herlevity. Her eye turned every now and then in quest of her recklesslover, and her cheek grew pale, and her fictitious gayety vanished, onseeing him paying his rustic homage to the little May-day Queen. 

My attention was now diverted by a fresh stir and bustle. Music washeard from a distance; a banner was seen advancing up the road, preceded by a rustic band playing something like a march, and followedby a sturdy throng of country lads, the chivalry of a neighbouring andrival village. 

No sooner had they reached the green, than they challenged the heroesof the day to new trials of strength and activity. Several gymnasticcontests ensued, for the honour of the respective villages. In thecourse of these exercises, young Tibbets and the champion of theadverse party had an obstinate match at wrestling. They tugged, andstrained, and panted, without either getting the mastery, until bothcame to the ground, and rolled upon the green. Just then, thedisconsolate Phoebe came by. She saw her recreant lover in fiercecontest, as she thought, and in danger. In a moment pride, pique, andcoquetry, were forgotten; she rushed into the ring, seized upon therival champion by the hair, and was on the point of wreaking on himher puny vengeance, when a buxom, strapping country lass, thesweetheart of the prostrate swain, pounced upon her like a hawk, andwould have stripped her of her fine plumage in a twinkling, had shealso not been seized in her turn. 

A complete tumult ensued. The chivalry of the two villages becameembroiled. Blows began to be dealt, and sticks to be flourished. Phoebe was carried off from the field in hysterics. 

In vain did the sages of the village interfere. The sententiousapothecary endeavoured to pour the soothing oil of his philosophy uponthis tempestuous sea of passion, but was tumbled into the dust. Slingsby, the pedagogue, who is a great lover of peace, went into themidst of the throng, as marshal of the day, to put an end to thecommotion; but was rent in twain, and came out with his garmenthanging in two strips from his shoulders; upon which the prodigal sondashed in with fury, to revenge the insult which his patron hadsustained. The tumult thickened; I caught glimpses of the jockey-capof old Christy, like the helmet of a chieftain, bobbing about in themidst of the scuffle; whilst Mistress Hannah, separated from herdoughty protector, was squalling and striking at right and left with afaded parasol; being tossed and tousled about by the crowd in suchwise as never happened to maiden gentle woman before. 

At length I beheld old Ready-Money Jack making his way into the verythickest of the throng; tearing it, as it were, apart, and enforcingpeace, _vi et armis_. It was surprising to see the sudden quiet thatensued. The storm settled down at once into tranquillity. The parties, having no real grounds of hostility, were readily pacified, and infact were a little at a loss to know why and how they had got by theears. Slingsby was speedily stitched together again by his friend thetailor, and resumed his usual good-humour. Mrs. Hannah drew on oneside, to plume her rumpled feathers; and old Christy, having repairedhis damages, took her under his arm, and they swept back again to theHall, ten times more bitter against mankind than ever. 

The Tibbets family alone seemed slow in recovering from the agitationof the scene. Young Jack was evidently very much moved by the heroismof the unlucky Phoebe. His mother, who had been summoned to the fieldof action by news of the affray, was in a sad panic, and had need ofall her management to keep him from following his mistress, and comingto a perfect reconciliation. 

What heightened the alarm and perplexity of the good managing damewas, that the matter had aroused the slow apprehension of oldReady-Money himself; who was very much struck by the intrepidinterference of so pretty and delicate a girl, and was sadly puzzledto understand the meaning of the violent agitation in his family. 

When all this came to the ears of the Squire, he was grievouslyscandalized that his May-day fête should have been disgraced by such abrawl. He ordered Phoebe to appear before him; but the girl was sofrightened and distressed, that she came sobbing and trembling, and, at the first question he asked, fell again into hysterics. LadyLillycraft, who had understood that there was an affair of the heartat the bottom of this distress, immediately took the girl into greatfavour and protection, and made her peace with the Squire. 

This was the only thing that disturbed the harmony of the day, if weexcept the discomfiture of Master Simon and the general by theradical. Upon the whole, therefore, the Squire had very fair reason tobe satisfied that he had ridden his hobby throughout the day withoutany other molestation. 

The reader, learned in these matters, will perceive that all this wasbut a faint shadow of the once gay and fanciful rites of May. Thepeasantry have lost the proper feeling for these rites, and have grownalmost as strange to them as the boom of La Mancha were to the customsof chivalry, in the days of the valorous Don Quixote. Indeed, Iconsidered it a proof of the discretion with which the Squire rideshis hobby, that he had not pushed the thing any farther, nor attemptedto revive many obsolete usages of the day, which, in the presentmatter-of-fact times, would appear affected and absurd. I must say, though I do it under the rose, the general brawl in which thisfestival had nearly terminated, has made me doubt whether these ruralcustoms of the good old times were always so very loving and innocentas we are apt to fancy them; and whether the peasantry in those timeswere really so Arcadian, as they have been fondly represented. I beginto fear--

 --"Those days were never; airy dream Sat for the picture, and the poet's hand, Imparting substance to an empty shade, Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. Grant it; I still must envy them an age That favour'd such a dream. "

THE MANUSCRIPT. 

Yesterday was a day of quiet and repose, after the bustle of May-day. During the morning, I joined the ladies in a small sitting-room, thewindows of which came down to the floor, and opened upon a terrace ofthe garden, which was set out with delicate shrubs and flowers. Thesoft sunshine that fell into the room through the branches of treesthat overhung the windows, the sweet smell of the flowers, and thesinging of the birds, seemed to produce a pleasing yet calming effecton the whole party; for some time elapsed without any one speaking. Lady Lillycraft and Miss Templeton were sitting by an elegantwork-table, near one of the windows, occupied with some prettylady-like work. The captain was on a stool at his mistress' feet, looking over some music; and poor Phoebe Wilkins, who has always beena kind of pet among the ladies, but who has risen vastly in favourwith Lady Lillycraft, in consequence of some tender confessions, satin one corner of the room, with swoln eyes, working pensively at someof the fair Julia's wedding ornaments. 

The silence was interrupted by her ladyship, who suddenly proposed atask to the captain. "I am in your debt, " said she, "for that tale youread to us the other day; I will now furnish one in return, if you'llread it: and it is just suited to this sweet May morning, for it isall about love!"

The proposition seemed to delight every one present. The captainsmiled assent. Her ladyship rung for her page, and despatched him toher room for the manuscript. "As the captain, " said she, "gave us anaccount of the author of his story, it is but right I should give oneof mine. It was written by the parson of the parish where I reside. Heis a thin, elderly man, of a delicate constitution, but positively oneof the most charming men that ever lived. He lost his wife a few yearssince; one of the sweetest women you ever saw. He has two sons, whomhe educates himself; both of whom already write delightful poetry. Hisparsonage is a lovely place, close by the church, all overrun with ivyand honeysuckles; with the sweetest flower-garden about it; for, youknow, our country clergymen are almost always fond of flowers, andmake their parsonages perfect pictures. 

"His living is a very good one, and he is very much beloved, and doesa great deal of good in the neighbourhood, and among the poor. Andthen such sermons as he preaches! Oh, if you could only hear one takenfrom a text in Solomon's Song, all about love and matrimony, one ofthe sweetest things you ever heard! He preaches it at least once ayear, in springtime, for he knows I am fond of it. He always dineswith me on Sundays, and often brings me some of the sweetest pieces ofpoetry, all about the pleasures of melancholy, and such subjects, thatmake me cry so, you can't think. I wish he would publish. I think hehas some things as sweet as any thing of Moore or Lord Byron. 

"He fell into very ill health some time ago, and was advised to go tothe continent; and I gave him no peace until he went, and promised totake care of his two boys until he returned. 

"He was gone for above a year, and was quite restored. When he cameback, he sent me the tale I'm going to show you. --Oh, here it is!"said she, as the page put in her hands a beautiful box of satinwood. She unlocked it, and from among several parcels of notes on embossedpaper, cards of charades, and copies of verses, she drew out a crimsonvelvet case, that smelt very much of perfumes. From this she took amanuscript, daintily written on gilt-edged vellum paper, and stitcheda light blue riband. This she handed to the captain, who read thefollowing tale, which I have procured for the entertainment of thereader. 

ANNETTE DELARBRE. 

 The soldier frae the war returns, And the merchant from the main, But I hae parted with my love, And ne'er to meet again, My dear. And ne'er to meet again. When day is gone, and night is come, And a' are boun to sleep, I think on them that's far awa The lee-lang night, and weep, My dear, The lee-lang night, and weep. 

 --_Old Scotch Ballad_. 

In the course of a tour that I once made in Lower Normandy, I remainedfor a day or two at the old town of Honfleur, which stands near themouth of the Seine. It was the time of a fête, and all the world wasthronging in the evening to dance at the fair, held before the chapelof Our Lady of Grace. As I like all kinds of innocent merry-making, Ijoined the throng. 

The chapel is situated at the top of a high hill, or promontory, fromwhence its bell may be heard at a distance by the mariner at night. Itis said to have given the name to the port of Havre-de-Grace, whichlies directly opposite, on the other side of the Seine. The road up tothe chapel went in a zigzag course, along the brow of the steep coast;it was shaded by trees, from between which I had beautiful peeps atthe ancient towers of Honfleur below, the varied scenery of theopposite shore, the white buildings of Havre in the distance, and thewide sea beyond. The road was enlivened by groups of peasant girls, intheir bright crimson dresses and tall caps; and I found all the flowerof the neighbourhood assembled on the green that crowns the summit ofthe hill. 

The chapel of Notre Dame de Grace is a favourite resort of theinhabitants of Honfleur and its vicinity, both for pleasure anddevotion. At this little chapel prayers are put up by the mariners ofthe port previous to their voyages, and by their friends during theirabsence; and votive offerings are hung about its walls, in fulfilmentof vows made during times of shipwreck and disaster. The chapel issurrounded by trees. Over the portal is an image of the Virgin andchild, with an inscription which struck me as being quite poetical:

 "Etoile de la mer, priez pour nous!" (Star of the sea, pray for us. )

On a level spot near the chapel, under a grove of noble trees, thepopulace dance on fine summer evenings; and here are held frequentfairs and fêtes, which assemble all the rustic beauty of the loveliestparts of Lower Normandy. The present was an occasion of the kind. Booths and tents were erected among the trees; there were the usualdisplays of finery to tempt the rural coquette, and of wonderful showsto entice the curious; mountebanks were exerting their eloquence;jugglers and fortune-tellers astonishing the credulous; while wholerows of grotesque saints, in wood and wax-work, were offered for thepurchase of the pious. 

The fête had assembled in one view all the picturesque costumes of thePays d'Auge, and the Coté de Caux. I beheld tall, stately caps, andtrim bodices, according to fashions which have been handed down frommother to daughter for centuries, the exact counterparts of those wornin the time of the Conqueror; and which surprised me by their faithfulresemblance to those which I had seen in the old pictures ofFroissart's Chronicles, and in the paintings of illuminatedmanuscripts. Any one, also, that has been in Lower Normandy, must haveremarked the beauty of the peasantry, and that air of native elegancethat prevails among them. It is to this country, undoubtedly, that theEnglish owe their good looks. It was from hence that the brightcarnation, the fine blue eye, the light auburn hair, passed over toEngland in the train of the Conqueror, and filled the land withbeauty. 

The scene before me was perfectly enchanting: the assemblage of somany fresh and blooming faces; the gay groups in fanciful dresses;some dancing on the green, others strolling about, or seated on thegrass; the fine clumps of trees in the foreground, bordering the browof this airy height, and the broad green sea, sleeping in summertranquillity in the distance. 

Whilst I was regarding this animated picture, I was struck with theappearance of a beautiful girl, who passed through the crowd withoutseeming to take any interest in their amusements. She was slender anddelicate in her form; she had not the bloom upon her cheek that isusual among the peasantry of Normandy, and her blue eyes had asingular and melancholy expression. She was accompanied by avenerable-looking man, whom I presumed to be her father. There was awhisper among the bystanders, and a wistful look after her as shepassed; the young men touched their hats, and some of the childrenfollowed her at a little distance, watching her movements. Sheapproached the edge of the hill, where there is a little platform, from whence the people of Honfleur look out for the approach ofvessels. Here she stood for some time waving her handkerchief, thoughthere was nothing to be seen but two or three fishing-boats, like merespecks on the bosom of the distant ocean. 

These circumstances excited my curiosity, and I made some inquiriesabout her, which were answered with readiness and intelligence by apriest of the neighbouring chapel. Our conversation drew togetherseveral of the by-standers, each of whom had something to communicate, and from them all I gathered the following particulars. 

Annette Delarbre was the only daughter of one of the higher order offarmers, or small proprietors, as they are called, who lived at Pontl'Eveque, a pleasant village not far from Honfleur, in that richpastoral part of Lower Normandy called the Pays d'Auge. Annette wasthe pride and delight of her parents, and was brought up with thefondest indulgence. She was gay, tender, petulant, and susceptible. All her feelings were quick and ardent; and having never experiencedcontradiction or restraint, she was little practised in self-control:nothing but the native goodness of her heart kept her from runningcontinually into error. 

Even while a child, her susceptibility was evinced in an attachmentwhich she formed to a playmate, Eugene La Forgue, the only son of awidow, who lived in the neighbourhood. Their childish love was anepitome of maturer passion; it had its caprices, and jealousies, andquarrels, and reconciliations. It was assuming something of a gravercharacter, as Annette entered her fifteenth and Eugene his nineteenthyear, when he was suddenly carried off to the army by theconscription. 

It was a heavy blow to his widowed mother, for he was her only prideand comfort; but it was one of those sudden bereavements which motherswere perpetually doomed to feel in France, during the time thatcontinual and bloody wars were incessantly draining her youth. It wasa temporary affliction also to Annette, to lose her lover. With tenderembraces, half childish, half womanish, she parted from him. The tearsstreamed from her blue eyes, as she bound a braid of her fair hairround his wrist; but the smiles still broke through; for she was yettoo young to feel how serious a thing is separation, and how manychances there are, when parting in this wide world, against our evermeeting again. 

Weeks, months, years flew by. Annette increased in beauty as sheincreased in years, and was the reigning belle of the neighbourhood. Her time passed innocently and happily. Her father was a man of someconsequence in the rural community, and his house was the resort ofthe gayest of the village. Annette held a kind of rural court; she wasalways surrounded by companions of her own age, among whom she aloneunrivalled. Much of their time was passed in making lace, theprevalent manufacture of the neighbourhood. As they sat at thisdelicate and feminine labour, the merry tale and sprightly song wentround; none laughed with a lighter heart than Annette; and if shesang, her voice was perfect melody. Their evenings were enlivened bythe dance, or by those pleasant social games so prevalent among theFrench; and when she appeared at the village ball on Sunday evenings, she was the theme of universal admiration. 

As she was a rural heiress, she did not want for suitors. Manyadvantageous offers were made her, but she refused them all. Shelaughed at the pretended pangs of her admirers, and triumphed overthem with the caprice of buoyant youth and conscious beauty. With allher apparent levity, however, could any one have read the story of herheart, they might have traced in it some fond remembrance of her earlyplaymate, not so deeply graven as to be painful, but too deep to beeasily obliterated; and they might have noticed, amidst all hergayety, the tenderness that marked her manner towards the mother ofEugene. She would often steal away from her youthful companions andtheir amusements, to pass whole days with the good widow; listening toher fond talk about her boy, and blushing with secret pleasure, whenhis letters were read, at finding herself a constant theme ofrecollection and inquiry. 

At length the sudden return of peace, which sent many a warrior to hisnative cottage, brought back Eugene, a young sun-burnt soldier, to thevillage. I need not say how rapturously his return was greeted by hismother, who saw in him the pride and staff of her old age. He hadrisen in the service by his merits; but brought away little from thewars, excepting a soldier-like air, a gallant name, and a scar acrossthe forehead. He brought back, however, a nature unspoiled by thecamp. He was frank, open, generous, and ardent. His heart was quickand kind in its impulses, and was perhaps a little softer from havingsuffered: it was full of tenderness for Annette. He had receivedfrequent accounts of her from his mother; and the mention of herkindness to his lonely parent, had rendered her doubly dear to him. Hehad been wounded; he had been a prisoner; he had been in varioustroubles, but had always preserved the braid of her hair, which shehad bound round his arm. It had been a kind of talisman to him; he hadmany a time looked upon it as he lay on the hard ground, and thethought that he might one day see Annette again, and the fair fieldsabout his native village, had cheered his heart, and enabled him tobear up against every hardship. 

He had left Annette almost a child--he found her a blooming woman. Ifhe had loved her before, he now adored her. Annette was equally struckwith the improvement which time had made in her lover. She noticed, with secret admiration, his superiority to the other young men of thevillage; the frank, lofty, military air, that distinguished him fromall the rest at their rural gatherings. The more she saw him, the moreher light, playful fondness of former years deepened into ardent andpowerful affection. But Annette was a rural belle. 

She had tasted the sweets of dominion, and had been rendered wilfuland capricious by constant indulgence at home, and admiration abroad. She was conscious of her power over Eugene, and delighted inexercising it. She sometimes treated him with petulant caprice, enjoying the pain which she inflicted by her frowns, from the idea howsoon she would chase it away again by her smiles. She took a pleasurein alarming his fears, by affecting a temporary preference to some oneor other of his rivals; and then would delight in allaying them, by anample measure of returning kindness. Perhaps there was some degree ofvanity gratified by all this; it might be a matter of triumph to showher absolute power over the young soldier, who was the universalobject of female admiration. Eugene, however, was of too serious andardent a nature to be trifled with. He loved too fervently not to befilled with doubt. He saw Annette surrounded by admirers, and full ofanimation; the gayest among the gay at all their rural festivities, and apparently most gay when he was most dejected. Every one sawthrough this caprice, but himself; everyone saw that in reality shedoted on him; but Eugene alone suspected the sincerity of heraffection. For some time he bore this coquetry with secret impatienceand distrust; but his feelings grew sore and irritable, and overcamehis self-command. A slight misunderstanding took place; a quarrelensued. Annette, unaccustomed to be thwarted and contradicted, andfull of the insolence of youthful beauty, assumed an air of disdain. She refused all explanations to her lover, and they parted in anger. 

That very evening Eugene saw her, full of gayety, dancing with one ofhis rivals; and as her eye caught his, fixed on her with unfeigneddistress, it sparkled with more than usual vivacity. It was afinishing blow to his hopes, already so much impaired by secretdistrust. Pride and resentment both struggled in his breast, andseemed to rouse his spirit to all its wonted energy. He retired fromher presence, with the hasty determination never to see her again. 

A woman is more considerate in affairs of love than a man; becauselove is more the study and business of her life. Annette soon repentedof her indiscretion; she felt that she had used her lover unkindly;she felt that she had trifled with his sincere and generousnature--and then he looked so handsome when he parted after theirquarrel--his fine features lighted up by indignation. She had intendedmaking up with him at the evening dance; but his sudden departureprevented her. She now promised herself that when next they met shewould amply repay him by the sweets of a perfect reconciliation, andthat, thenceforward, she would never--never tease him more! Thatpromise was not to be fulfilled. Day after day passed--but Eugene didnot make his appearance. Sunday evening came, the usual time when allthe gayety of the village assembled--butEugene was not there. Sheinquired after him; he had left the village. She now became alarmed, and, forgetting all coyness and affected indifference, called onEugene's mother for an explanation. She found her full of affliction, and learnt with surprise and consternation that Eugene had gone tosea. 

While his feelings were yet smarting with her affected disdain, andhis heart a prey to alternate indignation and despair, he had suddenlyembraced an invitation which had repeatedly been made him by arelation, who was fitting out a ship from the port of Honfleur, andwho wished him to be the companion of his voyage. Absence appeared tohim the only cure for his unlucky passion; and in the temporarytransports of his feelings, there was something gratifying in the ideaof having half the world intervene between them. The hurry necessaryfor his departure left no time for cool reflection; it rendered himdeaf to the remonstrances of his afflicted mother. He hastened toHonfleur just in time to make the needful preparations for the voyage;and the first news that Annette received of this sudden determinationwas a letter delivered by his mother, returning her pledges ofaffection, particularly the long-treasured braid of her hair, andbidding her a last farewell, in terms more full of sorrow andtenderness than upbraiding. 

This was the first stroke of real anguish that Annette had everreceived, and it overcame her. The vivacity of her spirits was apt tohurry her to extremes; she for a time gave way to ungovernabletransports of affliction and remorse, and manifested, in the violenceof her grief, the real ardour of her affection. The thought occurredto her that the ship might not yet have sailed; she seized on the hopewith eagerness, and hastened with her father to Honfleur. The ship hadsailed that very morning. From the heights above the town she saw itlessening to a speck on the broad bosom of the ocean, and beforeevening the white sail had faded from her sight. She turned full ofanguish to the neighbouring chapel of Our Lady of Grace, and throwingherself on the pavement, poured out prayers and tears for the safereturn of her lover. 

When she returned home, the cheerfulness of her spirits was at an end. She looked back with remorse and self-upbraiding at her past caprices;she turned with distaste from the adulation of her admirers, and hadno longer any relish for the amusements of the village. Withhumiliation and diffidence, she sought the widowed mother of Eugene;but was received by her with an overflowing heart; for she only beheldin Annette one who could sympathize in her doting fondness for herson. It seemed some alleviation of her remorse to sit by the motherall day, to study her wants, to beguile her heavy hours, to hang abouther with the caressing endearments of a daughter, and to seek by everymeans, if possible, to supply the place of the son, whom shereproached herself with having driven away. 

In the mean time, the ship made a prosperous voyage to her destinedport. Eugene's mother received a letter from him, in which he lamentedthe precipitancy of his departure. The voyage had given him time forsober reflection. If Annette had been unkind to him, he ought not tohave forgotten what was due to his mother, who was now advanced inyears. He accused himself of selfishness, in only listening to thesuggestions of his own inconsiderate passions. He promised to returnwith the ship, to make his mind up to his disappointment, and to thinkof nothing but making his mother happy--"And when he does return, "said Annette, clasping her hands with transport, "it shall not be myfault if he ever leaves us again. "

The time approached for the ship's return. She was daily expected, when the weather became dreadfully tempestuous. Day after day broughtnews of vessels foundered, or driven on shore, and the coast wasstrewed with wrecks. Intelligence was received of the looked-for shiphaving been seen dismasted in a violent storm, and the greatest fearswere entertained for her safety. 

Annette never left the side of Eugene's mother. She watched everychange of her countenance with painful solicitude, and endeavoured tocheer her with hopes, while her own mind was racked by anxiety. Shetasked her efforts to be gay; but it was a forced and unnaturalgayety: a sigh from the mother would completely check it; and when shecould no longer restrain the rising tears, she would hurry away andpour out her agony in secret. Every anxious look, every anxiousinquiry of the mother, whenever a door opened, or a strange faceappeared, was an arrow to her soul. She considered everydisappointment as a pang of her own infliction, and her heart sickenedunder the careworn expression of the maternal eye. At length thissuspense became insupportable. She left the village and hastened toHonfleur, hoping every hour, every moment, to receive some tidings ofher lover. She paced the pier, and wearied the seamen of the port withher inquiries. She made a daily pilgrimage to the chapel of Our Ladyof Grace; hung votive garlands on the wall, and passed hours eitherkneeling before the altar, or looking out from the brow of the hillupon the angry sea. 

At length word was brought that the long-wished-for vessel was insight. She was seen standing into the mouth of the Seine, shatteredand crippled, bearing marks of having been sadly tempest-tost. Therewas a general joy diffused by her return; and there was not a brightereye, nor a lighter heart, than Annette's, in the little port ofHonfleur. The ship came to anchor in the river, and shortly after aboat put off for the shore. The populace crowded down to thepier-head, to welcome it. Annette stood blushing, and smiling, andtrembling, and weeping; for a thousand painfully-pleasing emotionsagitated her breast at the thoughts of the meeting and reconciliationabout to take place. 

Her heart throbbed to pour itself out, and atone to her gallant loverfor all its errors. At one moment she would place herself in aconspicuous situation, where she might catch his view at once, andsurprise him by her welcome; but the next moment a doubt would comeacross her mind, and she would shrink among the throng, trembling andfaint, and gasping with her emotions. Her agitation increased as theboat drew near, until it became distressing; and it was almost arelief to her when she perceived that her lover was not there. Shepresumed that some accident had detained him on board of the ship; andshe felt that the delay would enable her to gather moreself-possession for the meeting. As the boat neared the shore, manyinquiries were made, and laconic answers returned. 

At length Annette heard some inquiries after her lover. Her heartpalpitated--there was a moment's pause: the reply was brief, butawful. He had been washed from the deck, with two of the crew, in themidst of a stormy night, when it was impossible to render anyassistance. A piercing shriek broke from among the crowd; and Annettehad nearly fallen into the waves. 

The sudden revulsion of feelings after such a transient gleam ofhappiness, was too much for her harassed frame. She was carried homesenseless. Her life was for some time despaired of, and it was monthsbefore she recovered her health; but she never had perfectly recoveredher mind: it still remained unsettled with respect to her lover'sfate. 

"The subject, " continued my informant, "is never mentioned in herhearing; but she sometimes speaks of it herself, and it seems asthough there were some vague train of impressions in her mind, inwhich hope and fear are strangely mingled--some imperfect idea of herlover's shipwreck, and yet some expectation of his return. 

"Her parents have tried every means to cheer her, and to banish thesegloomy images from her thoughts. They assemble round her the youngcompanions in whose society she used to delight; and they will work, and chat, and sing, and laugh, as formerly; but she will sit silentlyamong them, and will sometimes weep in the midst of their gayety; and, if spoken to, will make no reply, but look up with streaming eyes, andsing a dismal little song, which she has learned somewhere, about ashipwreck. It makes every one's heart ache to see her in this way, forshe used to be the happiest creature in the village. 

"She passes the greater part of the time with Eugene's mother; whoseonly consolation is her society, and who dotes on her with a mother'stenderness. She is the only one that has perfect influence overAnnette in every mood. The poor girl seems, as formerly, to make aneffort to be cheerful in her company; but will sometimes gaze upon herwith the most piteous look, and then kiss her gray hairs, and fall onher neck and weep. 

"She is not always melancholy, however; she has occasional intervals, when she will be bright and animated for days together; but there is adegree of wildness attending these fits of gayety, that prevents theiryielding any satisfaction to her friends. At such times she willarrange her room, which is all covered with pictures of ships andlegends of saints; and will wreathe a white chaplet, as if for awedding, and prepare wedding ornaments. She will listen anxiously atthe door, and look frequently out at the window, as if expecting someone's arrival. It is supposed that at such times she is looking forher lover's return; but, as no one touches upon the theme, normentions his name in her presence, the current of her thoughts is merematter of conjecture. Now and then she will make a pilgrimage to thechapel of Notre Dame de Grace; where she will pray for hours at thealtar, and decorate the images with wreaths that she had woven; orwill wave her handkerchief from the terrace, as you have seen, ifthere is any vessel in the distance. "

Upwards of a year, he informed me, had now elapsed without effacingfrom her mind this singular taint of insanity; still her friends hopedit might gradually wear away. They had at one time removed her to adistant part of the country, in hopes that absence from the scenesconnected with her story might have a salutary effect; but, when herperiodical melancholy returned, she became more restless and wretchedthan usual, and, secretly escaping from her friends, set out on foot, without knowing the road, on one of her pilgrimages to the chapel. 

This little story entirely drew my attention from the gay scene of thefête, and fixed it upon the beautiful Annette. While she was yetstanding on the terrace, the vesper-bell was rung from theneighbouring chapel. She listened for a moment, and then drawing asmall rosary from her bosom, walked in that direction. Several of thepeasantry followed her in silence; and I felt too much interested, notto do the same. 

The chapel, as I said before, is in the midst of a grove, on the highpromontory. The inside is hung round with little models of ships, andrude paintings of wrecks and perils at sea, and providentialdeliverances--the votive offerings of captains and crews that havebeen saved. On entering, Annette paused for a moment before a pictureof the virgin, which, I observed, had recently been decorated with awreath of artificial flowers. When she reached the middle of thechapel she knelt down, and those who followed her involuntarily didthe same at a little distance. The evening sun shone softly throughthe checkered grove into one window of the chapel. A perfect stillnessreigned within; and this stillness was the more impressive contrastedwith the distant sound of music and merriment from the fair. I couldnot take my eyes off from the poor suppliant; her lips moved as shetold her beads, but her prayers were breathed in silence. It mighthave been mere fancy excited by the scene, that, as she raised hereyes to heaven, I thought they had an expression truly seraphic. But Iam easily affected by female beauty, and there was something in thismixture of love, devotion, and partial insanity, that wasinexpressibly touching. 

As the poor girl left the chapel, there was a sweet serenity in herlooks; and I was told that she would return home, and in allprobability be calm and cheerful for days, and even weeks; in whichtime it was supposed that hope predominated in her mental malady; andthat, when the dark side of her mind, as her friends call it, wasabout to turn up, it would be known by her neglecting her distaff orher lace, singing plaintive songs, and weeping in silence. 

She passed on from the chapel without noticing the fête, but smilingand speaking to many as she passed. I followed her with my eye as shedescended the winding road towards Honfleur, leaning on her father'sarm. "Heaven, " thought I, "has ever its store of balms for the hurtmind and wounded spirit, and may in time rear up this broken flower tobe once more the pride and joy of the valley. The very delusion inwhich the poor girl walks, may be one of those mists kindly diffusedby Providence over the regions of thought, when they become toofruitful of misery. The veil may gradually be raised which obscuresthe horizon of her mind, as she is enabled steadily and calmly tocontemplate the sorrows at present hidden in mercy from her view. "

On my return from Paris, about a year afterwards, I turned off fromthe beaten route at Rouen, to revisit some of the most striking scenesof Lower Normandy. Having passed through the lovely country of thePays d'Auge, I reached Honfleur on a fine afternoon, intending tocross to Havre the next morning, and embark for England. As I had nobetter way of passing the evening, I strolled up the hill to enjoy thefine prospect from the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace; and while there, I thought of inquiring after the fate of poor Annette Delarbre. Thepriest who had told me her story was officiating at vespers, afterwhich I accosted him, and learnt from him the remaining circumstances. He told me that from the time I had seen her at the chapel, herdisorder took a sudden turn for the worse, and her health rapidlydeclined. Her cheerful intervals became shorter and less frequent, andattended with more incoherency. She grew languid, silent, and moody inher melancholy; her form was wasted, her looks pale and disconsolate, and it was feared she would never recover. She became impatient of allsounds of gayety, and was never so contented as when Eugene's motherwas near her. The good woman watched over her with patient, yearningsolicitude; and in seeking to beguile her sorrows, would half forgether own. Sometimes, as she sat looking upon her pallid face, the tearswould fill her eyes, which, when Annette perceived, she wouldanxiously wipe them away, and tell her not to grieve, for that Eugenewould soon return; and then she would affect a forced gayety, as informer times, and sing a lively air; but a sudden recollection wouldcome over her, and she would burst into tears, hang on the poormother's neck, and entreat her not to curse her for having destroyedher son. 

Just at this time, to the astonishment of every one, news was receivedof Eugene; who, it appeared, was still living. When almost drowned, hehad fortunately seized upon a spar which had been washed from theship's deck. Finding himself nearly exhausted, he had fastened himselfto it, and floated for a day and night, until all sense had left him. On recovering, he had found himself on board a vessel bound to India, but so ill as not to move without assistance. His health had continuedprecarious throughout the voyage; on arriving in India, he hadexperienced many vicissitudes, and had been transferred from ship toship, and hospital to hospital. His constitution had enabled him tostruggle through every hardship; and he was now in a distant port, waiting only for the sailing of a ship to return home. 

Great caution was necessary in imparting these tidings to the mother, and even then she was nearly overcome by the transports of her joy. But how to impart them to Annette, was a matter of still greaterperplexity. Her state of mind had been so morbid; she had been subjectto such violent changes, and the cause of her derangement had been ofsuch an inconsolable and hopeless kind, that her friends had alwaysforborne to tamper with her feelings. They had never even hinted atthe subject of her griefs, nor encouraged the theme when she advertedto it, but had passed it over in silence, hoping that time wouldgradually wear the traces of it from her recollection, or, at least, would render them less painful. They now felt at a loss how toundeceive her even in her misery, lest the sudden recurrence ofhappiness might confirm the estrangement of her reason, or mightoverpower her enfeebled frame. They ventured, however, to probe thosewounds which they formerly did not dare to touch, for they now had thebalm to pour into them. They led the conversation to those topicswhich they had hitherto shunned, and endeavoured to ascertain thecurrent of her thoughts in those varying moods that had formerlyperplexed them. They found, however, that her mind was even moreaffected than they had imagined. All her ideas were confused andwandering. Her bright and cheerful moods, which now grew seldomer thanever, were all the effects of mental delusion. At such times she hadno recollection of her lover's having been in danger, but was onlyanticipating his arrival. "When the winter has passed away, " said she, "and the trees put on their blossoms, and the swallow comes back overthe sea, he will return. " When she was drooping and desponding, it wasin vain to remind her of what she had said in her gayer moments, andto assure her that Eugene would indeed return shortly. She wept on insilence, and appeared insensible to their words. But at times heragitation became violent, when she would upbraid herself with havingdriven Eugene from his mother, and brought sorrow on her gray hairs. Her mind admitted but one leading idea at a time, which nothing coulddivert or efface; or if they ever succeeded in interrupting thecurrent of her fancy, it only became the more incoherent, andincreased the feverishness that preyed upon both mind and body. Herfriends felt more alarm for her than ever, for they feared that hersenses were irrecoverably gone, and her constitution completelyundermined. 

In the mean time, Eugene returned to the village. He was violentlyaffected, when the story of Annette was told him. With bitterness ofheart he upbraided his own rashness and infatuation that had hurriedhim away from her, and accused himself as the author of all her woes. His mother would describe to him all the anguish and remorse of poorAnnette; the tenderness with which she clung to her, and endeavoured, even in the midst of her insanity, to console her for the loss of herson, and the touching expressions of affection that were mingled withher most incoherent wanderings of thought, until his feelings would bewound up to agony, and he would entreat her to desist from therecital. They did not dare as yet to bring him into Annette's sight;but he was permitted to see her when she was sleeping. The tearsstreamed down his sunburnt cheeks, as he contemplated the ravageswhich grief and malady had made; and his heart swelled almost tobreaking, as he beheld round her neck the very braid of hair which sheonce gave him in token of girlish affection, and which he had returnedto her in anger. 

At length the physician that attended her determined to adventure uponan experiment, to take advantage of one of those cheerful moods whenher mind was visited by hope, and to endeavour to engraft, as it were, the reality upon the delusions of her fancy. These moods had nowbecome very rare, for nature was sinking under the continual pressureof her mental malady, and the principle of reaction was daily growingweaker. Every effort was tried to bring on a cheerful interval of thekind. Several of her most favourite companions were kept continuallyabout her; they chatted gayly, they laughed, and sang, and danced; butAnnette reclined with languid frame and hollow eye, and took no partin their gayety. At length the winter was gone; the trees put forththeir leaves; the swallows began to build in the eaves of the house, and the robin and wren piped all day beneath the window. Annette'sspirits gradually revived. She began to deck her person with unusualcare; and bringing forth a basket of artificial flowers, she went towork to wreathe a bridal chaplet of white roses. Her companions askedher why she prepared the chaplet. "What!" said she with a smile, "haveyou not noticed the trees putting on their wedding dresses ofblossoms? Has not the swallow flown back over the sea? Do you not knowthat the time is come for Eugene to return? that he will be hometo-morrow, and that on Sunday we are to be married?"

Her words were repeated to the physician, and he seized on them atonce. He directed that her idea should be encouraged and acted upon. Her words were echoed through the house. Every one talked of thereturn of Eugene, as a matter of course; they congratulated her uponher approaching happiness, and assisted her in her preparations. Thenext morning, the same theme was resumed. She was dressed out toreceive her lover. Every bosom fluttered with anxiety. A cabrioletdrove into the village. "Eugene is coming!" was the cry. She saw himalight at the door, and rushed with a shriek into his arms. 

Her friends trembled for the result of this critical experiment; butshe did not sink under it, for her fancy had prepared her for hisreturn. She was as one in a dream, to whom a tide of unlooked-forprosperity, that would have overwhelmed his waking reason, seems butthe natural current of circumstances. Her conversation, however, showed that her senses were wandering. There was an absoluteforgetfulness of all past sorrow--a wild and feverish gayety, that attimes was incoherent. 

The next morning, she awoke languid and exhausted. All the occurrencesof the preceding day had passed away from her mind, as though they hadbeen the mere illusions of her fancy. She rose melancholy andabstracted, and, as she dressed herself, was heard to sing one of herplaintive ballads. When she entered the parlour, her eyes were swolnwith weeping. She heard Eugene's voice without, and started. Shepassed her hand across her forehead, and stood musing, like oneendeavouring to recall a dream. Eugene entered the room, and advancedtowards her; she looked at him with an eager, searching look, murmuredsome indistinct words, and before he could reach her, sank upon thefloor. 

She relapsed into a wild and unsettled state of mind; but now that thefirst shock was over, the physician ordered that Eugene should keepcontinually in her sight. Sometimes she did not know him; at othertimes she would talk to him as if he were going to sea, and wouldimplore him not to part from her in anger; and when he was notpresent, she would speak of him as if buried in the ocean, and wouldsit, with clasped hands, looking upon the ground, the picture ofdespair. As the agitation of her feelings subsided, and her framerecovered from the shock which it had received, she became more placidand coherent. Eugene kept almost continually near her. He formed thereal object round which her scattered ideas once more gathered, andwhich linked them once more with the realities of life. But herchangeful disorder now appeared to take a new turn. She became languidand inert, and would sit for hours silent, and almost in a state oflethargy. If roused from this stupor, it seemed as if her mind wouldmake some attempts to follow up a train of thought, but would soonbecome confused. She would regard every one that approached her withan anxious and inquiring eye, that seemed continually to disappointitself. Sometimes, as her lover sat holding her hand, she would lookpensively in his face without saying a word, until his heart wasovercome; and after these transient fits of intellectual exertion, shewould sink again into lethargy. 

By degrees, this stupor increased; her mind appeared to have subsidedinto a stagnant and almost death-like calm. For the greater part ofthe time, her eyes were closed; her face almost as fixed andpassionless as that of a corpse. She no longer took any notice ofsurrounding objects. There was an awfulness in this tranquillity, thatfilled her friends with apprehensions. The physician ordered that sheshould be kept perfectly quiet; or that, if she evinced any agitation, she should be gently lulled, like a child, by some favourite tune. 

She remained in this state for hours, hardly seeming to breathe, andapparently sinking into the sleep of death. Her chamber was profoundlystill. The attendants moved about it with noiseless tread; every thingwas communicated by signs and whispers. Her lover sat by her side, watching her with painful anxiety, and fearing that every breath whichstole from her pale lips would be the last. 

At length she heaved a deep sigh; and, from some convulsive motions, appeared to be troubled in her sleep. Her agitation increased, accompanied by an indistinct moaning. One of her companions, remembering the physician's instructions, endeavoured to lull her bysinging, in a low voice, a tender little air, which was a particularfavourite of Annette's. Probably it had some connexion in her mindwith her own story; for every fond girl has some ditty of the kind, linked in her thoughts with sweet and sad remembrances. 

As she sang, the agitation of Annette subsided. A streak of faintcolour came into her cheeks; her eyelids became swoln with risingtears, which trembled there for a moment, and then, stealing forth, coursed down her pallid cheek. When the song was ended, she opened hereyes and looked about her, as one awakening in a strange place. 

"Oh, Eugene! Eugene!" said she, "it seems as if I have had a long anddismal dream; what has happened, and what has been the matter withme?"

The questions were embarrassing; and before they could be answered, the physician, who was in the next room, entered. She took him by thehand, looked up in his face, and made the same inquiry. He endeavouredto put her off with some evasive answer;--"No, no!" cried she, "I knowI have been ill, and I have been dreaming strangely. I thought Eugenehad left us--and that he had gone to sea--and that--and that he wasdrowned!--But he _has_ been to sea!" added she, earnestly, asrecollection kept flashing upon her, "and he has been wrecked--and wewere all so wretched--and he came home again one brightmorning--and--Oh!" said she, pressing her hand against her forehead, with a sickly smile, "I see how it is; all has not been right here: Ibegin to recollect--but it is all past now--Eugene is here! and hismother is happy--and we shall never--never part again--shall we, Eugene?"

She sunk back in her chair, exhausted; the tears streamed down hercheeks. Her companions hovered round her, not knowing what to make ofthis sudden dawn of reason. Her lover sobbed aloud. She opened hereyes again, and looked upon them with an air of the sweetestacknowledgment. "You are all so good to me!" said she, faintly. 

The physician drew the father aside. "Your daughter's mind isrestored, " said he; "she is sensible that she has been deranged; sheis growing conscious of the past, and conscious of the present. Allthat now remains is to keep her calm and quiet until her health isre-established, and then let her be married in God's name!"

"The wedding took place, " continued the good priest, "but a short timesince; they were here at the last fête during their honeymoon, and ahandsomer and happier couple was not to be seen as they danced underyonder trees. The young man, his wife, and mother, now live on a finefarm at Pont l'Eveque; and that model of a ship which you see yonder, with white flowers wreathed round it, is Annette's offering of thanksto Our Lady of Grace, for having listened to her prayers, andprotected her lover in the hour of peril. "

The captain having finished, there was a momentary silence. Thetender-hearted Lady Lillycraft, who knew the story by heart, had ledthe way in weeping, and indeed had often begun to shed tears beforethey had come to the right place. 

The fair Julia was a little flurried at the passage where weddingpreparations were mentioned; but the auditor most affected was thesimple Phoebe Wilkins. She had gradually dropt her work in her lap, and sat sobbing through the latter part of the story, until towardsthe end, when the happy reverse had nearly produced another scene ofhysterics. "Go, take this case to my room again, child, " said LadyLillycraft, kindly, "and don't cry so much. "

"I won't, an't please your ladyship, if I can help it;--but I'm gladthey made all up again, and were married. "

By the way, the case of this lovelorn damsel begins to make some talkin the household, especially among certain little ladies, not far intheir teens, of whom she has made confidants. She is a great favouritewith them all, but particularly so since she has confided to them herlove secrets. They enter into her concerns with all the violent zealand overwhelming sympathy with which little boarding-school ladiesengage in the politics of a love affair. 

I have noticed them frequently clustering about her in privateconferences, or walking up and down the garden terrace under mywindow, listening to some long and dolorous story of her afflictions;of which I could now and then distinguish the ever-recurring phrases, "says he, " and "says she. "

I accidentally interrupted one of these little councils of war, whenthey were all huddled together under a tree, and seemed to beearnestly considering some interesting document. The flutter at myapproach showed that there were some secrets under discussion; and Iobserved the disconsolate Phoebe crumpling into her bosom either alove-letter or an old valentine, and brushing away the tears from hercheeks. 

The girl is a good girl, of a soft melting nature, and shows herconcern at the cruelty of her lover only in tears and drooping looks;but with the little ladies who have espoused her cause, it sparkles upinto fiery indignation: and I have noticed on Sunday many a glancedarted at the pew of the Tibbets's, enough even to melt down thesilver buttons on old Ready Money's jacket. 

TRAVELLING. 

 A citizen, for recreation sake, To see the country would a journey take Some dozen mile, or very little more; Taking his leave with friends two months before, With drinking healths, and shaking by the hand, As he had travail'd to some new-found land. 

 --_Doctor Merrie-Man_, 1609. 

The Squire has lately received another shock in the saddle, and beenalmost unseated by his marplot neighbour, the indefatigable Mr. Faddy, who rides his jog-trot hobby with equal zeal; and is so bent uponimproving and reforming the neighbourhood, that the Squire thinks, ina little while, it will be scarce worth living in. The enormity thathas thus discomposed my worthy host, is an attempt of the manufacturerto have a line of coaches established, that shall diverge from the oldroute, and pass through the neighbouring village. 

I believe I have mentioned that the Hall is situated in a retired partof the country, at a distance from any great coachroad; insomuch thatthe arrival of a traveller is apt to make every one look out of thewindow, and to cause some talk among the ale-drinkers at the littleinn. I was at a loss, therefore, to account for the Squire'sindignation at a measure apparently fraught with convenience andadvantage, until I found that the conveniences of travelling wereamong his greatest grievances. 

In fact, he rails against stage-coaches, post-chaises, andturnpike-roads, as serious causes of the corruption of English ruralmanners. They have given facilities, he says, to every humdrum citizento trundle his family about the kingdom, and have sent the follies andfashions of town, whirling, in coachloads, to the remotest parts ofthe island. The whole country, he says, is traversed by these flyingcargoes; every by-road is explored by enterprising tourists fromCheapside and the Poultry, and every gentleman's park and lawnsinvaded by cockney sketchers of both sexes, with portable chairs andportfolios for drawing. 

He laments over this, as destroying the charm of privacy, andinterrupting the quiet of country life; but more especially asaffecting the simplicity of the peasantry, and filling their headswith half-city notions. A great coach-inn, he says, is enough to ruinthe manners of a whole village. It creates a horde of sots and idlers, makes gapers and gazers and newsmongers of the common people, andknowing jockeys of the country bumpkins. 

The Squire has something of the old feudal feeling. He looks back withregret to the "good old times" when journeys were only made onhorseback, and the extraordinary difficulties of travelling, owing tobad roads, bad accommodations, and highway robbers, seemed to separateeach village and hamlet from the rest of the world. The lord of themanor was then a kind of monarch in the little realm around him. Heheld his court in his paternal hall, and was looked up to with almostas much loyalty and deference as the king himself. Every neighbourhoodwas a little world within itself, having its local manners andcustoms, its local history and local opinions. The inhabitants werefonder of their homes, and thought less of wandering. It was lookedupon as an expedition to travel out of sight of the parish steeple;and a man that had been to London was a village oracle for the rest ofhis life. 

What a difference between the mode of travelling in those days and atpresent! At that time, when a gentleman went on a distant visit, hesallied forth like a knight-errant on an enterprise, and every familyexcursion was a pageant. How splendid and fanciful must one of thosedomestic cavalcades have been, where the beautiful dames were mountedon palfreys magnificently caparisoned, with embroidered harness, alltinkling with silver bells, attended by cavaliers richly attired onprancing steeds, and followed by pages and serving-men, as we see themrepresented in old tapestry! The gentry, as they travelled about inthose days, were like moving pictures. They delighted the eyes andawakened the admiration of the common people, and passed before themlike superior beings; and, indeed, they were so; there was a hardy andhealthful exercise connected with this equestrian style that made themgenerous and noble. 

In his fondness for the old style of travelling, the Squire makes mostof his journeys on horseback, though he laments the modern deficiencyof incident on the road, from the want of fellow-wayfarers, and therapidity with which every one else is whirled along in coaches andpost-chaises. In the "good old times, " on the contrary, a cavalierjogged on through bog and mire, from town to town and hamlet tohamlet, conversing with friars and franklins, and all other chancecompanions of the road; beguiling the way with travellers' tales, which then were truly wonderful, for every thing beyond one'sneighbourhood was full of marvel and romance; stopping at night atsome "hostel, " where the bush over the door proclaimed good wine, or apretty hostess made bad wine palatable; meeting at supper withtravellers, or listening to the song or merry story of the host, whowas generally a boon companion, and presided at his own board; for, according to old Tusser's "Innholder's Posie, "

 "At meales my friend who vitleth here And sitteth with his host, Shall both be sure of better cheere, And 'scape with lesser cost. "

The Squire is fond, too, of stopping at those inns which may be metwith here and there in ancient houses of wood and plaster, orcalimanco houses, as they are called by antiquaries, with deepporches, diamond-paned bow-windows, pannelled rooms, and greatfire-places. He will prefer them to more spacious and modern inns, andwould cheerfully put up with bad cheer and bad accommodations in thegratification of his humour. They give him, he says, the feelings ofold times, insomuch that he almost expects in the dusk of the eveningto see some party of weary travellers ride up to the door with plumesand mantles, trunk-hose, wide boots, and long rapiers. 

The good Squire's remarks brought to mind a visit that I once paid tothe Tabbard Inn, famous for being the place of assemblage from whenceChaucer's pilgrims set forth for Canterbury. It is in the borough ofSouthwark, not far from London Bridge, and bears, at present, the nameof "the Talbot. " It has sadly declined in dignity since the days ofChaucer, being a mere rendezvous and packing-place of the great wagonsthat travel into Kent. The court-yard, which was anciently themustering-place of the pilgrims previous to their departure, was nowlumbered with huge wagons. Crates, boxes, hampers, and baskets, containing the good things of town and country, were piled about them;while, among the straw and litter, the motherly hens scratched andclucked, with their hungry broods at their heels. Instead of Chaucer'smotley and splendid throng, I only saw a group of wagoners andstable-boys enjoying a circulating pot of ale; while a long-bodied dogsat by, with head on one side, ear cocked up, and wistful gaze, as ifwaiting for his turn at the tankard. 

Notwithstanding this grievous declension, however, I was gratified atperceiving that the present occupants were not unconscious of thepoetical renown of their mansion. An inscription over the gatewayproclaimed it to be the inn where Chaucer's pilgrims slept on thenight previous to their departure; and at the bottom of the yard was amagnificent sign representing them in the act of sallying forth. I waspleased, too, at noticing that though the present inn wascomparatively modern, yet the form of the old inn was preserved. Therewere galleries round the yard, as in old times, on which opened thechambers of the guests. To these ancient inns have antiquariesascribed the present forms of our theatres. Plays were originallyacted in inn-yards. The guests lolled over the galleries, whichanswered to our modern dress-circle; the critical mob clustered in theyard, instead of the pit; and the groups gazing from thegarret-windows were no bad representatives of the gods of the shillinggallery. When, therefore, the drama grew important enough to have ahouse of its own, the architects took a hint for its construction fromthe yard of the ancient "hostel. "

I was so well pleased at finding these remembrances of Chaucer and hispoem, that I ordered my dinner in the little parlour of the Talbot. Whilst it was preparing, I sat at the window musing and gazing intothe court-yard, and conjuring up recollections of the scenes depictedin such lovely colours by the poet, until, by degrees, boxes, balesand hampers, boys, wagoners and dogs, faded from sight, and my fancypeopled the place with the motley throng of Canterbury pilgrims. Thegalleries once more swarmed with idle gazers, in the rich dresses ofChaucer's time, and the whole cavalcade seemed to pass before me. There was the stately knight on sober steed, who had ridden inChristendom and heathenesse, and had "foughten for our faith atTramissene;"--and his son, the young squire, a lover, and a lustybachelor, with curled locks and gay embroidery; a bold rider, adancer, and a writer of verses, singing and fluting all day long, and"fresh as the month of May;"--and his "knot-headed" yeoman; a boldforester, in green, with horn, and baudrick, and dagger, a mighty bowin hand, and a sheaf of peacock arrows shining beneath his belt;--andthe coy, smiling, simple nun, with her gray eyes, her small red mouth, and fair forehead, her dainty person clad in featly cloak and"'ypinched wimple, " her choral beads about her arm, her golden broochwith a love motto, and her pretty oath by Saint Eloy;--and themerchant, solemn in speech and high on horse, with forked beard and"Flaundrish bever hat;"--and the lusty monk, "full fat and in goodpoint, " with berry brown palfrey, his hood fastened with gold pin. Wrought with a love-knot, his bald head shining like glass, and hisface glistening as though it had been anointed; and the lean, logical, sententious clerk of Oxenforde, upon his half-starved, scholar-likehorse;--and the bowsing sompnour, with fiery cherub face, all knobbedwith pimples, an eater of garlic and onions, and drinker of "strongwine, red as blood, " that carried a cake for a buckler, and babbledLatin in his cups; of whose brimstone visage "children were soreaferd;"--and the buxom wife of Bath, the widow of five husbands, uponher ambling nag, with her hat broad as a buckler, her red stockingsand sharp spurs;--and the slender, choleric reeve of Norfolk, bestriding his good gray stot; with close-shaven beard, his haircropped round his ears, long, lean, calfless legs, and a rusty bladeby his side;--and the jolly Limitour, with lisping tongue andtwinkling eye, well-beloved franklins and housewives, a great promoterof marriages among young women, known at the taverns in every town, and by every "hosteler and gay tapstere. " In short, before I wasroused from my reverie by the less poetical but more substantialapparition of a smoking beef-steak, I had seen the whole cavalcadeissue forth from the hostel-gate, with the brawny, double-jointed, red-haired miller, playing the bagpipes before them, and the ancienthost of the Tabbard giving them his farewell God-send to Canterbury. 

When I told the Squire of the existence of this legitimate descendantof the ancient Tabbard Inn, his eyes absolutely glistened withdelight. He determined to hunt it up the very first time he visitedLondon, and to eat a dinner there, and drink a cup of mine host's bestwine in memory of old Chaucer. The general, who happened to bepresent, immediately begged to be of the party; for he liked toencourage these long-established houses, as they are apt to havechoice old wines. 

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS. 

 Farewell rewards and fairies, Good housewives now may say; For now fowle sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they; And though they sweepe their hearths no lease Than maids were wont to doo, Yet who of late for cleanlinesse Finds sixpence in her shooe?

 --BISHOP CORBET. 

I have mentioned the Squire's fondness for the marvellous, and hispredilection for legends and romances. His library contains a curiouscollection of old works of this kind, which bear evident marks ofhaving been much read. In his great love for all that is antiquated, he cherishes popular superstitions, and listens, with very graveattention, to every tale, however strange; so that, through hiscountenance, the household, and, indeed, the whole neighbourhood, iswell stocked with wonderful stories; and if ever a doubt is expressedof any one of them, the narrator will generally observe, that "theSquire thinks there's something in it. "

The Hall of course comes in for its share, the common people havingalways a propensity to furnish a great superannuated building of thekind with supernatural inhabitants. The gloomy galleries of such oldfamily mansions; the stately chambers, adorned with grotesque carvingsand faded paintings; the sounds that vaguely echo about them; themoaning of the wind; the cries of rooks and ravens from the trees andchimney-tops; all produce a state of mind favourable to superstitiousfancies. 

In one chamber of the Hall, just opposite a door which opens upon adusky passage, there is a full-length portrait of a warrior in armour;when, on suddenly turning into the passage, I have caught a sight ofthe portrait, thrown into strong relief by the dark pannelling againstwhich it hangs, I have more than once been startled, as though it werea figure advancing towards me. 

To superstitious minds, therefore, predisposed by the strange andmelancholy stories that are connected with family paintings, it needsbut little stretch of fancy, on a moonlight night, or by theflickering light of a candle, to set the old pictures on the walls inmotion, sweeping in their robes and trains about the galleries. 

To tell the truth, the Squire confesses that he used to take apleasure in his younger days in setting marvellous stories afloat, andconnecting them with the lonely and peculiar places of theneighbourhood. Whenever he read any legend of a striking nature, heendeavoured to transplant it, and give it a local habitation among thescenes of his boyhood. Many of these stories took root, and he says heis often amused with the odd shapes in which they will come back tohim in some old woman's narrative, after they have been circulatingfor years among the peasantry, and undergoing rustic additions andamendments. Among these may doubtless be numbered that of thecrusader's ghost, which I have mentioned in the account of myChristmas visit; and another about the hard-riding Squire of yore; thefamily Nimrod; who is sometimes heard in stormy winter nights, galloping, with hound and horn, over a wild moor a few miles distantfrom the Hall. This I apprehend to have had its origin in the famousstory of the wild huntsman, the favourite goblin in German tales;though, by-the-by, as I was talking on the subject with Master Simonthe other evening in the dark avenue, he hinted that he had himselfonce or twice heard odd sounds at night, very like a pack of hounds incry; and that once, as he was returning rather late from a huntingdinner, he had seen a strange figure galloping along this same moor;but as he was riding rather fast at the time, and in a hurry to gethome, he did not stop to ascertain what it was. 

Popular superstitions are fast fading away in England, owing to thegeneral diffusion of knowledge, and the bustling intercourse kept upthroughout the country; still they have their strong-holds andlingering places, and a retired neighbourhood like this is apt to beone of them. The parson tells me that he meets with many traditionalbeliefs and notions among the common people, which he has been able todraw from them in the course of familiar conversation, though they arerather shy of avowing them to strangers, and particularly to "thegentry, " who are apt to laugh at them. He says there are several ofhis old parishioners who remember when the village had its bar-guest, or bar-ghost--a spirit supposed to belong to a town or village, and topredict any impending misfortune by midnight shrieks and wailings. Thelast time it was heard was just before the death of Mr. Bracebridge'sfather, who was much beloved throughout the neighbourhood; thoughthere are not wanting some obstinate unbelievers, who insisted that itwas nothing but the howling of a watch-dog. I have been greatlydelighted, however, at meeting with some traces of my old favourite, Robin Goodfellow, though under a different appellation from any ofthose by which I have heretofore heard him called. The parson assuresme that many of the peasantry believe in household goblins, calledDubbies, which live about particular farms and houses, in the same waythat Robin Goodfellow did of old. Sometimes they haunt the barns andouthouses, and now and then will assist the farmer wonderfully, bygetting in all his hay or corn in a single night. In general, however, they prefer to live within doors, and are fond of keeping about thegreat hearths, and basking, at night, after the family have gone tobed, by the glowing embers. When put in particular good-humour by thewarmth of their lodgings, and the tidiness of the house-maids, theywill overcome their natural laziness, and do a vast deal of householdwork before morning; churning the cream, brewing the beer, or spinningall the good dame's flax. All this is precisely the conduct of RobinGoodfellow, described so charmingly by Milton:

 "Tells how the drudging goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly get, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail had thresh'd the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lays him down the lubber-fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full, out of door he flings Ere the first cock his matin rings. "

But beside these household Dubbies, there are others of a more gloomyand unsocial nature, that keep about lonely barns at a distance fromany dwelling-house, or about ruins and old bridges. These are full ofmischievous and often malignant tricks, and are fond of playing pranksupon benighted travellers. There is a story, among the old people, ofone that haunted a ruined mill, just by a bridge that crosses a smallstream; how that, late one night, as a traveller was passing onhorseback, the Dubbie jumped up behind him, and grasped him so closeround the body that he had no power to help himself, but expected tobe squeezed to death: luckily his heels were loose, with which heplied the sides of his steed, and was carried, with the wonderfulinstinct of a traveller's horse, straight to the village inn. Had theinn been at any greater distance, there is no doubt but he would havebeen strangled to death; as it was, the good people were a long timein bringing him to his senses, and it was remarked that the first signhe showed of returning consciousness was to call for a bottom ofbrandy. 

These mischievous Dubbies bear much resemblance in their natures andhabits to those sprites which Heywood, in his Heirarchie, calls pugsor hobgoblins:

 "------Their dwellings be In corners of old houses least frequented Or beneath stacks of wood, and these convented, Make fearfull noise in butteries and in dairies; Robin Goodfellow some, some call them fairies. In solitarie rooms these uprores keep, And beate at doores, to wake men from their slape, Seeming to force lockes, be they nere so strong, And keeping Christmasse gambols all night long. Pots, glasses, trenchers, dishes, pannes and kettles. They will make dance about the shelves and settles. As if about the kitchen tost and cast, Yet in the morning nothing found misplac't. Others such houses to their use have fitted, In which base murthers have been once committed. Some have their fearful habitations taken In desolate houses, ruin'd and forsaken. "

In the account of our unfortunate hawking expedition, I mentioned aninstance of one of these sprites, supposed to haunt the ruined grangethat stands in a lonely meadow, and has a remarkable echo. The parsoninforms me, also, that the belief was once very prevalent, that ahousehold Dubbie kept about the old farm-house of the Tibbets. It haslong been traditional, he says, that one of these good-natured goblinsis attached to the Tibbets family, and came with, them when they movedinto this part of the country; for it is one of the peculiarities ofthese household sprites, that they attach themselves to the fortunesof certain families, and follow them in all their removals. 

There is a large old-fashioned fire-place in the farm-house, whichaffords fine quarters for a chimney-corner sprite that likes to liewarm; especially as Ready-Money Jack keeps up rousing fires in thewinter-time. The old people of the village recollect many storiesabout this goblin, that were current in their young days. It wasthought to have brought good luck to the house, and to be the reasonwhy the Tibbets were always beforehand in the world, and why theirfarm was always in better order, their hay got in sooner, and theircorn better stacked, than that of their neighbours. The present Mrs. Tibbets, at the time of her courtship, had a number of these storiestold her by the country gossips; and when married, was a littlefearful about living in a house where such a hobgoblin was said tohaunt: Jack, however, who has always treated this story with greatcontempt, assured her that there was no spirit kept about his housethat he could not at any time lay in the Red Sea with one flourish ofhis cudgel. Still his wife has never got completely over her notionson the subject, but has a horseshoe nailed on the threshold, and keepsa branch of rauntry, or mountain ash, with its red berries, suspendedfrom one of the great beams in the parlour--a sure protection from allevil spirits. 

These stories, however, as I before observed, are fast fading away, and in another generation or two will probably be completelyforgotten. There is something, however, about these ruralsuperstitions, that is extremely pleasing to the imagination;particularly those which relate to the good-humoured race of householddemons, and indeed to the whole fairy mythology. The English havegiven an inexplicable charm to these superstitions, by the manner inwhich they have associated them with whatever is most homefelt anddelightful in nature. I do not know a more fascinating race of beingsthan these little fabled people, that haunted the southern sides ofhills and mountains, lurked in flowers and about fountain-heads, glided through key-holes into ancient halls, watched over farm-housesand dairies, danced on the green by summer moonlight, and on thekitchen-hearth in winter. They seem to accord with the nature ofEnglish housekeeping and English scenery. I always have them in mind, when I see a fine old English mansion, with its wide hall and spaciouskitchen; or a venerable farm-house, in which there is so much firesidecomfort and good housewifery. There was something of nationalcharacter in their love of order and cleanliness; in the vigilancewith which they watched over the economy of the kitchen, and thefunctions of the servants; munificently rewarding, with silversixpence in shoe, the tidy housemaid, but venting their direful wrath, in midnight bobs and pinches, upon the sluttish dairymaid. I think Ican trace the good effects of this ancient fairy sway over householdconcerns, in the care that prevails to the present day among Englishhousemaids, to put their kitchens in order before they go to bed. 

I have said, too, that these fairy superstitions seemed to me toaccord with the nature of English scenery. They suit these smalllandscapes, which are divided by honeysuckled hedges into shelteredfields and meadows, where the grass is mingled with daisies, buttercups, and harebells. When I first found myself among Englishscenery, I was continually reminded of the sweet pastoral images whichdistinguish their fairy mythology; and when for the first time acircle in the grass was pointed out to me as one of the rings wherethey were formerly supposed to have held their moonlight revels, itseemed for a moment as if fairy-land were no longer a fable. Brown, inhis Britannia's Pastorals, gives a picture of the kind of scenery towhich I allude:

 "------A pleasant mead Where fairies often did their measures tread; Which in the meadows make such circles green, As if with garlands it had crowned been. Within one of these rounds was to be seen A hillock rise, where oft the fairy queen At twilight sat. "

And there is another picture of the same, in a poem ascribed to BenJonson. 

 "Bywells and rills in meadows green, We nightly dance our heyday guise, And to our fairy king and queen We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. "

Indeed, it seems to me, that the older British poets, with that truefeeling for nature which distinguishes them, have closely adhered tothe simple and familiar imagery which they found in these popularsuperstitions; and have thus given to their fairy mythology thosecontinual allusions to the farm-house and the dairy, the green meadowand the fountain-head, that fill our minds with the delightfulassociations of rural life. It is curious to observe how the mostbeautiful fictions have their origin among the rude and ignorant. There is an indescribable charm about the illusions with whichchimerical ignorance once clothed every subject. These twilight viewsof nature are often more captivating than any which are revealed bythe rays of enlightened philosophy. The most accomplished and poeticalminds, therefore, have been fain to search back into these accidentalconceptions of what are termed barbarous ages, and to draw from themtheir finest imagery and, machinery. If we look through our mostadmired poets, we shall find that their minds have been impregnated bythese popular fancies, and that those have succeeded best who haveadhered closest to the simplicity of their rustic originals. Such isthe case with Shakspeare in his Midsummer-Night's Dream, which sominutely describes the employments and amusements of fairies, andembodies all the notions concerning them which were current among thevulgar. It is thus that poetry in England has echoed back every rusticnote, softened into perfect melody; it is thus that it has spread itscharms over every-day life, displacing nothing, taking things as itfound them, but tinting them up with its own magical hues, until everygreen hill and fountain-head, every fresh meadow, nay, every humbleflower, is full of song and story. 

I am dwelling too long, perhaps, upon a threadbare subject; yet itbrings up with it a thousand delicious recollections of those happydays of childhood, when the imperfect knowledge I have since obtainedhad not yet dawned upon my mind, and when a fairy tale was truehistory to me. I have often been so transported by the pleasure ofthese recollections, as almost to wish that I had been born in thedays when the fictions of poetry were believed. Even now I cannot lookupon those fanciful creations of ignorance and credulity, without alurking regret that they have all passed away. The experience of myearly days tells me, that they were sources of exquisite delight; andI sometimes question whether the naturalist who can dissect theflowers of the field, receives half the pleasure from contemplatingthem, that he did who considered them the abode of elves and fairies. I feel convinced that the true interests and solid happiness of manare promoted by the advancement of truth; yet I cannot but mourn overthe pleasant errors which it has trampled down in its progress. Thefauns and sylphs, the household sprite, the moonlight revel, Oberon, Queen Mab, and the delicious realms of fairy-land, all vanish beforethe light of true philosophy; but who does not sometimes turn withdistaste from the cold realities of morning, and seek to recall thesweet visions of the night?

THE CULPRIT. 

 From fire, from water, and all things amies, Deliver the house of an honest justice. 

 --_The Widow_. 

The serenity of the Hall has been suddenly interrupted by a veryimportant occurrence. In the course of this morning a posse ofvillagers was seen trooping up the avenue, with boys shouting inadvance. As it drew near, we perceived Ready-Money Jack Tibbetsstriding along, wielding his cudgel in one hand, and with the othergrasping the collar of a tall fellow, whom, on still nearer approach, we recognized for the redoubtable gipsy hero, Starlight Tom. He wasnow, however, completely cowed and crestfallen, and his courage seemedto have quailed in the iron gripe of the lion-hearted Jack. 

The whole gang of gipsy women and children came dragging in the rear;some in tears, others making a violent clamour about the ears of oldReady-Money, who, however, trudged on in silence with his prey, heeding their abuse as little as a hawk that has pounced upon abarn-door hero regards the outcries and cacklings of his wholefeathered seraglio. 

He had passed through the village on his way to the Hall, and ofcourse had made a great sensation in that most excitable place, whereevery event is a matter of gaze and gossip. The report flew likewildfire, that Starlight Tom was in custody. The ale-drinkersforthwith abandoned the tap-room; Slingsby's school broke loose, andmaster and boys swelled the tide that came rolling at the heels of oldReady-Money and his captive. 

The uproar increased, as they approached the Hall; it aroused thewhole garrison of dogs, and the crew of hangers-on. The great mastiffbarked from the dog-house; the stag-hound, and the grayhound, and thespaniel, issued barking from the hall-door, and my Lady Lillycraft'slittle dogs ramped and barked from the parlour window. I remarked, however, that the gipsy dogs made no reply to all these menaces andinsults, but crept close to the gang, looking round with a guilty, poaching air, and now and then glancing up a dubious eye to theirowners; which shows that the moral dignity, even of dogs, may beruined by bad company!

When the throng reached the front of the house, they were brought to ahalt by a kind of advanced guard, composed of old Christy, thegamekeeper, and two or three servants of the house, who had beenbrought out by the noise. The common herd of the village fell backwith respect; the boys were driven back by Christy and his compeers;while Ready-Money Jack maintained his ground and his hold of theprisoner, and was surrounded by the tailor, the schoolmaster, andseveral other dignitaries of the village, and by the clamorous broodof gipsies, who were neither to be silenced nor intimidated. 

By this time the whole household were brought to the doors andwindows, and the Squire to the portal. An audience was demanded byReady-Money Jack, who had detected the prisoner in the very act ofsheep-stealing on his domains, and had borne him off to be examinedbefore the Squire, who is in the commission of the peace. 

A kind of tribunal was immediately held in the servants' hall, a largechamber, with a stone floor, and a long table in the centre, at oneend of which, just under an enormous clock, was placed the Squire'schair of justice, while Master Simon took his place at the table asclerk of the court. An attempt had been made by old Christy to keepout the gipsy gang, but in vain, and they, with the village worthies, and the household, half filled the hall. The old housekeeper and thebutler were in a panic at this dangerous irruption. They hurried awayall the valuable things and portable articles that were at hand, andeven kept a dragon watch on the gipsies, lest they should carry offthe house clock, or the deal table. 

Old Christy, and his faithful coadjutor the gamekeeper, acted asconstables to guard the prisoner, triumphing in having at last gotthis terrible offender in their clutches. Indeed, I am inclined tothink the old man bore some peevish recollection of having beenhandled rather roughly by the gipsy, in the chance-medley affair ofMay-day. 

Silence was now commanded by Master Simon; but it was difficult to beenforced, in such a motley assemblage. There was a continual snarlingand yelping of dogs, and, as fast as it was quelled in one corner, itbroke out in another. The poor gipsy curs, who, like errant thieves, could not hold up their heads in an honest house, were worried andinsulted by the gentlemen dogs of the establishment, without offeringto make resistance; the very curs of my Lady Lillycraft bullied themwith impunity. 

The examination was conducted with great mildness and indulgence bythe Squire, partly from the kindness of his nature, and partly, Isuspect, because his heart yearned towards the culprit, who had foundgreat favour in his eyes, as I have already observed, from the skillhe had at various times displayed in archery, morris-dancing, andother obsolete accomplishments. Proofs, however, were too strong. Ready-Money Jack told his story in a straight-forward, independentway, nothing daunted by the presence in which he found himself. He hadsuffered from various depredations on his sheepfold and poultry-yard, and had at length kept watch, and caught the delinquent in the veryact of making off with a sheep on his shoulders. 

Tibbets was repeatedly interrupted, in the course of his testimony, bythe culprit's mother, a furious old beldame, with an insufferabletongue, and who, in fact, was several times kept, with somedifficulty, from flying at him tooth and nail. The wife, too, of theprisoner, whom I am told he does not beat above half-a-dozen times aweek, completely interested Lady Lillycraft in her husband's behalf, by her tears and supplications; and several of the other gipsy womenwere awakening strong sympathy among the young girls and maid-servantsin the back-ground. The pretty, black-eyed gipsy girl whom I havementioned on a former occasion as the sibyl that read the fortunes ofthe general, endeavoured to wheedle that doughty warrior into theirinterests, and even made some approaches to her old acquaintance, Master Simon; but was repelled by the latter with all the dignity ofoffice, having assumed a look of gravity and importance suitable tothe occasion. 

I was a little surprised, at first, to find honest Slingsby, theschoolmaster, rather opposed to his old crony Tibbets, and comingforward as a kind of advocate for the accused. It seems that he hadtaken compassion on the forlorn fortunes of Starlight Tom, and hadbeen trying his eloquence in his favour the whole way from thevillage, but without effect. During the examination of Ready-MoneyJack, Slingsby had stood like "dejected Pity at his side, " seekingevery now and then, by a soft word, to soothe any exacerbation of hisire, or to qualify any harsh expression. He now ventured to make a fewobservations to the Squire, in palliation of the delinquent's offence;but poor Slingsby spoke more from the heart than the head, and wasevidently actuated merely by a general sympathy for every poor devilin trouble, and a liberal toleration for all kinds of vagabondexistence. 

The ladies, too, large and small, with the kind-heartedness of thesex, were zealous on the side of mercy, and interceded strenuouslywith the Squire; insomuch that the prisoner, finding himselfunexpectedly surrounded by active friends, once more reared his crest, and seemed disposed, for a time, to put on the air of injuredinnocence. The Squire, however, with all his benevolence of heart, andhis lurking weakness towards the prisoner, was too conscientious toswerve from the strict path of justice. There was abundant concurringtestimony that made the proof of guilt incontrovertible, and StarlightTom's mittimus was made out accordingly. 

The sympathy of the ladies was now greater than ever; they even madesome attempts to mollify the ire of Ready-Money Jack; but that sturdypotentate had been too much incensed by the repeated incursions thathad been made into his territories by the predatory band of StarlightTom, and he was resolved, he said, to drive the "varment reptiles" outof the neighbourhood. To avoid all further importunities, as soon asthe mittimus was made out, he girded up his loins, and strode back tohis seat of empire, accompanied by his interceding friend, Slingsby, and followed by a detachment of the gipsy gang, who hung on his rear, assailing him with mingled prayers and execrations. 

The question now was, how to dispose of the prisoner--a matter ofgreat moment in this peaceful establishment, where so formidable acharacter as Starlight Tom was like a hawk entrapped in a dove-cote. As the hubbub and examination had occupied a considerable time, it wastoo late in the day to send him to the county prison, and that of thevillage was sadly out of repair, from long want of occupation. OldChristy, who took great interest in the affair, proposed that theculprit should be committed for the night to an upper loft of a kindof tower in one of the outhouses, where he and the gamekeeper wouldmount guard. After much deliberation, this measure was adopted; thepremises in question were examined and made secure, and Christy andhis trusty ally, the one armed with a fowling-piece, the other with anancient blunderbuss, turned out as sentries to keep watch over thisdonjon-keep. 

Such is the momentous affair that has just taken place, and it is anevent of too great moment in this quiet little world, not to turn itcompletely topsy-turvy. Labour is at a stand: the house has been ascene of confusion the whole evening. It has been beleagured by gipsywomen, with their children on their backs, wailing and lamenting;while the old virago of a mother has cruised up and down the lawn infront, shaking her head, and muttering to herself, or now and thenbreaking into a paroxysm of rage, brandishing her fist at the Hall, and denouncing ill-luck upon Ready-Money Jack, and even upon theSquire himself. 

Lady Lillycraft has given repeated audiences to the culprit's weepingwife, at the Hall door; and the servant maids have stolen out, toconfer with the gipsy women under the trees. As to the little ladiesof the family, they are all outrageous on Ready-Money Jack, whom theylook upon in the light of a tyrannical giant of fairy tale. PhoebeWilkins, contrary to her usual nature, is the only one that ispitiless in the affair. She thinks Mr. Tibbets quite in the right; andthinks the gipsies deserve to be punished severely, for meddling withthe sheep of the Tibbets's. 

In the mean time, the females of the family evinced all the providentkindness of the sex, ever ready to soothe and succour the distressed, right or wrong. Lady Lillycraft has had a mattress taken to theouthouse, and comforts and delicacies of all kinds have been taken tothe prisoner; even the little girls have sent their cakes andsweetmeats; so that, I'll warrant, the vagabond has never fared sowell in his life before. Old Christy, it is true, looks upon everything with a wary eye; struts about with his blunderbuss with the airof a veteran campaigner, and will hardly allow himself to be spokento. 

The gipsy women dare not come within gun-shot, and every tatterdemalionof a boy has been frightened from the park. The old fellow isdetermined to lodge Starlight Tom in prison with his own hands; andhopes, he says, to see one of the poaching crew made an example of. 

I doubt, after all, whether the worthy Squire is not the greatestsufferer in the whole affair. His honourable sense of duty obliges himto be rigid, but the overflowing kindness of his nature makes this agrievous trial to him. 

He is not accustomed to have such demands upon his justice, in histruly patriarchal domain; and it wounds his benevolent spirit, thatwhile prosperity and happiness are flowing in thus bounteously uponhim, he should have to inflict misery upon a fellow-being. 

He has been troubled and cast down the whole evening; took leave ofthe family, on going to bed, with a sigh, instead of his usual heartyand affectionate tone; and will, in all probability, have a far moresleepless night than his prisoner. Indeed, this unlucky affair hascast a damp upon the whole household, as there appears to be anuniversal opinion that the unlucky culprit will come to the gallows. 

Morning. --The clouds of last evening are all blown over. A load hasbeen taken from the Squire's heart, and every face is once more insmiles. The gamekeeper made his appearance at an early hour, completely shamefaced and crestfallen. Starlight Tom had made hisescape in the night; how he had got out of the loft, no one couldtell: the Devil, they think, must have assisted him. Old Christy wasso mortified that he would not show his face, but had shut himself upin his stronghold at the dog-kennel, and would not be spoken with. What has particularly relieved the Squire, is, that there is verylittle likelihood of the culprit's being retaken, having gone off onone of the old gentleman's best hunters. 

FAMILY MISFORTUNES. 

 The night has been unruly; where we lay, The chimneys were blown down. 

 --_Macbeth_. 

We have for a day or two past had a flow of unruly weather, which hasintruded itself into this fair and flowery month, and for a time hasquite marred the beauty of the landscape. Last night, the stormattained its crisis; the rain beat in torrents against the casements, and the wind piped and blustered about the old Hall with quite awintry vehemence. The morning, however, dawned clear and serene; theface of the heavens seemed as if newly washed, and the sun shone witha brightness that was undimmed by a single vapour. Nothing over-headgave traces of the recent storm; but on looking from my window, Ibeheld sad ravage among the shrubs and flowers; the garden-walks hadformed the channels for little torrents; trees were lopped of theirbranches; and a small silver stream that wound through the park, andran at the bottom of the lawn, had swelled into a turbid yellow sheetof water. 

In an establishment like this, where the mansion is vast, ancient, andsomewhat afflicted with the infirmities of age, and where there arenumerous and extensive dependencies, a storm is an event of a verygrave nature, and brings in its train a multiplicity of cares anddisasters. 

While the Squire was taking his breakfast in the great hall, he wascontinually interrupted by some bearer of ill-tidings from some partor other of his domains; he appeared to me like the commander of abesieged city, after some grand assault, receiving at his headquartersreports, of damages sustained in the various quarters of the place. Atone time the housekeeper brought him intelligence of a chimney blowndown, and a desperate leak sprung in the roof over the picturegallery, which threatened to obliterate a whole generation of hisancestors. Then the steward came in with a doleful story of themischief done in the woodlands; while the gamekeeper bemoaned the lossof one of his finest bucks, whose bloated carcass was seen floatingalong the swoln current of the river. 

When the Squire issued forth, he was accosted, before the door, by theold, paralytic gardener, with a face full of trouble, reporting, as Isupposed, the devastation of his flower-beds, and the destruction ofhis wall-fruit. I remarked, however, that his intelligence caused apeculiar expression of concern, not only with the Squire and MasterSimon, but with the fair Julia and Lady Lillycraft, who happened to bepresent. From a few words which reached my ear, I found there was sometale of domestic calamity in the case, and that some unfortunatefamily had been rendered houseless by the storm. Many ejaculations ofpity broke from the ladies; I heard the expressions of "poor, helplessbeings, " and "unfortunate little creatures, " several times repeated;to which the old gardener replied by very melancholy shakes of thehead. 

I felt so interested, that I could not help calling to the gardener, as he was retiring, and asking what unfortunate family it was that hadsuffered so severely? The old man touched his hat, and gazed at me foran instant, as if hardly comprehending my question. "Family!" repliedhe, "there be no family in the case, your honour; but here have beensad mischief done in the rookery!"

I had noticed, the day before, that the high and gusty winds whichprevailed had occasioned great disquiet among these airy householders;their nests being all filled with young, who were in danger of beingtilted out of their tree-rocked cradles. Indeed, the old birdsthemselves seemed to have hard work to maintain a foothold; some kepthovering and cawing in the air; or, if they ventured to alight, theyhad to hold fast, flap their wings, and spread their tails, and thusremain see-sawing on the topmost twigs. 

In the course of the night, however, an awful calamity had taken placein this most sage and politic community. There was a great tree, thetallest in the grove, which seemed to have been a kind of court-end ofthe metropolis, and crowded with the residence of those whom MasterSimon considers the nobility and gentry. A decayed limb of this treehad given way with the violence of this storm, and had come down withall its aircastles. 

One should be well aware of the humours of the good Squire and hishousehold, to understand the general concern expressed at thisdisaster. It was quite a public calamity in this rural empire, and allseemed to feel for the poor rooks as for fellow-citizens in distress. 

The ground had been strewed with the callow young, which were nowcherished in the aprons and bosoms of the maid-servants, and thelittle ladies of the family. I was pleased with this touch of nature;this feminine sympathy in the sufferings of the offspring, and thematernal anxiety of the parent birds. 

It was interesting, too, to witness the general agitation and distressthat seemed to prevail throughout the feathered community; the commoncause that was made of it; and the incessant hovering, and fluttering, and lamenting, that took place in the whole rookery. There is a cordof sympathy, that runs through the whole feathered race, as to anymisfortunes of the young; and the cries of a wounded bird in thebreeding season will throw a whole grove in a flutter and an alarm. Indeed, why should I confine it to the feathered tribe? Nature seemsto me to have implanted an exquisite sympathy on this subject, whichextends through all her works. It is an invariable attribute of thefemale heart, to melt at the cry of early helplessness, and to take aninstinctive interest in the distresses of the parent and its young. Onthe present occasion, the ladies of the family were full of pity andcommiseration; and I shall never forget the look that Lady Lillycraftgave the general; on his observing that the young birds would make anexcellent curry, or an especial good rook-pie. 

LOVERS' TROUBLES. 

 The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, Sing all a green willow; Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee Sing willow, willow, willow; Sing all a green willow must be my garland. 

 --_Old Song_. 

The fair Julia having nearly recovered from the effects of her hawkingdisaster, it begins to be thought high time to appoint a day for thewedding. As every domestic event in a venerable and aristocraticfamily connexion like this is a matter of moment, the fixing upon thisimportant day has of course given rise to much conference and debate. 

Some slight difficulties and demurs have lately sprung up, originatingin the peculiar humours that are prevalent at the Hall. Thus, I haveoverheard a very solemn consultation between Lady Lillycraft, theparson, and Master Simon, as to whether the marriage ought not to bepostponed until the coming month. 

With all the charms of the flowery month of May, there is, I find, anancient prejudice against it as a marrying month. An old proverb says, "To wed in May is to wed poverty. " Now, as Lady Lillycraft is verymuch given to believe in lucky and unlucky times and seasons, andindeed is very superstitious on all points relating to the tenderpassion, this old proverb seems to have taken great hold upon hermind. She recollects two or three instances, in her own knowledge, ofmatches that took place in this month, and proved very unfortunate. Indeed, an own cousin of hers, who married on a May-day, lost herhusband by a fall from his horse, after they had lived happilytogether for twenty years. 

The parson appeared to give great weight to her ladyship's objections, and acknowledged the existence of a prejudice of the kind, not merelyconfined to modern times, but prevalent likewise among the ancients. In confirmation of this, he quoted a passage from Ovid, which had agreat effect on Lady Lillycraft, being given in a language which shedid not understand. Even Master Simon was staggered by it; for helistened with a puzzled air; and then, shaking his head, sagaciouslyobserved, that Ovid was certainly a very wise man. 

From this sage conference I likewise gathered several other importantpieces of information, relative to weddings; such as that, if two werecelebrated in the same church, on the same day, the first would behappy, the second unfortunate. If, on going to church, the bridalparty should meet the funeral of a female, it was an omen that thebride would die first; if of a male, the bridegroom. If thenewly-married couple were to dance together on their wedding-day, thewife would thenceforth rule the roast; with many other curious andunquestionable facts of the same nature, all which made me ponder morethan ever upon the perils which surround this happy state, and thethoughtless ignorance of mortals as to the awful risks they run inventuring upon it. I abstain, however, from enlarging upon this topic, having no inclination to promote the increase of bachelors. 

Notwithstanding the due weight which the Squire gives to traditionalsaws and ancient opinions, yet I am happy to find that he makes a firmstand for the credit of this loving month, and brings to his aid awhole legion of poetical authorities; all which, I presume, have beenconclusive with the young couple, as I understand they are perfectlywilling to marry in May, and abide the consequences. In a few days, therefore, the wedding is to take place, and the Hall is in a buzz ofanticipation. The housekeeper is bustling about from morning tillnight, with a look full of business and importance, having a thousandarrangements to make, the Squire intending to keep open house on theoccasion; and as to the house-maids, you cannot look one of them inthe face, but the rogue begins to colour up and simper. 

While, however, this leading love affair is going on with atranquillity quite inconsistent with the rules of romance, I cannotsay that the under-plots are equally propitious. The "opening bud oflove" between the general and Lady Lillycraft seems to haveexperienced some blight in the course of this genial season. I do notthink the general has ever been able to retrieve the ground he lost, when he fell asleep during the captain's story. Indeed, Master Simonthinks his case is completely desperate, her ladyship havingdetermined that he is quite destitute of sentiment. 

The season has been equally unpropitious to the lovelorn PhoebeWilkins. I fear the reader will be impatient at having this humbleamour so often alluded to; but I confess I am apt to take a greatinterest in the love troubles of simple girls of this class. Fewpeople have an idea of the world of care and perplexity that thesepoor damsels have, in managing the affairs of the heart. 

We talk and write about the tender passion; we give it all thecolourings of sentiment and romance, and lay the scene of itsinfluence in high life; but, after all, I doubt whether its sway isnot more absolute among females of an humbler sphere. How often, couldwe but look into the heart, should we find the sentiment throbbing inall its violence in the bosom of the poor lady's-maid, rather than inthat of the brilliant beauty she is decking out for conquest; whosebrain is probably bewildered with beaux, ball-rooms, and wax-lightchandeliers. 

With these humble beings, love is an honest, engrossing concern. Theyhave no ideas of settlements, establishments, equipages, andpin-money. The heart--the heart, is all-in-all with them, poor things!There is seldom one of them but has her love cares, and love secrets;her doubts, and hopes, and fears, equal to those of any heroine ofromance, and ten times as sincere. And then, too, there is her secrethoard of love documents;--the broken sixpence, the gilded brooch, thelock of hair, the unintelligible love scrawl, all treasured up in herbox of Sunday finery, for private contemplation. 

How many crosses and trials is she exposed to from some lynx-eyeddame, or staid old vestal of a mistress, who keeps a dragon watch overher virtue, and scouts the lover from the door! But then, how sweetare the little love scenes, snatched at distant intervals of holiday, and fondly dwelt on through many a long day of household labour andconfinement! If in the country, it is the dance at the fair or wake, the interview in the church-yard after service, or the evening strollin the green lane. If in town, it is perhaps merely a stolen moment ofdelicious talk between the bars of the area, fearful every instant ofbeing seen; and then, how lightly will the simple creature carol allday afterwards at her labour!

Poor baggage! after all her crosses and difficulties, when shemarries, what is it but to exchange a life of comparative ease andcomfort, for one of toil and uncertainty? Perhaps, too, the lover forwhom in the fondness of her nature she has committed herself tofortune's freaks, turns out a worthless churl, the dissolute, hard-hearted husband of low life; who, taking to the ale-house, leavesher to a cheerless home, to labour, penury, and child-bearing. 

When I see poor Phoebe going about with drooping eye, and her headhanging "all o' one side, " I cannot help calling to mind the patheticlittle picture drawn by Desdemona:--

 My mother had a maid, called Barbara; She was in love; and he she loved proved mad, And did forsake her; she had a song of willow, An old thing 'twas; but it express'd her fortune, And she died singing it. 

I hope, however, that a better lot is in reserve for Phoebe Wilkins, and that she may yet "rule the roast, " in the ancient empire of theTibbets! She is not fit to battle with hard hearts or hard times. Shewas, I am told, the pet of her poor mother, who was proud of thebeauty of her child, and brought her up more tenderly than a villagegirl ought to be; and ever since she has been left an orphan, the goodladies at the Hall have completed the softening and spoiling of her. 

I have recently observed her holding long conferences in thechurch-yard, and up and down one of the lanes near the village, withSlingsby, the schoolmaster. I at first thought the pedagogue might betouched with the tender malady so prevalent in these parts of late;but I did him injustice. Honest Slingsby, it seems, was a friend andcrony of her late father, the parish clerk; and is on intimate termswith the Tibbets family. Prompted, therefore, by his good-will towardsall parties, and secretly instigated, perhaps, by the managing dameTibbets, he has undertaken to talk with Phoebe upon the subject. Hegives her, however, but little encouragement. Slingsby has aformidable opinion of the aristocratical feeling of old Ready-Money, and thinks, if Phoebe were even to make the matter up with the son, she would find the father totally hostile to the match. The poordamsel, therefore, is reduced almost to despair; and Slingsby, who istoo good-natured not to sympathize in her distress, has advised her togive up all thoughts of young Jack, and has proposed as a substitutehis learned coadjutor, the prodigal son. He has even, in the fullnessof his heart, offered to give up the school-house to them; though itwould leave him once more adrift in the wide world. 

THE HISTORIAN. 

 _Hermione_. Pray you sit by us, And tell's a tale. 

 _Mamilius_. Merry or sad shall't be?

 _Hermione_. As merry as you will. 

 _Mamilius_. A sad tale's best for winter. I have one of sprites and goblins. 

 _Hermione_. Let's have that, sir. 

 --_Winter's Tale_. 

As this is a story-telling age, I have been tempted occasionally togive the reader one of the many tales that are served up with supperat the Hall. I might, indeed, have furnished a series almost equal innumber to the Arabian Nights; but some were rather hackneyed andtedious; others I did not feel warranted in betraying into print; andmany more were of the old general's relating, and turned principallyupon tiger-hunting, elephant-riding, and Seringapatam; enlivened bythe wonderful deeds of Tippoo Saib, and the excellent jokes of MajorPendergast. 

I had all along maintained a quiet post at a corner of the table, where I had been able to indulge my humour undisturbed: listeningattentively when the story was very good, and dozing a little when itwas rather dull, which I consider the perfection of auditorship. 

I was roused the other evening from a slight trance into which I hadfallen during one of the general's histories, by a sudden call fromthe Squire to furnish some entertainment of the kind in my turn. Having been so profound a listener to others, I could not inconscience refuse; but neither my memory nor invention being ready toanswer so unexpected a demand, I begged leave to read a manuscripttale from the pen of my fellow-countryman, the late Mr. DiedrichKnickerbocker, the historian of New-York. As this ancient chroniclermay not be better known to my readers than he was to the company atthe Hall, a word or two concerning him may not be amiss, beforeproceeding to his manuscript. 

Diedrich Knickerbocker was a native of New-York, a descendant from oneof the ancient Dutch families which originally settled that province, and remained there after it was taken possession of by the English in1664. The descendants of these Dutch families still remain in villagesand neighbourhoods in various parts of the country, retaining withsingular obstinacy, the dresses, manners, and even language of theirancestors, and forming a very distinct and curious feature in themotley population of the State. In a hamlet whose spire may be seenfrom New-York, rising from above the brow of a hill on the oppositeside of the Hudson, many of the old folks, even at the present day, speak English with an accent, and the Dominie preaches in Dutch; andso completely is the hereditary love of quiet and silence maintained, that in one of these drowsy villages, in the middle of a warm summer'sday, the buzzing of a stout bluebottle fly will resound from one endof the place to the other. 

With the laudable hereditary feeling thus kept up among these worthypeople, did Mr. Knickerbocker undertake to write a history of hisnative city, comprising the reign of its three Dutch governors duringthe time that it was yet under the domination of the Hogenmogens ofHolland. In the execution of this design, the little Dutchman hasdisplayed great historical research, and a wonderful consciousness ofthe dignity of his subject. His work, however, has been so littleunderstood, as to be pronounced a mere work of humour, satirizing thefollies of the times, both in politics and morals, and givingwhimsical views of human nature. 

Be this as it may:--among the papers left behind him were severaltales of a lighter nature, apparently thrown together from materialswhich he had gathered during his profound researches for his history, and which he seems to have cast by with neglect, as unworthy ofpublication. Some of these have fallen into my hands, by an accidentwhich it is needless at present to mention; and one of these verystories, with its prelude in the words of Mr. Knickerbocker, Iundertook to read, by way of acquitting myself of the debt which Iowed to the other story-tellers at the Hall. I subjoin it, for such ofmy readers as are fond of stories. [12]

[Footnote 12: I find that the tale of Rip Van Winkle, given in theSketch-Book, has been discovered by divers writers in magazines tohave been founded on a little German tradition, and the matter hasbeen revealed to the world as if it were a foul instance of plagiarismmarvellously brought to light. In a note which follows that tale, Ihad alluded to the superstition on which it was founded, and I thoughta mere allusion was sufficient, as the tradition was so notorious asto be inserted in almost every collection of German legends. I hadseen it myself in three. I could hardly have hoped, therefore, in thepresent age, when every source of ghost and goblin story is ransacked, that the origin of the tale would escape discovery. In fact, I hadconsidered popular traditions of the kind as fair foundations forauthors of fiction to build upon, and made use of the one in questionaccordingly, I am not disposed to contest the matter, however, andindeed consider myself so completely overpaid by the public for mytrivial performances, that I am content to submit to any deduction, which, in their after-thoughts, they may think proper to make. ]

THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

FROM THE MSS. OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER. 

 Formerly, almost every place had a house of this kind. If a house was seated on some melancholy place, or built in some old romantic manner, or if any particular accident had happened in it, such as murder, sudden death, or the like, to be sure that house had a mark set upon it, and was afterwards esteemed the habitation of a ghost. 

 --BOURNE'S _Antiquities_. 

In the neighbourhood of the ancient city of the Manhattoes, therestood, not very many years since, an old mansion, which, when I was aboy, went by the name of the Haunted House. It was one of the very fewremains of the architecture of the early Dutch settlers, and must havebeen a house of some consequence at the time when it was built. Itconsisted of a centre and two wings, the gable-ends of which wereshaped like stairs. It was built partly of wood, and partly of smallDutch bricks, such as the worthy colonists brought with them fromHolland, before they discovered that bricks could be manufacturedelsewhere. The house stood remote from the road, in the centre of alarge field, with an avenue of old locust[13] trees leading up to it, several of which had been shivered by lightning, and two or threeblown down. A few apple-trees grow straggling about the field; therewere traces also of what had been a kitchen-garden; but the fenceswere broken down, the vegetables had disappeared, or had grown wild, and turned to little better than weeds, with here and there a raggedrosebush, or a tall sunflower shooting up from among brambles, andhanging its head sorrowfully, as if contemplating the surroundingdesolation. Part of the roof of the old house had fallen in, thewindows were shattered, the panels of the doors broken, and mendedwith rough boards; and there were two rusty weathercocks at the endsof the house, which made a great jingling and whistling as theywhirled about, but always pointed wrong. The appearance of the wholeplace was forlorn and desolate, at the best of times; but, in unrulyweather, the howling of the wind about the crazy old mansion, thescreeching of the weathercocks, the slamming and banging of a fewloose window-shutters, had altogether so wild and dreary an effect, that the neighbourhood stood perfectly in awe of the place, andpronounced it the rendezvous of hobgoblins. I recollect the oldbuilding well; for I remember how many times, when an idle, unluckyurchin, I have prowled round its precincts, with some of my gracelesscompanions, on holiday afternoons, when out on a freebooting cruiseamong the orchards. There was a tree standing near the house, thatbore the most beautiful and tempting fruit; but then it was onenchanted ground, for the place was so charmed by frightful storiesthat we dreaded to approach it. Sometimes we would venture in a body, and get near the Hesperian tree, keeping an eye upon the old mansion, and darting fearful glances into its shattered window; when, just aswe were about to seize upon our prize, an exclamation from some one ofthe gang, or an accidental noise, would throw us all into a panic, andwe would scamper headlong from the place, nor stop until we had gotquite into the road. Then there were sure to be a host of fearfulanecdotes told of strange cries and groans, or of some hideous facesuddenly seen staring out of one of the windows. By degrees we ceasedto venture into these lonely grounds, but would stand at a distanceand throw stones at the building; and there was something fearfullypleasing in the sound, as they rattled along the roof, or sometimesstruck some jingling fragments of glass out of the windows. 

[Footnote 13: Acacias. ]

The origin of this house was lost in the obscurity that covers theearly period of the province, while under the government of their highmightinesses the states-general. Some reported it to have been acountry residence of Wilhelmus Kieft, commonly called the Testy, oneof the Dutch governors of New-Amsterdam; others said that it had beenbuilt by a naval commander who served under Van Tromp, and who, onbeing disappointed of preferment, retired from the service in disgust, became a philosopher through sheer spite, and brought over all hiswealth to the province, that he might live according to his humour, and despise the world. The reason of its having fallen to decay, waslikewise a matter of dispute; some said that it was in chancery, andhad already cost more than its worth in legal expenses; but the mostcurrent, and, of course, the most probable account, was that it washaunted, and that nobody could live quietly in it. There can, in fact, be very little doubt that this last was the case, there were so manycorroborating stories to prove it, --not an old woman in theneighbourhood but could furnish at least a score. There was agray-headed curmudgeon of a negro that lived hard by, who had a wholebudget of them to tell, many of which had happened to himself. Irecollect many a time stopping with my schoolmates, and getting him torelate some. The old crone lived in a hovel, in the midst of a smallpatch of potatoes and Indian corn, which his master had given him onsetting him free. He would come to us, with his hoe in his hand, andas we sat perched, like a row of swallows, on the rail of the fence, in the mellow twilight of a summer evening, he would tell us suchfearful stories, accompanied by such awful rollings of his white eyes, that we were almost afraid of our own footsteps as we returned homeafterwards in the dark. 

Poor old Pompey! many years are past since he died, and went to keepcompany with the ghosts he was so fond of talking about. He was buriedin a comer of his own little potato-patch; the plough soon passed overhis grave, and levelled it with the rest of the field, and nobodythought any more of the gray-headed negro. By a singular chance, I wasstrolling in that neighbourhood several years afterwards, when I hadgrown up to be a young man, and I found a knot of gossips speculatingon a skull which had just been turned up by a ploughshare. They ofcourse determined it to be the remains of some one that had beenmurdered, and they had raked up with it some of the traditionary talesof the haunted house. I knew it at once to be the relic of poorPompey, but I held my tongue; for I am too considerate of otherpeople's enjoyment, ever to mar a story of a ghost or a murder. I tookcare, however, to see the bones of my old friend once more buried in aplace where they were not likely to be disturbed. As I sat on the turfand watched the interment, I fell into a long conversation with an oldgentleman of the neighbourhood, John Josse Vandermoere, a pleasantgossiping man, whose whole life was spent in hearing and telling thenews of the province. He recollected old Pompey, and his stories aboutthe Haunted House; but he assured me he could give me one still morestrange than any that Pompey had related: and on my expressing a greatcuriosity to hear it, he sat down beside me on the turf, and told thefollowing tale. I have endeavoured to give it as nearly as possible inhis words; but it is now many years since, and I am grown old, and mymemory is not over-good, I cannot therefore vouch for the language, but I am always scrupulous as to facts. 

DOLPH HEYLIGER. 

 "I take the town of Concord, where I dwell, All Kilborn be my witness, if I were not Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness. Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault; Or but a cat will swear upon a book, I have as much as zet a vire her tail, And I'll give him or her a crown for 'mends. "

 --_Tale of a Tub_. 

In the early time of the province of New-York, while it groaned underthe tyranny of the English governor, Lord Cornbury, who carried hiscruelties towards the Dutch inhabitants so far as to allow no Dominie, or schoolmaster, to officiate in their language, without his speciallicense; about this time, there lived in the jolly little old city ofthe Manhattoes, a kind motherly dame, known by the name of DameHeyliger. She was the widow of a Dutch sea-captain, who died suddenlyof a fever, in consequence of working too hard, and eating tooheartily, at the time when all the inhabitants turned out in a panic, to fortify the place against the invasion of a small Frenchprivateer. [14] He left her with very little money, and one infant son, the only survivor of several children. The good woman had need of muchmanagement, to make both ends meet, and keep up a decent appearance. However, as her husband had fallen a victim to his zeal for the publicsafety, it was universally agreed that "something ought to be done forthe widow;" and on the hopes of this "something" she lived tolerablyfor some years; in the meantime, every body pitied and spoke well ofher; and that helped along. 

[Footnote 14: 1705. ]

She lived in a small house, in a small street, called Garden-street, very probably from a garden which may have flourished there some timeor other. As her necessities every year grew greater, and the talk ofthe public about doing "something for her" grew less, she had to castabout for some mode of doing something for herself, by way of helpingout her slender means, and maintaining her independence, of which shewas somewhat tenacious. 

Living in a mercantile town, she had caught something of the spirit, and determined to venture a little in the great lottery of commerce. On a sudden, therefore, to the great surprise of the street, thereappeared at her window a grand array of gingerbread kings and queens, with their arms stuck a-kimbo, after the invariable royal manner. There were also several broken tumblers, some filled with sugar-plums, some with marbles; there were, moreover, cakes of various kinds, andbarley sugar, and Holland dolls, and wooden horses, with here andthere gilt-covered picture-books, and now and then a skein of thread, or a dangling pound of candles. At the door of the house sat the goodold dame's cat, a decent demure-looking personage, that seemed to scanevery body that passed, to criticise their dress, and now and then tostretch her neck, and look out with sudden curiosity, to see what wasgoing on at the other end of the street; but if by chance any idlevagabond dog came by, and offered to be uncivil--hoity-toity!--how shewould bristle up, and growl, and spit, and strike out her paws! shewas as indignant as ever was an ancient and ugly spinster, on theapproach of some graceless profligate. 

But though the good woman had to come down to these humble means ofsubsistence, yet she still kept up a feeling of family pride, havingdescended from the Vanderspiegels, of Amsterdam; and she had thefamily arms painted and framed, and hung over her mantel-piece. Shewas, in truth, much respected by all the poorer people of the place;her house was quite a resort of the old wives of the neighbourhood;they would drop in there of a winter's afternoon, as she sat knittingon one side of her fire-place, her cat purring on the other, and thetea-kettle singing before it; and they would gossip with her untillate in the evening. There was always an arm-chair for Peter deGroodt, sometimes called Long Peter, and sometimes Peter Longlegs, theclerk and sexton of the little Lutheran church, who was her greatcrony, and indeed the oracle of her fire-side. Nay, the Dominiehimself did not disdain, now and then, to step in, converse about thestate of her mind, and take a glass of her special good cherry-brandy. Indeed, he never failed to call on new-year's day, and wish her ahappy new year; and the good dame, who was a little vain on somepoints, always piqued herself on giving him as large a cake as any onein town. 

I have said that she had one son. He was the child of her old age; butcould hardly be called the comfort--for, of all unlucky urchins, DolphHeyliger was the most mischievous. Not that the whipster was reallyvicious; he was only full of fun and frolic, and had that daring, gamesome spirit, which is extolled in a rich man's child, butexecrated in a poor man's. He was continually getting into scrapes:his mother was incessantly harassed with complaints of some waggishpranks which he had played off; bills were sent in for windows that hehad broken; in a word, he had not reached his fourteenth year beforehe was pronounced, by all the neighbourhood, to be a "wicked dog, thewickedest dog in the street!" Nay, one old gentleman, in aclaret-coloured coat, with a thin red face, and ferret eyes, went sofar as to assure Dame Heyliger, that her son would, one day or other, come to the gallows!

Yet, notwithstanding all this, the poor old soul loved her boy. Itseemed as though she loved him the better, the worse he behaved; andthat he grew more in her favour, the more he grew out of favour withthe world. Mothers are foolish, fond-hearted beings; there's noreasoning them out of their dotage; and, indeed, this poor woman'schild was all that was left to love her in this world;--so we must notthink it hard that she turned a deaf ear to her good friends, whosought to prove to her that Dolph would come to a halter. 

To do the varlet justice, too, he was strongly attached to his parent. He would not willingly have given her pain on any account; and when hehad been doing wrong, it was but for him to catch his poor mother'seye fixed wistfully and sorrowfully upon him, to fill his heart withbitterness and contrition. But he was a heedless youngster, and couldnot, for the life of him, resist any new temptation to fun andmischief. Though quick at his learning, whenever he could be broughtto apply himself, yet he was always prone to be led away by idlecompany, and would play truant to hunt after birds'-nests, to roborchards, or to swim in the Hudson. 

In this way he grew up, a tall, lubberly boy; and his mother began tobe greatly perplexed what to do with him, or how to put him in a wayto do for himself; for he had acquired such an unlucky reputation, that no one seemed willing to employ him. 

Many were the consultations that she held with Peter de Groodt, theclerk and sexton, who was her prime counsellor. Peter was as muchperplexed as herself, for he had no great opinion of the boy, andthought he would never come to good. He at one time advised her tosend him to sea--a piece of advice only given in the most desperatecases; but Dame Heyliger would not listen to such an idea; she couldnot think of letting Dolph go out of her sight. She was sitting oneday knitting by her fireside, in great perplexity, when the sextonentered with an air of unusual vivacity and briskness. He had justcome from a funeral. It had been that of a boy of Dolph's years, whohad been apprentice to a famous German doctor, and had died of aconsumption. It is true, there had been a whisper that the deceasedhad been brought to his end by being made the subject of the doctor'sexperiments, on which he was apt to try the effects of a new compound, or a quieting draught. This, however, it is likely, was a merescandal; at any rate, Peter de Groodt did not think it worthmentioning; though, had we time to philosophize, it would be a curiousmatter for speculation, why a doctor's family is apt to be so lean andcadaverous, and a butcher's so jolly and rubicund. 

Peter de Groodt, as I said before, entered the house of Dame Heyliger, with unusual alacrity. He was full of a bright idea that had poppedinto his head at the funeral, and over which he had chuckled as heshovelled the earth into the grave of the doctor's disciple. It hadoccurred to him, that, as the situation of the deceased was vacant atthe doctor's, it would be the very place for Dolph. The boy had parts, and could pound a pestle and run an errand with any boy in thetown-and what more was wanted in a student?

The suggestion of the sage Peter was a vision of glory to the mother. She already saw Dolph, in her mind's eye, with a cane at his nose, aknocker at his door, and an M. D. At the end of his name--one of theestablished dignitaries of the town. 

The matter, once undertaken, was soon effected; the sexton had someinfluence with the doctor, they having had much dealing together inthe way of their separate professions; and the very next morning hecalled and conducted the urchin, clad in his Sunday clothes, toundergo the inspection of Dr. Karl Lodovick Knipperhausen. 

They found the doctor seated in an elbow-chair, in one corner of hisstudy, or laboratory, with a large volume, in German print, beforehim. He was a short, fat man, with a dark, square face, rendered moredark by a black velvet cap. He had a little, knobbed nose, not unlikethe ace of spades, with a pair of spectacles gleaming on each side ofhis dusky countenance, like a couple of bow-windows. 

Dolph felt struck with awe, on entering into the presence of thislearned man; and gazed about him with boyish wonder at the furnitureof this chamber of knowledge, which appeared to him almost as the denof a magician. In the centre stood a claw-footed table, with pestleand mortar, phials and gallipots, and a pair of small, burnishedscales. At one end was a heavy clothes-press, turned into a receptaclefor drugs and compounds; against which hung the doctor's hat andcloak, and gold-headed cane, and on the top grinned a human skull. Along the mantelpiece were glass vessels, in which were snakes andlizards, and a human foetus preserved in spirits. A closet, the doorsof which were taken off, contained three whole shelves of books, andsome, too, of mighty folio dimensions--a collection, the like of whichDolph had never before beheld. As, however, the library did not takeup the whole of the closet, the doctor's thrifty housekeeper hadoccupied the rest with pots of pickles and preserves; and had hungabout the room, among awful implements of the healing art, strings ofred pepper and corpulent cucumbers, carefully preserved for seed. 

Peter de Groodt, and his protégé, were received with great gravity andstateliness by the doctor, who was a very wise, dignified little man, and never smiled. He surveyed Dolph from head to foot, above, andunder, and through his spectacles; and the poor lad's heart quailed asthese great glasses glared on him like two full moons. The doctorheard all that Peter de Groodt had to say in favour of the youthfulcandidate; and then, wetting his thumb with the end of his tongue, hebegan deliberately to turn over page after page of the great blackvolume before him. At length, after many hums and haws, and strokingsof the chin, and all that hesitation and deliberation with which awise man proceeds to do what he intended to do from the very first, the doctor agreed to take the lad as a disciple; to give him bed, board, and clothing, and to instruct him in the healing art; in returnfor which, he was to have his services until his twenty-first year. 

Behold, then, our hero, all at once transformed from an unluckyurchin, running wild about the streets, to a student of medicine, diligently pounding a pestle, under the auspices of the learned DoctorKarl Lodovick Knipperhausen. It was a happy transition for his fondold mother. She was delighted with the idea of her boy's being broughtup worthy of his ancestors; and anticipated the day when he would beable to hold up his head with the lawyer, that lived in the largehouse opposite; or, peradventure, with the Dominie himself. 

Doctor Knipperhausen was a native of the Palatinate of Germany; fromwhence, in company with many of his countrymen, he had taken refugein England, on account of religious persecution. He was one of nearlythree thousand Palatines, who came over from England in 1710, underthe protection of Governor Hunter. Where the doctor had studied, howhe had acquired his medical knowledge, and where he had received hisdiploma, it is hard at present to say, for nobody knew at the time;yet it is certain that his profound skill and abstruse knowledge werethe talk and wonder of the common people, far and near. 

His practice was totally different from that of any other physician;consisting in mysterious compounds, known only to himself, in thepreparing and administering of which, it was said, he always consultedthe stars. So high an opinion was entertained of his skill, particularly by the German and Dutch inhabitants, that they alwaysresorted to him in desperate cases. He was one of those infallibledoctors, that are always effecting sudden and surprising cures, whenthe patient has been given up by all the regular physicians; unless, as is shrewdly observed, the case has been left too long before it wasput into their hands. The doctor's library was the talk and marvel ofthe neighbourhood, I might almost say of the entire burgh. The goodpeople looked with reverence at a man that had read three wholeshelves full of books, and some of them, too, as large as a familyBible. There were many disputes among the members of the littleLutheran church, as to which was the wiser man, the doctor or theDominie. Some of his admirers even went so far as to say, that he knewmore than the governor himself-in a word, it was thought that therewas no end to his knowledge!

No sooner was Dolph received into the doctor's family, than he was putin possession of the lodging of his predecessor. It was a garret-roomof a steep-roofed Dutch house, where the rain patted on the shingles, and the lightning gleamed, and the wind piped through the crannies instormy weather; and where whole troops of hungry rats, like DonCossacks, galloped about in defiance of traps and ratsbane. 

He was soon up to his ears in medical studies, being employed, morning, noon, and night, in rolling pills, filtering tinctures, orpounding the pestle and mortar, in one corner of the laboratory; whilethe doctor would take his seat in another corner, when he had nothingelse to do, or expected visitors, and, arrayed in his morning-gown andvelvet cap, would pore over the contents of some folio volume. It istrue, that the regular thumping of Dolph's pestle, or, perhaps, thedrowsy buzzing of the summer flies, would now and then lull the littleman into a slumber; but then his spectacles were always wide awake, and studiously regarding the book. 

There was another personage in the house, however, to whom Dolph wasobliged to pay allegiance. Though a bachelor, and a man of such greatdignity and importance, yet the doctor was, like many other wise men, subject to petticoat government. He was completely under the sway ofhis housekeeper; a spare, busy, fretting housewife, in a little, round, quilted, German cap, with a huge bunch of keys jingling at thegirdle of an exceedingly long waist. Frau Ilsé (or Frow Ilsy, as itwas pronounced) had accompanied him in his various migrations fromGermany to England, and from England to the province; managing hisestablishment and himself too: ruling him, it is true, with a gentlehand, but carrying a high hand with all the world beside. How she hadacquired such ascendency, I do not pretend to say. People, it is true, did talk--but have not people been prone to talk ever since the worldbegan? Who can tell how women generally contrive to get the upperhand? A husband, it is true, may now and then be master in his ownhouse; but who ever knew a bachelor that was not managed by hishousekeeper?

Indeed, Frau Ilsy's power was not confined to the doctor's household. She was one of those prying gossips that know every one's businessbetter than they do themselves; and whose all-seeing eyes, andall-telling tongues, are terrors throughout a neighbourhood. 

Nothing of any moment transpired in the world of scandal of thislittle burgh, but it was known to Frau Ilsy. She had her crew ofcronies, that were perpetually hurrying to her little parlour, withsome precious bit of news; nay, she would sometimes discuss a wholevolume of secret history, as she held the street-door ajar, andgossiped with one of these garrulous cronies in the very teeth of aDecember blast. 

Between the doctor and the housekeeper, it may easily be supposed thatDolph had a busy life of it. As Frau Ilsy kept the keys, and literallyruled the roast, it was starvation to offend her, though he found thestudy of her temper more perplexing even than that of medicine. Whennot busy in the laboratory, she kept him running hither and thither onher errands; and on Sundays he was obliged to accompany her to andfrom church, and carry her Bible. Many a time has the poor varletstood shivering and blowing his fingers, or holding his frost-bittennose, in the church-yard, while Ilsy and her cronies were huddledtogether, wagging their heads, and tearing some unlucky character topieces. 

With all his advantages, however, Dolph made very slow progress in hisart. This was no fault of the doctor's, certainly, for he tookunwearied pains with the lad, keeping him close to the pestle andmortar, or on the trot about town with phials and pill-boxes; and ifhe ever flagged in his industry, which he was rather apt to do, thedoctor would fly into a passion, and ask him if he ever expected tolearn his profession, unless he applied himself closer to the study. The fact is, he still retained the fondness for sport and mischiefthat had marked his childhood; the habit, indeed, had strengthenedwith his years, and gained force from being thwarted and constrained. He daily grew more and more untractable, and lost favour in the eyesboth of the doctor and the housekeeper. 

In the meantime the doctor went on, waxing wealthy and renowned. Hewas famous for his skill in managing cases not laid down in the books. He had cured several old women and young girls of witchcraft; aterrible complaint, nearly as prevalent in the province in those daysas hydrophobia is at present. He had even restored one strappingcountry girl to perfect health, who had gone so far as to vomitcrooked pins and needles; which is considered a desperate stage of themalady. It was whispered, also, that he was possessed of the art ofpreparing love-powders; and many applications had he in consequencefrom love-sick patients of both sexes. But all these cases formed themysterious part of his practice, in which, according to the cantphrase, "secrecy and honour might be depended on. " Dolph, therefore, was obliged to turn out of the study whenever such consultationsoccurred, though it is said he learnt more of the secrets of the artat the key-hole, than by all the rest of his studies put together. 

As the doctor increased in wealth, he began to extend his possessions, and to look forward, like other great men, to the time when he shouldretire to the repose of a country-seat. For this purpose he hadpurchased a farm, or, as the Dutch settlers called it, a _bowerie_, afew miles from town. It had been the residence of a wealthy family, that had returned some time since to Holland. A large mansion-housestood in the centre of it, very much out of repair, and which, inconsequence of certain reports, had received the appellation of theHaunted House. Either from these reports, or from its actualdreariness, the doctor had found it impossible to get a tenant; and, that the place might not fall to ruin before he could reside in ithimself, he had placed a country boor, with his family, in one wing, with the privilege of cultivating the farm on shares. 

The doctor now felt all the dignity of a landholder rising within him. He had a little of the German pride of territory in his composition, and almost looked upon himself as owner of a principality. He began tocomplain of the fatigue of business; and was fond of riding out "tolook at his estate. " His little expeditions to his lands were attendedwith a bustle and parade that created a sensation throughout theneighbourhood. His wall-eyed horse stood, stamping and whisking offthe flies, for a full hour before the house. Then the doctor'ssaddle-bags would be brought out and adjusted; then, after a littlewhile, his cloak would be rolled up and strapped to the saddle; thenhis umbrella would be buckled to the cloak; while, in the meantime, agroup of ragged boys, that observant class of beings, would gatherbefore the door. At length, the doctor would issue forth, in a pair ofjack-boots that reached above his knees, and a cocked hat flapped downin front. As he was a short, fat man, he took some time to mount intothe saddle; and when there, he took some time to have the saddle andstirrups properly adjusted, enjoying the wonder and admiration of theurchin crowd. Even after he had set off, he would pause in the middleof the street, or trot back two or three times to give some partingorders; which were answered by the housekeeper from the door, or Dolphfrom the study, or the black cook from the cellar, or the chambermaidfrom the garret-window; and there were generally some last wordsbawled after him, just as he was turning the corner. 

The whole neighbourhood would be aroused by this pomp andcircumstance. The cobbler would leave his last; the barber wouldthrust out his frizzed head, with a comb sticking in it; a knot wouldcollect at the grocer's door; and the word would be buzzed from oneend of the street to the other, "The doctor's riding out to hiscountry-seat. "

These were golden moments for Dolph. No sooner was the doctor out ofsight, than pestle and mortar were abandoned; the laboratory was leftto take care of itself, and the student was off on some madcap frolic. 

Indeed, it must be confessed, the youngster, as he grew up, seemed ina fair way to fulfil the prediction of the old claret-colouredgentleman. He was the ringleader of all holiday sports, and midnightgambols; ready for all kinds of mischievous pranks, and harebrainedadventures. 

There is nothing so troublesome as a hero on a small scale, or, rather, a hero in a small town. Dolph soon became the abhorrence ofall drowsy, housekeeping old citizens, who hated noise, and had norelish for waggery. The good dames, too, considered him as littlebetter than a reprobate, gathered their daughters under their wingswhenever he approached, and pointed him out as a warning to theirsons. No one seemed to hold him in much regard, excepting the wildstriplings of the place, who were captivated by his open-hearted, daring manners, and the negroes, who always look upon every idle, do-nothing youngster as a kind of gentleman. Even the good Peter deGroodt, who had considered himself a kind of patron of the lad, beganto despair of him; and would shake his head dubiously, as he listenedto a long complaint from the housekeeper, and sipped a glass of herraspberry brandy. 

Still his mother was not to be wearied out of her affection, by allthe waywardness of her boy; nor disheartened by the stories of hismisdeeds, with which her good friends were continually regaling her. She had, it is true, very little of the pleasure which rich peopleenjoy, in always hearing their children praised; but she consideredall this ill-will as a kind of persecution which he suffered, and sheliked him the better on that account. She saw him growing up, a fine, tall, good-looking youngster, and she looked at him with the secretpride of a mother's heart. It was her great desire that Dolph shouldappear like a gentleman, and all the money she could save went towardshelping out his pocket and his wardrobe. She would look out of thewindow after him, as he sallied forth in his best array, and her heartwould yearn with delight; and once, when Peter de Groodt, struck withthe youngster's gallant appearance on a bright Sunday morning, observed, "Well, after all, Dolph does grow a comely fellow!" the tearof pride started into the mother's eye: "Ah, neighbour! neighbour!"exclaimed she, "they may say what they please; poor Dolph will yethold up his head with the best of them. "

Dolph Heyliger had now nearly attained his one-and-twentieth year, andthe term of his medical studies was just expiring; yet it must beconfessed that he knew little more of the profession than when hefirst entered the doctor's doors. This, however, could not be fromwant of quickness of parts, for he showed amazing aptness in masteringother branches of knowledge, which he could only have studied atintervals. He was, for instance, a sure marksman, and won all thegeese and turkeys at Christmas holidays. He was a bold rider; he wasfamous for leaping and wrestling; he played tolerably on the fiddle;could swim like a fish; and was the best hand in the whole place atfives or nine-pins. 

All these accomplishments, however, procured him no favour in the eyesof the doctor, who grew more and more crabbed and intolerant, thenearer the term of apprenticeship approached. Frau Ilsy, too, was forever finding some occasion to raise a windy tempest about his ears;and seldom encountered him about the house, without a clatter of thetongue; so that at length the jingling of her keys, as she approached, was to Dolph like the ringing of the prompter's bell, that givesnotice of a theatrical thunder-storm. Nothing but the infinitegood-humour of the heedless youngster, enabled him to bear all thisdomestic tyranny without open rebellion. It was evident that thedoctor and his housekeeper were preparing to beat the poor youth outof the nest, the moment his term should have expired; a shorthand modewhich the doctor had of providing for useless disciples. 

Indeed, the little man had been rendered more than usually irritablelately, in consequence of various cares and vexations which hiscountry estate had brought upon him. The doctor had been repeatedlyannoyed by the rumours and tales which prevailed concerning the oldmansion; and found it difficult to prevail even upon the countrymanand his family to remain there rent-free. Every time he rode out tothe farm, he was teased by some fresh complaint of strange noises andfearful sights, with which the tenants were disturbed at night; andthe doctor would come home fretting and fuming, and vent his spleenupon the whole household. It was indeed a sore grievance, thataffected him both in pride and purse. He was threatened with anabsolute loss of the profits of his property; and then, what a blow tohis territorial consequence, to be the landlord of a haunted house!

It was observed, however, that with all his vexation, the doctor neverproposed to sleep in the house himself; nay, he could never beprevailed upon to remain in the premises after dark, but made the bestof his way for town, as soon as the bats began to flit about in thetwilight. The fact was, the doctor had a secret belief in ghosts, having passed the early part of his life in a country where theyparticularly abound; and indeed the story went, that, when a boy, hehad once seen the devil upon the Hartz mountains in Germany. 

At length, the doctor's vexations on this head were brought to acrisis. One morning, as he sat dozing over a volume in his study, hewas suddenly started from his slumbers by the bustling in of thehousekeeper. 

"Here's a fine to do!" cried she, as she entered the room. "Here'sClaus Hopper come in, bag and baggage, from the farm, and swears he'llhave nothing more to do with it. The whole family have been frightenedout of their wits; for there's such racketing and rummaging about theold house, that they can't sleep quiet in their beds!"

"Donner und blitzen!" cried the doctor, impatiently; "will they neverhave done chattering about that house? What a pack of fools, to let afew rats and mice frighten them out of good quarters!"

"Nay, nay, " said the housekeeper, wagging her head knowingly, andpiqued at having a good ghost story doubted, "there's more in it thanrats and mice. All the neighbourhood talks about the house; and thensuch sights have been seen in it! Peter de Groodt tells me, that thefamily that sold you the house and went to Holland, dropped severalstrange hints about it, and said, 'they wished you joy of yourbargain;' and you know yourself there's no getting any family to livein it. "

"Peter de Groodt's a ninny--an old woman, " said the doctor, peevishly;"I'll warrant he's been filling these people's heads full of stories. It's just like his nonsense about the ghost that haunted the churchbelfry, as an excuse for not ringing the bell that cold night whenHermanus Brinkerhoff's house was on fire. Send Claus to me. "

Claus Hopper now made his appearance: a simple country lout, full ofawe at finding himself in the very study of Dr. Knipperhausen, and toomuch embarrassed to enter into much detail of the matters that hadcaused his alarm. He stood twirling his hat in one hand, restingsometimes on one leg, sometimes on the other, looking occasionally atthe doctor, and now and then stealing a fearful glance at thedeath's-head that seemed ogling him from the top of the clothes-press;

The doctor tried every means to persuade him to return to the farm, but all in vain; he maintained a dogged determination on the subject;and at the close of every argument or solicitation, would make thesame brief, inflexible reply, "Ich kan nicht, mynheer. " The doctor wasa "little pot, and soon hot;" his patience was exhausted by thesecontinual vexations about his estate. The stubborn refusal of ClausHopper seemed to him like flat rebellion; his temper suddenly boiledover, and Claus was glad to make a rapid retreat to escape scalding. 

When the bumpkin got to the housekeeper's room, he found Peter deGroodt, and several other true believers, ready to receive him. Herehe indemnified himself for the restraint he had suffered in the study, and opened a budget of stories about the haunted house that astonishedall his hearers. The housekeeper believed them all, if it was onlyto spite the doctor for having received her intelligence souncourteously. Peter de Groodt matched them with many a wonderfullegend of the times of the Dutch dynasty, and of the Devil'sStepping-stones; and of the pirate that was hanged at Gibbet Island, and continued to swing there at night long after the gallows was takendown; and of the ghost of the unfortunate Governor Leisler, who washanged for treason, which haunted the old fort and the governmenthouse. The gossiping knot dispersed, each charged with direfulintelligence. The sexton disburdened himself at a vestry meeting thatwas held that very day, and the black cook forsook her kitchen, andspent half the day at the street pump, that gossiping place ofservants, dealing forth the news to all that came for water. In alittle time, the whole town was in a buzz with tales about the hauntedhouse. Some said that Claus Hopper had seen the devil, while othershinted that the house was haunted by the ghosts of some of thepatients whom the doctor had physicked out of the world, and that wasthe reason why he did not venture to live in it himself. 

All this put the little doctor in a terrible fume. He threatenedvengeance on any one who should affect the value of his property byexciting popular prejudices. He complained loudly of thus being in amanner dispossessed of his territories by mere bugbears; but hesecretly determined to have the house exorcised by the Dominie. Greatwas his relief, therefore, when, in the midst of his perplexities, Dolph stepped forward and undertook to garrison the haunted house. Theyoungster had been listening to all the stories of Claus Hopper andPeter de Groodt: he was fond of adventure, he loved the marvellous, and his imagination had become quite excited by these tales of wonder. Besides, he had led such an uncomfortable life at the doctor's, beingsubjected to the intolerable thraldom of early hours, that he wasdelighted at the prospect of having a house to himself, even though itshould be a haunted one. His offer was eagerly accepted, and it wasdetermined that he should mount guard that very night. His onlystipulation was, that the enterprise should be kept secret from hismother; for he knew the poor soul would not sleep a wink, if she knewthat her son was waging war with the powers of darkness. 

When night came on, he set out on this perilous expedition. The oldblack cook, his only friend in the household, had provided him with alittle mess for supper, and a rushlight; and she tied round his neckan amulet, given her by an African conjurer, as a charm against evilspirits. Dolph was escorted on his way by the doctor and Peter deGroodt, who had agreed to accompany him to the house, and to see himsafe lodged. The night was overcast, and it was very dark when theyarrived at the grounds which surrounded the mansion. The sexton ledthe way with a lantern. As they walked along the avenue of acacias, the fitful light, catching from bush to bush, and tree to tree, oftenstartled the doughty Peter, and made him, fall back upon hisfollowers; and the doctor grabbed still closer hold of Dolph's arm, observing that the ground was very slippery and uneven. At one timethey were nearly put to a total rout by a bat, which came flittingabout the lantern; and the notes of the insects from the trees, andthe frogs from a neighbouring pond, formed a most drowsy and dolefulconcert. 

The front door of the mansion opened with a grating sound, that madethe doctor turn pale. They entered a tolerably large hall, such as iscommon in American country-houses, and which serves for a sitting-roomin warm weather. From hence they went up a wide staircase, thatgroaned and creaked as they trod, every step making its particularnote, like the key of a harpsichord. This led to another hall on thesecond story, from whence they entered the room where Dolph was tosleep. It was large, and scantily furnished; the shutters were closed;but as they were much broken, there was no want of a circulation ofair. It appeared to have been that sacred chamber, known among Dutchhousewives by the name of "the best bed-room;" which is the bestfurnished room in the house, but in which scarce any body is everpermitted to sleep. Its splendour, however, was all at an end. Therewere a few broken articles of furniture about the room, and in thecentre stood a heavy deal table and a large arm-chair, both of whichhad the look of being coeval with the mansion. The fire-place waswide, and had been faced with Dutch tiles, representing scripturestories; but some of them had fallen out of their places, and layshattered about the hearth. The sexton had lit the rushlight; and thedoctor, looking fearfully about the room, was just exhorting Dolph tobe of good cheer, and to pluck up a stout heart, when a noise in thechimney, like voices and struggling, struck a sudden panic into thesexton. He took to his heels with the lantern; the doctor followedhard after him; the stairs groaned and creaked as they hurried down, increasing their agitation and speed by its noises. The front doorslammed after them; and Dolph heard them scrabbling down the avenue, till the sound of their feet was lost in the distance. That he did notjoin in this precipitate retreat, might have been owing to hispossessing a little more courage than his companions, or perhaps thathe had caught a glimpse of the cause of their dismay, in a nest ofchimney swallows, that came tumbling down into the fire-place. 

Being now left to himself, he secured the front door by a strong boltand bar; and having seen that the other entrances were fastened, hereturned to his desolate chamber. Having made his supper from thebasket which the good old cook had provided, he locked the chamberdoor, and retired to rest on a mattress in one corner. The night wascalm and still; and nothing broke upon the profound quiet but thelonely chirping of a cricket from the chimney of a distant chamber. The rushlight, which stood in the centre of the deal table, shed afeeble yellow ray, dimly illumining the chamber, and making uncouthshapes and shadows on the walls, from the clothes which Dolph hadthrown over a chair. 

With all his boldness of heart, there was something subduing in thisdesolate scene; and he felt his spirits flag within him, as he lay onhis hard bed and gazed about the room. He was turning over in his mindhis idle habits, his doubtful prospects, and now and then heaving aheavy sigh, as he thought on his poor old mother; for there is nothinglike the silence and loneliness of night to bring dark shadows overthe brightest mind. By-and-by, he thought he heard a sound as ifsome one was walking below stairs. He listened, and distinctly hearda step on the great staircase. It approached solemnly and slowly, tramp--tramp--tramp! It was evidently the tread of some heavy personage;and yet how could he have got into the house without making a noise?He had examined all the fastenings, and was certain that every entrancewas secure. Still the steps advanced, tramp--tramp--tramp! It wasevident that the person approaching could not be a robber--the stepwas too loud and deliberate; a robber would either be stealthy orprecipitate. And now the footsteps had ascended the staircase; theywere slowly advancing along the passage, resounding through the silentand empty apartments. The very cricket had ceased its melancholy note, and nothing interrupted their awful distinctness. The door, which hadbeen locked on the inside, slowly swung open, as if self-moved. Thefootsteps entered the room; but no one was to be seen. They passedslowly and audibly across it, tramp--tramp--tramp! but whatever madethe sound was invisible. Dolph rubbed his eyes, and stared about him;he could see to every part of the dimly-lighted chamber; all wasvacant; yet still he heard those mysterious footsteps, solemnly walkingabout the chamber. They ceased, and all was dead silence. There wassomething more appalling in this invisible visitation, than there wouldhave been in anything that addressed itself to the eyesight. It wasawfully vague and indefinite. He felt his heart beat against his ribs;a cold sweat broke out upon his forehead; he lay for some time in astate of violent agitation; nothing, however, occurred to increase hisalarm. His light gradually burnt down into the socket, and he fellasleep. When he awoke it was broad daylight; the sun was peeringthrough the cracks of the window-shutters, and the birds were merrilysinging about the house. The bright, cheery day soon put to flight allthe terrors of the preceding night. Dolph laughed, or rather tried tolaugh, at all that had passed, and endeavoured to persuade himself thatit was a mere freak of the imagination, conjured up by the stories hehad heard; but he was a little puzzled to find the door of his roomlocked on the inside, notwithstanding that he had positively seen itswing open as the footsteps had entered. He returned to town in a stateof considerable perplexity; but he determined to say nothing on thesubject, until his doubts were either confirmed or removed by anothernight's watching. His silence was a grievous disappointment to thegossips who had gathered at the doctor's mansion. They had preparedtheir minds to hear direful tales; and they were almost in a rage atbeing assured that he had nothing to relate. 

The next night, then, Dolph repeated his vigil. He now entered thehouse with some trepidation. He was particular in examining thefastenings of all the doors, and securing them well. He locked thedoor of his chamber, and placed a chair against it; then, havingdespatched his supper, he threw himself on his mattress andendeavoured to sleep. It was all in vain--a thousand crowding fancieskept him waking. The time slowly dragged on, as if minutes werespinning out themselves into hours. As the night advanced, he grewmore and more nervous; and he almost started from his couch, when heheard the mysterious footstep again on the staircase. Up it came, asbefore, solemnly and slowly, tramp--tramp--tramp! It approached alongthe passage; the door again swung open, as if there had been neitherlock nor impediment, and a strange-looking figure stalked into theroom. It was an elderly man, large and robust, clothed in the oldFlemish fashion. He had on a kind of short cloak, with a garment underit, belted round the waist; trunk hose, with great bunches or bows atthe knees; and a pair of russet boots, very large at top, and standingwidely from his legs. His hat was broad and slouched, with a feathertrailing over one side. His iron-gray hair hung in thick masses on hisneck; and he had a short grizzled beard. He walked slowly round theroom, as if examining that all was safe; then, hanging his hat on apeg beside the door, he sat down in the elbow-chair, and, leaning hiselbow on the table, he fixed his eyes on Dolph with an unmoving anddeadening stare. 

Dolph was not naturally a coward; but he had been brought up in animplicit belief in ghosts and goblins. A thousand stories cameswarming to his mind, that he had heard about this building; and as helooked at this strange personage, with his uncouth garb, his palevisage, his grizzly beard, and his fixed, staring, fish-like eye, histeeth began to chatter, his hair to rise on his head, and a cold sweatto break out all over his body. How long he remained in this situationhe could not tell, for he was like one fascinated. He could not takehis gaze off from the spectre; but lay staring at him with his wholeintellect absorbed in the contemplation. The old man remained seatedbehind the table, without stirring or turning an eye, always keeping adead steady glare upon Dolph. At length the household cock from aneighbouring farm clapped his wings, and gave a loud cheerful crowthat rung over the fields. At the sound, the old man slowly rose andtook down his hat from the peg; the door opened and closed after him;he was heard to go slowly down the staircase--tramp--tramp--tramp!--and when he had got to the bottom, all was again silent. Dolph layand listened earnestly; counted every footfall; listened and listenedif the steps should return--until, exhausted by watching andagitation, he fell into a troubled sleep. 

Daylight again brought fresh courage and assurance. He would fain haveconsidered all that had passed as a mere dream; yet there stood thechair in which the unknown had seated himself; there was the table onwhich he had leaned; there was the peg on which he had hung his hat;and there was the door, locked precisely as he himself had locked it, with the chair placed against it. He hastened down-stairs and examinedthe doors and windows; all were exactly in the same state in which hehad left them, and there was no apparent way by which any being couldhave entered and left the house without leaving some trace behind. "Pooh!" said Dolph to himself, "it was all a dream;"--but it would notdo; the more he endeavoured to shake the scene off from his mind, themore it haunted him. 

Though he persisted in a strict silence as to all that he had seen orheard, yet his looks betrayed the uncomfortable night that he hadpassed. It was evident that there was something wonderful hidden underthis mysterious reserve. The doctor took him into the study, --lockedthe door, and sought to have a full and confidential communication;but he could get nothing out of him. Frau Ilsy took him aside into thepantry, but to as little purpose; and Peter de Groodt held him by thebutton for a full hour in the church-yard, the very place to get atthe bottom of a ghost story, but came off not a whit wiser than therest. It is always the case, however, that one truth concealed makes adozen current lies. It is like a guinea locked up in a bank, that hasa dozen paper representatives. Before the day was over, theneighbourhood was full of reports. Some said that Dolph Heyligerwatched in the haunted house with pistols loaded with silver bullets;others, that he had a long talk with the spectre without a head;others, that Doctor Knipperhausen and the sexton had been hunted downthe Bowery lane, and quite into town, by a legion of ghosts of theircustomers. Some shook their heads, and thought it a shame that thedoctor should put Dolph to pass the night alone in that dismal house, where he might be spirited away, no one knew whither; while othersobserved, with a shrug, that if the devil did carry off the youngster, it would be but taking his own. 

These rumours at length reached the ears of the good Dame Heyliger, and, as may be supposed, threw her into a terrible alarm. For her sonto have opposed himself to danger from living foes, would have beennothing so dreadful in her eyes as to dare alone the terrors of thehaunted house. She hastened to the doctor's, and passed a great partof the day in attempting to dissuade Dolph from repeating his vigil;she told him a score of tales, which her gossiping friends had justrelated to her, of persons who had been carried off when watchingalone in old ruinous houses. It was all to no effect. Dolph's pride, as well as curiosity, was piqued. He endeavoured to calm theapprehensions of his mother, and to assure her that there was no truthin all the rumours she had heard; she looked at him dubiously, andshook her head; but finding his determination was not to be shaken, she brought him a little thick Dutch Bible, with brass clasps, to takewith him, as a sword wherewith to fight the powers of darkness; and, lest that might not be sufficient, the housekeeper gave him theHeidelburgh catechism by way of dagger. 

The next night, therefore, Dolph took up his quarters for the thirdtime in the old mansion. Whether dream or not, the same thing wasrepeated. Towards midnight, when every thing was still, the same soundechoed through the empty halls--tramp--tramp--tramp! The stairs wereagain ascended; the door again swung open; the old man entered, walkedround the room, hung up his hat, and seated himself by the table. Thesame fear and trembling came over poor Dolph, though not in so violenta degree. He lay in the same way, motionless and fascinated, staringat the figure, which regarded him, as before, with a dead, fixed, chilling gaze. In this way they remained for a long time, till, bydegrees, Dolph's courage began gradually to revive. Whether alive ordead, this being had certainly some object in his visitation; and herecollected to have heard it said, that spirits have no power to speakuntil they are spoken to. Summoning up resolution, therefore, andmaking two or three attempts before he could get his parched tongue inmotion, he addressed the unknown in the most solemn form of adjurationthat he could recollect, and demanded to know what was the motive ofhis visit. 

No sooner had he finished, than the old man rose, took down his hat, the door opened, and he went out, looking back upon Dolph just as hecrossed the threshold, as if expecting him to follow. The youngsterdid not hesitate an instant. He took the candle in his hand, and theBible under his arm, and obeyed the tacit invitation. The candleemitted a feeble, uncertain ray; but still he could see the figurebefore him, slowly descend the stairs. He followed, trembling. When ithad reached the bottom of the stairs, it turned through the halltowards the back door of the mansion. Dolph held the light over thebalustrades; but, in his eagerness to catch a sight of the unknown, heflared his feeble taper so suddenly, that it went out. Still there wassufficient light from the pale moonbeams, that fell through a narrowwindow, to give him an indistinct view of the figure, near the door. He followed, therefore, down-stairs, and turned towards the place; butwhen he had got there, the unknown had disappeared. The door remainedfast barred and bolted; there was no other mode of exit; yet thebeing, whatever he might be, was gone. He unfastened the door, andlooked out into the fields. It was a hazy, moonlight night, so thatthe eye could distinguish objects at some distance. He thought he sawthe unknown in a footpath that led from the door. He was not mistaken;but how had he got out of the house? He did not pause to think, butfollowed on. The old man proceeded at a measured pace, without lookingabout him, his footsteps sounding on the hard ground. He passedthrough the orchard of apple-trees that stood near the house, alwayskeeping the footpath. It led to a well, situated in a little hollow, which had supplied the farm with water. Just at this well, Dolph lostsight of him. He rubbed his eyes, and looked again; but nothing was tobe seen of the unknown. He reached the well, but nobody was there. Allthe surrounding ground was open and clear; there was no bush norhiding-place. He looked down the well, and saw, at a great depth, thereflection of the sky in the still water. After remaining here forsome time, without seeing or hearing any thing more of his mysteriousconductor, he returned to the house, full of awe and wonder. He boltedthe door, groped his way back to bed, and it was long before he couldcompose himself to sleep. 

His dreams were strange and troubled. He thought he was following theold man along the side of a great river, until they came to a vesselthat was on the point of sailing; and that his conductor led him onboard and vanished. He remembered the commander of the Tessel, a shortswarthy man, --with crisped black hair, blind of one eye, and lame ofone leg; but the rest of his dream was very confused. Sometimes he wassailing; sometimes on shore; now amidst storms and tempests, and nowwandering quietly in unknown streets. The figure of the old man wasstrangely mingled up with the incidents of the dream; and the wholedistinctly wound up by his finding himself on board of the vesselagain, returning home, with a great bag of money!

When he woke, the gray, cool light of dawn was streaking the horizon, and the cocks passing the reveil from farm to farm throughout thecountry. He rose more harassed and perplexed than ever. He wassingularly confounded by all that he had seen and dreamt, and began todoubt whether his mind was not affected, and whether all that waspassing in his thoughts might not be mere feverish fantasy. In hispresent state of mind, he did not feel disposed to return immediatelyto the doctor's, and undergo the cross-questioning of the household. He made a scanty breakfast, therefore, on the remains of the lastnight's provisions, and then wandered out into the fields to meditateon all that had befallen him. Lost in thought, he rambled about, gradually approaching the town, until the morning was far advanced, when he was roused by a hurry and bustle around him. He found himselfnear the water's edge, in a throng of people, hurrying to a pier, where there was a vessel ready to make sail. He was unconsciouslycarried along by the impulse of the crowd, and found that it was asloop, on the point of sailing up the Hudson to Albany. There was muchleave-taking and kissing of old women and children, and great activityin carrying on board baskets of bread and cakes, and provisions of allkinds, notwithstanding, the mighty joints of meat that dangled overthe stern; for a voyage to Albany was an expedition of great moment inthose days. The commander of the sloop was hurrying about, and givinga world of orders, which were not very strictly attended to; one manbeing busy in lighting his pipe, and another in sharpening hissnicker-snee. 

The appearance of the commander suddenly caught Dolph's attention. Hewas short and swarthy, with crisped black hair; blind of one eye, andlame of one leg--the very commander that he had seen in his dream!Surprised and aroused, he considered the scene more attentively, andrecalled still further traces of his dream: the appearance of thevessel, of the river, and of a variety of other objects, accorded withthe imperfect images vaguely rising to recollection. 

As he stood musing on these circumstances, the captain suddenly calledout to him in Dutch, "Step on board, young man, or you'll be leftbehind!" He was startled by the sum mons; he saw that the sloop wascast loose, and was actually moving from the pier; it seemed as if hewas actuated by some irresistible impulse; he sprang upon the deck, and the next moment the sloop was hurried off by the wind and tide. Dolph's thoughts and feelings were all in tumult and confusion. He hadbeen strongly worked upon by the events that had recently befallenhim, and could not but think that there was some connexion between hispresent situation and his last night's dream. He felt as if he wasunder supernatural influence; and he tried to assure himself with anold and favourite maxim of his, that "one way or other, all would turnout for the best. " For a moment, the indignation of the doctor at hisdeparture without leave, passed across his mind--but that was matterof little moment. Then he thought of the distress of his mother at hisstrange disappearance, and the idea gave him a sudden pang; he wouldhave entreated to be put on shore; but he knew with such wind and tidethe entreaty would have been in vain. Then, the inspiring love ofnovelty and adventure came rushing in full tide through his bosom; hefelt himself launched strangely and suddenly on the world, and underfull way to explore the regions of wonder that lay up this mightyriver, and beyond those blue mountains that had bounded his horizonsince childhood. While he was lost in this whirl of thought, the sailsstrained to the breeze; the shores seemed to hurry away behind him;and, before he perfectly recovered his self-possession, the sloop wasploughing her way past Spiking-devil and Yonkers, and the tallestchimney of the Manhattoes had faded from his sight. 

I have said, that a voyage up the Hudson in those days was anundertaking of some moment; indeed, it was as much thought of as avoyage to Europe is at present. The sloops were often many days on theway; the cautious navigators taking in sail when it blew fresh, andcoming to anchor at night; and stopping to send the boat ashore formilk for tea, without which it was impossible for the worthy old ladypassengers to subsist. And there were the much-talked-of perils of theTappaan Zee, and the highlands. In short, a prudent Dutch burgherwould talk of such a voyage for months, and even years, beforehand;and never undertook it without putting his affairs in order, makinghis will, and having prayers said for him in the Low Dutch churches. 

In the course of such a voyage, therefore, Dolph was satisfied hewould have time enough to reflect, and to make up his mind as to whathe should do when he arrived at Albany. The captain, with his blindeye and lame leg, would, it is true, bring his strange dream to mind, and perplex him sadly for a few moments; but, of late, his life hadbeen made up so much of dreams and realities, his nights and days hadbeen so jumbled together, that he seemed to be moving continually in adelusion. There is always, however, a kind of vagabond consolation ina man's having nothing in this world to lose; with this Dolphcomforted his heart, and determined to make the most of the presentenjoyment. 

In the second day of the voyage they came to the highlands. It was thelatter part of a calm, sultry day, that they floated gently with thetide between these stern mountains. There was that perfect quiet whichprevails over nature in the languor of summer heat; the turning of aplank, or the accidental falling of an oar on deck, was echoed fromthe mountain side and reverberated along the shores; and if by chancethe captain gave a shout of command, there were airy tongues thatmocked it from every cliff. 

Dolph gazed about him in mute delight and wonder, at these scenes ofnature's magnificence. To the left the Dunderberg reared its woodyprecipices, height over height, forest over forest, away into the deepsummer sky. To the right strutted forth the bold promontory ofAnthony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it; while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they seemed to lock their armstogether, and confine this mighty river in their embraces. There was afeeling of quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms here andthere scooped out among the precipices; or at woodlands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling bluff, and their foliage alltransparent in the yellow sunshine. 

In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile of bright, snowyclouds peering above the western heights. It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly pushing onwards its predecessor, andtowering, with dazzling brilliancy, in the deep-blue atmosphere: andnow muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard rolling behind themountains. The river, hitherto still and glassy, reflecting picturesof the sky and land, now showed a dark ripple at a distance, as thebreeze came creeping up it. The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, andsought their nests on the high dry trees; the crows flew clamorouslyto the crevices of the rocks, and all nature seemed conscious of theapproaching thunder-gust. 

The clouds now rolled in volumes over the mountain tops; their summitsstill bright and snowy, but the lower parts of an inky blackness. Therain began to patter down in broad and scattered drops; the windfreshened, and curled up the waves; at length it seemed as if thebellying clouds were torn open by the mountain tops, and completetorrents of rain came rattling down. The lightning leaped from cloudto cloud, and streamed quivering against the rocks, splitting andrending the stoutest forest trees. The thunder burst in tremendousexplosions; the peals were echoed from mountain to mountain; theycrashed upon Dunderberg, and rolled up the long defile of thehighlands, each headland making a new echo, until old Bull hill seemedto bellow back the storm. 

For a time the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted rain, almosthid the landscape from the sight. There was a fearful gloom, illuminedstill more fearfully by the streams of lightning which glittered amongthe rain-drops. Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of theelements: it seemed as if the storm was tearing and rending its waythrough this mountain defile, and had brought all the artillery ofheaven into action. 

The vessel was hurried on by the increasing wind, until she came towhere the river makes a sudden bend, the only one in the whole courseof its majestic career. [15] Just as they turned the point, a violentflaw of wind came sweeping down a mountain gully, bending the forestbefore it, and, in a moment, lashing up the river into white froth andfoam. The captain saw the danger, and cried out to lower the sail. Before the order could be obeyed, the flaw struck the sloop, and threwher on her beam-ends. Everything was now fright and confusion: theflapping of the sails, the whistling and rushing of the wind, thebawling of the captain and crew, the shrieking of the passengers, allmingled with the rolling and bellowing of the thunder. In the midst ofthe uproar, the sloop righted; at the same time the mainsail shifted, the boom came sweeping the quarter-deck, and Dolph, who was gazingunguardedly at the clouds, found himself, in a moment, floundering inthe river. 

[Footnote 15: This must have been the bend at West-Point. ]

For once in his life, one of his idle accomplishments was of use tohim. The many truant hours which he had devoted to sporting in theHudson, had made him an expert swimmer, yet, with all his strength andskill, he found great difficulty in reaching the shore. Hisdisappearance from the deck had not been noticed by the crew, who wereall occupied by their own danger. The sloop was driven along withinconceivable rapidity. She had hard work to weather a long promontoryon the eastern shore, round which the river turned, and whichcompletely shut her from Dolph's view. 

It was on a point of the western shore that he landed, and, scramblingup the rocks, he threw himself, faint and exhausted, at the foot of atree. By degrees, the thunder-gust passed over. The clouds rolled awayto the east, where they lay piled in feathery masses, tinted with thelast rosy rays of the sun. The distant play of the lightning might beseen about the dark bases, and now and then might be heard the faintmuttering of the thunder. Dolph rose, and sought about to see if anypath led from the shore; but all was savage and trackless. The rockswere piled upon each other; great trunks of trees lay shattered about, as they had been blown down by the strong winds which draw throughthese mountains, or had fallen through age. The rocks, too, wereoverhung with wild vines and briers, which completely mattedthemselves together, and opposed a barrier to all ingress; everymovement that he made, shook down a shower from the dripping foliage. He attempted to scale one of these almost perpendicular heights; but, though strong and agile, he found it an Herculean undertaking. Oftenhe was supported merely by crumbling projections of the rock, andsometimes he clung to roots and branches of trees, and hung almostsuspended in the air. The wood-pigeon came cleaving his whistlingflight by him, and the eagle screamed from the brow of the impendingcliff. As he was thus clambering, he was on the point of seizing holdof a shrub to aid his ascent, when something rustled among the leaves, and he saw a snake quivering along like lightning, almost from underhis hand. It coiled itself up immediately, in an attitude of defiance, with flattened head, distended jaws, and quickly-vibrating tongue, that played like a little flame about its mouth. Dolph's heart turnedfaint within him, and he had well-nigh let go his hold, and tumbleddown the precipice. The serpent stood on the defensive but for aninstant; it was an instinctive movement of defence; and finding therewas no attack, it glided away into a cleft of the rock. Dolph's eyefollowed with fearful intensity; and he saw at a glance that he was inthe vicinity of a nest of adders, that lay knotted, and writhing, andhissing in the chasm. He hastened with all speed to escape from sofrightful a neighbourhood. His imagination was full of this newhorror; he saw an adder in every curling vine, and heard the tail of arattlesnake in every dry leaf that rustled. 

At length he succeeded in scrambling to the summit of a precipice; butit was covered by a dense forest. Wherever he could gain a look-outbetween the trees, he saw that the coast rose in heights and cliffs, one rising beyond another, until huge mountains overtopped the whole. There were no signs of cultivation, nor any smoke curling amongst thetrees, to indicate a human residence. Every thing was wild andsolitary. As he was standing on the edge of a precipice thatoverlooked a deep ravine fringed with trees, his feet detached a greatfragment of rock; it fell, crashing its way through the tree tops, down into the chasm. A loud whoop, or rather yell, issued from thebottom of the glen; the moment after, there was the report of a gun;and a ball came whistling over his head, cutting the twigs and leaves, and burying itself deep in the bark of a chestnut-tree. 

Dolph did not wait for a second shot, but made a precipitate retreat;fearing every moment to hear the enemy in pursuit. He succeeded, however, in returning unmolested to the shore, and determined topenetrate no farther into a country so beset with savage perils. 

He sat himself down, dripping, disconsolately, on a wet stone. Whatwas to be done? Where was he to shelter himself? The hour of reposewas approaching; the birds were seeking their nests, the bat began toflit about in the twilight, and the night-hawk soaring high in heaven, seemed to be calling out the stars. Night gradually closed in, andwrapped every thing in gloom; and though it was the latter part ofsummer, yet the breeze, stealing along the river, and among thesedripping forests, was chilly and penetrating, especially to ahalf-drowned man. 

As he sat drooping and despondent in this comfortless condition, heperceived a light gleaming through the trees near the shore, where thewinding of the river made a deep bay. It cheered him with the hopesthat here might be some human habitation, where he might get somethingto appease the clamorous cravings of his stomach, and, what wasequally necessary in his shipwrecked condition, a comfortable shelterfor the night. It was with extreme difficulty that he made his waytowards the light, along ledges of rocks down which he was in dangerof sliding into the river, and over great trunks of fallen trees; someof which had been blown down in the late storm, and lay so thicklytogether, that he had to struggle through their branches. At length hecame to the brow of a rock that overhung a small dell, from whence thelight proceeded. It was from a fire at the foot of a great tree, thatstood in the midst of a grassy interval, or plat, among the rocks. Thefire cast up a red glare among the gray crags and impending trees;leaving chasms of deep gloom, that resembled entrances to caverns. Asmall brook rippled close by, betrayed by the quivering reflection ofthe flame. There were two figures moving about the fire, and otherssquatted before it. As they were between him and the light, they werein complete shadow; but one of them happening to move round to theopposite side, Dolph was startled at perceiving, by the full glarefalling on painted features, and glittering on silver ornaments, thathe was an Indian. He now looked more narrowly, and saw guns leaningagainst a tree, and a dead body lying on the ground. 

Dolph began to doubt whether he was not in a worse condition thanbefore; here was the very foe that had fired at him from the glen. Heendeavoured to retreat quietly, not caring to entrust himself to thesehalf-human beings in so savage and lonely a place. It was too late:the Indian, with that eagle quickness of eye so remarkable in hisrace, perceived something stirring among the bushes on the rock: heseized one of the guns that leaned against the tree; one moment more, and Dolph might have had his passion for adventure cured by a bullet. He hallooed loudly, with the Indian salutation of friendship: thewhole party sprang upon their feet; the salutation was returned, andthe straggler was invited to join them at the fire. 

On approaching, he found, to his consolation, that the party wascomposed of white men as well as Indians. One, who was evidently theprincipal personage, or commander, was seated on the trunk of a treebefore the fire. He was a large, stout man, somewhat advanced in life, but hale and hearty. His face was bronzed almost to the colour of anIndian's; he had strong but rather jovial features, an aquiline nose, and a mouth shaped like a mastiff's. His face was half thrown in shadeby a broad hat, with a buck's-tail in it. His gray hair hung short inhis neck. He wore a hunting-frock, with Indian leggings, andmoccasons, and a tomahawk in the broad wampum belt round his waist. AsDolph caught a distinct view of his person and features, he was struckwith something that reminded him of the old man of the haunted house. The man before him, however, was different in his dress and age; hewas more cheery, too, in his aspect, and it was hard to define wherethe vague resemblance lay--but a resemblance there certainly was. Dolph felt some degree of awe in approaching him; but was assured bythe frank, hearty welcome with which he was received. As he case hiseyes about, too, he was still further encouraged, by perceiving thatthe dead body, which had caused him some alarm, was that of a deer;and his satisfaction was complete, in discerning, by the savourysteams which issued from a kettle suspended by a hooked stick over thefire, that there was a part cooking for the evening's repast. 

He now found that he had fallen in with a rambling hunting party, suchas often took place in those days among the settlers along the river. The hunter is always hospitable; and nothing makes men more social andunceremonious, than meeting in the wilderness. The commander of theparty poured him out a dram of cheering liquor, which he gave him witha merry leer, to warm his heart; arid ordered one of his followers tofetch some garments from a pinnace, which was moored in a cove closeby, while those in which our hero was dripping might be dried beforethe fire. 

Dolph found, as he had suspected, that the shot from the glen, whichhad come so near giving him his quietus when on the precipice, wasfrom the party before him. He had nearly crushed one of them by thefragment of rock which he had detached; and the jovial old hunter, inthe broad hat and buck-tail, had fired at the place where he saw thebushes move, supposing it to be some wild animal. He laughed heartilyat the blunder; it being what is considered an exceeding good jokeamong hunters; "but faith, my lad, " said he, "if I had but caught aglimpse of you to take sight at, you would have followed the rock. Antony Vander Heyden is seldom known to miss his aim. " These lastwords were at once a clue to Dolph's curiosity; and a few questionslet him completely into the character of the man before him, and ofhis band of woodland rangers. The commander in the broad hat andhunting-frock, was no less a personage than the Heer Antony VanderHeyden, of Albany, of whom Dolph had many a time heard. He was, infact, the hero of many a story; being a man of singular humours andwhimsical habits, that were matters of wonder to his quiet Dutchneighbours. As he was a man of property, having had a father beforehim, from whom he inherited large tracts of wild land, and wholebarrels full of wampum, he could indulge his humours without control. Instead of staying quietly at home, eating and drinking at regularmeal times; amusing himself by smoking his pipe on the bench beforethe door, and then turning into a comfortable bed at night; hedelighted in all kinds of rough, wild expeditions. He was never sohappy as when on a hunting party in the wilderness, sleeping undertrees or bark sheds, or cruising down the river, or on some woodlandlake, fishing and hunting, and living the Lord knows how. 

He was a great friend to Indians, and to an Indian mode of life; whichhe considered true natural liberty and manly enjoyment. When at home, he had always several Indian hangers-on, who loitered about his house, sleeping like hounds in the sunshine, or preparing hunting andfishing-tackle for some new expedition, or shooting at marks with bowsand arrows. 

Over these vagrant beings, Heer Antony had as perfect command as ahuntsman over his pack; though they were great nuisances to theregular people of his neighbourhood. As he was a rich man, no oneventured to thwart his humours; indeed, he had a hearty, joyous mannerabout him, that made him universally popular. He would troll a Dutchsong, as he tramped along the street; hail every one a mile off; andwhen he entered a house, he would slap the good man familiarly on theback, shake him by the hand till he roared, and kiss his wife anddaughters before his face--in short, there was no pride nor ill-humourabout Heer Antony. 

Besides his Indian hangers-on, he had three or four humble friendsamong the white men, who looked up to him as a patron, and had the runof his kitchen, and the favour of being taken with him occasionally onhis expeditions. It was with a medley of such retainers that he was atpresent on a cruise along the shores of the Hudson, in a pinnace whichhe kept for his own recreation. There were two white men with him, dressed partly in the Indian style, with moccasons and hunting-shirts;the rest of his crew consisted of four favourite Indians. They hadbeen prowling about the river, without any definite object until thayfound themselves in the highlands; where they had passed two or threedays, hunting the deer which still lingered among these mountains. 

"It is a lucky circumstance, young man, " said Antony Vander Heyden, "that you happened to be knocked overboard to-day, as to-morrow morningwe start early on our return homewards, and you might then have lookedin vain for a meal among the mountains--but come, lads, stir about!stir about! Let's see what prog we have for supper; the kettle hasboiled long enough; my stomach cries cupboard; and I'll warrant ourguest is in no mood to dally with his trencher. "

There was a bustle now in the little encampment. One took off thekettle, and turned a part of the contents into a huge wooden bowl;another prepared a flat rock for a table; while a third broughtvarious utensils from the pinnace, which was moored close by; and HeerAntony himself brought a flask or two of precious liquor from his ownprivate locker--knowing his boon companions too well to trust any ofthem with the key. 

A rude but hearty repast was soon spread; consisting of venisonsmoking from the kettle, with cold bacon, boiled Indian corn, andmighty loaves of good brown household bread. Never had Dolph made amore delicious repast; and when he had washed it down with two orthree draughts from the Heer Antony's flask, and felt the jolly liquorsending its warmth through his veins, and glowing round his veryheart, he would not have changed his situation, no, not with thegovernor of the province. 

The Heer Antony, too, grew chirping and joyous; told half-a-dozen fatstories, at which his white followers laughed immoderately, though theIndians, as usual, maintained an invincible gravity. 

"This is your true life, my boy!" said he, slapping Dolph on theshoulder; "a man is never a man till he can defy wind and weather, range woods and wilds, sleep under a tree, and live on bass-woodleaves!"

And then would he sing a stave or two of a Dutch drinking song, swaying a short squab Dutch bottle in his hand, while his myrmidonswould join in chorus, until the woods echoed again;--as the good oldsong has it:

 "They all with a shout made the elements ring, So soon as the office was o'er; To feasting they went with true merriment. And tippled strong liquor gillore. "

In the midst of his jovialty, however, Heer Antony did not lose sightof discretion. Though he pushed the bottle without reserve to Dolph, yet he always took care to help his followers himself, knowing thebeings he had to deal with; and he was particular in granting but amoderate allowance to the Indians. The repast being ended, the Indianshaving drunk their liquor and smoked their pipes, now wrappedthemselves in their blankets, stretched themselves on the ground withtheir feet to the fire, and soon fell asleep, like so many tiredhounds. The rest of the party remained chatting before the fire, whichthe gloom of the forest, and the dampness of the air from the latestorm, rendered extremely grateful and comforting. The conversationgradually moderated from the hilarity of supper-time, and turned uponhunting adventures, and exploits and perils in the wilderness; many ofwhich were so strange and improbable, that I will not venture torepeat them, lest the veracity of Antony Vander Heyden and hiscomrades should be brought into question. There were many legendarytales told, also, about the river, and the settlements on its borders;in which valuable kind of lore, the Heer Antony seemed deeply versed. As the sturdy bush-beater sat in the twisted root of a tree, thatserved him for a kind of arm-chair, dealing forth these wild stories, with the fire gleaming on his strongly-marked visage, Dolph was againrepeatedly perplexed by something that reminded him of the phantom ofthe haunted house; some vague resemblance, that could not be fixedupon any precise feature or lineament, but which pervaded the generalair of his countenance and figure. 

The circumstance of Dolph's falling overboard being again discussed, led to the relation of divers disasters and singular mishaps that hadbefallen voyagers on this great river, particularly in the earlierperiods of colonial history; most of which the Heer deliberatelyattributed to supernatural causes. Dolph stared at this suggestion;but the old gentleman assured him that it was very currently believedby the settlers along the river, that these highlands were under thedominion of supernatural and mischievous beings, which seemed to havetaken some pique against the Dutch colonists in the early time of thesettlement. In consequence of this, they have ever since takenparticular delight in venting their spleen, and indulging theirhumours, upon the Dutch skippers; bothering them with flaws, headwinds, counter currents, and all kinds of impediments; insomuch, thata Dutch navigator was always obliged to be exceedingly wary anddeliberate in his proceedings; to come to anchor at dusk; to drop hispeak, or take in sail, whenever he saw a swag-bellied cloud rollingover the mountains; in short, to take so many precautions, that he wasoften apt to be an incredible time in toiling up the river. 

Some, he said, believed these mischievous powers of the air to be evilspirits conjured up by the Indian wizards, in the early times of theprovince, to revenge themselves on the strangers who had dispossessedthem of their country. They even attributed to their incantations themisadventure which befell the renowned Hendrick Hudson, when he sailedso gallantly up this river in quest of a north-west passage, and, ashe thought, run his ship aground; which they affirm was nothing morenor less than a spell of these same wizards, to prevent his getting toChina in this direction. 

The greater part, however, Heer Antony observed, accounted for all theextraordinary circumstances attending this river, and the perplexitiesof the skippers which navigated it, by the old legend of theStorm-ship, which haunted Point-no-point. On finding Dolph to beutterly ignorant of this tradition, the Heer stared at him for amoment with surprise, and wondered where he had passed his life, to beuninformed on so important a point of history. To pass away theremainder of the evening, therefore, he undertook the tale, as far ashis memory would serve, in the very words in which it had been writtenout by Mynheer Selyne, an early poet of the New-Nederlandts. Giving, then, a stir to the fire, that sent up its sparks among the trees likea little volcano, he adjusted himself comfortably in his root of atree; and throwing back his head, and closing his eyes for a fewmoments, to summon up his recollection, he related the followinglegend. 

THE STORM-SHIP. 

In the golden age of the province of the New-Netherlands, when it wasunder the sway of Wouter Van Twiller, otherwise called the Doubter, the people of the Manhattoes were alarmed, one sultry afternoon, justabout the time of the summer solstice, by a tremendous storm ofthunder and lightning. The rain descended in such torrents, asabsolutely to spatter up and smoke along the ground. It seemed as ifthe thunder rattled and rolled over the very roofs of the houses; thelightning was seen to play about the church of St. Nicholas, and tostrive three times, in vain, to strike its weather-cock. Garret VanHorne's new chimney was split almost from top to bottom; and DoffueMildeberger was struck speechless from his bald-faced mare, just as hewas riding into town. In a word, it was one of those unparalleledstorms, that only happen once within the memory of that venerablepersonage, known in all towns by the appellation of "the oldestinhabitant. "

Great was the terror of the good old women of the Manhattoes. Theygathered their children together, and took refuge in the cellars;after having hung a shoe on the iron point of every bed-post, lest itshould attract the lightning. At length the storm abated: the thundersunk into a growl; and the setting sun, breaking from under thefringed borders of the clouds, made the broad bosom of the bay togleam like a sea of molten, gold. 

The word was given from the fort, that a ship was standing up the bay. It passed from mouth to mouth, and street to street, and soon put thelittle capital in a bustle. The arrival of a ship, in those earlytimes of the settlement, was an event of vast importance to theinhabitants. It brought them news from the old world, from the land oftheir birth, from which they were so completely severed: to the yearlyship, too, they looked for their supply of luxuries, of finery, ofcomforts, and almost of necessaries. The good vrouw could not have hernew cap, nor new gown, until the arrival of the ship; the artistwaited for it for his tools, the burgomaster for his pipe and hissupply of Hollands, the school-boy for his top and marbles, and thelordly landholder for the bricks with which he was to build his newmansion. Thus every one, rich and poor, great and small, looked outfor the arrival of the ship. It was the great yearly event of the townof New-Amsterdam; and from one end of the year to the other, theship--the ship--the ship--was the continual topic of conversation. 

The news from the fort, therefore, brought all the populace down tothe battery, to behold the wished-for sight. It was not exactly thetime when she had been expected to arrive, and the circumstance was amatter of some speculation. Many were the groups collected about thebattery. Here and there might be seen a burgomaster, of slow andpompous gravity, giving his opinion with great confidence to a crowdof old women and idle boys. At another place was a knot of oldweatherbeaten fellows, who had been seamen or fishermen in theirtimes, and were great authorities on such occasions; these gavedifferent opinions, and caused great disputes among their severaladherents: but the man most looked up to, and followed and watched bythe crowd, was Hans Van Pelt, an old Dutch sea-captain retired fromservice, the nautical oracle of the place. He reconnoitred the shipthrough an ancient telescope, covered with tarry canvas, hummed aDutch tune to himself, and said nothing. A hum, however, from Hans VanPelt had always more weight with the public than a speech from anotherman. 

In the meantime, the ship became more distinct to the naked eye: shewas a stout, round Dutch-built vessel, with high bow and poop, andbearing Dutch colours. The evening sun gilded her bellying canvas, asshe came riding over the long waving billows. The sentinel who hadgiven notice of her approach, declared, that he first got sight of herwhen she was in the centre of the bay; and that she broke suddenly onhis sight, just as if she had come out of the bosom of the blackthunder-cloud. The bystanders looked at Hans Van Pelt, to see what hewould say to this report: Hans Van Pelt screwed his mouth closertogether, and said nothing; upon which some shook their heads, andothers shrugged their shoulders. 

The ship was now repeatedly hailed, but made no reply, and, passing bythe fort, stood on up the Hudson. A gun was brought to bear on her, and, with some difficulty, loaded and fired by Hans Van Pelt, thegarrison not being expert in artillery. The shot seemed absolutely topass through the ship, and to skip along the water on the other side, but no notice was taken of it! What was strange, she had all her sailsset, and sailed right against wind and tide, which were both down theriver. Upon this Hans Van Pelt, who was likewise harbour-master, ordered his boat, and set off to board her; but after rowing two orthree hours, he returned without success. Sometimes he would getwithin one or two hundred yards of her, and then, in a twinkling, shewould be half a mile off. Some said it was because his oarsmen, whowere rather pursy and short-winded, stopped every now and then to takebreath, and spit on their hands; but this, it is probable, was a merescandal. He got near enough, however, to see the crew; who were alldressed in the Dutch style, the officers in doublets and high hats andfeathers: not a word was spoken by any one on board; they stood asmotionless as so many statues, and the ship seemed as if left to herown government. Thus she kept on away up the river, lessening andlessening in the evening sunshine, until she faded from sight, like alittle white cloud melting away in the summer sky. 

The appearance of this ship threw the governor into one of the deepestdoubts that ever beset him in the whole course of his administration. Fears were entertained for the security of the infant settlements onthe river, lest this might be an enemy's ship in disguise, sent totake possession. The governor called together his council repeatedlyto assist him with their conjectures. He sat in his chair of state, built of timber from the sacred forest of the Hague, and smoking hislong jasmine pipe, and listened to all that his counsellors had to sayon a subject about which they knew nothing; but, in spite of all theconjecturing of the sagest and oldest heads, the governor stillcontinued to doubt. 

Messengers were despatched to different places on the river; but theyreturned without any tidings--the ship had made no port. Day afterday, and week after week, elapsed; but she never returned down theHudson. As, however, the council seemed solicitous for intelligence, they had it in abundance. The captains of the sloops seldom arrivedwithout bringing some report of having seen the strange ship atdifferent parts of the river; sometimes near the Palisadoes; sometimesoff Croton Point, and sometimes in the highlands; but she never wasreported as having been seen above the highlands. The crews of thesloops, it is true, generally differed among themselves in theiraccounts of these apparitions; but they may have arisen from theuncertain situations in which they saw her. Sometimes it was by theflashes of the thunder-storm lighting up a pitchy night, and givingglimpses of her careering across Tappaan Zee, or the wide waste ofHaverstraw Bay. At one moment she would appear close upon them, as iflikely to run them down, and would throw them into great bustle andalarm; but the next flash would show her far off, always sailingagainst the wind. Sometimes, in quiet moonlight nights, she would beseen under some high bluff of the highlands, all in deep shadow, excepting her top-sails glittering in the moonbeams; by the time, however, that the voyagers would reach the place, there would be noship to be seen; and when they had passed on for some distance, andlooked back, behold! there she was again with her top-sails in thamoonshine! Her appearance was always just after, or just before, orjust in the midst of, unruly weather; and she was known by all theskippers and voyagers of the Hudson, by the name of "the storm-ship. "

These reports perplexed, the governor and his council more than ever;and it would be endless to repeat the conjectures and opinions thatwere uttered on the subject. Some quoted cases in point, of ships seenoff the coast of New-England, navigated by witches and goblins. OldHans Van Pelt, who had been more than once to the Dutch colony at theCape of Good Hope, insisted that this must be the Flying Dutchmanwhich had so long haunted Table Bay, but, being unable to make port, had now sought another harbour. Others suggested, that, if it reallywas a supernatural apparition, as there was every natural reason tobelieve, it might be Hendrick Hudson, and his crew of the Half-Moon;who, it was well-known, had once run aground in the upper part of theriver, in seeking a north-west passage to China. This opinion had verylittle weight with the governor, but it passed current out of doors;for indeed it had already been reported, that Hendrick Hudson and hiscrew haunted the Kaatskill Mountain; and it appeared very reasonableto suppose, that his ship might infest the river, where the enterprisewas baffled, or that it might bear the shadowy crew to theirperiodical revels in the mountain. 

Other events occurred to occupy the thoughts and doubts of the sageWouter and his council, and the storm-ship ceased to be a subject ofdeliberation at the board. It continued, however, to be a matter ofpopular belief and marvellous anecdote through the whole time of theDutch government, and particularly just before the capture ofNew-Amsterdam, and the subjugation of the province by the Englishsquadron. About that time the storm-ship was repeatedly seen in theTappaan Zee, and about Weehawk, and even down as far as Hoboken; andher appearance was supposed to be ominous of the approaching squall inpublic affairs, and the downfall of Dutch domination. 

Since that time, we have no authentic accounts of her; though it issaid she still haunts the highlands and cruises about Point-no-point. People who live along the river, insist that they sometimes see her insummer moonlight; and that in a deep still midnight, they have heardthe chant of her crew, as if heaving the lead; but sights and soundsare so deceptive along the mountainous shores, and about the wide baysand long reaches of this great river, that I confess I have verystrong doubts upon the subject. 

It is certain, nevertheless, that strange things have been seen inthese highlands in storms, which are considered as connected with theold story of the ship. The captains of the river craft talk of alittle bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in trunk hose and sugar-loafedhat, with a speaking trumpet in his hand, which they say keeps aboutthe Dunderberg. [16] They declare they have heard him, in stormyweather, in the midst of the turmoil, giving orders in Low Dutch forthe piping up of a fresh gust of wind, or the rattling off of anotherthunder-clap. That sometimes he has been seen surrounded by a crew oflittle imps in broad breeches and short doublets; tumblinghead-over-heels in the rack and mist, and playing a thousand gambolsin the air; or buzzing like a swarm of flies about Antony's Nose; andthat, at such times, the hurry-scurry of the storm was alwaysgreatest. One time, a sloop, in passing by the Dunderberg, wasovertaken by a thunder-gust, that came scouring round the mountain, and seemed to burst just over the vessel. Though tight and wellballasted, yet she laboured dreadfully, until the water came over thegunwale. All the crew were amazed, when it was discovered that therewas a little white sugar-loaf hat on the mast-head, which was known atonce to be that of the Heer of the Dunderberg. Nobody, however, daredto climb to the mast-head, and get rid of this terrible hat. The sloopcontinued labouring and rocking, as if she would have rolled her mastoverboard. She seemed in continual danger either of upsetting or ofrunning on shore. In this way she drove quite through the highlands, until she had passed Pollopol's Island, where, it is said, thejurisdiction of the Dunderberg potentate ceases. No sooner had shepassed this bourne, than the little hat, all at once, spun up into theair like a top, whirled up all the clouds into a vortex, and hurriedthem back to the summit of the Dunderberg, while the sloop rightedherself, and sailed on as quietly as if in a mill-pond. Nothing savedher from utter wreck, but the fortunate circumstance of having ahorse-shoe nailed against the mast--a wise precaution against evilspirits, which has since been adopted by all the Dutch captains thatnavigate this haunted river. 

[Footnote 16: i. E. , the "Thunder-Mountain, " so called from its echoes. ]

There is another story told of this foul-weather urchin, by SkipperDaniel Ouslesticker, of Fish-Hill, who was never known to tell a lie. He declared, that, in a severe squall, he saw him seated astride ofhis bowsprit, riding the sloop ashore, full butt against Antony'sNose; and that he was exorcised by Dominie Van Gieson, of Esopus, whohappened to be on board, and who sung the hymn of St. Nicholas;whereupon the goblin threw himself up in the air like a ball, and wentoff in a whirlwind, carrying away with him the nightcap of theDominie's wife; which was discovered the next Sunday morning hangingon the weather-cock of Esopus church steeple, at least forty milesoff! After several events of this kind had taken place, the regularskippers of the river, for a long time, did not venture to pass theDunderberg, without lowering their peaks, out of homage to the Heer ofthe mountain; and it was observed that all such as paid this tributeof respect were suffered to pass unmolested. [17]

[Footnote 17: Among the superstitions which prevailed in the coloniesduring the early times of the settlements, there seems to have been asingular one about phantom ships. The superstitious fancies of men arealways apt to turn upon those objects which concern their dailyoccupations. The solitary ship, which, from year to year, came like araven in the wilderness, bringing to the inhabitants of a settlementthe comforts of life from the world from which they were cut off, wasapt to be present to their dreams, whether sleeping or waking. Theaccidental sight from shore, of a sail gliding along the horizon, inthose, as yet, lonely seas, was apt to be a matter of much talk andspeculation. There is mention made in one of the early New-Englandwriters, of a ship navigated by witches, with a great horse that stoodby the mainmast. I have met with another story, somewhere, of a shipthat drove on shore, in fair, sunny, tranquil weather, with sails allset, and a table spread in the cabin, as if to regale a number ofguests, yet not a living being on board. These phantom ships alwayssailed in the eye of the wind; or ploughed their way with greatvelocity, making the smooth sea foam before their bows, when not abreath of air was stirring. 

Moore has finely wrought up one of these legends of the sea into alittle tale which, within a small compass, contains the very essenceof this species of supernatural fiction. I allude to his Spectre-Shipbound to Dead-man's Isle. ]

 * * * * *

"Such, " said Antony Vander Heyden, "are a few of the stories writtendown by Selyne the poet concerning this storm-ship; which he affirmsto have brought this colony of mischievous imps into the province, from some old ghost-ridden country of Europe. I could give you a hostmore, if necessary; for all the accidents that so often befall theriver craft in the highlands, are said to be tricks played off bythese imps of the Dunderberg; but I see that you are nodding, so letus turn in for the night. "

The moon had just raised her silver horns above the round back of oldBull-Hill, and lit up the gray rocks and shagged forests, andglittered on the waving bosom of the river. The night-dew was falling, and the late gloomy mountains began to soften, and put on a grayaerial tint in the dewy light. The hunters stirred the fire, and threwon fresh fuel to qualify the damp of the night air. They then prepareda bed of branches and dry leaves under a ledge of rocks, for Dolph;while Antony Vander Heyden, wrapping himself up in a huge coat made ofskins, stretched himself before the fire. It was some time, however, before Dolph could close his eyes. He lay contemplating the strangescene before him: the wild woods and rocks around--the fire, throwingfitful gleams on the faces of the sleeping savages--and the HeerAntony, too, who so singularly, yet vaguely reminded him of thenightly visitant to the haunted house. Now and then he heard the cryof some animal from the forest; or the hooting of the owl; or thenotes of the whip-poor-will, which seemed to abound among thesesolitudes; or the splash of a sturgeon, leaping out of the river, andfalling back full length on its placid surface. He contrasted all thiswith his accustomed nest in the garret-room of the doctor's mansion;where the only sounds he heard at night were the church-clock tellingthe hour; the drowsy voice of the watchman, drawling out all was well;the deep snoring of the doctor's clubbed nose from below stairs; orthe cautious labours of some carpenter rat gnawing in the wainscot. His thoughts then wandered to his poor old mother: what would shethink of his mysterious disappearance?--what anxiety and distresswould she not suffer? This was the thought that would continuallyintrude itself, to mar his present enjoyment. It brought with it afeeling of pain and compunction, and he fell asleep with the tears yetstanding in his eyes. 

Were this a mere tale of fancy, here would be a fine opportunity forweaving in strange adventures among these wild mountains and rovinghunters; and, after involving my hero in a variety of perils anddifficulties, rescuing him from them all by some miraculouscontrivance: but as this is absolutely a true story, I must contentmyself with simple facts, and keep to probabilities. 

At an early hour the next day, therefore, after a hearty morning'smeal, the encampment broke up, and our adventurers embarked in thepinnace of Antony Vander Heyden. There being no wind for the sails, the Indians rowed her gently along, keeping time to a kind of chant ofone of the white men: The day was serene and beautiful; the riverwithout a wave; and as the vessel cleft the glassy water, it left along, undulating track behind. The crows, who had scented the hunters'banquèt, were already gathering and hovering in the air, just where acolumn of thin, blue smoke, rising from among the trees, showed theplace of their last night's quarters. As they coasted along the basesof the mountains, the Heer Antony pointed out to Dolph a bald eagle, the sovereign of these regions, who sat perched on a dry tree thatprojected over the river; and, with eye turned upwards, seemed to bedrinking in the splendour of the morning sun. Their approach disturbedthe monarch's meditations. He first spread one wing, and then theother; balanced himself for a moment; and then, quitting his perchwith dignified composure, wheeled slowly over their heads. Dolphsnatched up a gun, and sent a whistling ball after him, that cut someof the feathers from his wing; the report of the gun leaped sharplyfrom rock to rock, and awakened a thousand echoes; but the monarch ofthe air sailed calmly on, ascending higher and higher, and wheelingwidely as he ascended, soaring up the green bosom of the woodymountain, until he disappeared over the brow of a beetling precipice. Dolph felt in a manner rebuked by this proud tranquillity, and almostreproached himself for having so wantonly insulted this majestic bird. Heer Antony told him, laughing, to remember that he was not yet out ofthe territories of the lord of the Dunderberg; and an old Indian shookhis head, and observed that there was bad luck in killing aneagle--the hunter, on the contrary, should always leave him a portionof his spoils. 

Nothing, however, occurred to molest them on their voyage. They passedpleasantly through magnificent and lonely scenes, until they came towhere Pollopol's Island lay, like a floating bower, at the extremityof the highlands. Here they landed, until the heat of the day shouldabate, or a breeze spring up, that might supersede the labour of theoar. Some prepared the mid-day meal, while others reposed under theshade of the trees in luxurious summer indolence, looking drowsilyforth upon the beauty of the scene. On the one side were thehighlands, vast and cragged, feathered to the top with forests, andthrowing their shadows on the glassy water that dimpled at their feet. On the other side was a wide expanse of the river, like a broad lake, with long sunny reaches, and green headlands; and the distant line ofShawungunk mountains waving along a clear horizon, or checkered by afleecy cloud. 

But I forbear to dwell on the particulars of their cruise along theriver; this vagrant, amphibious life, careering across silver sheetsof water; coasting wild woodland shores; banqueting on shadypromontories, with the spreading tree overhead, the river curling itslight foam to one's feet, and distant mountain, and rock, and tree, and snowy cloud, and deep-blue sky, all mingling in summer beautybefore one; all this, though never cloying in the enjoyment, would bebut tedious in narration. 

When encamped by the water-side, some of the party would go into thewoods and hunt; others would fish: sometimes they would amusethemselves by shooting at a mark, by leaping, by running, bywrestling; and Dolph gained great favour in the eyes of Antony VanderHeyden, by his skill and adroitness in all these exercises; which theHeer considered as the highest of manly accomplishments. 

Thus did they coast jollily on, choosing only the pleasant hours forvoyaging; sometimes in the cool morning dawn, sometimes in the soberevening twilight, and sometimes when the moonshine spangled the crispcurling waves that whispered along the sides of their little bark. Never had Dolph felt so completely in his element; never had he metwith any thing so completely to his taste as this wild, hap-hazardlife. He was the very man to second Antony Vander Heyden in hisrambling humours, and gained continually on his affections. The heartof the old bushwhacker yearned toward the young man, who seemed thusgrowing up in his own likeness; and as they approached to the end oftheir voyage, he could not help inquiring a little into his history. Dolph frankly told him his course of life, his severe medical studies, his little proficiency, and his very dubious prospects. The Heer wasshocked to find that such amazing talents and accomplishments were tobe cramped and buried under a doctor's wig. He had a sovereigncontempt for the healing art, having never had any other physicianthan the butcher. He bore a mortal grudge to all kinds of study also, ever since he had been flogged about an unintelligible book when hewas a boy. But to think that a young fellow like Dolph, of suchwonderful abilities, who could shoot, fish, run, jump, ride, andwrestle, should be obliged, to roll pills and administer juleps for aliving--'twas monstrous! He told Dolph never to despair, but to "throwphysic to the dogs;" for a young fellow of his prodigious talentscould never fail to make his way. "As you seem to have no acquaintancein Albany, " said Heer Antony, "you shall go home with me, and remainunder my roof until you can look about you; and in the meantime we cantake an occasional bout at shooting and fishing, for it is a pity suchtalents should lie idle. "

Dolph, who was at the mercy of chance, was not hard to be persuaded. Indeed, on turning over matters in his mind, which he did very sagelyand deliberately, he could not but think that Antony Vander Heydenwas, "some how or other, " connected with the story of the HauntedHouse; that the misadventure in the highlands, which had thrown themso strangely together, was, "some how or other, " to work out somethinggood: in short, there is nothing so convenient as this "some how orother" way of accommodating one's self to circumstances; it is themain-stay of a heedless actor, and tardy reasoner, like DolphHeyliger; and he who can, in this loose, easy way, link foregone evilto anticipated good, possesses a secret of happiness almost equal tothe philosopher's stone. 

On their arrival at Albany, the sight of Dolph's companion seemed tocause universal satisfaction. Many were the greetings at the riverside, and the salutations in the streets: the dogs bounded before him;the boys whooped as he passed; every body seemed to know Antony VanderHeyden. Dolph followed on in silence, admiring the neatness of thisworthy burgh; for in those days Albany was in all its glory, andinhabited almost exclusively by the descendants of the original Dutchsettlers, for it had not as yet been discovered and colonized by therestless people of New-England. Every thing was quiet and orderly;every thing was conducted calmly and leisurely; no hurry, no bustle, no struggling and scrambling for existence. The grass grew about theunpaved streets, and relieved the eye by its refreshing verdure. Thetall sycamores or pendent willows shaded the houses, with caterpillarsswinging, in long silken strings, from their branches, or moths, fluttering about like coxcombs, in joy at their gay transformation. The houses were built in the old Dutch style, with the gable-endstowards the street. The thrifty housewife was seated on a bench beforeher door, in close crimped cap, bright flowered gown, and white apron, busily employed in knitting. The husband smoked his pipe on theopposite bench, and the little pet negro girl, seated on the step ather mistress' feet, was industriously plying her needle. The swallowssported about the eaves, or skimmed along the streets, and broughtback some rich booty for their clamorous young; and the littlehousekeeping wren flew in and out of a Lilliputian house, or an oldhat nailed against the wall. The cows were coming home, lowing throughthe streets, to be milked at their owner's door; and if, perchance, there were any loiterers, some negro urchin, with a long goad, wasgently urging them homewards. 

As Dolph's companion passed on, he received a tranquil nod from theburghers, and a friendly word from their wives; all calling himfamiliarly by the name of Antony; for it was the custom in thisstrong-hold of the patriarchs, where they had all grown up togetherfrom childhood, to call every one by the Christian name. The Heer didnot pause to have his usual jokes with them, for he was impatient toreach his home. At length they arrived at his mansion. It was of somemagnitude, in the Dutch style, with large iron figures on the gables, that gave the date of its erection, and showed that it had been builtin the earliest times of the settlement. 

The news of Heer Antony's arrival had preceded him; and the wholehousehold was on the look-out. A crew of negroes, large and small, hadcollected in front of the house to receive him. The old, white-headedones, who had grown gray in his service, grinned for joy and made manyawkward bows and grimaces, and the little ones capered about hisknees. But the most happy being in the household was a little, plump, blooming lass, his only child, and the darling of his heart. She camebounding out of the house; but the sight of a strange young man withher father called up, for a moment, all the bashfulness of a homebreddamsel. Dolph gazed at her with wonder and delight; never had he seen, as he thought, any thing so comely in the shape of woman. She wasdressed in the good old Dutch taste, with long stays, and full, shortpetticoats, so admirably adapted to show and set off the female form. Her hair, turned up under a small round cap, displayed the fairness ofher forehead; she had fine, blue, laughing eyes, a trim, slenderwaist, and soft swell--but, in a word, she was a little Dutchdivinity; and Dolph, who never stopt half-way in a new impulse, felldesperately in love with her. 

Dolph was now ushered into the house with a hearty welcome. In theinterior was a mingled display of Heer Antony's taste and habits, andof the opulence of his predecessors. The chambers were furnished withgood old mahogany; the beau-fets and cupboards glittered with embossedsilver, and painted china. Over the parlour fire-place was, as usual, the family coat-of-arms, painted and framed; above which was a longduck fowling-piece, flanked by an Indian pouch, and a powder horn. Theroom was decorated with many Indian articles, such as pipes of peace, tomahawks, scalping-knives, hunting pouches, and belts of wampum; andthere were various kinds of fishing tackle, and two or threefowling-pieces in the corners. The household affairs seemed to beconducted, in some measure, after the master's humours; corrected, perhaps, by a little quiet management of the daughter's. There was adegree of patriarchal simplicity, and good-humoured indulgence. Thenegroes came into the room without being called, merely to look attheir master, and hear of his adventures; they would stand listeningat the door until he had finished a story, and then go off on a broadgrin, to repeat it in the kitchen. A couple of pet negro children wereplaying about the floor with the dogs, and sharing with them theirbread and butter. All the domestics looked hearty and happy; and whenthe table was set for the evening repast, the variety and abundance ofgood household luxuries bore testimony to the openhanded liberality ofthe Heer, and the notable housewifery of his daughter. 

In the evening there dropped in several of the worthies of the place, the Van Rennsellaers, and the Gansevoorts, and the Rosebooms, andothers of Antony Vander Heyden's intimates, to hear an account of hisexpedition; for he was the Sindbad of Albany, and his exploits andadventures were favourite topics of conversation among theinhabitants. While these sat gossiping together about the door of thehall, and telling long twilight stories, Dolph was cozily seated, entertaining the daughter on a window-bench. He had already got onintimate terms; for those were not times of false reserve and idleceremony; and, besides, there is something wonderfully propitious to alover's suit, in the delightful dusk of a long summer evening; itgives courage to the most timid tongue, and hides the blushes of thebashful. The stars alone twinkled brightly; and now and then afire-fly streamed his transient light before the window, or, wanderinginto the room, flew gleaming about the ceiling. 

What Dolph whispered in her ear, that long summer evening, it isimpossible to say: his words were so low and indistinct, that theynever reached the ear of the historian. It is probable, however, thatthey were to the purpose; for he had a natural talent at pleasing thesex, and was never long in company with a petticoat without payingproper court to it. In the meantime, the visitors, one by one, departed; Antony Vander Heyden, who had fairly talked himself silent, sat nodding alone in his chair by the door, when he was suddenlyaroused by a hearty salute with which Dolph Heyliger had unguardedlyrounded off one of his periods, and which echoed through the stillchamber like the report of a pistol. The Heer started up, rubbed hiseyes, called for lights, and observed, that it was high time to go tobed; though, on parting for the night, he squeezed Dolph heartily bythe hand, looked kindly in his face, and shook his head knowingly; forthe Heer well remembered what he himself had been at the youngster'sage. 

The chamber in which our hero was lodged was spacious, and panelledwith oak. It was furnished with clothes-presses, and mighty chests ofdrawers, well waxed, and glittering with brass ornaments. Thesecontained ample stock of family linen; for the Dutch housewives hadalways a laudable pride in showing off their household treasures tostrangers. 

Dolph's mind, however, was too full to take particular note of theobjects around him; yet he could not help continually comparing thefree, open-hearted cheeriness of this establishment with thestarveling, sordid, joyless housekeeping at Doctor Knipperhausen's. Still there was something that marred the enjoyment--the idea that hemust take leave of his hearty host and pretty hostess and cast himselfonce more adrift upon the world. To linger here would be folly; heshould only get deeper in love; and for a poor varlet like himself toaspire to the daughter of the great Heer Vander Heyden--it was madnessto think of such a thing! The very kindness that the girl had showntowards him prompted him, on reflection, to hasten his departure; itwould be a poor return for the frank hospitality of his host toentangle his daughter's heart in an injudicious attachment. In a word, Dolph was like many other young reasoners, of exceeding good heartsand giddy heads, who think after they act, and act differently fromwhat they think; who make excellent determinations overnight andforget to keep them the next morning. 

"This is a fine conclusion, truly, of my voyage, " said he, as healmost buried himself in a sumptuous feather-bed, and drew the freshwhite sheets up to his chin. "Here am I, instead of finding a bag ofmoney to carry home, launched in a strange place, with scarcely astiver in my pocket; and, what is worse, have jumped ashore up to myvery ears in love into the bargain. However, " added he, after somepause, stretching himself and turning himself in bed, "I'm in goodquarters for the present, at least; so I'll e'en enjoy the presentmoment, and let the next take care of itself; I dare say all will workout, 'some hew or other, ' for the best. "

As he said these words, he reached out his hand to extinguish thecandle, when he was suddenly struck with astonishment and dismay, forhe thought he beheld the phantom of the haunted house staring on himfrom a dusky part of the chamber. A second look reassured him, as heperceived that what he had taken for the spectre was, in fact, nothingbut a Flemish portrait, that hung in a shadowy corner just behind aclothes-press. It was, however, the precise representation of hisnightly visitor:--the same cloak and belted jerkin, the same grizzledbeard and fixed eye, the same broad slouched hat, with a featherhanging over one side. Dolph now called to mind the resemblance he hadfrequently remarked between his host and the old man of the hauntedhouse; and was fully convinced that they were in some way connected, and that some especial destiny had governed his voyage. He lay gazingon the portrait with almost as much awe as he had gazed on the ghostlyoriginal, until the shrill house-clock warned him of the lateness ofthe hour. He put out the light; but remained for a long time turningover these curious circumstances and coincidences in his mind, untilhe fell asleep. His dreams partook of the nature of his wakingthoughts. He fancied that he still lay gazing on the picture, until, by degrees, it became animated; that the figure descended from thewall and walked out of the room; that he followed it and found himselfby the well, to which the old man pointed, smiled on him, anddisappeared. 

In the morning when Dolph waked, he found his host standing by hisbed-side, who gave him a hearty morning's salutation, and asked himhow he had slept. Dolph answered cheerily; but took occasion toinquire about the portrait that hung against the wall. "Ah, " said HeerAntony, "that's a portrait of old Killian Vander Spiegel, once aburgomaster of Amsterdam, who, on some popular troubles, abandonedHolland and came over to the province during the government of PeterStuyvesant. He was my ancestor by the mother's side, and an oldmiserly curmudgeon he was. When the English took possession ofNew-Amsterdam in 1664, he retired into the country. He fell into amelancholy, apprehending that his wealth would be taken from him andthat he would come to beggary. He turned all his property into cash, and used to hide it away. He was for a year or two concealed invarious places, fancying himself sought after by the English, to striphim of his wealth; and finally was found dead in his bed one morning, without any one being able to discover where he had concealed thegreater part of his money. "

When his host had left the room, Dolph remained for some time lost inthought. His whole mind was occupied by what he had heard. VanderSpiegel was his mother's family name; and he recollected to have heardher speak of this very Killian Vander Spiegel as one of her ancestors. He had heard her say, too, that her father was Kollian's rightfulheir, only that the old man died without leaving any thing to beinherited. It now appeared that Heer Antony was likewise a descendant, and perhaps an heir also, of this poor rich man; and that thus theHeyligers and the Vander Heydens were remotely connected. "What, "thought he, "if, after all, this is the interpretation of my dream, that this is the way I am to make my fortune by this voyage to Albany, and that I am to find the old man's hidden wealth in the bottom ofthat well? But what an odd, round-about mode of communicating thematter! Why the plague could not the old goblin have told me about thewell at once, without sending me all the way to Albany to hear a storythat was to send me all the way back again?"

These thoughts passed through his mind while he was dressing. Hedescended the stairs, full of perplexity, when the bright face ofMarie Vander Heyden suddenly beamed in smiles upon him, and seemed togive him a clue to the whole mystery. "After all, " thought he, "theold goblin is in the right. If I am to get his wealth, he means that Ishall marry his pretty descendant; thus both branches of the familywill be again united, and the property go on in the proper channel. "

No sooner did this idea enter his head, than it carried convictionwith it. He was now all impatience to hurry back and secure thetreasure, which, he did not doubt, lay at the bottom of the well, andwhich he feared every moment might be discovered by some other person. "Who knows, " thought he, "but this night-walking old fellow of thehaunted house may be in the habit of haunting every visitor, and maygive a hint to some shrewder fellow than myself, who will take ashorter cut to the well than by the way of Albany?" He wished athousand times that the babbling old ghost was laid in the Red Sea, and his rambling portrait with him. He was in a perfect fever todepart. Two or three days elapsed before any opportunity presented forreturning down the river. They were ages to Dolph, notwithstandingthat he was basking in the smiles of the pretty Marie, and dailygetting more and more enamoured. 

At length the very sloop from which he had been knocked overboard, prepared to make sail. Dolph made an awkward apology to his host forhis sudden departure. Antony Vander Heyden was sorely astonished. Hehad concerted half-a-dozen excursions into the wilderness; and hisIndians were actually preparing for a grand expedition to one of thelakes. He took Dolph aside, and exerted his eloquence to get him toabandon all thoughts of business, and to remain with him--but in vain;and he at length gave up the attempt, observing, "that it was athousand pities so fine a young man should throw himself away. " HeerAntony, however, gave him a hearty shake by the hand at parting, witha favourite fowling-piece, and an invitation to come to his housewhenever he revisited Albany. The pretty little Marie said nothing;but as he gave her a farewell kiss, her dimpled cheek turned pale, anda tear stood in her eye. 

Dolph sprang lightly on board of the vessel. They hoisted sail; thewind was fair; they soon lost sight of Albany, and its green hills, and embowered islands. They were wafted gayly past the Kaatskillmountains, whose fairy heights were bright and cloudless. They passedprosperously through the highlands, without any molestation from theDunderberg goblin and his crew; they swept on across Haverstraw Bay, and by Croton Point, and through the Tappaan Zee, and under thePalisadoes, until, in the afternoon of the third day, they saw thepromontory of Hoboken, hanging like a cloud in the air; and, shortlyafter, the roofs of the Manhattoes rising out of the water. 

Dolph's first care was to repair to his mother's house; for he wascontinually goaded by the idea of the uneasiness she must experienceon his account. He was puzzling his brains, as he went along, to thinkhow he should account for his absence, without betraying the secretsof the haunted house. In the midst of these cogitations, he enteredthe street in which his mother's house was situated, when he wasthunderstruck at beholding it a heap of ruins. 

There had evidently been a great fire, which had destroyed severallarge houses, and the humble dwelling of poor Dame Heyliger had beeninvolved in the conflagration. The walls were not so completelydestroyed but that Dolph could distinguish some traces of the scene ofhis childhood. The fire-place, about which he had often played, stillremained, ornamented with Dutch tiles, illustrating passages in Biblehistory, on which he had many a time gazed with admiration. Among therubbish lay the wreck of the good dame's elbow-chair, from which shehad given him so many a wholesome precept; and hard by it was thefamily Bible, with brass clasps; now, alas! reduced almost to acinder. 

For a moment Dolph was overcome by this dismal sight, for he wasseized with the fear that his mother had perished in the flames. Hewas relieved, however, from this horrible apprehension, by one of theneighbours who happened to come by, and who informed him that hismother was yet alive. 

The good woman had, indeed, lost every thing by this unlooked-forcalamity; for the populace had been so intent upon saving the finefurniture of her rich neighbours, that the little tenement, and thelittle all of poor Dame Heyliger, had been suffered to consume withoutinterruption; nay, had it not been for the gallant assistance of herold crony, Peter de Groodt, the worthy dame and her cat might haveshared the fate of their habitation. 

As it was, she had been overcome with fright and affliction, and layill in body, and sick at heart. The public, however, had showed herits wonted kindness. The furniture of her rich neighbours being, asfar as possible, rescued from the flames; themselves duly andceremoniously visited and condoled with on the injury of theirproperty, and their ladies commiserated on the agitation of theirnerves; the public, at length, began to recollect something about poorDame Heyliger. She forthwith became again a subject of universalsympathy; every body pitied more than ever; and if pity could but havebeen coined into cash--good Lord! how rich she would have been!

It was now determined, in good earnest, that something ought to bedone for her without delay. The Dominie, therefore, put up prayers forher on Sunday, in which all the congregation joined most heartily. Even Cobus Groesbeck, the alderman, and Mynheer Milledollar, the greatDutch merchant, stood up in their pews, and did not spare their voiceson the occasion; and it was thought the prayers of such great mencould not but have their due weight. Doctor Knipperhausen, too, visited her professionally, and gave her abundance of advice gratis, and was universally lauded for his charity. As to her old friend, Peter de Groodt, he was a poor man, whose pity, and prayers, andadvice could be of but little avail, so he gave her all that was inhis power--he gave her shelter. 

To the humble dwelling of Peter de Groodt, then, did Dolph turn hissteps. On his way thither, he recalled all the tenderness and kindnessof his simple-hearted parent, her indulgence of his errors, herblindness to his faults; and then he bethought himself of his ownidle, harum-scarum life. "I've been a sad scape-grace, " said Dolph, shaking his head sorrowfully. "I've been a complete sink-pocket, that's the truth of it!--But, " added he, briskly, and clasping hishands, "only let her live--only let her live--and I'll show myselfindeed a son!"

As Dolph approached the house, he met Peter de Groodt coming out ofit. The old man started back aghast, doubting whether it was not aghost that stood before him. It being bright daylight, however, Petersoon plucked up heart, satisfied that no ghost dare show his face insuch clear sunshine. Dolph now learned from the worthy sexton theconsternation and rumour to which his mysterious disappearance hadgiven rise. It had been universally believed that he had been spiritedaway by those hobgoblin gentry that infested the haunted house; andold Abraham Vandozer, who lived by the great button-wood trees, at thethree-mile stone, affirmed, that he had heard a terrible noise in theair, as he was going home late at night, which seemed just as if aflight of wild geese were overhead, passing off towards the northward. The haunted house was, in consequence, looked upon with ten times moreawe than ever; nobody would venture to pass a night in it for theworld, and even the doctor had ceased to make his expeditions to it inthe day-time. 

It required some preparation before Dolph's return could be made knownto his mother, the poor soul having bewailed him as lost; and herspirits having been sorely broken down by a number of comforters, whodaily cheered her with stories of ghosts, and of people carried awayby the devil. He found her confined to her bed, with the other memberof the Heyliger family, the good dame's cat, purring beside her, butsadly singed, and utterly despoiled of those whiskers which were theglory of her physiognomy. The poor woman threw her arms about Dolph'sneck: "My boy! my boy! art thou still alive?" For a time she seemed tohave forgotten all her losses and troubles, in her joy at his return. Even the sage grimalkin showed indubitable signs of joy, at the returnof the youngster. She saw, perhaps, that they were a forlorn andundone family, and felt a touch of that kindliness whichfellow-sufferers only know. But, in truth, cats are a slanderedpeople; they have more affection in them than the world commonly givesthem credit for. 

The good dame's eyes glistened as she saw one being, at least, besideherself, rejoiced at her son's return. "Tib knows thee! poor dumbbeast!" said she, smoothing down the mottled coat of her favourite;then recollecting herself, with a melancholy shake of the head, "Ah, my poor Dolph!" exclaimed she, "thy mother can help thee no longer!She can no longer help herself! What will become of thee, my poorboy!"

"Mother, " said Dolph, "don't talk in that strain; I've been too long acharge upon you; it's now my part to take care of you in your olddays. Come! be of good heart! you, and I, and Tib, will all see betterdays. I'm here, you see, young, and sound, and hearty; then don't letus despair; I dare say things will all, some how or other, turn outfor the best. "

While this scene was going on with the Heyliger family, the news wascarried to Doctor Knipperhausen, of the safe return of his disciple. The little doctor scarcely knew whether to rejoice or be sorry at thetidings. He was happy at having the foul reports which had prevailedconcerning his country mansion thus disproved; but he grieved athaving his disciple, of whom he had supposed himself fairlydisencumbered, thus drifting back, a heavy charge upon his hands. While he was balancing between these two feelings, he was determinedby the counsels of Frau Ilsy, who advised him to take advantage of thetruant absence of the youngster, and shut the door upon him for ever. 

At the hour of bed-time, therefore, when it was supposed the recreantdisciple would seek his old quarters, every thing was prepared for hisreception. Dolph, having talked his mother into a state oftranquillity, sought the mansion of his quondam master, and raised theknocker with a faltering hand. Scarcely, however, had it given adubious rap, when the doctor's head, in a red night-cap, popped out ofone window, and the housekeeper's, in a white night-cap, out ofanother. He was now greeted with a tremendous volley of hard names andhard language, mingled with invaluable pieces of advice, such as areseldom ventured to be given excepting to a friend in distress, or aculprit at the bar. In a few moments, not a window in the street buthad its particular night-cap, listening to the shrill treble of FrauIlsy, and the guttural croaking of Dr. Knipperhausen; and the wordwent from window to window, "Ah! here's Dolph Heyliger come back, andat his old pranks again. " In short, poor Dolph found he was likely toget nothing from the doctor but good advice--a commodity so abundantas even to be thrown out of the window; so he was fain to beat aretreat, and take up his quarters for the night under the lowly roofof honest Peter de Groodt. 

The next morning, bright and early, Dolph was at the haunted house. Every thing looked just as he had left it. The fields were grass-grownand matted, and it appeared as if nobody had traversed them since hisdeparture. With palpitating heart, he hastened to the well. He lookeddown into it, and saw that it was of great depth, with water at thebottom. He had provided himself with a strong line, such as thefishermen use on the banks of Newfoundland. At the end was a heavyplummet and a large fish-hook. With this he began to sound the bottomof the well, and to angle about in the water. He found that the waterwas of some depth; there appeared also to be much rubbish, stones fromthe top having fallen in. Several times his hook got entangled, and hecame near breaking his line. Now and then, too, he hauled up meretrash, such as the skull of a horse, an iron hoop, and a shatterediron-bound bucket. He had now been several hours employed withoutfinding any thing to repay his trouble, or to encourage him toproceed. He began to think himself a great fool, to be thus decoyedinto a wild-goose-chase by mere dreams, and was on the point ofthrowing line and all into the well, and giving up all furtherangling. 

"One more cast of the line, " said he, "and that shall be the last. " Ashe sounded, he felt the plummet slip, as it were, through theinterstices of loose stones; and as he drew back the line, he feltthat the hook had taken hold of something heavy. He had to manage hisline with great caution, lest it should be broken by the strain uponit. By degrees, the rubbish that lay upon the article which he hadhooked gave way; he drew it to the surface of the water, and what washis rapture at seeing something like silver glittering at the end ofhis line! Almost breathless with anxiety, he drew it up to the mouthof the well, surprised at its great weight, and fearing every instantthat his hook would slip from its hold, and his prize tumble again tothe bottom. At length he landed it safe beside the well. It was agreat silver porringer, of an ancient form, richly embossed, and witharmorial bearings, similar to those over his mother's mantel-piece, engraved on its side. 

The lid was fastened down by several twists of wire; Dolph loosenedthem with a trembling hand, and on lifting the lid, behold! the vesselwas filled with broad golden pieces, of a coinage which he had neverseen before! It was evident he had lit on the place where KillianVander Spiegel had concealed his treasure. 

Fearful of being seen by some straggler, he cautiously retired, andburied his pot of money in a secret place. He now spread terriblestories about the haunted house, and deterred every one fromapproaching it, while he made frequent visits to it on stormy days, when no one was stirring in the neighbouring fields; though, to tellthe truth, he did not care to venture there in the dark. For once inhis life he was diligent and industrious, and followed up his newtrade of angling with such perseverance and success, that in a littlewhile he had hooked up wealth enough to make him, in those moderatedays, a rich burgher for life. 

It would be tedious to detail minutely the rest of this story:--totell how he gradually managed to bring his property into use withoutexciting surprise and inquiry--how he satisfied all scruples withregard to retaining the property, and at the same time gratified hisown feelings, by marrying the pretty Marie Vander Heyden--and how heand Heer Antony had many a merry and roving expedition together. 

I must not omit to say, however, that Dolph took his mother home tolive with, him, and cherished her in her old days. The good dame, too, had the satisfaction of no longer hearing her son made the theme ofcensure; on the contrary, he grew daily in public esteem; every bodyspoke well of him and his wines, and the lordliest burgomaster wasnever known to decline his invitation to dinner. Dolph often related, at his own table, the wicked pranks which had once been the abhorrenceof the town; but they were now considered excellent jokes, and thegravest dignitary was fain to hold his sides when listening to them. No one was more struck with Dolph's increasing merit, than his oldmaster the doctor; and so forgiving was Dolph, that he actuallyemployed the doctor as his family physician, only taking care that hisprescriptions should be always thrown out of the window. His motherhad often her junto of old cronies, to take a snug cup of tea with herin her comfortable little parlour; and Peter de Groodt, as he sat bythe fire-side, with one of her grandchildren on his knee, would many atime congratulate her upon her son turning out so great a man; uponwhich the good old soul would wag her head with exultation, andexclaim, "Ah, neighbour, neighbour! did I not say that Dolph would oneday or other hold up his head with the best of them?"

Thus did Dolph Heyliger go on, cheerily and prosperously, growingmerrier as he grew older and wiser, and completely falsifying the oldproverb about money got over the devil's back; for he made good use ofhis wealth, and became a distinguished citizen, and a valuable memberof the community. He was a great promoter of public institutions, suchas beef-steak societies and catch-clubs. He presided at all publicdinners, and was the first that introduced turtle from the WestIndies. He improved the breed of race-horses and game-cocks, and wasso great a patron of modest merit, that any one who could sing a goodsong, or tell a good story, was sure to find a place at his table. 

He was a member, too, of the corporation, made several laws for theprotection of game and oysters, and bequeathed to the board a largesilver punch-bowl, made out of the identical porringer beforementioned, and which is in the possession of the corporation to thisvery day. 

Finally, he died, in a florid old age, of an apoplexy, at acorporation feast, and was buried with great honours in the yard ofthe little Dutch church in Garden-street, where his tombstone maystill be seen, with a modest epitaph in Dutch, by his friend MynheerJustus Benson, an ancient and excellent poet of the province. 

The foregoing tale rests on better authority than most tales of thekind, as I have it at second-hand from the lips of Dolph Heyligerhimself. He never related it till towards the latter part of his life, and then in great confidence, (for he was very discreet, ) to a few ofhis particular cronies at his own table over a supernumerary bowl ofpunch; and, strange as the hobgoblin parts of the story may seem, there never was a single doubt expressed on the subject by any of hisguests. It may not be amiss, before concluding, to observe that, inaddition to his other accomplishments, Dolph Heyliger was noted forbeing the ablest drawer of the long-bow in the whole province. 

THE WEDDING. 

 No more, no more, much honour aye betide The lofty bridegroom and the lovely bride; That all of their succeeding days may say, Each day appears like to a wedding-day. 

 --BRAITHWAITE. 

Notwithstanding the doubts and demurs of Lady Lillycraft, and all thegrave objections that were conjured up against the month of May, yetthe wedding has at length happily taken place. It was celebrated atthe village church, in presence of a numerous company of relatives andfriends, and many of the tenantry. The Squire must needs havesomething of the old ceremonies observed on the occasion; so, at thegate of the church-yard, several little girls of the village, dressedin white, were in readiness with baskets of flowers, which theystrewed before the bride; and the butler bore before her thebride-cup, a great silver embossed bowl, one of the family relics fromthe days of the hard drinkers. This was filled with rich wine, anddecorated with a branch of rosemary, tied with gay ribands, accordingto ancient custom. 

"Happy is the bride that the sun shines on, " says the old proverb; andit was as sunny and auspicious a morning as heart could wish. Thebride looked uncommonly beautiful; but, in fact, what woman does notlook interesting on her wedding-day? I know no sight more charming andtouching than that of a young and timid bride, in her robes of virginwhite, led up trembling to the altar. When I thus behold a lovelygirl, in the tenderness of her years, forsaking the house of herfathers and the home of her childhood; and, with the implicitconfiding, and the sweet self-abandonment, which belong to woman, giving up all the world for the man of her choice: when I hear her, inthe good old language of the ritual, yielding herself to him "forbetter for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, tolove, honour and obey, till death us do part, " it brings to my mindthe beautiful and affecting self-devotion of Ruth: "Whither thou goestI will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be mypeople, and thy God my God. "

The fair Julia was supported on the trying occasion by LadyLillycraft, whose heart was overflowing with its wonted sympathy inall matters of love and matrimony. As the bride approached the altar, her face would be one moment covered with blushes, and the next deadlypale; and she seemed almost ready to shrink from sight among herfemale companions. 

I do not know what it is that makes every one serious, and, as itwere, awe-struck, at a marriage ceremony--which is generallyconsidered as an occasion of festivity and rejoicing. As the ceremonywas performing, I observed many a rosy face among the country girlsturn pale, and I did not see a smile throughout the church. The youngladies from the Hall were almost as much frightened as if it had beentheir own case, and stole many a look of sympathy at their tremblingcompanion. A tear stood in the eye of the sensitive Lady Lillycraft;and as to Phoebe Wilkins, who was present, she absolutely wept andsobbed aloud; but it is hard to tell, half the time, what these fondfoolish creatures are crying about. 

The captain, too, though naturally gay and unconcerned, was muchagitated on the occasion; and, in attempting to put the ring upon thebride's finger, dropped it on the floor; which Lady Lillycraft hassince assured me is a very lucky omen. Even Master Simon had lost hisusual vivacity, and had assumed a most whimsically solemn face, whichhe is apt to do on all occasions of ceremony. He had much whisperingwith the parson and parish-clerk, for he is always a busy personage inthe scene, and he echoed the clerk's amen with a solemnity anddevotion that edified the whole assemblage. 

The moment, however, that the ceremony was over, the transition wasmagical. The bride-cup was passed round, according to ancient usage, for the company to drink to a happy union; every one's feelings seemedto break forth from restraint. Master Simon had a world of bachelorpleasantries to utter; and as to the gallant general, he bowed andcooed about the dulcet Lady Lillycraft, like a mighty cock-pigeonabout his dame. 

The villagers gathered in the church-yard, to cheer the happy coupleas they left the church; and the musical tailor had marshalled hisband, and set up a hideous discord, as the blushing and smiling bridepassed through a lane of honest peasantry to her carriage. Thechildren shouted, and threw up their hats; the bells rung a merrypeal, that set all the crows and rooks flying and cawing about theair, and threatened to bring down the battlements of the old tower;and there was a continual popping off of rusty fire-locks from everypart of the neighbourhood. 

The prodigal son distinguished himself on the occasion, having hoisteda flag on the top of the school-house, and kept the village in ahubbub from sunrise, with the sound of drum and fife and pandean pipe;in which species of music several of his scholars are making wonderfulproficiency. In his great zeal, however, he had nearly done mischief;for on returning from church, the horses of the bride's carriage tookfright from the discharge of a row of old gun-barrels, which he hadmounted as a park of artillery in front of the school-house, to givethe captain a military salute as he passed. 

The day passed off with great rustic rejoicing. Tables were spreadunder the trees in the park, where all the peasantry of theneighbourhood were regaled with roast-beef and plum-pudding and oceansof ale. Ready-Money Jack presided at one of the tables, and became sofull of good cheer, as to unbend from his usual gravity, to sing asong out of all tune, and give two or three shouts of laughter, thatalmost electrified his neighbours, like so many peals of thunder. Theschoolmaster and the apothecary vied with each other in makingspeeches over their liquor; and there were occasional glees andmusical performances by the village band, that must have frightenedevery faun and dryad from the park. Even old Christy, who had got on anew dress from top to toe, and shone in all the splendour of brightleather breeches and an enormous wedding favour in his cap, forgot hisusual crustiness, became inspired by wine and wassel, and absolutelydanced a hornpipe on one of the tables, with all the grace and agilityof a manikin hung upon wires. 

Equal gayety reigned within doors, where a large party of friends wereentertained. Every one laughed at his own pleasantry, withoutattending to that of his neighbours. Loads of bride-cake weredistributed. The young ladies were all busy in passing morsels of itthrough the wedding-ring to dream on, and I myself assisted a fewlittle boarding-school girls in putting up a quantity for theircompanions, which I have no doubt will set all the little heads in theschool gadding, for a week at least. 

After dinner, all the company, great and small, gentle and simple, abandoned themselves to the dance: not the modern quadrille, with itsgraceful gravity, but the merry, social, old country-dance; the truedance, as the Squire says, for a wedding occasion, as it sets all theworld jigging in couples, hand in hand, and makes every eye and everyheart dance merrily to the music. According to frank old usage, thegentlefolks of the Hall mingled for a tune in the dance of thepeasantry, who had a great tent erected for a ball-room; and I think Inever saw Master Simon more in his element, than when figuring aboutamong his rustic admirers, as master of the ceremonies; and, with amingled air of protection and gallantry, leading out the quondam Queenof May, all blushing at the signal honour conferred upon her. 

In the evening the whole village was illuminated, excepting the houseof the radical, who has not shown his face during the rejoicings. There was a display of fire-works at the school-house, got up by theprodigal son, which had well-nigh set fire to the building. The Squireis so much pleased with the extraordinary services of this lastmentioned worthy, that he talks of enrolling him in his list ofvaluable retainers, and promoting him to some important post on theestate; per-adventure to be falconer, if the hawks can ever be broughtinto proper training. 

There is a well-known old proverb, that says "one wedding makesmany, "--or something to the same purpose; and I should not besurprised if it holds good in the present instance. I have seenseveral flirtations among the young people, that have been broughttogether on this occasion; and a great deal of strolling about inpairs, among the retired walks and blossoming shrubberies of the oldgarden: and if groves were really given to whispering, as poets wouldfain make us believe, Heaven knows what love tales the grave-lookingold trees about this venerable country-seat might blab to the world. 

The general, too, has waxed very zealous in his devotions within thelast few days, as the time of her ladyship's departure approaches. Iobserved him casting many a tender look at her during the weddingdinner, while the courses were changing; though he was always liableto be interrupted in his adoration by the appearance of any newdelicacy. The general, in fact, has arrived at that time of life whenthe heart and the stomach maintain a kind of balance of power, andwhen a man is apt to be perplexed in his affections between a finewoman and a truffled turkey. Her ladyship was certainly rivalled, through the whole of the first course, by a dish of stewed carp; andthere was one glance, which was evidently intended to be a point-blankshot at her heart, and could scarcely have failed to effect apracticable breach, had it not unluckily been directed away to atempting breast of lamb, in which it immediately produced a formidableincision. Thus did this faithless general go on, coquetting during thewhole dinner, and committing an infidelity with every new dish; until, in the end, he was so overpowered by the attentions he had paid tofish, flesh, and fowl; to pastry, jelly, cream, and blanc-mange, thathe seemed to sink within himself: his eyes swam beneath their lids, and their fire was so much slackened, that he could no longerdischarge a single glance that would reach across the table. Upon thewhole, I fear the general ate himself into as much disgrace, at thismemorable dinner, as I have seen him sleep himself into on a formeroccasion. 

I am told, moreover, that young Jack Tibbets was so touched by thewedding ceremony, at which he was present, and so captivated by thesensibility of poor Phoebe Wilkins, who certainly looked all thebetter for her tears, that he had a reconciliation with her that veryday, after dinner, in one of the groves of the park, and danced withher in the evening; to the complete confusion of all Dame Tibbets'domestic politics. I met them walking together in the park, shortlyafter the reconciliation must have taken place. Young Jack carriedhimself gayly and manfully; but Phoebe hung her head, blushing, as Iapproached. However, just as she passed me, and dropped a curtsy, Icaught a shy gleam of her eye from, under her bonnet; but it wasimmediately cast down again. I saw enough in that single gleam, and inthe involuntary smile that dimpled about her rosy lips, to feelsatisfied that the little gipsy's heart was happy again. 

What is more, Lady Lillycraft, with her usual benevolence and zeal inall matters of this tender nature, on hearing of the reconciliation ofthe lovers, undertook the critical task of breaking the matter toReady-Money Jack. She thought there was no time like the present, andattacked the sturdy old yeoman that very evening in the park, whilehis heart was yet lifted up with the Squire's good cheer. Jack was alittle surprised at being drawn aside by her ladyship, but was not tobe flurried by such an honour: he was still more surprised by thenature of her communication, and by this first intelligence of anaffair which had been passing under his eye. He listened, however, with his usual gravity, as her ladyship represented the advantages ofthe match, the good qualities of the girl, and the distress which shehad lately suffered: at length his eye began to kindle, and his handto play with the head of his cudgel. Lady Lillycraft saw thatsomething in the narrative had gone wrong, and hastened to mollify hisrising ire by reiterating the soft-hearted Phoebe's merit andfidelity, and her great unhappiness; when old Ready-Money suddenlyinterrupted her by exclaiming, that if Jack did not marry the wench, he'd break every bone in his body! The match, therefore, is considereda settled thing: Dame Tibbets and the housekeeper have made friends, and drank tea together; and Phoebe has again recovered her good looksand good spirits, and is carolling from morning till night like alark. 

But the most whimsical caprice of Cupid is one that I should be almostafraid to mention, did I not know that I was writing for readers wellexperienced in the waywardness of this most mischievous deity. Themorning after the wedding, therefore, while Lady Lillycraft was makingpreparations for her departure, an audience was requested by herimmaculate hand-maid, Mrs. Hannah, who, with much primming of themouth, and many maidenly hesitations, requested leave to stay behind, and that Lady Lillycraft would supply her place with some otherservant. Her ladyship was astonished: "What! Hannah going to quit her, that had lived with her so long!"

"Why, one could not help it; one must settle in life some time orother. "

The good lady was still lost in amazement; at length, the secret wasgasped from the dry lips of the maiden gentlewoman: "She had been sometime thinking of changing her condition, and at length had given herword, last evening, to Mr. Christy, the huntsman. "

How, or when, or where this singular courtship had been carried on, Ihave not been able to learn; nor how she has been able, with thevinegar of her disposition, to soften the stony heart of old Nimrod:so, however, it is, and it has astonished every one. With all herladyship's love of match-making, this last fume of Hymen's torch hasbeen too much for her. She has endeavoured to reason with Mrs. Hannah, but all in vain; her mind was made up, and she grew tart on the leastcontradiction. Lady Lillycraft applied to the Squire for hisinterference. "She did not know what she should do without Mrs. Hannah, she had been used to have her about her so long a time. "

The Squire, on the contrary, rejoiced in the match, as relieving thegood lady from a kind of toilet-tyrant, under whose sway she hadsuffered for years. Instead of thwarting the affair, therefore, he hasgiven it his full countenance; and declares that he will set up theyoung couple in one of the best cottages on his estate. Theapprobation of the Squire has been followed by that of the wholehousehold; they all declare, that if ever matches are really made inheaven, this must have been; for that old Christy and Mrs. Hannah wereas evidently formed to be linked together, as ever were pepper-box andvinegar-cruet. 

As soon as this matter was arranged, Lady Lillycraft took her leave ofthe family at the Hall; taking with her the captain and his blushingbride, who are to pass the honeymoon with her. Master Simonaccompanied them on horseback, and indeed means to ride on ahead tomake preparations. The general, who was fishing in vain for aninvitation to her seat, handed her ladyship into the carriage with aheavy sigh; upon which his bosom friend, Master Simon, who was justmounting his horse, gave me a knowing wink, made an abominably wryface, and, leaning from his saddle, whispered loudly in my ear, "Itwon't do!" Then, putting spurs to his horse, away he cantered off. Thegeneral stood for some time waving his hat after the carriage as itrolled down the avenue, until he was seized with a fit of sneezing, from exposing his head to the cool breeze. I observed that he returnedrather thoughtfully to the house; whistling softly to himself, withhis hands behind his back, and an exceedingly dubious air. 

The company have now almost all taken their departure; I havedetermined to do the same to-morrow morning; and I hope my reader maynot think that I have already lingered too long at the Hall. I havebeen tempted to do so, however, because I thought I had lit upon oneof the retired places where there are yet some traces to be met withof old English character. A little while hence, and all these willprobably have passed away. Ready-Money Jack will sleep with hisfathers: the good Squire, and all his peculiarities, will be buried inthe neighbouring church. The old Hall will be modernized into afashionable country-seat, or, peradventure, a manufactory. The parkwill be cut up into petty farms and kitchen-gardens. A daily coachwill run through the village; it will become, like all othercommonplace villages, thronged with coachmen, post-boys, tipplers, andpoliticians: and Christmas, May-day, and all the other heartymerry-makings of the "good old times, " will be forgotten. 

THE AUTHOR'S FAREWELL. 

 And so without more circumstance at all, I hold it fit that we shake hands and part. 

 --_Hamlet_. 

Having taken leave of the Hall and its inmates, and brought thehistory of my visit to something like a close, there seems to remainnothing further than to make my bow, and exit. It is my foible, however, to get on such companionable terms with my reader in thecourse of a work, that it really costs me some pain to part with him;and I am apt to keep him by the hand, and have a few farewell wards atthe end of my last volume. 

When I cast an eye back upon the work I am just concluding, I cannotbut be sensible how full it must be of errors and imperfections:indeed, how should it be otherwise, writing as I do about subjects andscenes with which, as a stranger, I am but partially acquainted? Manywill doubtless find cause to smile at very obvious blunders which Imay have made; and many may, perhaps, be offended at what they mayconceive prejudiced representations. Some will think I might have saidmuch more on such subjects as may suit their peculiar tastes; whilstothers will think I had done wiser to have left those subjectsentirely alone. 

It will probably be said, too, by some, that I view England with apartial eye. Perhaps I do; for I can never forget that it is my"father land. " And yet, the circumstances under which I have viewed ithave by no means been such as were calculated to produce favourableimpressions. For the greater part of the time that I have resided init, I have lived almost unknowing and unknown; seeking no favours, andreceiving none: "a stranger and a sojourner in the land, " and subjectto all the chills and neglects that are the common lot of thestranger. 

When I consider these circumstances, and recollect how often I havetaken up my pen, with a mind ill at ease, and spirits much dejectedand cast down, I cannot but think I was not likely to err on thefavourable side of the picture. The opinions I have given of Englishcharacter have been the result of much quiet, dispassionate, andvaried observation. It is a character not to be hastily studied, forit always puts on a repulsive and ungracious aspect to a stranger. Letthose, then, who condemn my representations as too favourable, observethis people as closely and deliberately as I have done, and they will, probably, change their opinion. Of one thing, at any rate, I amcertain, that I have spoken honestly and sincerely, from theconvictions of my mind, and the dictates of my heart. When I firstpublished my former writings, it was with no hope of gaining favour inEnglish eyes, for I little thought they were to become current out ofmy own country: and had I merely sought popularity among my owncountrymen, I should have taken a more direct and obvious way, bygratifying rather than rebuking the angry feelings that were thenprevalent against England. 

And here let me acknowledge my warm, my thankful feelings, at theeffect produced by one of my trivial lucubrations. I allude to theessay in the Sketch-Book, on the subject of the literary feuds betweenEngland and America. I cannot express the heartfelt delight I haveexperienced, at the unexpected sympathy and approbation with whichthose remarks have been received on both sides of the Atlantic. Ispeak this not from any paltry feelings of gratified vanity; for Iattribute the effect to no merit of my pen. The paper in question wasbrief and casual, and the ideas it conveyed were simple and obvious. "It was the cause: it was the cause" alone. There Vras apredisposition on the part of my readers to be favourably affected. Mycountrymen responded in heart to the filial feelings I had avowed intheir name towards the parent country: and there was a generoussympathy in every English bosom towards a solitary individual, liftingup his voice in a strange land, to vindicate the injured character ofhis nation. There are some causes sosacred as to carry with them anirresistible appeal to every virtuous bosom; and he needs but littlepower of eloquence, who defends the honour of his wife, his mother, orhis country. 

I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, as showing howmuch good may be done by a kind word, however feeble, when spoken inseason--as showing how much dormant good-feeling actually exists ineach country, towards the other, which only wants the slightest sparkto kindle it into a genial flame--as showing, in fact, what I have allalong believed and asserted, that the two nations would grow togetherin esteem and amity, if meddling and malignant spirits would but throwby their mischievous pens, and leave kindred hearts to the kindlyimpulses of nature. 

I once more assert, and I assert it with increased conviction of itstruth, that there exists, among the great majority of my countrymen, afavourable feeling toward England. I repeat this assertion, because Ithink it a truth that cannot too often be reiterated, and because ithas met with some contradiction. Among all the liberal and enlightenedminds of my countrymen, among all those which eventually give a toneto national opinion, there exists a cordial desire to be on terms ofcourtesy and friendship. But at the same time, there exists in thosevery minds a distrust of reciprocal good-will on the part of England. They have been rendered morbidly sensitive by the attacks made upontheir country by the English press; and their occasional irritabilityon this subject has been misinterpreted into a settled and unnaturalhostility. 

For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as belonging togenerous natures. I should look upon my countrymen as fallen indeedfrom that independence of spirit which is their birth-gift; as fallenindeed from that pride of character which they inherit from the proudnation from which they sprung, could they tamely sit down under theinfliction of contumely and insult. Indeed, the very impatience whichthey show as to the misrepresentations of the press, proves theirrespect for English opinion, and their desire for English amity; forthere is never jealousy where there is not strong regard. 

It is easy to say, that these attacks are all the effusions ofworthless scribblers, and treated with silent contempt by the nation;but, alas! the slanders of the scribbler travel abroad, and the silentcontempt of the nation is only known at home. With England, then, itremains, as I have formerly asserted, to promote a mutual spirit ofconciliation; she has but to hold the language of friendship andrespect, and she is secure of the good-will of every American bosom. 

In expressing these sentiments, I would utter nothing that shouldcommit the proper spirit of my countrymen. We seek no boon atEngland's hands: we ask nothing as a favour. Her friendship is notnecessary, nor would her hostility be dangerous to our well-being. Weask nothing from abroad that we cannot reciprocate. But with respectto England, we have a warm feeling of the heart, the glow ofconsanguinity that still lingers in our blood. Interest apart--pastdifferences forgotten--we extend the hand of old relationship. Wemerely ask, do not estrange us from you; do not destroy the ancienttie of blood; do not let scoffers and slanderers drive a kindrednation from your side; we would fain be friends; do not compel us tobe enemies. 

There needs no better rallying-ground for international amity, thanthat furnished by an eminent English writer: "There is, " say she, "asacred bond between us of blood and of language, which nocircumstances can break. Our literature must always be theirs; andthough their laws are no longer the same as ours, we have the sameBible, and we address our common Father in the same prayer. Nationsare too ready to admit that they have natural enemies; why should theybe less willing to believe that they have natural friends?"[18]

[Footnote 18: From an article (said to be by Robert Southey, Esq. )published in the Quarterly Review. It is to be lamented that thatpublication should so often forget the generous text here given!]

To the magnanimous spirits of both countries must we trust to carrysuch a natural alliance of affection into full effect. To pens morepowerful than mine, I leave the noble task of promoting the cause ofnational amity. To the intelligent and enlightened of my own country, I address my parting voice, entreating them to show themselvessuperior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and the worthless, andstill to look with dispassionate and philosophic eye to the moralcharacter of England, as the intellectual source of our risinggreatness; while I appeal to every generous-minded Englishman from theslanders which disgrace the press, insult the understanding, and beliethe magnanimity of his country: and I invite him to look to America, as to a kindred nation, worthy of its origin; giving, in the healthyvigour of its growth, the best of comments on its parent stock; andreflecting, in the dawning brightness of its fame, the moraleffulgence of British glory. 

I am sure that such an appeal will not be made in vain. Indeed, I havenoticed, for some time past, an essential change in English sentimentwith regard to Amerioar. In parliament, that fountain-head of publicopinion, there seems to be an emulation, on both sides of the house, in holding the language of courtesy and friendship. The same spirit isdaily becoming more and more prevalent in good society. There is agrowing curiosity concerning my country; a craving desire for correctinformation, that cannot fail to lead to a favourable understanding. The scoffer, I trust, has had his day; the time of the slanderer isgone by; the ribald jokes, the stale commonplaces, which have so longpassed current when America was the theme, are now banished to theignorant and the vulgar, or only perpetuated by the hirelingscribblers and traditional jesters of the press. The intelligent andhigh-minded now pride themselves upon making America a study. 

But however my feelings may be understood or reciprocated on eitherside of the Atlantic, I utter them without reserve, for I have everfound that to speak frankly is to speak safely. I am not so sanguineas to believe that the two nations are ever to be bound together byany romantic ties of feeling; but I believe that much may be donetowards keeping alive cordial sentiments, were every well-disposedmind occasionally to throw in a simple word of kindness. If I have, indeed, produced any such effect by my writings, it will be a soothingreflection to me, that for once, in the course of a rather negligentlife, I have been useful; that for once, by the casual exercise of apen which has been in general but too unprofitably employed, I haveawakened a cord of sympathy between the land of my fathers and thedear land that gave me birth. 

In the spirit of these sentiments, I now take my farewell of thepaternal soil. With anxious eye do I behold the clouds of doubt anddifficulty that are lowering over it, and earnestly do I hope thatthey may all clear up into serene and settled sunshine. In biddingthis last adieu, my heart is filled with fond, yet melancholyemotions; and still I linger, and still, like a child leaving thevenerable abodes of his forefathers, I turn to breathe forth a filialbenediction: Peace be within thy walls, O England! and plenteousnesswithin thy palaces; for my brethren and my companions' sake I will nowsay, Peace be within thee!