LETTER XVII

FROM LORD FILMAR
TO
SIR WALTER BOYER

Say, dear Sir Walter, to which of the gods shall my hecatomb blaze a burnt offering? Behold, entering within those gates, I see the Valmont coach!——I fly to greet the welcome visitants—more welcome to me than gold to the miser, than conquest to the warrior.——Lie still, thou throbbing mischief, down, down, ye struggling expectations! And let the for once spiritless countenance of Filmar conceal his hopes.

Tis true, Boyer, as—as—as any thing that's most true. Here, in this very Monkton Hall, is Mr. Valmont, ay, and Mrs. Valmont too; and here I mean to keep them:—only to-morrow though.——To-morrow! Walter!——Hail the dawn of to morrow!—Whips cracking, horses flying, and thy friend driving as fast as four can carry him into 6000l. a-year!

If you want cash, call on me any day next week. You, being a particular friend, I'll oblige. But to any one else—Somerville now for instance or Nugent—'It will be curst unfortunate, but I shall have had a hard run of late—or, I shall be building, and want to borrow myself—or, there will be great arrears on my estates not yet paid up.'—But see, here comes a bowing cringing tradesman, who in my days of worse fortune has buffeted me with his purse-proud looks many a time and often. 'Really Mr.——a—a—the amount of your bill seems a little enormous, but I can't fatigue myself with looking into these matters——the steward pays you,—Ay, ay, be not troublesome, and (throwing myself along the sopha) I may probably still deal with you.—Sibella, my dear, raise these cushions under my head—Psha, child, you are devilishly awkward—there—. Pooh!—throw that gauze shade of your's over me.——Sit down, and watch, lest Ponto or Rosetta should leap upon or disturb me.'

By the bye, Walter, as I am determined to reform when I'm married, and become an obedient hopeful son and nephew, if uncle Valmont should think (and pray heaven he may) my wife's——

Oh, lord, what a shudder!——There! 'tis a radical cure, I assure you.—I seized a square piece of paper; and, writing thereon in large characters 6000l. per annum, placed it exactly opposite me, and the qualm vanished.—Walter, you shall see wife written on my page—my wife!—Oh, I declare this scrap of paper is a charm of infinite value!—

If uncle Valmont, I say, should deem my wife's education incomplete, and desires to have her longer under his tuition, I will yield her up for one year, or two, or twenty, if he pleases.—There's forbearance, there's magnanimity! Dub me a hero, sir knight! and place me among the foremost!—Talk of conquering a world, indeed! Why philosophers of all ages have agreed that the truest heroism is to conquer self.—Dub me a hero, I say!

I grant you, this is all rattle (that is the manner not the matter, upon my honor), and poor forced rattle too; but I must be mad, for I cannot be merry, nor yet serious. My gadding spirits are whirling this enterprise round and round without ceasing. Sometimes tossing the dark side toward me; and then, ere I can make one retracting reflection, smilingly presenting to me its advantages.—At that still time of night (if my plan fail not) when graves yield up the semblance of their dead, my courtship is to begin.—Once begun, it must go on; and the second setting sun beholds me a bridegroom.—Close your door, Boyer; stir up your fire; and I'll tell you.——Not now though, for—enter Griffiths.

'The gentlemen have walked out to the grounds, my lord. Mrs. Valmont and Lady Monkton are alone.'

'Right Griffiths, I understand your hint.'

'My Lord, it will certainly take,' returning shrugging his shoulders and laughing. 'The butler hates squire Valmont, and enjoys the thought of playing him such a trick. The lads will have to strip and turn out to-morrow, I doubt not, for this day's frolic.'

'Then, I must provide for them! 'Tis our frolic, and not theirs, Griffiths. 'Should our plain fail——'

'It cannot fail, my lord,'

'Well, well—go—mind you give me more water than wine at dinner.'

And now, I steal from a back door, make a circuit round the house, and crossing the lawn join the dear good kind informing souls in the drawing room.——You shall hear from me again presently, Walter.

I am gone, in reputation I mean, to seek the earl, the baronet, and the simple squire, but, in propria persona, returned to my chamber to tell you a story—a story of stories. The ladies were in the very heart of it when I entered. Luckily, I had waited a sentence or two outside the door, or I should have had no clue to bespeak a continuance of the subject. Mrs. Valmont was suspicious of me, but having persuaded her than I am a sober sort of youth, not at all given to hard-heartedness and infidelity, she proceeded, and I had the good fortune to listen with wondering eyes and gaping mouth to the particular account of how, where, and when, Miss Valmont (my wife that is to be) saw a—ghost.—Stay, let me recollect—a ghost, is I believe a terrific animal, dressed in chains, howling, shrieking, and always withdrawing in a flash of fire; yes, that's a ghost. This was something more gentle and complacent. Mrs. Valmont makes nice distinctions. I remember she called it an apparition, of a spirit—first appearing in the shape of an old hermit—then in that of a young handsome beau—first walking, manlike, into a wood—next bouncing up, fiend-like, on a sudden in an armoury.—Ay, it was a spirit Sibella saw.—She, poor little barbarian, is no better acquainted with the qualities of an apparition than of a man; for, simply enough, she complained to Mrs. Valmont of the disturbance given by this said shifting phantom to her meditations.

'To be sure, Lady Monkton,' said Mrs. Valmont, 'one must laugh at most of these stories; but we all know from good authority such things have been seen. Indeed, I did not altogether credit the very extraordinary accounts I had heard of the disturbance, the Valmont family had many years ago received from some thing that they say inhabits the Ruin on the Rock; and even when my niece, who, in such affairs is ignorance itself, told me her story, I would not be convinced till I had sent three men servants to search the wood and the Ruin. If any thing human had been there, it must have been discovered. The affair of the armoury I only mentioned to my own woman, for I well knew it was impossible that any substance of flesh and blood out of our own household could get into the armoury. What can be said Lady Monkton, but that it is to answer some wise purpose or other?

'Does, Mr. Valmont know?' said I.

'Surely, Lord Filmar, you must judge poorly of my discretion, to suppose that I would tell Mr. Valmont such an affair; for, besides that there is a shocking degree of impiety in people's disbelief when the thing is indisputably true, he would torment the servants incessantly, by sending them at night into those places, and perhaps he might abridge the poor child of her rambles around the park.'

'Isn't Miss Valmont afraid of being alone?' asked Lady Monkton.

'Afraid!—Ha! ha! ha!—why, she has not one idea, Lady Monkton, belonging to a rational being I assure you: She is not afraid of any thing. Well, really her want of understanding is not at all marvellous. Shut up in that horrid abode.—I preserve a part of mine, only by reflecting on former days.'

'The young lady's conversation, then, is not much relief to you, Madam?' said I.

'No, indeed, 'tis her absence is the relief, my lord. Mr. Valmont was much more kind than he intended, when he ordered his niece not to frequent my apartments.—It is a thousand pities; for the child has a fine person, and is—that is, had she any thing like manners, and were not such an absolute idiot, I do think she would be very handsome, &c. &c. &c.'

Some frolic of master Clement Montgomery's, I presume this apparition to be, Walter. Yet, surely she is not idiot enough to tell of herself in such a case!——Ha!—woman! woman still! whether in solitude or society!—I well remember the fellow I saw tripping near Valmont's moat.—Yes, yes. He—Montgomery contrives to find secret admittance into that well defended place; and she contrives a rare finely imagined tale to turn the people's wits the seamy-side without, and throw a veil impervious as darkness around themselves and their pleasures.——Yet, hang it!—no!—Montgomery, said Mrs. Valmont, was abroad on his travels when this affair happened. Beside, there is a degree of invention in the story which must have been beyond the capacity of so ignorant a girl.—Heyday!—Why I am anticipating eight and forty hours, and already beginning to feel myself accountable for my wife's adventures!

Peace be, then, to the apparition's ashes!—After the knot is tied, and I and my bride are travelling homewards to receive forgiveness and golden blessings, I shall probably want something to keep me awake, and the child must tell me the story in her own way.

Hark!—the dinner bell.—My part in the plot will soon commence.—Be content, Walter, to trace it in its several progressive steps toward the catastrophe. I have not patience to detail what is to be, and then sit down to relate what is.——Adieu, for a few hours. So far, so good.—Nay, better than good, the very elements have conspired to my success.—Such a storm of hail, rain, and thunder, I never beheld at this season of the year. The darkness was tremendous, and Mrs. Valmont's shattered nerves felt its effects most powerfully, notwithstanding the pompous harangue delivered by her caro sposo against such terrors.—In the midst of this scene entered Mr. Valmont's gentleman; who, bowing reverently, in a low tone of voice begged to know if his lordly master would vouchsafe to be drawn home by one pair of horses, (he came, Walter with six) for that unfortunately the postilion was very drunk.

'Drunk!' exclaimed Mr. Valmont. 'Did you say, drunk?'

The man bowed and looked sorry; then ventured slowly to insinuate that he did not deem the coachman perfectly sober, though not absolutely drunk. He might be able to drive a pair of horses perhaps.

'I shall have my neck broken,' cried Mrs. Valmont, 'then all my sorrows will be at an end together; and you, sir, may be for once satisfied.'

'Madam! What mean you?' said the frowning dignitary.

The remedy was obvious. To remain at Monkton Hall for the night was proposed to Mr. Valmont with great earnestness by Sir Gilbert and my lady; and, at length, acceded to by him with due reluctant solemnity.——Mrs. Valmont smiled through her terrors.

To you, Walter, I give a sober straight forward history; but, in the opinions of my friends below stairs, I am fast approaching towards the honours which the squire's postilion and coachman have already purchased. I affected to grow very frolicksome, early after dinner; and am, at length, become, with the help of claret and burgundy, as properly intoxicated to all appearance as I find necessary to the carrying on of my plan. However, I am not yet retired for the night:—presently, I mean to descend, and give them such another specimen of my ability as shall make my departure so essential to their repose, that they will not attempt to recal or disturb me.

A messenger, Boyer, is gone to the castle, to give notice of its master's absence for the night. He carries other tidings there also:—tidings to me of great joy.

The servants of Valmont castle are held in such constraint by their proud master, that to enjoy the pleasures which are permitted in other households they are ever scheming. The squire's absence is a festive holiday; and Griffiths was invited by the butler, with whom he has purposely scraped an intimacy, to partake of the joy of to day. Why the invitation was neglected you may divine. By the messenger now sent to the castle, Griffiths informs the butler that, as Mr. Valmont is safe at the hall, and Lord Filmar is safe in bed, the night is their own. He begs they will prepare for mirth and gaiety, bids the housekeeper and her damsels put on their dancing shoes, and promises to join them early, accompanied by his brother, who plays an excellent fiddle, and is the merriest fellow alive.

Such is the substance of Griffiths' message to the domestics. Doubt them not, Walter; they will jump at the opportunity, and swallow my bait with all the greediness I can desire.

It is now past nine. My pulse begins to beat riotously, as if I were drunk in earnest.—Poor undiscerning souls!—I have looked in the glass, Boyer.—All the uncertainty of my success trembles in my eye—all the tumult of hopes and fears sits on my countenance:—yet these animals cannot perceive it.——Would it were over!

The scene is almost prepared to shift. I am dismissed from the parlour; and, as Griffiths tells them, am at rest. Now, I wait but his summons. He is gone to hint among the servants here the advantage he is about to take of his master's infirmity, and hypocritically to request some one will make an excuse for him should I by chance awake and ring my bell before he returns.—The coast securely clear, I quit the house; join Griffiths at the lodge; and, at the corner of a little town, only a quarter of a mile from Sir Gilbert's, we are to find Griffiths' brother waiting in a chaise. This brother, who would not have been here if we hadn't sent for him, was only a common footman a week ago, but the two days he has passed at the inn in our neighbourhood has transformed him into a man of property; and he does not choose to go four miles in the rain without a covered carriage. Had it not rained, he would probably have received a sprain in his ancle, or his knee. The grand business over, for which his assistance is required, he puts on the Filmar livery, and becomes my footman. I was going to say my wife's, but there's hazard in that. Gratitude may beget love; and violently grateful will she be, no doubt, to the man that has helped to make—her fortune.——Walter, I am no coward: yet, I say again, would it were over!

I will put this paper in my pocket.——Should I get undetected into the castle, I shall have many hours of waiting; and to write my thoughts will certainly relieve me during the tedious interval.

I hear Griffiths' signal.——I come.——Adieu.——Safe in the castle!——'Tis just eleven o'clock.—Two will be the earliest I dare attempt to seize my prize.——Three hours! three ages, I may say, to undergo all the misery of expecting, in every blast of wind, the destruction of my project!——Wind enough!——how it rolls!—Floods of rain too!—A horrid and tempestuous night, this!——We must procure some covering, to shield her from the storm till we reach the chaise. I will mention it to Griffiths, that he may be quite in readiness. I should be sorry were she to suffer by the storm's inclemency. Does she go unwillingly, she suffers enough in going; goes she willingly, still she deserves not to suffer.——Why, thou cold whining Filmar, where is thy manhood?—Only the last stroke wanting, and that the easiest to accomplish, and thy scheme—thy darling scheme is—perfect.—Thy very valet claps the wings of exultation, and sings the song of triumph! Shame! shame! Rouse thyself! cast a look forward, Filmar!——

Yes, Walter, I am here happily supplied with a lighted taper by the dexterity and contrivance of Griffiths.—Securely stationed in one of the best apartments where even the mirth of the servants cannot reach me in a buzzing murmur, there is no hazard that any one of them should quit his diversions to wander among the mazy recesses of this mansion; and I do rejoice abundantly in my security.—Yet, Walter, I may rejoice, and feel the benumbing effects of this cold gloomy dwellings, too.—These old buildings are admirably contrived to fix odd impressions on the mind.—I do not at all wonder that every ancient castle is haunted in report.—Another such night, in another such place, and I could swear I perceived shapeless forms gliding around me.——I listen one minute to the variety of sound produced by the gathering winds; and, the next, find it hushed to so dead a calm, that the sound of my breathings alone interrupts the silence. Such—think of it, think of it, Walter—such are my employments!

I wonder whereabouts this armoury lays. Griffiths could tell.—The castle is amazing large, yet Griffiths is perfectly skilled in its geography.—He described to me, as we came hither, the situation of Miss Valmont's apartments.—They are nearer to where I am now stationed than to any other habitable part of the building.

The spacious gallery into which this room opens, runs the length of the whole front, excepting the wings and the towers. Narrow long passages connect the wings with the main building; and the passage nearest my side of the gallery, conducts you by a short flight of steps immediately up to Miss Valmont's abode. But this is not the road we are to take, because in a little room within that passage sleeps her attendant, silent Andrew; and we choose not to pass so near him, lest perhaps these resounding walls tell him of our footsteps.—Our's is a more intricate path. The adjoining antichamber will lead us to a narrower stair-case; descending this, we shall cross some of the lower apartments; and, making a circuit, gain the bottom of the West Tower; from whence, alleys and winding stone stairs will introduce us to the end of Miss Valmont's gallery, opposite to that we must have entered had we gone in the straight forward direction. We deem it advisable to descend with our charge the same way, and to leave the castle by a little door in the West Tower. It is, to be sure, on the wrong side, and will oblige us to carry our burthen, if the young lady should not be disposed just then to make use of her limbs, so much the further.

Griffiths' brother is a strong, bony, dark-looking fellow. Strength will be necessary, if persuasion should fail; and I cannot spare more than ten minutes to try the effects of my rhetoric. I will enter first; and, should a shriek of surprise or shriek of rapture (remember my person, Walter) escape her, the closed doors, distance of situation, and sleep of security, will prevent Andrew from hearing. Indeed, should he, mal-a-propos, interfere, it is only the extra trouble of binding him to good behaviour. It did once enter my thoughts to bribe this old fellow to our purposes, but the attempt might have wrought a discovery. Fearing nothing, he suspects nothing; absence of all care and a warm night-cap lull him to repose:—and pleasant be his dreams.—Ours all the hazard! Ours the reward! I have promised 500l. to Griffiths, and 100l. to his brother. My share of the plunder is to them a secret.

Now, though I allow the damsel one squall, yet I positively interdict any repetitions of the sort; and as, you know, I immediately became the arbiter of her fate, the sooner I accustom her to implicit obedience, the easier it will be to both in future.

Walter, I mend! My flagging spirits begin to bound and curvet. Oh! when we are once seated in that chaise and four, which now waits our coming in a retired corner, not above a hundred yards from the other side of the moat, how will my imagination outstrip the speed of the horses!

Dost thou talk of pursuit, Walter.—No! no! I mock pursuit! Supposing we get not away till three or four, we still shall have six or seven hours advantage in point of time. Then the old dons won't dream which way we are gone.—They do not know, what you and I do know, the great reward attendant on my deed; and, sorrowfully remembering the wickedness and sinfulness of their own youthful hearts, they will unrighteously judge of me, and sit down piteously to lament the loss of the lady's honour, whilst I, like a good Christian and worthy member of society, so far from diminishing am increasing her stock of honour, for the honour of a virgin is but a single portion, whereas, according to wise institutions, the honour of a wife is twofold—she bearing her husband's honour and her own. Pray heaven the cargo be not too mighty!

'Where is Lord Filmar?' says one of the party assembled at ten to-morrow morning to breakfast in Monkton Hall parlour.

'Tell Griffiths to let his lordship know we expect him at breakfast,'—says the earl.

'I told Mr. Griffiths, my lord,' replies the footman (one servant will always lie for another), 'but he says his lordship is asleep.'

This produces many pleasant allusions to last night's intemperance among the good souls; and they go to breakfast without me. Now, in the steward's room, one wonders Mr. Griffiths is not come home, a second wonders at my good nature and his faults, and a fourth wonders I do not awake. Amidst all this wit and wonder, another hour or two passes; and then two or three more probably in the surmises occasioned by the discovery of my absence.

The servants of the castle in the mean time are employed in their usual occupations, not at all surprised that their visitors had quitted them early unseen, because it had been so intended by them. Andrew, indeed, waits Miss Valmont's summons for breakfast, and deems it somewhat tardy. He concludes her walk to be unusually pleasing, and eats his own repast in peace and quietness. At length, his thoughts verge towards the extraordinary, and he inclines to seek further.

No, Andrew, 'tis in vain you search. No fair wood-nymph greets your eye. No voice answers to your call.——Ay! ay! assemble them:—hold your convocations in the great hall:—crowd, closer and closer:—whisper your suspicions, lest the dread ear of Valmont catch the tidings, that—she is gone!—Who shall carry these tidings to Mr. Valmont?—Not I! not I! not I! answers every voice at once; and up to the hall door drives his coach and six. Away fly the pale culprits!—Jostling against each other, confusion retards their speed, and the dreadful secret is in part betrayed.

Fye! Mr. Valmont, fye! don't swear! don't call hard names!

Can't you hear him, Walter, declaring his rage, and threatening his vengeance?—I can.

Ill news fly fast. Mr. Valmont's horses are not unharnessed.—Turn your eyes to Monkton Hall. See the squire enter—See the earl turn pale; the baronet attempt to look sorry; and see them, as I before observed, sitting in judgment on me, and putting their own black constructions on my innocent praise-worthy intentions.

Assuredly, Walter, could I have commanded every circumstance in my own way, it could not have happened more favourably. Mr. Valmont's porter is ill, and has been removed from the lodge into the house to be better nursed. Two grooms were deputed to take care of the draw-bridge. Mr. Valmont absent, we found it down; and down it remains now.—With what art Griffiths drew off the postilion, while I got into the chaise! The lad had not a suspicion he carried more than two—I crouched to the bottom, as they got out; and Griffiths whip'd up the blinds in an instant. He gave me one complete fright, for we had agreed the postilion should follow them into the house to be paid, while I freed myself; imagine how I trembled to hear them discharging him on the spot, and he thanking and wishing their honours good night.

'Stop my boy,' at length, cried Griffiths; 'hasn't thou got a wet jacket?'

'Yes, indeed, master,' replied the postilion, ''tis well soaked.'

'Why you griping old fellow,' this was addressed to the butler, who had come out to meet them, 'you grow as stingy as your master!—Why don't you offer the lad a little inside clothing? Come, postilion, come, you shall go in and drink my health in a bumper. But first, my boy, lead your horses under that arch, and they escape being wetter.' Then singing, he led the whole train into the back part of the castle.

Now this thought of the arch was the luckiest imaginable; for, had any of the grooms by chance staid loitering about the yard, the chaise was then so effectually screened, they could not have seen me descend from it. Turning on the right side of the arch, I crept along the front of the castle, crossed the inner court, and the hall door, with one gentle push, gave me admittance. Had the door been fastened, I must have waited there till Griffiths could steal an opportunity to let me in. In this part of the castle 'twas dark, as darkness itself; but as I had been in this apartment before, and came by the great stair-case, I found my way hither without trip or stumble. Griff——I fancied,—Nay, I'm sure, I heard a noise!—yet, all is silent again.—It was like the creaking of a door, and like something falling.——Rat's probably; the midnight tenants of the mansion.

Good God, how slowly the minutes move! only seventeen minutes and a half after twelve!—Astonishing!—that must be hail surely! I never heard rain drive with such impetuosity.—The casements tremble. I could almost fancy the building rocks with the tempest's violence.

What wonders will not education, custom, and habit accomplish! Miss Valmont, I dare say, feels no horror in listening to such sounds, nor tracing these murmuring galleries, lonely staircases, &c. I should not exist six months in this castle.—She must, indeed, be a strange unformed being!—Her portrait, that I told you of, hangs in this very room; and on my conscience it would persuade me she is an animated intelligent creature; but I know 'tis impossible; and now and then, when the 6000l. per annum gets a little into the shade, I anticipate fearful things.

It is fortunate, Walter, that she has the advantages of person, for, on that account, I shall have a little the less reluctance in showing her to the world, and a little more pleasure in attempting to humanize her.—Yet, I fear, it will be but gawky beauty neither, and that I abominate.—Robust health, no doubt; strong limbs; hanging arms; a gigantic stride; and the open-mouthed stare of a savage!—Oh, dear!

I must be fond too, I suppose, as we travel towards matrimony; but I don't feel the least inclined to fondness!—No! although I shall seize her unattired in bed, perhaps.—No: not one wild wish or mischievous thought will enter my bosom.—My pulse will continue to beat evenly.—My blood keep in its temperate course. I shall be a perfect anchorite. For me, she can have no enticements.——My——Merciful! Do I dream?——or——

Boyer, am I not in Valmont castle?—Did I not come hither to carry off the niece of Valmont? And was that bright vision the Sibella Valmont whom I have so traduced?—Hush! Walter! repeat not my crime, if thou hopest for peace in this world, or happiness in the next! It could not be her, her that I came in search of!—Yes, but it was her. Angel as she is in form, her heart is the heart of a mortal still. 'Oh, Clement!' said she, and, spreading one hand upon her heaving bosom, sighed deeply.—She addressed herself to that picture.

'Art thou safe, my love?—terrifying dreams disturb my rest!' She saw me not, for her back was toward me as she entered. 'Heaven preserve my Clement!' said she again after a pause.

She would have continued thus soliloquizing, but I, to gain a view of her face, attempted to change my attitude. My cursed coat had somehow got entangled in the chair, and threw it against the table as I moved. She turned around; and I, as in the presence of a goddess, bowed lowly to the very ground.

She then approached nearer; and my eyes retreated from the scrutiny with which she viewed me. The examination lasted more than a minute; and all that time I was racking my invention to find words to address her, but I might as well have been born dumb: I had neither articulation, nor sounds to articulate.

'Mark me, Sir,' said she, and I, like the idiot I had been describing her, bowed again: 'Mr. Valmont may bring you here; may make this castle my prison; but my will is free. I tell you, Sir, I am beyond your reach. Remember it, I am beyond your reach.'—And away she glided.

'Mr. Valmont may bring you here.' Why, who the devil could she take me for? I thought Mr. Valmont brought nobody here!—'I am beyond your reach.' Say not so, sweet saint!—I would not have you now beyond my reach for a king's ransom. If she should alarm the house, Walter.——Hark!——No.—'Tis nothing.—she knew me: yet knew me not.—defied me: yet is a stranger to my purpose.—What can all this mean?—Ha! then it may be true, that this frightful place has deranged her intellects!—Certainly that is the case. She looked a lovely lunatic, wrapped up in a loose gown, her hair streaming at its length; and arisen, in the dead of night, to apostrophize to her own picture!

Yet I am not deterred, Walter. I'll undertake her restoration. Expect me in London immediately. I unsay all. I would not yield her up to her uncle, no not for an hour!

Is she returned to her bed, I wonder?—Oh! my moderation is given to the wind!—The time draws near!—I heard the clapping of distant doors.——I cannot write.—I can hardly breathe.

Boyer, they shall neither of them touch her.—I will carry her myself.——I could not bear to see their arms encircle the sweet girl.—I'll enter her chamber first.—Her face they must behold; but, with the same zeal that I would feast mine own senses upon her other charms, will I hide them from the profanation of vulgar eyes.

The great clock striking two has just filled the turrets with its sound.—Griffiths has been with me. Their gayer sports have ceased. Punch bowls and story telling succeed the dance and song. Their animal spirits drooping with excess and fatigue, their old midnight habits return.—Mysterious tales of ghosts go round the circle; and each becomes desirous of seeking rest, though fearful to separate. A few more bumpers Griffiths says will at once bring them courage and sleep. He bids me assure myself of success.

Griffiths and his brother are to have a chamber in the front of the north wing. All the domestics, he says, except Andrew and his daughter, lie in the back part of the building.

'Within two hours, my lord,' said Griffiths as he quitted me, 'your triumph is complete.'

Two hours! Walter, two hours of yesterday were nothing: but two hours of this night!—now!—You do not know the length of hours, Boyer! how should you?

When you come to this line, my dear Walter, fill to your friend's prosperity.—My two agents are here. The light is already placed in the dark lanterns.—Not a sleepless eye in the castle but our own. All, even old Andrew, partook of the libations; and resigned their senses, to seal my triumph.

Griffiths has shown me a gagg. It will not sure be necessary. Should it, I will heal those lips with kisses! My lines stagger.—No wonder!—I'm on the summit!—Now, I only stay to seal this letter. In the first town we arrive at after day-break, it shall be committed to the post. Go or send instantly, and stop all proceedings on the mortgage. Adieu! adieu! rejoice with

FILMAR