beginning to draw her nocturnal curtains, and to send round. her celestial lamplighter, when I rode forth on my moody and quixotic errand. My horse, as she clattered out of the courtyard, seemed to exhibit an unusual reluctance to proceed on the journey, as if she felt that my mission was something too strange and dubious to deserve her assistance; and the gate, which swung after me as I made my exit, was some time in making up its mind to close against my return: it clicked backwards and forwards on its latch, as though it were appealing to me to "Come back come back!" But I shut my heart to the influence of its metallic entreaties, and went on my way.

Two hours' smart riding brought me into a dilemma. In the first place, I had lost my way; and in the next, the weather had become very stormy. Dark clouds had been some time mustering their threatening ranks, and preparing to do battle with the earth. These dangerous warriors had already formed themselves into light skirmishing parties, and were fast bringing up their whole force, when I anxiously looked about for shelter, but none was to be found: only scattered hedge-rows and stunted trees were to be seen, and these tended rather to make the prospect more spectral and forbidding. At last, at a turning of the road, I came upon a little low cottage, in which there appeared to be a timid light burning. I knocked at the window with the handle of my whip, and, after a smothered scuffle inside the house, a man in his night-dress opened the lattice and indignantly began to exclaim,

"In the name of "

"Pray, my good friend," said I, in a bland tone, "can you tell me the way to Graysboro'?"

it."

"Graysboro'! Lor' bless ye, sir! you be going directly from

This information was anything but comforting; and I then

asked if he knew "where I could obtain shelter for myself and my horse."

'Why, sir," he good-naturedly replied, "if you like to step in, you shall be welcome to my arm-chair to rest in; but I am sorry I can't offer your horse a seat. You had better tie him up to the gate."

"Thank you, my kind friend, but I cannot accept your hospitality on these terms: I must see my faithful animal safely housed before I can make myself comfortable. Is there no inn anywhere near?"

"There's not a house within three miles of us, and the nearest is a dreadful kind of place, although there is always a spare bed there for a wayfarer. People say the house is haunted; and, after all, I'm afraid you'll never find it, for I never went to it by the road myself. I can tell you the way across the fields; but you must leap a stile or two, or scramble through the hedge, to get there."

"Can you tell me the name of this very unpromising abode, and give me any idea of the route to it?"

"Well, it is called 'Hartsore Hall.' You must go to the end of the lane on the right, and then turn to the left across a wheat-field, until you come to a barley-field, when you must take the second wide path on the right, and then the second narrow one on the left, and go on until you see a beech-treeI mean the farthest one, for you will see several beech-trees and bear off towards the sycamores, and then up by the gravelpits; and then make for the copse, until you come to where six paths meet; take the one facing you, towards the southnot the one in a straight line, but a little curved, and mind you don't take the path that's very crooked, but moderately bent— and then you'll see a heap of stones-if they're not removed— and then another very crooked path, which leads to a plank over a stream; go straight along, but lean first to the right and

then to the left; take the first turning on the left, and the second on the right, and the third on the left again, and then you'll come out directly opposite the lodge-gates of Hartsore Hall."

For a moment I was dumb-foundered with astonishment and perplexity. I had frequently been sorely puzzled by mathematical questions at college; but the problem now before me was a specimen of rustic trigonometry to which, with my limited memory and deficient organ of locality, I could not see even the shadow of a solution. Nothing but a very careful survey of the ground, some years after this adventure, has enabled me to give this report of the directions I received.

My silence seemed to satisfy my informant that he had done his duty and achieved a masterpiece of lucidity, for in another moment he had wished me "Good night!" closed his window, and left me to pursue my journey.

"Go to the end of the lane on the right!" thought I to myself, "there can be no harm in making an attempt thus far."

I had scarcely trotted more than three hundred yards, when my horse shied, trembled, and almost threw me from my seat. I very soon ascertained the cause of this fright: near the hedge was a gipsy's tent, out of which was crawling its black, shaggy, forbidding owner. The idea immediately struck me that I would enter into a treaty with this suspicious-looking nomad, and make him my guide to Hartsore Hall. So I accordingly opened the negotiation with a remark respecting "the dreadful state of the weather," which the gipsy did not seem disposed to dispute; and it was certainly not a subject which admitted of any controversy. After some debate about terms it was agreed that he would, for a crown-piece, consent to conduct me to my destination.

Two tall decayed stone pillars, surmounted with wrinkled

and moss-covered urns, gravely towering above a rusty iron gate, formed the entrance to the grounds of Hartsore Hall.

As I took leave of my guide, the clouds gathered themselves together as if to prepare for an orderly retreat; and the moon, in her silver chariot, came out to chase these dark battalions from the sky.

I lifted the latch, and entered the winding avenue leading to the Hall, when a picture of the saddest desolation presented itself. No sound was to be heard but that of my horse's hoofs, and the melancholy sighing of the wind among the branches: the trees, like animate things, seemed to have grown into shapes and attitudes of sadness and neglect, and to be incapable of uttering any tones but those of bereavement and despair. The road-way was in ruts, the paths were overgrown with rank vegetation, and every feature of the scene indicated Nature collapsing into her original state of dreariness, decay, and death. No distant crow of a cock, no baying of a dog, gave a hint of social life, or indicated the presence of humanity.

It was a

At length I stood at the door of Hartsore Hall. terminus congenial to the character of my journey, and a perfect instonement of architectural insanity. It was a chaos of windows and gables, every one of which appeared like a rigid frown or a hideous leer petrified by the enchantments of some Titanwizard, who had thus determined to show his demoniac power over a human habitation. I knocked loudly at the door, and the echo died away in a thousand spectral responses. Presently a faint glimmer appeared through the fan-light, and very gradually increased in intensity, as though the passage were a long one, and the bearer of the illumination taking her time in approaching. I heard a number of bolts withdrawn, the door was opened, and I stood in the presence of a tall, grave woman, dressed entirely in white. She spoke in a solemn, monosyllabic

manner :

"Have you lost your way, and do you want to sleep here?"

I replied in the affirmative, and she then summoned a grotesque-looking urchin to take charge of my horse, while she conducted me into a large room, the extensive dimensions of which could not be clearly defined by the imperfect light she carried.

I declined having anything to eat; and, as she placed the lamp on the table, I asked her if she did not find her mode of life very lonely and miserable.

"Rather; but I have lived here since I was a child, and I intend to die here."

"Pray may I ask whether the mansion and its grounds have been always in this sad and ruinous state?"

"Not always: thirty years ago it was a pleasant place, and noted for its hospitality. Every night a bed was prepared for any chance visitor or benighted traveller- stranger or friend— a custom which I am paid for keeping up to this day. When I first knew the Flemyngs, better people could not exist; but a dreadful event destroyed their happiness and dispersed the family. Yes, sir, it was in this very room

And as she spoke, my informant cast an anxious and startled look round the apartment.

"A dreadful event!' My good woman, you have greatly excited my curiosity. I hope you will put a stop to my inquiries when you think them impertinent; but have you any objection to tell me the story, which appears to have been so connected with your destiny?"

"None whatever; but I am afraid you will find it a bad preparation for a night's rest. You see, sir, old Mr. Flemyng was a model of a good gentleman; but, unhappily, his only son, Henry, became dissipated, and was always filling the house with his riff-raff companions, and leading a reckless life. The con