HARROLDSTONE TOWER.

A TALE OF THE DAY.

CHAPTER I.

HARROLDSTONE TOWER-ITS INHABITANTS AND NEIGHBOURHOOD.

"WHAT makes ye look sa sad, Mistress Rabbitts? Have ye seen the wraith of ony of the family, or have the baskets of fruit and vegetables I last sent up to London been found fault with? Were the peas not tender eno', or the strawberries o'er ripe, or the gooseberries too forward for tarts, or has anything else happened that displeases

you ?"

Something is likely to happen to displease me, Mr. Andrew, and, I may say, to displease everybody connected with the family of our late respected master, Sir Guy Raymond," answered Mrs. Rabbitts, a lady of a certain age, who held and had held for many years the responsible office of housekeeper at Harroldstone Tower, the other speaker being the head-gardener at that princely domain. "What think you, Mr. M'Callum? How long is it since the good Sir Guy has been dead? Just tell me that. Is it two years or less ?"

"Ye of all people ken well eno', Mistress Rabbitts. It's better than twa years, for I was planting this very bed of strawberries when the bad news came, and it's only this season that they have arrived at full bearing, and I have sent five baskets of them up to her leddyship in London," answered the old gardener. "But what was it that ye was ganging to tell me, Mistress Rabbitts? Is the young leddy ganging to be wedded? though to be sure she's o'er young to marry yet, or has the young master, Sir Guy, run away from school again, or what has happened, Mistress Rabbitts ?"

"I tell you I did not say that anything has happened, but that something is going to happen in which you, Mr. Andrew M'Callum, as the oldest servant of the family, must of necessity take a deep interest. The young Sir Guy isn't at school, remember that. He was at school, but ran away, and instead of being sent back, as in my opinion he ought to have been, has had a tutor, a young gentleman, Mr. Arthur Floyd, against whom it would not become me to speak a word, for he may be a very good tutor as he is certainly a very goodlooking young gentleman, but, in my opinion, Mr. Andrew, he should know his place as we know ours, and not go and aspire as he has done to what do you think, Mr. Andrew? To Miss Evangeline? you'll ask. No, there might have been sense in that, great as would have been the presumption, but to the hand of my lady herself! Yes, Mr. Andrew, he is going to marry Lady Clarissa Raymond, the widow of our dear departed master."

Andrew M'Callum opened his eyes as wide as their red-fringed lids could expand, and exclaimed,

"Ye dinna say that Lady Clarissa ganging to marry her son's

tutor! He may be a very braw young gentleman, and erudite and amiable; but mark my words, Mistress Rabbitts, there'll ne'er guid come to the house of Raymond if she who ought to be the guide and manager sa soon forgets her dead lord, and takes another into his place to rule over us. What does Mistress Evangeline say to the matter, I wonder? Ah, I doubt but that it will be a sair thing for her. And the young Sir Guy? But the poor boy is too thoughtless and too wild, I'm fearing, to care for it, so that they let him have his own way. Aweel, aweel, Mistress Rabbitts, ye could ha' brought me pleasanter news, and I'm fain to own that this has quite upset

me.'

"So it has me, Mr. Andrew, that I can tell you," said the worthy housekeeper, putting her handkerchief to her eyes to wipe away the tears springing into them. "Little did I think when that soft-spoken, gentle-looking, smooth-faced young man came to the house so humble and respectful when my lady deigned to address him, with his sweet smile and his profound bow, with his silk waistcoat and his stiffstarched cravat, and his black coat and pantaloons without a crease, as unlike our good, honest, hearty Sir Guy as-as—

"As a ripe peach is to a black currant," put in Mr. Andrew. "Ye maun weel say that, Mrs. Rabbitts."

"Or a dish of roast beef to a blancmange," observed the housekeeper. "Yes, as I was saying, so unlike is this sweet young minister -for he has got reverend to his name-so unlike is he to dear Sir Guy, that little did I think that he was ever to become our new master. Just think of Sir Guy, standing six feet three in his stocking-soles, with his fine, full, commanding figure, his ruddy, cheerful countenance, his hearty voice and merry laugh, as he appeared in the hall in his red coat and top-boots on that fine autumn morning that the hounds met before he left the Tower for the last time. It was the cold he caught on his journey to London killed him, but in my opinion, if he had stayed at home, and kept out of the doctors' hands, he would have been alive at this present moment. Well, well, he's gone to a better world, there's no doubt about that, and it's only to be hoped that you and I, and those he cared for on earth, and who cared for him as we did, and revere his memory, I will say, may join him there some day."

This conversation took place on a fine forenoon during spring in the kitchen-garden of Harroldstone Tower, the property of the late Sir Guy Raymond, whose death has been alluded to. Harroldstone Tower owed its name to a lofty and handsome tower which had existed for some centuries on one side of the family residence. Large additions had been made from time to time to the house in a style of architecture to suit the tower, till a fine and lordly-looking mansion was the result. It stood on the summit of a knoll, with a fine sweep of parkland sloping down to a rapid and clear river. On the other side were gardens and pleasure-grounds, with woods outside them, and beyond, from the terrace in front of the Tower, a range of high and picturesque hills. The course of the river could be traced as it flowed between green meadows and wooded heights, occasionally concealed by them till it reached the blue and far-off ocean. Acres upon acres of arable,

meadow, and pasture land, woods and upland downs, let to wealthy tenants, formed the estate of Harroldstone, and brought money into the coffers of its owners. About two miles off up the river was the town of Hamlington, in which parish Harroldstone Tower was situated, though the estate itself extended into two or three other parishes. Hamlington was a neat, picturesque market-town of some size, containing a considerable number of haberdashers', grocers', shoemakers', and harness-makers' shops, showing that it was in the centre of a large and flourishing agricultural population. Hamlington returned a member to parliament. He had been from time immemorial nominated by the Raymond family, and no one thought of opposing Sir Guy while he himself stood, or indeed the candidate he nominated, as long as he lived; but there had been a dissolution soon after his death, and Lady Clarissa discovered that she was not as popular as her husband had been, from finding that the gentleman she supported had an opponent in the field.

No, Lady Clarissa was not generally liked either by her equals that is to say, by the surrounding gentry, who, by-the-by, she would have been astonished at hearing called her equals or by the tradesmen of Hamlington. She had gained for herself the character of being imperious, self-willed, and indifferent to the feelings of others. Her manner was certainly supercilious towards those for whom she felt contempt, and she let those who had offended her know it clearly, though, at the same time, she could be courteous and condescending enough when she pleased, or, rather, when she was pleased. Hamlington was an advanced place. It had its town-hall and its institute, its two churches, its parish church and its district church, while the Independents, Wesleyans, and Baptists had handsome chapels; indeed, all denominations of dissenters had places of worship well supported and attended-a significant fact worthy of note.

The Rev. John Broadfield was the vicar, and, as the living was a good one and the duties onerous, he had as a curate the Rev. Hugh Shepherd, on whose shoulders a very considerable amount of the parochial duty devolved. Mr. Shepherd had, however, a large family, his boys went to the grammar-school in the place, and, had he even the desire to move, he could not have afforded to do so. He was a humble-minded, painstaking man, whose heart was in his work, his great aim and desire the salvation of souls. Mr. Broadfield, the vicar, had no objection to the opinions he held or to the sermons he preached, unless they exceeded the prescribed length of thirty-five minutes when he had to listen to them; he got more work out of him than he could expect to get out of most men, and he was generally liked in the parish; so the vicar let his curate go on in his own way, and do and say what he thought fit.

The parish church stood in an elevated position on the top of the high street, and was a structure of some pretension, the high substantial tower of roughly hewn stone, half covered with ivy, giving it an air of venerable antiquity, which it indeed really deserved. The Rev. Etheldred Dimsdale was the new incumbent of St. Ninan's, the district church. All that was known of him was that he had been appointed through the influence of Lady Clarissa Raymond, that he was a gra

duate of Oxford, a friend of Mr. Arthur Floyd, and a bachelor. A very elegant little parsonage-house had been built near the church, and here he had lately taken up his residence. When people called, as the neighbourhood had begun to do, they found him very courteous and pleasant in his manners, apparently a man of the world though so young, and well informed on the general topics of the day, while he was pronounced decidedly refined and good-looking. Even after he had preached several sermons, none of his congregation could determine to what section of the Church of England he belonged. In vain they searched the subscription-lists of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, the Church Missionary Society, the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, the British and Foreign Bible Society, and the numerous other religious societies supported by either one or the other of the two great parties. His costume was rigorously ecclesiastical, but that was not considered as at all a near indication of his theological opinions. Two or three of his visitors had endeavoured to elicit some information from him on the subject, but with much tact he avoided replying directly to the leading questions they put to him, and, while apparently entering frankly into the question, left them as much in the dark as ever. Mr. Broadfield called on him, and was convinced that he privately approved of the Essays and Reviews, thought highly of Dr. Colenso, and looked upon "Ecce Homo" as a work calculated to effect a large amount of good, especially among young men at the universities whose minds might have been somewhat unsettled by other works that they had read. Mr. Shepherd, when he heard this, remarked, in his quiet way, that if such was the case, it must be on the principle of applying one violent poison to cure the effects of another. When, however, Mr. Shepherd himself called on Mr. Dimsdale, he was convinced, from what he said, that he could not possibly approve of the work in question, and was, indeed, tole rably well pleased with what he said, except that he expressed a somewhat unmitigated contempt for dissenters. Mr. Shepherd was much pleased with his remarks. As for Roman Catholics, he had nothing to do with them; he mourned over their errors, and prayed that all might be united in one flock under one Master. Mr. Shepherd, if not feeling that they were one, went home thankful that so satisfactory an addition had been made to their neighbourhood. Mr. Dimsdale the next day met Mr. Freeman, the Independent minister, at the cottage of a poor person in his district who was a member of the latter gentleman's congregation. Mr. Dimsdale made a point of calling on everybody in his district. He put out his hand cordially, said he felt satisfied that Mr. Freeman was imparting sound religious instruction, but that he must excuse him if he occasionally looked in, as he could not but consider that all the resi dents in his district belonged to the flock confided to his care. The observation was made in so kind and gentle a tone that Mr. Freeman could only bow, and reply that this was perfectly just and fair. The very same day, in another cottage, Mr. Dimsdale found, after he had taken his seat and had begun to talk to the people, that Father Alder, the Roman Catholic priest and the father confessor of the neighbour ing convent of St. Barbara, was visiting a sick person in a back room.

"We bean't Catholics ourselves, do you see, sir-that's to say, not Thomas, my good man, nor our son Bill, nor Susan, nor Nancy; but this is our eldest daughter, Lucy-she's been away in service at a great house near Lunnon. We didn't know they was Catholics; nor was they, that I knows of exactly-at least, when my good man wrote about it to the housekeeper, she said it was all right, they hadn't changed," said Mrs. White. "Howsomever, when Lucy came home ill, poor girl, she said that they was Catholics, or as good as Catholics, and that she didn't want to see Mr. Broadfield, nor Mr. Shepherd still less, nor you neither, sir, you'll excuse me, because she didn't know you, and that she'd rather see the Catholic priest than any one. You see he comes next door to see Pat Mahoney and his family, and he'd been accustomed to speak to us, and so we knew him."

Mr. Dimsdale waited till Father Alder came out of the sick-room. Mrs. White was in no little alarm, expecting, as she afterwards said, to see a rumpus between the priest and the minister. Her surprise was great, therefore, when Mr. Dimsdale received Father Alder with a cordial greeting, as if they were old friends.

"I have great pleasure in this opportunity of meeting you, Father Alder," said Mr. Dimsdale. "I heard of you before I took charge of my present cure. We may, I trust, ever labour satisfactorily together in our holy work. The prayers of the faithful are ascending day and night, that the wall of partition may be broken down, and that all may fight and all may worship together under the same banner."

"Yes, truly, though you should say that the time is coming when the rebellious and long-estranged child will be reconciled to its justly offended and forgiving and loving parent," said the priest, with a peculiar glance between his half-closed eyelids at the English clergy"Is it not so ?"

man.

"Yes, it is a time much to be desired," said Mr. Dimsdale; and in the same breath he added, "You found Lucy White in a happy frame of mind ?"

"What! I was not aware that you had visited her!" observed the priest.

"To what communion does she belong?" asked Mr. Dimsdale. "She desired to see me," said the priest.

"It would not be wise to discuss the matter at this moment," said Mr. Dimsdale. "We are probably walking in the same directionwe will then speak about it."

To the surprise of Mrs. White, the Protestant minister and the Catholic priest walked out of the cottage together, apparently on terms of the closest intimacy.

CHAPTER II.

GIVES AN ACCOUNT OF THE RETURN OF THE FAMILY, AND THE PREPARATION

FOR THEIR RECEPTION.

THE bells of the Hamlington churches were ringing gaily-the tenantry of the Harroldstone Tower estate were dressed in their best. Arches decked with flowers had been erected on the road leading from the Hamlington station to the Tower. The Hamlington volun