very puerile and absurd, that I would not permit it to have any effect on me: the front of the pew was immediately opposite to a large monumental tomb erected to the memory of Sir William Herbert, the last of the family who had resided on their manorial estate in the neighbourhood, and of this Sir William I had, when I first came to the village, heard a story that now, in spite of myself, would recur to my mind.

Soon after my arrival, I had observed the deserted and dilapidated appearance of the manor-house and garden; the latter was wild and running to ruin through neglect; nettles and weeds obscured the once beautiful walks and parterres of flowers: the vases and images were defaced and overthrown; the spacious fish-ponds were choked with mud, and covered with the rank luxuriance of the water-plants; and the adjoining park had been let to a farmer, who had converted the whole to the purposes of agriculture. The house exhibited the same symptoms of neglect: the farmer's family inhabited one wing -but in the rest of the house the windows had been bricked up-the whole conveyed the idea of decay, and the swallows and other birds had taken undisturbed possession of the turrets and the chimney-tops. Some of the great rooms were converted into granaries, and the principal hall was made a receptacle for the farmer's carts, &c.

I expressed curiosity to know the cause why so magnificent a residence should have been so abandoned, and the farmer, to whom I applied for information, told me that the last resident possessor was Sir William Herbert: that since his death it had been twice let to occasional inhabitants, but that neither of the families had stayed more than a few nights: and that the present owner had given orders to dispose of the grounds on a lease to any of the neighbouring farmers, and to let the house be included in the agreement with them. "I am surprised," said 1, "that so lovely a spot should not have attracted the attention of some one who would have rescued it from its present state, and I wonder that its owner should have so little taste as thus to abandon so delightful a possession."

"Why, madam," replied the farmer, "it is a long story, and it happened a great many years ago, but as you seem curious, if you will walk in and rest yourself I will tell you all about it."

"It was before my time, for I was a little boy when Sir William died, but my father was his huntsman and lived at the manor-house, and I have heard all the particulars often enough from him. This Sir William, madam, was a fine portly gentleman as ever you saw, and the ladies all round admired him, and he might have chosen a wife from any of the great families in the neighbourhood, and he was very rich, and was come of a very ancient and great family himself; but somehow, as I have heard my father say, he was never for good;

he had always a hard and cruel heart: when he was a child, it waɛ his delight to torture flies and worms, and he would take the young birds from the nests, and torment them to enjoy the misery of the old ones; and when he grew to be a man, all his delight was in bad-, ger-baiting, cock-fighting, or any sport that would enable him to indulge his cruel nature. He was also very fond of matching dogs to fight, and he kept bull-dogs that were the terror of the neighbourhood. He had one, in particular, which was reckoned to have more courage than any dog that had ever been seen in this country, and he had gained Sir William a great deal of money by the wagers that he had laid on him. One day, a neighbouring gentleman, who had long been a sort of rival to Sir William in every way, boasted at a public dinner, that he had procured a dog that he would match against his, which was now considered almost invincible; Sir William accepted the offer, and laid very large sums of money on his dog, and a day was fixed, and many of the neighbouring gentlemen were invited to see the sport, as they called it. The dogs were set at each other, and a more obstinate fight had never been seen: they were both creatures of wonderful strength and power, and both staunch in their way. The contest lasted very long, and the poor brutes were excited by their cruel masters to continue it, though they had hardly strength left to crawl to each other. At last the victory was decided; Sir William's dog was completely exhausted, and lay bleeding and breathless on the ground, and no effort could induce him to return to the attack; the other dog was declared the conqueror, and was carried off amidst shouts of triumph from the human brutes who had witnessed his prowess. My father, who was present, said he turned towards Sir William at that moment, and was terrified at his countenance: he looked almost mad with rage and disappointment: his face was swollen and black with passion, and his eyes seemed bursting from their sockets. He took from one of his attendants a loaded hunting-whip, and called to the miserable dog to come to him. The wretched animal heard the voice of his master, and though nearly blind, and hardly able to drag himself across the floor, he yet crawled to his foot, and licked the hand that was extended to seize him. My father, madam, could never tell the story without a shudder of horror: but Sir William held the animal fast in one hand, while with the other he flogged him with the hunting-whip, which he never let go, till the miserable creature had breathed his last in agony. Several gentlemen who stood round, and cried shame on him, had made ineffectual attempts to stop his cruel arm, but he was infuriated; he foamed at the mouth with rage; at the moment when the dog had received his last stroke one of them caught his arm to stop him. Sir William turned round to make a deadly blow at him with the but

end of the whip, when, in one moment, the blood gushed from his mouth, nose, and ears, in a continued torrent. He fell to the earth, never to rise from it more a living man, but there he lay a swollen and discoloured corpse. In his fury he had burst a bloodvessel, and his life and his cruelties ended together."

"The title and estate went to a gentleman who was a second or third cousin, and he lived somewhere in foreign parts, as his wife was not in good health, and was not able to bear the changeable weather in England: the house was after a while let to a nobleman's family, but they only staid two days, and were off the third morning; some say, because my lady did not like the sight of the bleak mountains; but others said, that the family had all been alarmed by noises at midnight and nobody has ever since that staid long together there. I myself put no faith in this sort of stories but many of the neighbours will tell you, that long after Sir William's death, horrid sounds were heard, at the hour of twelve at night, from the room in which he was laid before the funeral; the noises were said to resemble the howlings of a dog, mixed with the cries of a human being in the last extremity of agony. What they might have been I do not know, but the house is quiet enough now, yet I never go to that part of the mansion myself, and I do not much like to talk or think about it. None of the family have been here since, and the large tombstone that faces the great pew in the church was put up in memory of Sir William by his successor. This, madam, is the history, and this is the reason why the house was at first neglected, until now, as you see, it is only fit for a farm-house, and we have lived very comfortably in it, much more happily than ever Sir William did, I am sure.

Now this account at the time I heard it, had certainly shocked me as far as respected the awful death of Sir William; but the latter part of it I thought absurd in the extreme, for, my good friends, I was not then either nervous or superstitious; but, at the moment I !speak of, alone in a church, I felt that my mind was weakened, and I determined not to look at the tomb, or to think of the story. I composed myself as well as I could, and fell into a sort of doze, which I imagined lasted some time, for, when I awoke, the moon had risen, and was now high in the heavens, pouring a flood of softened radiance through the Gothic windows on a part of the church, while the other was left in dark shadow. I rose from my reclining position, to make some change in the arrangement of my cushions, and perceived that the light was thrown most strongly on the tomb, on which I had previously resolved not to look; but, as I dare say you may some of you have experienced at times, we feel ourselves irresistibly impelled to look at, or think of, those things, from which we would most wish to withdraw our attention, so I felt, I know not how, a strange 50952B

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impulse to fix my eyes upon this tomb, on which reclined the sculptured figure of Sir William, nearly as large as life.

While my eyes remained, as it were, fastened on this object, could I be deceived by the shadows of the moonlight, or did I in reality perceive a moving form apparently rising from that tomb? Ah no! it was no vision of the imagination: I distinctly saw a long lean arm raised above the sepulchre, and, a moment afterwards, the ghast. ly apparition of a human face, pale, wild, and unearthly, glared on me with eyes expressive of misery and despair. I stood unable to move a limb; every faculty of body and mind seemed frozen up in horror: the spectre advanced a step from the monument, and in that moment my senses were almost paralysed by the most heart-rending sound that ever appalled a mortal ear-it was the yell of despair-it was the cry of human suffering, with a strange and horrible mixture of the agony of a dying animal. I sank down totally overpowered: all that I had heard recurred to my mind, which became a chaos of terror and superstitious alarms, and I lost all consciousness of the horIors that surrounded me in a temporary insensibility.

I know not how long I remained in this state almost approaching death, but, when I in some degree recovered myself, I found that I had fallen on the floor of the pew, and, as my mind was gradually restored to recollection, I endeavoured to persuade myself that I had been deluded by a phantom of the imagination. I thought how often we are victims to our over-excited fancies. My senses might have been bewildered; I might after all only have dreamed. In this idea, I slowly rose from my recumbent posture, determined to examine the tomb myself, and to be convinced, that my mind had been under a temporary derangement. I stood up; I looked to the door of the pew, when, oh dreadful sight! the same ghastly and horrid face met my view, as the spectre leaned over it, with its glaring eyes fixed on mine. My sensations I have hardly words to describe: by no power could I withdraw my eyes from this object: for hours did I remain thus spell-bound; I felt as if the blood had congealed in my veins ; my temples ached with intense agony, and every hair on my head felt as if it was endued with a living power, and was moved by some invisible mechanism. I felt that my senses were deserting me, but I was not mad; for through that long and dreadful night did I distinctly hear the hours told by the church clock, which returned in dismal echoes to my ear. Horror at last became despair; I rose in frantic wildness to rush from my prison, when again did the spectre utter that soul-appalling sound. Every object, the church, the monuments, seemed to rock and reel around me, my eyes emitted sparks of fire, and from that moment I lost all recollection of many weeks of my existence.

as,

My story appears terrific, and it was indeed truly so to me, and yet the events were in reality very common, and such had my mind, instead of being in a state of excitement and terror, been capable of calm investigation, would not to me have been the cause of such protracted suffering. The next morning, the woman who had the care of sweeping the church came to it early to prepare it for the approaching service, and she found me raving in a paroxysm of delirium, and the poor innocent cause of my fear himself terrified and alarmed. He was a pauper belonging to a village some miles distant: he was born deaf and dumb, and had, as he grew up, been found to be also an idiot. His parents had supported him decently while they lived: but, on their death, the care of him had devolved on the parish; he had grown old in poverty, sickness, and dependence; but he was perfectly harmless, and the neighbouring farmers never refused him a meal. Frequently in the summer season he wandered around for days together, taking his scanty food from the hand of charity, and his nightly rest in barns or outhouses: it was supposed that he had wandered into the church, where he had fallen asleep; and when he awoke, he was the unconscious cause to me of terror never to be forgotten, by his meagre and ghastly appearance, and his horrid and uncouth attempts at articulation.

I remained long on a bed of suffering a frenzy fever left me reduced to almost infantine weakness. Of its effects on me corporeally and mentally you may judge, when I tell you, that when I entered that church my hair was brown and glossy as the chesnut, and that when I rose from my bed it was grey as you now see it. My limbs, which were strong and agile, have ever since trembled with paralysis; and my mind, which was once cheerful, energetic, and courageous, is now desponding, weak, and timid.

Family Magazine.

THE CHANGE.

"With thee my spirit strays

Amid the land, and in the light

Of long-lost yesterdays."-JOHN MALCOLM.

I.

We have gathered lilies oft

On these old green garden walks,

And our hands met lovingly

As we tied the stalks

Round and round with limber willow,

Underneath the hawthorn bough

There thou linger'st with another

And I'm forgotten now.