As it proved a moonlight night, he resolved at once to set about the important business which had brought him into Yorkshire; and for that purpose set off about eight o'clock on his walk to Yatton. About ten o'clock he might have been seen gliding noiselessly into the churchyard, like a dangerous snake. The moon continued to shine—and at intervals with brightness sufficient for his purpose, which was simply to reconnoitre, as closely as possible, the little sequestered locality—to ascertain what it might contain, and what were its capabilities. At length he approached the old yew-tree, against the huge trunk of which he leaned with folded arms, apparently in a revery. Hearing a noise as of some one opening the gate by which he had entered, he glided farther into the gloom behind him; and turning his head in the direction whence the sound came, he beheld some one entering the churchyard. His heart beat quickly; and he suspected that he had been watched: yet there was surely no harm in being seen, at ten o'clock at night, looking about him in a country churchyard!—It was a gentleman who entered, dressed in deep mourning; and Gammon quickly recognized in him Mr. Aubrey—the brother of her whose beautiful image still shone before his mind's eye. What could he be wanting there?—at that time of night? Gammon was not kept long in doubt; for the stranger slowly bent his steps towards a large high tomb, in fact the central object, next to the yew-tree, in the churchyard—and stood gazing at it in silence for some time.
"That is, no doubt, where Mrs. Aubrey was buried the other day," thought Gammon, watching the movements of the stranger, who presently raised his handkerchief to his eyes, and for some moments seemed indulging in great grief. Gammon distinctly heard the sound of deep sighing. "He must have been very fond of her," thought Gammon. "Well, if we succeed, the excellent old lady will have escaped a great deal of trouble—that's all! If we succeed," he inwardly repeated after a long pause! That reminded him of what he had for a few moments lost sight of, namely, his own object in coming thither; and he felt a sudden chill of remorse, which increased upon him till he almost trembled, as his eye continued fixed on Mr. Aubrey, and he thought also of Miss Aubrey—and the misery—the utter ruin into which he was seeking to plunge them both—the unhallowed means which they—which—if necessary—he—contemplated resorting to for that purpose.
Gammon's condition was becoming every moment more serious; for virtue, in the shape of Miss Aubrey, began to shine momentarily in more and more radiant loveliness before him—and he almost felt an inclination to sacrifice every person connected with the enterprise in which he was engaged, if it would give him a chance of winning the favor of Miss Aubrey. Presently, however, Mr. Aubrey, evidently heaving a deep sigh, bent his steps slowly back towards the old gate, and quitted the churchyard. Gammon watched his figure out of sight, and then, for the first time since Mr. Aubrey's appearance, breathed freely. Relieved from the pressure of his presence, Gammon began to take calmer and juster views of his position; and he reflected, that if he pushed on the present affair to a successful issue, he should be much more likely, than by prematurely ending it, to gain his objects. He therefore resumed his survey of the scene around him; and which presented appearances highly satisfactory, judging from the expression which now and then animated his countenance. At length he wandered round to the other end of the church, where a crumbling wall, half covered with ivy, indicated that there had formerly stood some building apparently of earlier date than the church. Such was the fact. Gammon soon found himself standing in a sort of enclosure, which had once been the site of an old chapel. And here he had not been long making his observations, before he achieved a discovery of so extraordinary a nature; one so unlikely, under the circumstances, to have happened; one so calculated to baffle ordinary calculations concerning the course of events, that the reader may well disbelieve what I am going to tell him, and treat it as absurdly improbable. In short, not to keep him in suspense, Gammon positively discovered evidence of the death of Harry Dreddlington in his father's lifetime; by means of just such a looking tombstone as he had long imaged to himself; and as he had resolved that old Quirk should have got prepared, before the cause came into court. He almost stumbled over it. 'Twas an old slanting stone, scarcely a foot above the ground, partly covered with moss, and partly hid by rubbish and long damp grass. The moon shone brightly enough to enable Gammon, kneeling down, to decipher, beyond all doubt, what was requisite to establish that part of the case which had been wanting. For a moment or two he was disposed to imagine that he was dreaming. When, at length, he took out pencil and paper, his hands trembled so much that he felt some difficulty in making an exact copy of the inestimable inscription. Having done this, he drew a long breath as he replaced the pencil and paper in his pocket-book, and almost fancied he heard a whispering sound in the air—"Verdict for the plaintiff." Quitting the churchyard, he walked back to Grilston at a much quicker rate than that at which he had come, his discovery having wonderfully elated him, and pushed all other thoughts entirely out of his mind. But, thought he, doubtless the other side are aware of the existence of this tombstone—they can hardly be supposed ignorant of it; they must have looked up their evidence as well as we—and their attention has been challenged to the existence or non-existence of proof of the time of the death of Harry Dreddlington:—well—if they are aware of it, they know that it cuts the ground from under them, and turns their conveyance, on which, doubtless, they are relying, into waste paper; if they are not, and are under the impression that that deed is valid and effectual, our proof will fall on them like a thunderbolt. "Gad,"—he held his breath, and stopped in the middle of the road—"how immensely important is this little piece of evidence! Why, if they knew of it—why in Heaven's name is it there still? What easier than to have got rid of it?—why, they may still: what can that stupid fellow Parkinson have been about? Yet, is it because it has become unimportant, on account of their being in possession of other evidence? What can they have to set against so plain a case as ours is, with this evidence? Gad, I'll not lose one day's time; but I'll have half a dozen competent witnesses to inspect, and speak to that same tombstone in court." Such were some of the thoughts which passed through his mind as he hastened homeward; and on his arrival, late as it was—only the yawning hostler having sat up to let him in—he wrote off a letter to Mr. Quirk, and made it into a parcel to go by the mail in the morning, acquainting him with the amazing discovery which he had just made, and urging Mr. Quirk to set about getting up the briefs, for the trial, without delay; he himself—Gammon—purposing to stop at Grilston a day or two longer, to complete one or two other arrangements of an important nature. As soon as Mr. Quirk had read this letter, he devoutly thanked God for his goodness; and, hurrying to his strong-box, unlocked it, took out a small sealed packet, and committed it to the flames.
Mr. Aubrey, as soon as he had recovered from the first shock occasioned by Mr. Parkinson's communication of the proceedings against him, set about acquainting himself, as minutely as he could, with the true state of the case. He had requested that gentleman to obtain from one of the counsel in London, Mr. Crystal, a full account of the case for his—Mr. Aubrey's—own guidance; and on obtaining a remarkably clear and luminous statement, and also consulting the various authorities cited in it—such at least as could be supplied to him by Mr. Parkinson—the vigorous practical understanding of Mr. Aubrey, aided by his patient application, soon mastered the whole case, and enabled him to appreciate his perilous position. Since he could derive no title through the conveyance of Harry Dreddlington (which had been got in by Geoffrey Dreddlington,) owing to the death of the former in his father's lifetime,[29] as he (Mr. Aubrey) understood from his advisers could be easily proved by the present claimant of the property; the right of accession of Geoffrey Dreddlington's descendants depended entirely upon the fact whether or not Stephen Dreddlington had really died without issue; and as to that, certain anxious and extensive inquiries instituted by Messrs. Runnington and Mr. Parkinson, in pursuance of the suggestions of their able and experienced counsel, had led them to entertain serious doubts concerning the right of Geoffrey's descendants to have entered into possession. By what means his opponents had obtained their clew to the state of his title, neither Mr. Aubrey nor any of his advisers could frame a plausible conjecture. It was certainly possible that Stephen Dreddlington, who was known to have been a man, like his uncle Harry, of wild and eccentric habits, and to have been supposed to leave no issue, might have married privately some woman of inferior station, and left issue by her, who, living in obscurity, and at a distance from the seat of the family property, could have no opportunity of inquiring into or ascertaining their position with reference to the estates, till some acute and enterprising attorneys, like Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, happening to get hold of them, and family papers in their possession, had taken up their case. When, with impressions such as these, Mr. Aubrey perused and re-perused the opinions of the conveyancer given on the occasion of his (Mr. Aubrey's) marriage, he was confounded at the supineness and indifference which he had even twice exhibited, and felt disposed now greatly to overvalue the importance of every adverse circumstance. The boldness, again, and systematic energy with which the case of the claimant was prosecuted, and the eminent legal opinions which were alleged, and with every appearance of truth, to concur in his favor, afforded additional grounds for rational apprehension. He looked the danger, however, full in the face, and as far as lay in his power, as a conscientious man, prepared for the evil day which might so soon come upon him. Certain extensive and somewhat costly alterations which he had been on the point of commencing at Yatton, he abandoned. But for the earnest interference of friends, he would at once have given up his establishment in Grosvenor Street, and applied for the Chiltern Hundreds, in order to retire from political life. Considering the possibility of his soon being declared the wrongful holder of the property, he contracted his expenditure as far as he could, without challenging unnecessary public attention; and paid into his banker's hands all his Christmas rents, sacredly resolving to abstain from drawing out one farthing of what might soon be proved to belong to another. At every point occurred the dreadful question—if I am declared never to have been the rightful owner of the property, how am I to discharge my frightful liabilities to him who is? Mr. Aubrey had nothing except the Yatton property. He had but an insignificant sum in the funds; Mrs. Aubrey's settlement was out of lands at Yatton, as also was the little income bequeathed to Kate by her father. Could anything be conceived more dreadful, under these circumstances, than the mere danger—the slightest probability—of their being deprived of Yatton?—and with a debt of at the very least sixty thousand pounds, due to him who had been wrongfully kept out of his property? That was the millstone which seemed to drag them all to the bottom. Against that, what could the kindness of the most generous friends, what could his own most desperate exertions, avail? All this had poor Aubrey constantly before his eyes, together with—his wife, his children, his sister. What was to become of them? It was long before the real nature and extent of his danger became known among his friends and neighbors. When, however, they were made aware of it, an extraordinary interest and sympathy were excited throughout almost the whole county. Whenever his attorney, Mr. Parkinson, appeared in public, he was besieged by most anxious inquiries concerning his distinguished client, whose manly modesty and fortitude, under the pressure of his sudden and almost unprecedented difficulty and peril, endeared him more than ever to all who had an opportunity of appreciating his position. With what intense and absorbing interest were the ensuing assizes looked for!– At length they arrived.
The ancient city of York exhibited, on the commission day of the spring assizes for the year 18—, the usual scene of animation and excitement. The High Sheriff, attended by an imposing retinue, went out to meet the judges, and escorted them, amid the shrill clangor of trumpets, to the Castle, where the commission was opened with the usual formalities. The judges were Lord Widdrington, the Lord Chief-Justice of the King's Bench, and Mr. Justice Grayley, a puisne judge of the same court—both admirable lawyers. The former was possessed of the more powerful intellect. He was what may be called a great scientific lawyer, referring everything to principle, as extracted from precedent. Mr. Justice Grayley was almost unrivalled in his knowledge of the details of the law; his governing maxim being ita lex scripta. Here his knowledge was equally minute and accurate, and most readily applied to every case brought before him. Never sat there upon the bench a more painstaking judge—one more anxious to do right equally in great things as in small. Both were men of rigid integrity: 'tis a glorious thing to be able to challenge the inquiry—when, for centuries, have other than men of rigid integrity sat upon the English Bench? Lord Widdrington, however, in temper was stern, arbitrary, and overbearing, and his manners were disfigured not a little by coarseness; while his companion was a man of exemplary amiability, affability, and forbearance. Lord Widdrington presided at the Civil Court, (in which, of course, would come on the important cause in which we are interested,) and Mr. Justice Grayley in the Criminal Court.
Soon after the sitting of the court, on the ensuing morning—"Will your Lordship allow me," rose and inquired the sleek, smiling, and portly Mr. Subtle, dead silence prevailing as soon as he had mentioned the name of the cause about which he was inquiring, "to mention a cause of Doe on the demise of Titmouse v. Jolter—a special jury cause, in which there are a great many witnesses to be examined on both sides—and to ask that a day may be fixed for it to come on?"
"Whom do you appear for, Mr. Subtle?" inquired his Lordship.
"For the plaintiff, my Lord."
"And who appears for the defendant?"
"The Attorney-General leads for the defendant, my Lord," replied Mr. Sterling, who, with Mr. Crystal, was also retained for the defendant.
"Well, perhaps you can agree between yourselves upon a day, and in the mean time similar arrangements may be made for any other special jury causes that may require it." After due consultation, Monday week was agreed upon by the parties, and fixed by his Lordship, for the trial of the cause.—During the Sunday preceding it, York was crowded with persons of the highest distinction from all parts of the county, who felt interested in the result of the great cause of the assizes. About mid-day a dusty travelling carriage and four dashed into the streets from the London road, and drove up to the principal inn; it contained the Attorney-General (who just finished reading his brief as he entered York) and his clerk. The Attorney-General was a man of striking and highly intellectual countenance; but he looked, on alighting, somewhat fatigued with his long journey. He was a man of extraordinary natural talents, and also a first-rate lawyer—one whose right to take the woolsack, whenever it should become vacant, was recognized by all the profession. His professional celebrity, and his coming down "special" on the present occasion, added to the circumstance of his being well known to be a personal friend of his client, Mr. Aubrey—whence it might be inferred that his great powers would be exerted to their utmost—was well calculated to enhance the interest, if that were possible, of the occasion which had brought him down at so great an expense, and to sustain so heavy a responsibility as the conduct of a cause of such magnitude as this.
He came to lead against a formidable opponent. Mr. Subtle was the leader of the Northern circuit, a man of matchless tact and practical sagacity, and consummately skilful in the conduct of a cause. The only thing he ever looked at, was the verdict; to the gaining of which he directed all his energies, and sacrificed every other consideration. As for display, he despised it. A speech, as such, was his aversion. He entered into a friendly, but exquisitely crafty conversation with the jury; for he was so quick at perceiving the effect of his address on the mind of each of the twelve, and dexterous in accommodating himself to what he had detected to be the passing mood of each, that they individually felt as if they were all the while reasoning with, and being convinced by him. His placid, smiling, handsome countenance, his gentlemanly bearing and insinuating address, full of good-natured cheerful confidence in his cause, were irresistible. He flattered, he soothed, he fascinated the jury, producing an impression upon their minds which they often felt indignant at his opponent's attempting to efface. In fact, as a nisi prius leader he was unrivalled, as well in stating as in arguing a case, as well in examining as cross-examining a witness. It required no little practical experience to form an adequate estimate of Mr. Subtle's skill in the management of a cause; for he did everything with such a smiling, careless, unconcerned air, equally in the great pinch and strain of a case, as in the pettiest details, that you would be apt to suspect that none but the easiest and most straightforward cases fell to his lot!
Titmouse, Titmouse, methinks the fates favored you in assigning to you Mr. Subtle!
Next came Mr. Quicksilver, who had received what may be called a muffling retainer. What a contrast was he to Mr. Subtle! Reckless, rhetorical, eloquent, ready, witty—possessing a vast extent of general knowledge, but rather slenderly furnished with law—he presented to the jury, himself—not his client, or his client's case; infinitely more anxious to make a splendid figure in public, than to secure, by watchful activity, the interests of his clients. Why, then, was such a man retained in the cause? 'Twas a fancy of Quirk's, a vast political admirer of Quicksilver's, who had made one or two most splendid speeches for him in libel cases brought against the Sunday Flash. Gammon most earnestly expostulated, but Quirk was inexorable; and himself carried his retainer to Mr. Quicksilver. Gammon, however, was somewhat consoled by the reflection, that this wild elephant would be, in a manner, held in check by Mr. Subtle and Mr. Lynx, who, he hoped, would prevent any serious mischief from happening. Lynx possessed the qualities which his name would suggest to you. I have partly described him already. He was a man of minute accuracy; and "got up" every case in which he was engaged as if his life had depended on the result. Nothing escaped him. He kept his mind constantly even with the current of the cause. He was a man to steer a leader, if ever that leader should get, for an instant, on the wrong tack, or be uncertain as to his course. His suggestion and interference—rare, indeed, with such a man as Mr. Subtle, incessant with Mr. Quicksilver—were always worth attending to, and consequently received with deference.
For Mr. Aubrey also was retained a formidable "bar." Mr. Attorney-General was a man much superior, in point of intellect and legal knowledge, to Mr. Subtle. His mind was distinguished by its tranquil power. He had a rare and invaluable faculty of arraying before his mind's eye all the facts and bearings of the most intricate case, and contemplating them, as it were, not successively, but simultaneously. His perception was quick as light; and, at the same time—rare, most rare accompaniment!—his judgment sound, his memory signally retentive. Inferior, possibly, to Mr. Subtle in rapid and delicate appreciation of momentary advantages, he was sagacious, where Mr. Subtle was only ingenious. Mr. Attorney-General had as much weight with the judge as Mr. Subtle with the jury. With the former there was a candor and straightforwardness—a dignified simplicity—which insensibly won the confidence of the judge; who, on the other hand, felt himself obliged to be ever on his guard against the slippery sophistries of Mr. Subtle, whom he thus got to regard with constant suspicion.
Mr. Sterling, the second counsel for the defendant, was a king's counsel, and a rival of Mr. Subtle upon the circuit. He was a man of great power; and, on important occasions, no man at the bar could acquit himself with more distinction. As a speaker, he was eloquent and impressive, perhaps deficient in vivacity; but he was a man of clear and powerful intellect; prompt in seizing the bearings of a case; a capital lawyer; and possessing, even on the most trying occasions, imperturbable self-possession.
Mr. Crystal, with some faults of manner and bearing, was an honorable high-minded man; clear-sighted and strong-headed; an accurate and ready lawyer; vigilant and acute.
See, then, the combatants in this memorable encounter; for Titmouse—Mr. Subtle, Mr. Quicksilver, Mr. Lynx; for Mr. Aubrey—Mr. Attorney-General, Mr. Sterling, Mr. Crystal.
The consultation of each party was long and anxious.
About eight o'clock on the Sunday evening, at Mr. Subtle's lodgings, Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, accompanied by Mr. Mortmain, whom they had brought down to watch the case, made their appearance shortly after Mr. Quicksilver and Mr. Lynx.
"Our case seems complete, now" said Mr. Subtle, casting a penetrating and most significant glance at Messrs. Quirk and Gammon, and then at his juniors, to whom, before the arrival of their clients and Mr. Mortmain, he had been mentioning the essential link which, a month before, he had pointed out as missing, and the marvellous good fortune by which they had been able to supply it at the eleventh hour.
"That tombstone's a godsend, Subtle, isn't it?" said Quicksilver, with a grim smile. Lynx neither smiled nor spoke. He was a very matter-of-fact person. So as the case came out clear and nice in court, he cared about nothing more; at that moment he felt that he should be functus officio!—But whatever might be the insinuation or suspicion implied in the observation of Mr. Subtle, the reader must, by this time, be well aware how little it was warranted by the facts.[30]
"I shall open it very quietly," said Mr. Subtle, putting into his pocket his penknife, with which he had been paring his nails, while Mr. Quicksilver had been talking very fast. "What do you think, Mr. Lynx? Had I better allude boldly to the conveyance executed by Harry Dreddlington, and which becomes useless as soon as we prove his death in his father's lifetime?"
"Ah! there's that blessed tombstone again," interposed Quicksilver, with a sarcastic smile.
–"Or," resumed Mr. Subtle, "content myself with barely making out our pedigree, and let the conveyance of Harry Dreddlington come from the other side?"
"I think, perhaps, that the latter would be the quieter and safer course," replied Lynx.
"By the way, gentlemen," said Mr. Subtle, suddenly, addressing Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, "how do we come to know anything about the mortgage executed by Harry Dreddlington?"
"Oh! that you know," replied Quirk, quickly, "we first got scent of in Mr."– Here he paused suddenly, and turned quite red.
"It was suggested," said Gammon, calmly, "by one of the gentlemen whose opinions we have taken in the case—I forget by whom—that, from some recital, it was probable that there existed such an instrument; and that put us on making inquiry."
"Nothing more likely," added Mortmain, "than that it, or an abstract, or minute of it, should get into Stephen Dreddlington's hands!"
"Ah! well! well!" said Mr. Subtle, shrugging his shoulders,—"I must say there's rather an air of mystery about the case. But—about that tombstone—what sort of witnesses will speak"–
"Will the evidence be requisite," inquired Lynx, "in the plaintiff's case? All we shall have to do will be to prove the fact that Harry died without issue, of which there's satisfactory evidence; and as to the time of his death, that will become material only if they put in the conveyance of Harry."
"True—true; ah! I'll turn that over in my mind. Rely upon it, I'll give Mr. Attorney-General as little to lay hold of as possible. Thank you, Lynx, for the hint. Now, gentlemen," said he, turning to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, "one other question—What kind of looking people are the witnesses who prove the later steps of the pedigree of Mr. Titmouse? Respectable? eh?—You know a good deal will depend on the credit which they may obtain with the jury!"
"They're very decent creditable persons, you will find, sir," said Gammon.
"Good, good. Who struck the special jury?"
"We did, sir."
"Well, I must say that was a very prudent step for you to take! considering the rank in life and circumstances of the respective parties! However, to be sure, if you didn't, they would—so—well; good-night, gentlemen, good-night." So the consultation broke up; and Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap returned home to their inn in a very serious and anxious mood.
"You're a marvellous prudent person, Mr. Quirk," said Gammon, in a somewhat fierce whisper, as they walked along, "I suppose you would have gone on to explain the little matter of Steggars, and so have had our briefs thrown at our heads"–
"Well, well," grunted Quirk, "that was a slip!" Here they reached their inn. Titmouse was staying there; and in Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's absence, he had got very drunk, and was quarrelling under the archway with "Boots;" so they ordered him to bed, they themselves sitting up till a very late hour in the morning.
The consultation at the Attorney-General's had taken place about three o'clock in the afternoon, within an hour after his arrival; and had been attended by Messrs. Sterling, Crystal, and Mansfield—by Mr. Runnington, and Mr. Parkinson, and by Mr. Aubrey, whom the Attorney-General received with the most earnest expressions of sympathy and friendship; listening to every question and every observation of his with the utmost deference.
"It would be both idle and unkind to disguise from you, Aubrey," said he, "that our position is somewhat precarious. It depends entirely on the chance we may have of breaking down the plaintiff's case; for we have but a slender one of our own. I suppose they can bring proof of the death of Harry Dreddlington in his father's lifetime?"
"Oh yes, sir!" answered Mr. Parkinson, "there is an old tombstone behind Yatton church which establishes that fact beyond all doubt: and a week or two ago no fewer than five or six persons have been carefully inspecting it; doubtless they will be called as witnesses to-morrow."
"I feared as much. Then are ours no more than watching briefs. Depend upon it, they would not have carried on the affair with so high a hand if they had not pretty firm ground under foot! Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap are tolerably well known in town—not over-scrupulous, eh, Mr. Runnington?"
"Indeed, Mr. Attorney, you are right. I don't doubt they are prepared to go all lengths."
"Well, we'll sift their evidence pretty closely, at any rate. So you really have reason to fear, as you intimated when you entered the room, that they have valid evidence of Stephen Dreddlington having left issue?"
"Mr. Snap told me," said Mr. Parkinson, "this morning, that they would prove issue of Stephen Dreddlington, and issue of that issue, as clean as a whistle—that was his phrase."
"Ay, ay—but we mustn't take all for gospel that he would say," replied the Attorney-General, smiling sarcastically.
"They've got two houses filled with witnesses, I understand," said Mr. Runnington.
"Do they seem Yorkshire people, or strangers?"
"Why, most of them that I have seen," replied Parkinson, "seem strangers."
"Ah, they will prove, I suppose," said the Attorney-General, "the later steps of the pedigree, when Stephen Dreddlington married at a distance from his native county."
They then entered into a very full and minute examination of the case; after which,—"Well," said the Attorney-General, evidently fatigued with his long journey, and rising from his chair, "we must trust to what will turn up in the chapter of accidents to-morrow. I shall be expected to dine with the bar to-day," he added; "but immediately after dinner—say at half-past seven o'clock, I shall be here and at your service, if anything should be required." Then the consultation broke up. Mr. Aubrey had, at their earnest entreaty, brought Mrs. Aubrey and Kate from Yatton, on Saturday; for they declared themselves unable to bear the dreadful suspense in which they should be left at Yatton. Yielding, therefore, to these their very reasonable wishes, he had engaged private lodgings at the outskirts of the town. On quitting the consultation, which, without at the same time affecting over-strictness, he had regretted being fixed for Sunday—but the necessity of the case appeared to warrant it—he repaired to the magnificent minster, where the evening prayers were being read, and where were Mrs. Aubrey and Kate. The prayers were being chanted as he entered; and he was conducted to a stall nearly opposite to where those whom he loved so fondly were standing. The psalms allotted for the evening were those in which the royal sufferer, David, was pouring forth the deepest sorrows of his heart; and their appropriateness to Mr. Aubrey's state of mind, added to the effect produced by the melting melody in which they were conveyed to his ears, excited in him, and, he perceived, also in those opposite, the deepest emotion. The glorious pile was beginning to grow dusky with the stealing shadows of evening; and the solemn and sublime strains of the organ, during the playing of the anthem, filled those present, who had any pretensions to sensibility, with mingled feelings of tenderness and awe. Those in whom we are so deeply interested, felt at once subdued and elevated; and as they quitted the darkening fabric, through which the pealing tones of the organ were yet reverberating, they could not help inquiring, should they ever enter it again,—and in what altered circumstances might it be?