tradition had preserved an accurate description; and indeed there is a print of him, supposed to be by Reginald Elstracke, pulling the press with his own hand, as it works off the sheets of his scarce edition of the Augsburg Confession. He was a chymist, as well as a good mechanic, and either of these qualities in this country was at that time sufficient to constitute a white witch at least. This superstitious old writer had heard all this, and probably believed it, and in his sleep the image and idea of my ancestor recalled that of his cabinet, which, with the grateful attention to antiquities, and the memory of our ancestors not unusually met with, had been pushed into the pigeon-house to be out of the way-Add a quantum sufficit of exaggeration, and you have a key to the whole mystery." "Oh, brother, brother! But Dr. Heavystern, brother-whose sleep was so sore broken, that he declared he wadna pass another night in the Green Room to get all Monkbarns, so that Mary and I were forced to yield our" Why, Grizel, the doctor is a good, honest, puddingheaded German, of much merit in his own way, but fond of the mystical, like many of his countrymen. You and he had a traffick the whole evening, in which you received tales of Mesmer, Schropfer, Cagliostro, and other modern pretenders to the mystery of raising spirits, discovering hidden treasure, and so forth, in exchange for your legends of the green bed-chamber -and considering that the Illustrissimus ate a pound and a half of Scotch collops to supper, smoked six pipes, and drank ale and brandy in proportion, I am not surprised at his having a fit of the night mare-But every thing is now ready. Permit me to light you to your apartment, Mr. Lovel-I am sure you have need of rest-and I trust my ancestor is too sensible of the duties of hospitality to interfere with the repose which you have so well merited by your manly and gallant behaviour.' So saying, the Antiquary took up a bed-room candlestick of massive silver and antique form, which, he observed, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines of the Harz mountains, and had been the property of the very personage who had supplied them with a subject for conversation. And, having so said, he led the way through many a dusky and winding passage, now ascending and anon descending again, until he came to the apartment destined for his young guest. CHAPTER X. When midnight o'er the moonless skies W. R. Spenser. WHEN they reached the Green Room, as it was called, Oldbuck placed the candle on the toilet table, before a huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded by dressing boxes of the same, and looked around him with something of a disturbed expression of countenance. "I am seldom in this apartment," h said, and never without yielding to a melanchol feeling-not, of course, on account of the childish non sense that Grizel was telling you, but owing to circum stances of an early and unhappy attachment. It is a such moments as these, Mr. Lovel, that we feel the changes of time. The same objects are before usthose inanimate things which we have gazed on in way. ward infancy and impetuous youth, in anxious and scheming manhood-they are permanent and the same; but when we look upon them in cold, unfeeling old age, can we, changed in our temper, our pursuits, our feelings, changed in our form, our limbs, and our strength, -can we be ourselves called the same? or do we not rather look back with a sort of wonder upon our former selves, as beings separate and distinct from what we now are? The philosopher, who appealed from Philip inflamed with wine to Philip in his hours of sobriety, did not choose a judge so different, as if he had appealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old age. I cannot but be touched with the feeling so beautifully expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated:* My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears Thus fares it still in our decay; Mourns less for what time takes away, Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar may remain and occasionally ache, yet the earliest agony of its recent infliction is felt no more." So saying, he shook Lovel cordially by the hand, wished him good night, and took his leave. Step after step Lovel could trace his host's retreat along the various passages, and each door which he closed behind him fell with a sound more distant and dead. The guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the candle and surveyed the apartment. The fire blazed cheerfully. Mrs. Grizel's attention. had left some fresh wood, should he choose to continue it, and the apartment had a comfortable, though not a lively, appearance. It was hung with tapestry, which Probably Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads had not as yet been published. candlestick of massive silver and antique form, which, he observed, was wrought out of the silver found in the mines of the Harz mountains, and had been the property of the very personage who had supplied them with a subject for conversation. And, having so said, he led the way through many a dusky and winding passage, now ascending and anon descending again, until he came to the apartment destined for his young guest. CHAPTER X. When midnight o'er the moonless skies W. R. Spenser. WHEN they reached the Green Room, as it was called, Oldbuck placed the candle on the toilet table, before a huge mirror with a black japanned frame, surrounded by dressing boxes of the same, and looked around him with something of a disturbed expression: of countenance. "I am seldom in this apartment," h said, and never without yielding to a melanchol feeling-not, of course, on account of the childish non sense that Grizel was telling you, but owing to circun. stances of an early and unhappy attachment. It is a such moments as these, Mr. Lovel, that we feel the changes of time. The same objects are before usthose inanimate things which we have gazed on in way. ward infancy and impetuous youth, in anxious and scheming manhood-they are permanent and the same; but when we look upon them in cold, unfeeling old age, can we, changed in our temper, our pursuits, our feelings, changed in our form, our limbs, and our strength, -can we be ourselves called the same? or do we not rather look back with a sort of wonder upon our former selves, as beings separate and distinct from what we now are? The philosopher, who appealed from Philip inflamed with wine to Philip in his hours of sobriety, did not choose a judge so different, as if he had appealed from Philip in his youth to Philip in his old age. I cannot but be touched with the feeling so beautifully expressed in a poem which I have heard repeated:* My eyes are dim with childish tears, For the same sound is in my ears Thus fares it still in our decay; Mourns less for what time takes Than what he leaves behind. away, Well, time cures every wound, and though the scar may remain and occasionally ache, yet the earliest agony of its recent infliction is felt no more." So saying, he shook Lovel cordially by the hand, wished him good night, and took his leave. Step after step Lovel could trace his host's retreat along the various passages, and each door which he closed behind him fell with a sound more distant and dead. The guest, thus separated from the living world, took up the candle and surveyed the apartment. The fire blazed cheerfully. Mrs Grizel's attention had left some fresh wood, should he choose to continue it, and the apartment had a comfortable, though not a lively, appearance. It was hung with tapestry, which *Probably Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads had not as yet been published. |