IT was towards the fall of one of those rich, moist, melancholy days, in the early English autumn—a reeking, redolent warmth upon the clammy air a luxurious deathfulness among the slumbrous woods, and in the red and rotting leaves-that a solitary tour, in one of our northern counties brought me to the little village of

As I descended towards the village, the road—which, forming a serpentine belt about the lake, had from time to time afforded me glimpses between the trees of a sheet of sullen purple, streaked with water-courses of a glaring emerald colour, low down in a hollow cup of woody heights, with distant threads of water, white and glistering, like the wake of a snail, trickling down from chink and cranny between the misty trees-suddenly opened into a broad platform, based high above the lake, from which I beheld at one view the whole expanse of dark, thunder-tinted water, and all the gloomy amphitheatre of the hills. Just opposite, and crowning one of these blue, leafy eminences, I observed a great fringe of red gables, rising over tiers of rocky terraces, apparently the shining limits of an old-fashioned garden, and, here and there among the gables, a white eye-like window, riddled through and through by the yellow autumn

sun.

So sudden was the scene which I thus broke in upon, so sudden and so gloomy withal the strange, melancholy house; the dim undulations of folding tree-green hills, in which it was sunk bosom-deep; the lurid, lustrous, circle of leaden lake below; and the very silence among these, which I seemed, as it were, to have caught by surprise that all I saw appeared to me a sort of emanation from the mournful and bitter fancies which I had for days been a prey to, and it was long before I could pluck myself from the painful reveries into which the scene threw me, and twitch up the loose reins that had fallen from my careless hand.

VOL. XLIV.NO. CCLIX.

Once in motion again, a few moments brought me to the Golden Lion. When I had seen my horse decently stalled, and his nose rummaging about in a feed of corn, I made inquiries about dinner, and received the conventional reply from the waiter.

"Chop, sir. Roast fowl. Line o' lamb, sir. Vegetables?-yes, sir. Peas and potatoes, sir. Tart-gooseberry. This way, if you please, sir. Mary, the private parlour for the gentleman. Ready, sir, in half-an-hour. Pint o' sherry? Yes, sir!"

At dinner I inquired of my friend, who seemed of a communicative disposition, who was the owner of the great house I had seen upon the lake.

"Great house, with red-(pepper, sir !)—gables, and garden hundred feet above the level of the (cruet-stand? Certainly, sir!) lake. Very old, I b'lieve, sir. Heard say in the time of Queen 'Lisbeth. Built in form of a(salt-cellar? Here, sir!")

Very

"But the owner?" I interrupted, losing all patience. "His name?" "Name, sir? House, Milverton Manor; owner, Mr. Morton. old, sir; one wing quite gone to pieces. Strange person, Mr. Morton; upper story very rickety, they say, sir. Garden full of weeds. Shocking pity, sir !"

"Morton! Morton ?" The name was familiar to me. I had had a great friend at college of that name. was the most brilliant fellow of all the

He

university. So full of information, so witty, so eloquent. Great and intimate friends we had been in the old college days, but it was many years since I had lost sight of him.

"Mr. Morton" I said; ". pray do you happen to know what his Christian name is? Clarence? Clarence-is that it ?"

"Clarence? Yes, sir, that's it. Morton, Clarence. Name on the Register. Never votes, sir, Mr. Morton. Very strange man-very."

A few more inquiries convinced me that this Mr. Morton could be no other than my old friend. The waiter dwelt

C

through. When I got near the outer court, however, I could not help stopping to look over the wall into the garden. It was a strange melancholylooking place, weed-grown, and full of broken statues, and dead fountains that could not play; Tritons, with conch-shells at their lips, and thistles growing in the shells; and nymphs and fauns rotting on their mildewed pedestals. There was a flight of stone stairs, and a broken balustrade, which led, as I supposed, to the lower terrace; and while I was looking at it a woman slowly ascended the steps, and entered the garden. I recognised at once the figure I had seen upon the island.

Without observing me, she approached the basin of a fountain, and paused beside it, either unconscious of, or indifferent to, the rain, which was now beginning to fall fast. I suppose, however, that some involuntary exclamation on my part must have startled her, for she turned suddenly round, full fronting me with a face which I can never forget. Never out of dreams have I seen a face like that! Though it was marvellously fair, it was less the beauty than the strangeness of it that struck me. The features were perfect; the skin unnaturally pale and transparent; the eyes very large and lustrous, and of a deep, melancholy, violet colour; the whole form, draped from head to foot in white, was so fragile and undulating, that I could scarcely think it earthly. It was only for a moment, however, that the sight of it was vouchsafed to me; for apparently not discovering her alarm, she twined one of her white fingers into a long silky tress of yellow hair, musingly, as it were, and passed into the house.

I was now more than ever resolved to ferret Morton from his hole, and, as far as might be, unravel the mys tery which I felt to be growing upon me. Notwithstanding my excitement, however, my heart sank when I approached the great gloomy portal of the mansion. I have ever been, and, I suppose, shall ever be, a man of melancholy mind. If there is in anything an element of horror or gloom, I am sure to squeeze out the whole of it.

I have thus managed to make my life unnecessarily miserable. Evil hints peep out at me from the very

spots of pebbles in the gravel-walks ; evil omens gibber at me through the fluttering of yellow autumn leaves; no door in the house stands ajar but that some ghost of evil chance may slip through it, and pluck me by the sleeve; the crow flies, the plum drops, the lily whitens, the wind blows-just to frighten me, and no more. No plea

sure but what thrusts a cloven foot from behind the mask at me. From the gaiety of others I shrink back to commune with my own fantastic fears, like the lady who nightly stole from the perfumed couch of her dreaming husband to revel with a ghoul upon dead flesh and blue worms among the graves.

The old porchway, which I now entered, had been turned into a sort of porte cochere, with an iron grille in the back of it, which barred the entrance; and as I rang the bell, a porter thrust his head out of a little window in the wall, and demanded, in indifferent French, what I wanted. I inquired for Morton.

The Padrone was not at home," he said.

Perceiving that he was an Italian, I addressed him in his own language, and begged him, in the civilest terms I could devise, to convey to his master a note, which I had taken the precaution of writing at the inn, wherein I reminded Morton of our college friendship, and asked permission to see the house and gardens.

The man seemed pleased to hear the accents of his native south, however broken on a northern tongue, and his grim countenance relaxed from the severe and scrutinising regard which it had at first assumed. He deigned to issue cautiously from his lair, and swinging in his hand a brazen triplestemmed lamp, which made a smoky glare along the gloom, bade me follow him.

After treading one or two dingy chambers, we reached a small octagonal room, designed apparently for a library. Here he told me to wait, while he took the letter to his master. Being of an inquisitive disposition, and believing, moreover, that the nature of a man's mind may be seen in the books he reads, as we judge of the species of an insect from the leaves it feeds on, I took up one of the volumes I found lying on the table, and opened it. What was my surprise when my

eye fell upon a paragraph, marked in pencil, which ran thus:

"But, above all, the mind must be calm and earnest. Be not dejected by repeated failure; for it is only by the conquest of thyself that these shall be led captive. They are about us, and yearn to speak, but we will not hear. As in the case of the elixir, whereof I have above treated, the volatile spirit of the sun must be drawn off from the pure essences by a seven-fold furnace, so remember that the spiritual in thee must be first sublimed from all gross and earthy admixture. Again, and again, I say to you, man holds in his hand the keys of the unknown, but knows it not. Faith is volition, and volition power. Believe, and have all things.' Thereunder was written in pencil-"See Rab. Sol. Cap. de Invis.”

Must be mad," thought I. "Poor Morton! what trash !"

*

The only other books were one or two Italian poets; a life of Leobardi ; a pamphlet, containing "A true and authentic Account of the Ghost of Mrs. *which appeared on three Occasions to several Members of her Family;" a little volume of Shelley; several books in vellum, with odd names; and a little manuscript volume of poems, written in a fine female hand.

While I was turning over the books, the servant returned, and informing me that his master would see me, led the way to Morton's room.

"Enter," said a faint voice, as we knocked at the door, which, though I had not heard it for years, I at once recognised. Morton received me with great cordiality; but I thought that there was a slight embarrassment in his

manner.

We talked at first of college days and old mutual acquaintances: how that some were married; some dead; some, once so rollicking and reckless, now country curates; some, then so stupid and dull, now rising young members. But perceiving that these subjects seemed painful to my friend, and that he spoke of them with reluctance, I had to fall back upon the crops and weather, the scenery of the lake, my own tour and its impressions, &c.

"What a charming old house you have been fortunate enough to find!" I said at last: "it wants nothing but a ghost to make it perfect."

"Oh," replied Morton, laughing, "it is thought to be haunted." "Indeed, and what is the story ?" "Like all others of the kind," he said. "I forget it now."

I could get nothing further from him upon this subject, and we talked on for some time upon other things. The thunder spending itself in the distance, through the open window we heard the hollow reverberations among the hills; and now and then a faint pulse of light flickered in the heavy air. In the pauses of the storm, I thought that I heard the low notes of a lute, but the sound was so indistinct that I supposed myself deceived by my own fancy. I was vexed with myself for having so failed in drawing out Morton, or clearing up any of the mystery by which he seemed surrounded. The night darkened about us, and gulphed up all the landscape. We could not see each other's faces as we talked. I was preparing to take my leave of Morton, not without a feeling of disappointment, when I felt something brush past me. I thought that I could also hear the flutter of a garment; and the darkness seemed for one instant to grow denser in the recess of the window. My nerves had been so tensely strung, partly by the oppressive weather, partly by the curious and increasing interest with which all that I had heard and seen of my present companion had inspired me, that I was unable to suppress an involuntary cry of surprise.

"What's the matter ?" said Mor

ton.

"Did you not hear," said I, "the rustling of a robe somewhere in the room ?"

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Perhaps it was the ghost," he replied, with a laugh. "You know, all persons are not equally favoured by such sounds and sights. You may be more susceptible than I."

"Perhaps it was fancy," I said, rather ashamed of myself; and, rising I wished him good night.

We both stepped towards the open window. At that moment the cloudcurtain was suddenly torn open by a gusty current of wind, and the large, yellow, autumn moon sprang full-orbed out of the windy chasm, and mounted through the floating fragments of storm that were weltering in the lurid east. In an instant the dreary garden was bathed in beams. From a broken