THE COUNTY OF , PERTH, HERALD,., STRATFORD, ., WEDNESDAY, , MARCH | 30, 1864. Original Worry. The Drankard. > BY A. BW S.--WELLESLEY. | 2 é > > 'The druakard lifts the sparkling glass on high, While ever and anon, fierce demons come nigh, Who laugh at his fate and mock his madness, Who glory in sin and look on in gladness. The drunkard fills the glass with poison rife, And_ heeds not the ery of his sad lonely wife; He heeds her not though her: heart is riven, By the pangs of..woe he himself hath driven. The drunkard drinks»in.impetous mirth, The draught that degrades,and reduces his worth While in rags and sorrow his children dwell, He forges the chains that may bind him in hell. The drunkard lives a miserable lite, He squanders his time amid turmoil and strife, He wastes his fortune, encourages vice, But he pays for all, and how dreadful the price ! The drunkard drinks while life is ebbing low, Of that fearful chalice, the chalice of-woe, Till delirium tremens ends the strife, And thus completes his debasing mis-spent life. From Chamber's Journal. LOST SIR MASSINGBERD. ( Continued.) 'We are a doomed race, Peter,' he once said to me, not long after we had made friendship with one another. Generation after generation of us have sinned and sinned, The Corsicans have their family feuds transmitted to them, but they are hostile only to their fellow-men; the Heaths have ever fought against Heaven itself. Each successor to the title seems to have said, like the descendants of Tubal Cain: "We will not hear, we will not know, The God that was our father's foe." There's the Church,' said he, pointing to that glorious pile, which, at Fairburn, was almost a cathedral in magnitude and beauty, ' and there is the Hall. They are antagonistic; they are devoted to opposite purposes. I tell you, yes; our family residence is consecrated to the devil.' Tam afraid I could not help laughing at this singular notion. 'Nay, cried he, looking round. him furtiyely, 'but you shall see that it is so." We were in the Rectory garden, which communicated 'with the churchyard by a wicket. He led the way into it; and in a distant corner, upon the north side of the chancel, he shewed me a sombre burying- ground, separated from the rest of God's-acre, and imprisoned in dark purgatorial rails. 'Do you know why we are all put there,' asked he, 'instead of with the other Christian folks?' *You are too proud to lie with the poor per- haps, returned I, who had still that idea in my mind with regard to Marmaduke himself. 'No,' said he; 'it is not that--it is because the Heaths will not be buried in consecrated ground,' 'But you have a family-vault underneath the chancel, have you not? ' 'Yes; but it is not 'snug lying' None of us have been put there since old Sir Hugh, in Queen Anne's time. When they opened the vault for him, they found his father's coffin with its plate to the ground. It had turned over. The witty parson would have it that it was only natural that it should have done 80, since its tenant, during life, had fought alternately for Parliament and King, and was addicted to changing sides. But when Sir Hugh's successor demanded lodg- ing in the place in his turn, they found Sir Hugh's coffin had turned over likewise. This circumstance go terrified the dead man's heir-- who had »not been on the best' terms with him during life, and perhaps thought he owed him some amends--that he swore his father should aot lie in such restless company; and as the fate baronet had been at feud with the then rector, he determined to dispense with any as- sistance from the church at all, and buried him in an adjoining field, which was subsequently made the last resting-place of all our race, as you perceive. The burial-service is dispensed with, of course. It would be mere mockery to address such words as Hope and Faith to' the <orpse of a Heath of Fairburn.' 'My dear Marmaduke,' said I, 'you make. my very (blood, run» cold. But surely) you exage gerateythese things. Somie of your people haye been Catholics, and been buried in their own chapel.at the Hall, have they not? _'Only one of them,' replied the boy with bitterness. 'My great-grandfather, Sir Nicholas, abjured his infidelity, and became a papist, in order to secure his bride. He turned the chapel into a banqueting-hall, however, and used the sacramental plate in his unholy revels ; butafter death, the priests got hold of him at last, "and "Nick the Younger,' as he was called, now lies ander the altar which he so often profaned. The beginning of his funeral-ceremonies was not con- ducted so decently as the last rites. He had got outlawed, I believe, or, at all events, was driven abroadvin his latter days, and died there, No- body at Fairburn had heard of him for many months, when one October night, as Oliver Bradford, who is now the head-keeper, but was then a very young man, was watching in the home-preserves, he heard a terrible noise in the high-road, and making his way out, came upon this spectacle: two men in black, and. upon black horses, rode by him at. full speed, and close behind them came a hearse-and-four, like- wise at the gallop. The plumes upon it waved backwards, lie says, like corn, and all the black trappings of the thing fluttered and flapped.as it went by. . Another man on horseback, singing to himself a drunken song, closed» this» horrid procession. It moved up towards 'he village, and Oliver listened to it until the noise seemed to cease about opposite to the Park gates. The solitary witness, frightened enough before, was now doubly terrified, for-he,made sure that what hélhad seen was the news of Sir Nicholas's de- cease brought over in. this ghastly and characteristic fashion, He did not fora single moment imagine that it.was a palpable vision ; and yet he had seen a yeritable funeral pass by. The old baronet had died in France, leaving directions, and the money to carry them out, that his corpse should be taken at night, and at full gallop, through every town that lay between Dover-and Fairburn -- Alive or dead, added Marmaduke grimly, 'the Heaths are a charming family? : : ; : @'Atall events, my dear fellow, said I, laying tay hand upon his arm, 'you will have nothing to fear from comparison With your forefathers. You may make a good reputation at a cheap price. A very little virtue will go a great way -with the next tenant of Fairburn Hall, if half the-tales we hear be true. f 'And what tales are those ?' inquired. a deep lew voice at my very elbow. T believe jumped a foot or two in the air myself, so greatb-wasmy alarm; but as for my companion, if those graes-grown tombs which we were contemplating had given up~ their wicked skeletons before his eyes, he could not have 'exhibited a, greater excess of terror, Besid@ me stood 'a man of heretlean propors tions,' who, by his dress, might have been taken for an under-gamekeeper, but for a massive gold chain which hung from the top button-hole of his waistcoat down to its deep-flapped pocket. What is now, I believe, called an ' Albert gnard,' resembles it on a smaller scale ; but at the time I speak of, such an ornament was altogether unique. His face, too, evidently belonged to one who was used to command. On the fore- head was a curious indented curve like the let- ter U, while his lips curled contemptuously up- wards also, in somewhat the same shape. The two together gave him a weird and indeed a demoniacal look, which his white beard,although long and flowing, had not enough of dignity to do away with. I had never heard Sir Massing- berd's personal appearance described ; but even if I had not had before me his shrinking nephew, I should have recognised at once the features of Giant Despair, 'And what tales are those which are told against the present tenant of Fairburn Hall ?" reiterated.the baronet, scanning me from head to foot with his cold glittering eyes. 'And who is this young gentleman who' comes to listen to them from the lips of my loving ward ?" 'Sir,' said I, 'your nephew was saying nothing whatever against you, Ido assure you, [was merely referring to the gossip of the village, which, indeed, does not make you out to be en- tirely a saint.' I was angry. at having been frightened by this man, who, after all, could not hurt me. I had been accustomed, too, to Indian life, which, without making one bolder than other people, indisposes one to submit to dicta- tion, which is oyly the duty of the natives. Sir Massingberd reached forth one iron finger, and rocked me with it.to and fro, though I stood as firm as I could. 'Take care, young gentle- man, take care,' said he ; that spirit of yours will not do, down at Fairburn. Mr. Long does not seem to have taught you humility, I think.-- Marmaduke, .go home.' . He spoke these last words exactly as a man speaks to.his dog who has injudiciously followed him to church on Sunday, in the hope that he was bent on partridge-shooting, The boy instantly obeyed. He-shrank away, passing as closely to the churchyard railing as he could, as though he almost feared a blow from his uncle. 'There is humility--there. is docility ! sneered the baronet, looking afterhim. 'And if] had you up at the Hall, my young bantam, for four- and-twenty hours or so, I'd make you docile too." He strode away with a laugh like the creaking of an iron hinge, for he saw that I did not dare to answer him--he strode away over the humble graves, setting his foot deep into their dasied mounds, as though in scorn, and his laugh echoed again and again from the sepulchral walls, for it was joy to Sir Massingberd Heath to know that he was feared, CHAPTER II.----THE DREAM BY THE BROOK. Although my story must needs be sombre Wherever it has to do with that person whose name it bears, yet I hope there will be found some sunny spots in it. During the first few months after my arrival at Fairburn, there was nothing to sadden life there that I knew of. I passed my days under green leaves; and not only in a metaphorical sense, for every fine after- noon, immediately after study was over, I betook myself to the Park. The whole. place was watched as zealously, even in summer, as the gardens of the Hesperides, but Mr. Long had obtained permission for me to roam at large therein. Tome, vexed from childhood by Indian suns, Fairburn Chase--as that part of the de- mesne most remote from the Hall was called-- was far more delightful than it could have been to any mere English boy. Its stately avenues of oaks, tapering into infinite distance, with their checker-work of beam and shade, was the realisation of my dreams of forest beauty ; nor was its delicious coolness marred by the broad strips of sunlight, at long but equal distances, like the golden stairs of the Angels' Ladder, for those, I knew, marked the interlacing of 'the Rides, themselves as fair, and leading, not as the avenue did, to the outer world, but into secret bowers known only to the deer and me. When Marmaduke was not with me--which often enough happened, poor fellow, and par- ries: 'after that unfortimate meeting with his uncle in the churchyard--the whole Cha se seemed abandoned to myself, I dare say it was not really*so;-and that if Ishad not*been a pris vileged person, I should soon have found out my mistake ; but for days I never saw any human being there. Now and then, the figure of a gamckeeper, dwarfed by distance, would make its appearance for a moment, to be lost the next in somé leafy glade; but the sense of. Solitude was thereby rather ineréased than otherwise, just as the poet tells us in a case where the ear and not the eye was concerned, 'the busy wood- pecker made stiller by his sound the inviolable quietness.' Lying, couched in fern, in that lordly pleasure-place, Ihave myself entertained some poetic thoughts, although they never found expression ; even now, as I shut my eyes, I make an inward picture of some such resting-place ; nothing to be seen but the long green feathery stems, which the summer air just stirs about my brow, and the broad branches of the oak that stretch themselves motionless between me and the gun; nothiag to be heard but the coo of the ringdove, and the swift stealthy bite of the dap- pled deer. Nor did Fairburn Chase lack water to complete its beauty. In front of the Hall itself moved a broad slow stream,'which plesently slid, rather than fell, down ledges of mossy stone into a wilderness of trees and shrubs, through which it wandered on like one who has lost his way, but sighing blithely nevertheless. Another stream, which was my favorite, burst, spring like, from the very heart of the Chase-- having been artificially conveyed beneath the avenue--and ran, quite a little river, andat a great rate, to form the island where the herons lived; after which, as though it had done its work, it went its way tranquilly enough. If it had nothing to boast of but the Heronry, it might haye been a proud little brook, for never did colony. of these.solemn birds take their sad pleasure in a more lovely spot; but, besides, it had a bend in it--essential to the beauty of a brook, as straightness is to that of a tree--which I have never seen rivalled elsewhere. Its right bank rose there, though not abruptly, and left half its bed of brown sand and loose tinkling shingle bare tg the sunlight, save so much of it as the shade of a cluster of lime trees could cover; here the bee and the bird brought their songs, and the dragon flies the glory of their turquoise armour and_ glittering wings throughout the summer noons. The cool fragrant smell of the limes, and the drowsy music of the insects that haunted them, were in- expressibly pleasant to me, who, I am afraid, had not a little of the Asiatic indolencein my nature. Sometimes a group of swans'Sailed by on the un- ruffled stream, themselves a'slumberous pageant fit enough to herald sleep} but at all events, swans or no swans, I often did Sleep there. One July afternoon, in particular, when the heat was almost as intense as at Calcutta, and no pun- kahs to cool one, I went to this placerwith malice prepense, to lie there and do nothing, which, from my youth up, has always been synonymous with a siesta. I cannot absolutely do nothing and yet keep awake. I very much admire the people whom I often meet in railway carriages, who endure, without books or newspapers, hun- dreds of miles of weary travel,' and'who do' it with their eyes open. I wonder they do not break out into a melody, or at least.a. whistle; they cannot possibly be thinking all that time, and, indeed, they have no appearance of em- ploying themselves in that way, but ' stare right on with calm eternal eyes,' with no more speculation in them than those of the Sphinx herself. I envy, but I cannot imitate those hap- py persons; there is no such state of coma with me; I either wake or sleep. I lay, then, beneath the lines by the brook in Fairburn Chase, half buried in the soft brown sand; and even while I looked upon the glancing stream, with the grand old willow opposite, that bert its hoary honors half-way o'er; the scene dissolved and changed; the brook became a river, and the willow a palm-tree, and. the Chase asandy tract, and the fir-clump on the distant hill the snow-capped Himalaya. I saw, too--and, alas! I was never more to see. them, except, as then, in dreams--my father and my mother; but, they passed by me with pitiful, loving looks, and went, their way. Then the ayah, the black nurse who was watching over me--for I was once more a)child--stole down. to the riyer-brink, and drew a, fluted dagger from her bosom, and dipped it in the sacred flood, and I felt that L. was to dio. I knew her well; we two had loved one another as. nurse and. child do love, where the nurse perforce takes half the mother's part; as the child grows up, his affection, at the best, congeals to gratitude ; but not so with the breast that suckled him--God forgive us men; and the pain of my dream was sharpest because it was my own dear ayah who was about to slay me. I had offended Vishnu, or else she would not have done it; her gods demanded my life of her; but she was sorry; I felt her cold lips upon my brow, and then a large round tear fell upon my cheek like icy hail, and Tawoke. There was a tumult of sounds in the air; the birds, and the bees, and bubbling wave, silent while I had slept, seemed to have burst out together in chorus at my waking. I was bewildered, and knew not where.I was. My dream was more distinct at first than the reali- ties about me. If I had but closed my eyes again, I knew that it would be continued at the spot where it had left off, that the fluted dagger would have drunk my life-blood ; and therefore made an effort to rouse myself. Wondrous are dreams, and wondrous the border-land 'twixt life and sleep! If my existence had depended upon it, I could not for some seconds have told for certain whether I was in England or in India, Then reason began to reassume her sway, and the vague mysterious powers, of whom we shall one day, perhaps, have a more certain knowledge, withdrew reluctant from their usurped dominion over me. I remember, however, most distinctly every incident that they had brought about, and I placed my hand mechanically upon my left cheek---I had been lying upon my right--upon which the tear had seemed to fall, Great Heaven, it was still wet! I was really startled. The cloudless sky forbade the idea of a drop of rain having fallen; I had shed no tear myself while dreaming, for my eyes were dry, and even if I had, it could scarcely have dropped as it did, making a cool round spot in the centre of the cheek--it would have slid down, and left a little frigid line: there were no stones for the stream to splash against and thus besprinkle me. It was very odd. Still I.did not imagine for a moment that my poor black nurse had really come across the seas to drop the tributary tear upon her sleeping boy; moreover, she could scarcely have got away so suddenly without leaving some trace of her departure; some My heart all of a sudden ceased to beat; a shiver ran through me, as runs from stem to stern through a doomed ship that comes end on at speed upon a sunken rock ; my eyes had fallen --while I thus reasoned with myself--upon a sight to terrify an older man than I, after such a dream ; the print of a woman's bare feet in the sand. Had there been any footprints--those of a keeper or watcher, for, instance--I should have been startled to know) that some 'one had passed by while I slumbered, for most certainly the sand had been untrodden up to the moment I nad lost Consciousness ; but that a woman with naked feet had been really present' while I dreamed that horrible dream, was something more than startling. In Scotland, such a cir- cumstance would have been less remarkable, but in Fairburn I had not yet seen any person with- out shoes. There were a considerable number of footprints, but only of one individual: she had stood beside me for some time, for they were deeper close to the place where I had lain, and there was also one impression there which looked as though the mysterious visitor had knelt. They had come sand returned the same way, which'was not the one that I had come myself, and they began and ended at the stream-side a few yards beyond, and out of sight of the bend which was my favorite haunt. The woman had doubtless crossed and recrossed by means of some natural stepping stones that shewed their heads above water; there was no path on the other side, but only a tangled thicket, through which it would have been impossible to track her, even had I been so disposed, which I was not. To say truth, I was. terribly discomposed, For a minute or two, I clung to the notion, that the footprints were my own, made perhaps under the influence of somnambulism; I took off my shoes, and measured the tracks with my own 'feet, but I found, boy as I was, that mine effaced them. They were certainly the marks of a Woman, smaller than those of a grown male, yet firmer set than those ofa child. "Never since the days of Robinson Crusce was ever man so panic- struck by footprints in the sandas I. Although it was broad daylight, and the air was alive with sounds, I fairly trembled. The many evil stories which, during my short stay at Fairburn, I had already heard of the old Hall, a corner of which I could discern from where I stood, crowded in upon my brain ; the whole demesne seemed under a malign influence--enchanted ground, I turned from the spot, whose lonely beauty had once so won my soul, with fear and loathing, and as I. turned, there rang out--it may have been from the thicket across the Stream, but the echoes took it up.so suddenly, that it seemed to' ring all around me--a laugh 8o terrible, so demoniacally mocking, that I could scarcely believe it came from mortal throat. Again and again it rose, and circled about, as thongh it would have headed my fleeing steps, and driven me back upon some dreadful Thing, whileI fled through the fern towards home at my topmost speed, and the white-tailed rabbits Scampered to left and right, less frightened | than I. CHAPTER 1Y,.--THE DUMB WITSESS. A. 'sentiment . of shame. prevented my mentioning the affair of the footprints to my tutor; and as for Marmaduke, although we were by this time very intimate, I would not have furnished him with a new occasiou for detesting Fairburn Chase, upon any~account. Not only was my favorite haunt by the brook become an object of aversion to me, but! confess I took much less delight in any part of the Heath demesne. I kept my eyes about me, even in the great avenue,, and, upon the whole, preferred the rector's little garden, if at any time I had a mind for sleeping out-of doors, 'Meredith,' observed Mr. Long. to me one morning--he called me 'Peter' generally ; but when he had anything serious to say, it was 'Meredith '--it appears tome that you don't take nearly so much exercise as you used to doy. your appetite is failing; Iam really concerned about you,' 'Thank you, sir; I am pretty well/ 'Nonsense, Peter; no boy should be. ' pretty well;' he should bein the rudest, vulgarest health, or else he isin a bad way. Your good father advised me, that if you seemed. the least to need it, | should get youanag. It is Crit- tenden Fair next week; what say you to my buying you a horse?' 'Thank you, sir; that is just what I should like,' cried I. 'Iam certainly getting tired of walking about alone'--and then I began to blush a little, for of late, rather than go into the Chase, [had been accompanying my tutor in his favorite diversion of fishing, which I cared nothing about, or else in his parochial expedi- tions. 'Don't be afraid to speak out, my boy,' said Mr. Long, with a kind smile; 'you will not hurt my feelings. You and I are very good friends, but you want somebody of your own age to be your companion. Isn't that it? And very natural too. No young gentleman, except in story books, enjoys the society of his tutors. Even Sandford and Merton got a little tired of good Mr: Barlow, I fancy ; he was so desperate- ly full of information. You want a fellow who can shy stones and climb trees.' 'No sir; indeed I don't, said I a little indig- nantly, for T'was getting too old, I flattered my- self, for any boyish escapades of that sort. 'But I do wish that Marmaduke was allowed to come out with me a little more. Would not Sir Mas- singberd let him have a horse also ?' Mr. Long shook his head, and was silent for alittle ; then, as ifin continuation of his thought, he added; 'And yet; 1 don't know. We'll go over to the Hall and see about it this very morn- ing' 'I, sir?' inquired I in astonishment, for I had never set foot in Doubting Castle, or seen it from any nearer spot than the Heronry. 'Did I say 'we??' said Mr. Long reflectively. 'I didn't mean to do so, but [really see no rea- son why you shouldn't come. You would wait a considerable time if you waited for an invita- tion from Sir Massingberd, but Tush, if poor Marmaduke lives there, and yet remains a good boy, half an hour's visit will not be the ruin of the lad.' The latter part of this remark was uttered aloud, although intended to be strictly private, which was not) an uncommon occurrence with my. worthy tutor, and I have noticed the same peculiarity in other persons of studious habits, He led the way into the road at once, pursuing which under the Park wall, we presently came upon a little door, which my tutor opened with a private key. This admitted us into the wall-garden, or, as it was sometimes called, from the quantities of that fruit which it contained, the peach-garden, An enormous area was here entirely given up to the cultiva- tion of fruits; in the centre were strawberry- beds, gooseberries, melon-beds, the glasses of which dazzled you to behold; and raspberries upon trellis-work, on so extensive a scale that it looked like a maze. The northern end was occupied by an enormous greenhouse, which in those days, was rather a rare adjunct, even to arich man's garden. But the most surprising sight was that of the walls covered with spread- eagled fruit-trees, or, as school-boys then called them, ' Lawk-a-daisies,' laden with the most ex- quisite dainties--peaches, nectarines, apricots, and bloomy 'plums, A number. of. men) were busily employed about this teeming scenes!) 'Why do they say Sir Massingberd is 'poor?' inquired I, 04 Is not this all his ?' H 'Yes ; it is'all his.' @ 'Well, but what valuable fruit, and what enormous quantities of it! Why, he would make a large income, even if he was to sell it. 'He does sell it,' replied my tutor smiling. ' Nineteen out of twenty of all these peaches will find their way to Convent Garden. | Why, how could he eat them, you foolish boy? Even if he gave them away to all Fairburn, he would intro- duce the cholera.' ' A baronet and a market-gardener ! exclaim- edI. 'Well, that seems very odd.' Mr, Long did not choose to inform me at that time that almost all the income Sir Massingberd had was derived from this source, and from the selling of game, with which his great preserves were overflewing. The staff of gardeners.and of keepers was retained mainly upon this account. In the interest of Marma- duke, Mr. Clint, the family lawyer, did, I be- lieve, contribute a certain annual sum for keep- ing up the gardens and the Chase ; but this was by private arrangement, and at his own risk and responsibility. Thus it was that while some parts of the Fairburn demesne was as admirably maintained as possible, others were suffered to fall into decay. Just as we emerged from the wall-garden, for instance, there was a small artificial hollow planted with trees, and within it, peering above ground, a thatched roof, covered with moss and mildew, and with great gaps and holes in it. This was the ice-house-- in these Wenham Lake and Refrigerator days, an almost obsolete building, but in the time I write of, considered a necessary appendag: to every country-seat. Next we entered an ar- cade of immense length, which the noonday rays would have striven in vain to penetrate, but for the spaces where the trellis-work had given way through age and neglect, and the ivy trailed down from rusted nails, and obstructed the way. Seats were placed in niches at un- equal intervals upon one side of this arcade ; but they looked. very unattractive, damp, worm- eaten, cracked, and here and there with a slug upon them, making slimy paths. Yet from one of these alcoves there started up, while we were still a long way off, a female figure, and stood for @ moment looking at us in great surprise, Above her happened to be one: of. those broken portions of the leafy roof, and through it the sunlight poured right dawn in a golden flood, as a glory sometimes does in ancient pictures. A tall dark woman, who must have been exquisite- ly beautiful in her youth, and even now re- tained.considerable attractions ; her eyes were large and lustrous, aud her hair--never even in India had I seen hair more dark, or so luxuriant. It was not rolled tight at the back ina great 5 POR RISTO Nt pillow, as was, then the fashion,:or, indeed, con- fined in any way, but.streamed down over her shoulders, and far below, that place where it Was the pleasure of our ancestresses to.consider: that their waists occurred. She cast upon us at first a glance, haughty and defiant, but upon ' recognising my companion, quenched. her fiery looks, : 'Stop here, my. lad,' whispered, Mr. Long, laying his hand, firmly upon my shoulder j wait till she has gone away.' "The woman saw the gesture, although she could not haye heard the words. 'I shall. not bite thesboy, Mr. Long,' cried she witha shrill laugh ; howeyer, I willmake myself searce.' She took a few rapid steps to.an opening on the right of the arcade, which led to the lawn and flower-garden, and was lost to us.in.a moment. 'I did not know there were any ladies at the Hall,' said I. My tutor did not answer, but. walked on muttering to himself, as) if annoyed ; I did not repeat the remark, for | was wondering within myself whether it could be this woman who had watched my sleep, and knelt by me, dagger in hand, according to my dream, . She looked just the sort of female to drive such an instrument home, if she entertained that fancy--a Judith, equal to the slaying of any. Holofernes, and far more of a slight-built, overgrown Indian lad like me. There was certainly something uncan- ny about her; andI thought it very strange that Marmaduke had never spoken to me of her ex- istence, The arcade brought us out into a sunk garden, which was a rosary, on to which opened the tall windows of a noble looking room. The walls, 1 could see, were lined with books, and on the numerous tables lay portfolios and volumes that gave promise of great store of plates. This was the library, where Marmaduke had told me he passed his only happy hours at Fairburn. His uncle rarely so much as entered it, although he was not without some reputation for learning, In particular, it was said that he was well ac: quainted with Divinity, and could quote chapter and verse of the Bible against the parson... } have since had reason to believe that his talents in this way were greatly exaggerated. What he had eyer read, he doubtless recollected,. if his memory served him as well in literary mate ters as when he had a grudge to pay; but I cannot think that he had ever studied divinity, Ifhe had any knowledge of the Bible at all,.it doubtless astonished all who knew him, and they made the most of it. spe A few steps further brought us to the north: face of the mansion, in which was the principal entrance. Notwithstanding the broad sweep. in front of the steps, and the»ayenue branching right and left, there did not seem to be space enough, contrasted with the vast mass of trees, The scene was like a clearing in a forest, where the openings. are artificial, and the wood comes by nature rather than the converse ; and even in' that September day the air was chill, The grift fins that guarded the great stone steps had lost, the one an ear, and the other a wing; and the steps themselves were chipped and cracked. The grass that grew there unchecked at other seasons, had, however, been scraped. out, be- cause Sir Massingberd's guests were expected immediately for the shooting, None of them, however, had as yet, arrived, The great bell which answered our summons clanged through the place as though there had been neither fur- niture nor people within it. The vast door was opened long before its echoes ceased,and, indeed, | /wWith marvellous quickness. . When the man saw "who we were he looked vexed at having. put himself in a flurry without necessity, He had thought it might have been his master who de- manded admittance, and had come post, haste from the pantry, it being very dangerous. te keep the baronet waiting... We were ushered into the great hall, and left there while the man went to seek Sir Massingberd. This huge apartment was ¢vidently used as a sitting-room; there were couches and comfortable chairs in profu- sion, and a fine aroma of tobacco pervaded every- thing. The walls were ornamented with antler's and the heads of foxes ; a number of fishing-rods stood in one corner; in another lay some of those clubs that. are used for exercising. the muscles, On, the table was.an open pocket-hook, stuck full of gorgeous artificial flies. . Presently the man re-appeared. Sir Massingberd would: see us in his private sitting-roo. We walked over polished oak, on) which I could with difficulty keep my footing, down a long passage hung with grim portraits. of the Heath family-- 'all dead and judged,'as Marmaduke subsequently informed me--until we came to a short flight of steps on the left hand; these we descended, and following the footsteps of.our conductor, in al- most perfect darkness, came upon double doors, the inner of which, a baize one, admitted us inte the presence ofthe proprietor. The baronet was: in his shirt-sleeves, cleaning a double-barrelled gun. id (To be Continued.) The Balance Sheet. Admitting the statement. of the administration press that slavery is abolished, to be true in i widest sense, somebody makes up the nation: balance sheet thus: EMANCIPATION. Dr. "To 500,000 white American citizens killed. "100,000 maimed, wounded and disabled. "A devastated country, filled with orphans - and widows, . Loss of national prestige, " $4,000,000,000 of indebtedness. A divided Country ,(suspense account.) : Crepir, i By 4,000,000 free negroes. peas The four millions by which we stand credited . are worth to us immensely ies than nothing... In fact, if the government had given four thous-.. and million dollars and five hundred thousand: lives to force the states where the negroes. are to keep and provide for them, as contemplated by the Constitution, it would have made a com- paratively excellent bargain --[Buffalo Courier. ee Epitaph on Rep. by Pop. r wk, The Parliamentary correspondent of , the Montreal Gazette writes :-- tte ehieees a ' Among the amusements of members other night was the passing around of an taph, nearly as follows :-- To. the Memory idl . by Pop... Barbarously slain rage and murdered by aaa Son RR hist professed. guardian =. : and ' io ae pfiend. jas 14th March 1864, . pa! EES Every one feels that even if poor Rep. by Pop. were already dead, Mr. Brown's committee was nothing more or less than grave diggers, to dee vise a decent grave for it. ee *