I know a valley fair and green,
Wherein, wherein,
A dear and winding brook is seen,
Therein;
The village street stands in its pride
With a row of elms on either side,
Therein;
They shade the village green.
In the village street there is an inn.
Wherein, wherein,
The landlord sits in bottle-green,
Therein.
His face is like a glowing coal,
And his paunch is like a swelling bowl;
Therein
Is a store of good ale, therein.
The inn has a cosy fireside.
Wherein, wherein,
Two huge andirons stand astride,
Therein.
When the air is raw of a winter's night,
The fire on the hearth shines bright
Therein.
'Tis sweet to be therein.
The landlord sits in his old arm-chair
Therein, therein;
And the blaze shines through his yellow hair
Therein.
There cometh lawyer Bickerstith,
And the village doctor, and the smith.
Therein
Full many a tale they spin.
They talk of fiery Sheridan's raid
Therein, therein;
And hapless Baker's ambuscade
Therein;
The grip with which Grant throttled Lee,
And Sherman's famous march to the sea.
Therein
Great fights are fought over therein.
The landlord has a daughter fair
Therein, therein.
In ringlets falls her glossy hair
Therein.
When they speak in her ear she tosses her head;
When they look in her eye she hangs the lid,
Therein.
She does not care a pin.
I know the maiden's heart full well.
Therein, therein,
Pure thoughts and holy wishes dwell
Therein.
I see her at church on bended knee;
And well I know she prays for me
Therein.
Sure, that can be no sin.
Our parish church has a holy priest,
Therein, therein.
When he sings the mass, he faces the east.
Therein.
On Sunday next he will face the west,
When my Nannie and I go up abreast,
Therein,
And carry our wedding-ring.
And when we die, as die we must;
Therein, therein,
The priest will pray o'er the breathless dust,
Therein;
And our graves will be planted side by side.
But the hearts that loved shall not abide
Therein,
But love in Heaven again.
C.W.
From The Lamp.
UNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.
CHAPTER V.
THE VERDICT AT THE INQUEST
From the time that suspicions as to the manner of Gilbert Thorneley's death had been communicated to Scotland Yard, the house in Wimpole street was taken possession of by the police, and all egress or ingress not subject to the knowledge and approval of the officer in charge was prohibited. Merrivale had been allowed on the previous day to see the body of poor old Thorneley, but with much difficulty, as the police had strict orders not to allow any strangers access to the chamber of death. He told me this on our way to the inquest.
"By the by," he said, "did you know that Wilmot is acting as sole executor of his uncle, and has taken upon himself the responsibility of ordering everything about the funeral? I asked Atherton about it yesterday evening, and he says Wilmot came to him and asked what was to be done, as Smith and Walker had said that he and Atherton, as only relatives of the deceased, were the proper persons to open the will, and see who were left his executors. Atherton, with his usual thoughtlessness for his own interests, bade him act as he considered right in everything, and was too much overwhelmed with his own sorrow to think of anything else. Wilmot then went to Smith's and opened the will, which was deposited there, and finds he is left sole executor; and, mind you, I fancy he's sole heir likewise, for he's as coxy as ever he can be. Mark my words, Kavanagh, there'll be a hitch about that will as sure as I'm alive."
I felt that Merrivale spoke with a purpose; but I answered him coolly: "I think so too; and Wilmot will find himself in the wrong box."
"If I thought it was any use," continued he, "I would ask you once more to confide to me the nature of the business which took you to Thorneley's on Tuesday evening."
"It will transpire in due time, Merrivale. I pass you my word it is utterly useless knowledge now; nor does it in any way affect Hugh Atherton's present position. God knows that nothing should keep me silent if I thought that silence would injure in the smallest degree one so dear to me--Will he be present to day?" I asked in a little while.
"Yes; he seemed very anxious to watch the proceedings; and on the whole I thought it better he should. I never saw such a man," said Merrivale, with a burst of enthusiasm very unlike his usual dry, cold manner; "he thinks of every one but himself. He is principally anxious to be there that he may detect any flaw in the evidence, or find any clue that may lead to the discovery of the real murderer of his uncle, apparently without any thought of saving himself, as if that were a secondary consideration. He seems to think more of the old man's death and take it to heart than of anything which has happened to himself; except when he speaks of Miss Leslie, and then he breaks down entirely. I have prepared him for having to hear your evidence, and I likewise mentioned that his uncle had sent for you the night of his death; and that you considered yourself bound in honor not to mention yet what transpired at the interview, but you had assured me it would throw no light upon our present darkness."