months before his departure for the continent, a loss which had occasioned him the most severe affliction, and had induced him thus early in life to seek amid the din of arms, and the splendor of military parade, a pause from painful recollection. Time, however, though it had mitigated the first poignant emotions of grief, had not subdued the tender feelings of regret and sorrow, and the well-known objects. of his early childhood and his opening youth, associated as they were with the salutary precepts and fond affection of the best of parents, awakened in his mind a train of melancholy. yet soothing thoughts, as with slow and pausing steps he moved along the venerable avenue of trees which led to his paternal mansion. Twilight had by this time wrapt every object in a veil of pleasing obscurity; all was hushed in the softest repose, and the massiness of the foliage under which he passed, and the magnitude and solitary grandeur of his gothic halls impressed the imagination of Edward with deep sensations of solemnity and awe. Two grey-headed servants who had lived for near half a century in the family, received their young master at the gate, and whilst the tears trickled down their withered cheeks expressed

with artless simplicity their joy, and blessed the return of the son of their ancient benefactor.

After some affectionate enquiries concerning the neighbouring villagers, and the families of these old men, Edward expressed his intention of walking to the Abbey of Clunedale, which lay about a mile distant from the house; his filial affection, the pensive retrospect of events endeared to memory, the sweetness and tranquillity of the evening, and that enthusiasm so congenial to the best emotions of the heart, gave birth to the wish of lingering a few moments over the turf which covered the remains of his beloved parent. Scarce however had he intimated this resolution, when the ghastly paleness which overspread the countenances of his domestics, and the dismay that sat upon their features assured him that something extraordinary was connected with the determination he had adopted, and, upon enquiry, his terrified servants informed him, though with some confusion and reluctance, that, for some months past, they and the country round had been alarmed by strange sights and noises at the Abbey, and that no one durst approach the

place after sun-set. Edward smiling at the superstitious fears of his attendants, which he attributed solely to their ignorance and their love for the marvellous, assured them he entertained no apprehensions for the event, and that he hoped shortly to convince them that their alarm was altogether unfounded. Saying this, he turned into the great avenue, and striking off to the left, soon reached the river, on whose winding banks a pathway led to the Abbey.

This venerable structure had been surrendered to the rapacity of Henry the Eighth in 1540, and having been partly unroofed during the same year, had experienced a rapid decay. It continued however, along with the sacred ground adjoining to it, to be a depositary for the dead, and part of the family of the Courtenays had for some centuries reposed in vaults built on the outside of the great west entrance of the church.* In a spot adjacent

*It may be of service here, as in a former note on ancient castles, to explain the species of architecture which must necessarily be made use of in pursuing our story. "Ecclesiastical Buildings or Abbeys, consisted generally of the great Church, a Refectory, a Chapter-House and a Cloyster, with the necessary accommodations of Kitchen Dormitory, &c. The Church was usually in the form of a cross, in the center of which rose

to this ancient cemetry lay also the remains of the father of Edward, and hither filial piety was now conducting the young warrior as the gathering shades of evening dropped their deep grey tints on all around.

The solemn stillness of the air, the tremulous and uncertain light through which every object appeared, the soothing murmur of the water, whose distant track could be discovered only by the white vapor which hovered on its surface, together with the sedate and sweeping movement of the melancholy owl as it sailed

the tower. From east to west it was always considerably longer than from north to south. The great west end was the place of entrance into the Church; here, therefore, the greatest degree of ornament was bestowed both on the portal and the window over it. The lateral walls were strengthened by buttresses which always diminished as they rose, and between every two windows was a buttress. Within, the insulated columns ran in rows corresponding with the buttresses without.—As a cross affords two sides to each of many squares, one of these was usually compleated, and the other two sides were supplied, the one by the Cloyster, which was frequently carried in length from north to south, and the other by the refectory, and the chapter-house, which stood at right angles with this cloyster, and parallel to the body of the Church from east to west. The cloyster was sometimes carried into length, and sometimes surrounded a square court; over the cloyster was the customary place for the dormitory. None of the parts of the Abbey at all approached to the height of the Church.

Mason's Notes on the English Garden, p. 232, Ed. 1783.

slowly and conspicuously down the valley, had all a natural tendency to induce a state of mind more than usually susceptible of awful impressions. Over Edward, predisposed to serious reflection by the sacred purport of his visit, they exerted a powerful dominion, and he entered the precincts of the Abbey in deep meditation on the possibility of the re-appearance of the departed.

The view of the Abbey too, dismantled and falling fast to decay, presented an image of departed greatness admirably calculated to awaken recollections of the mutability and transient nature of all human possessions, It's fine gothic windows and arches streaming with ivy, were only just perceptible through the dusk as Edward reached the consecrated ground, where, kneeling down at the tomb of his father, he remained for some time absorbed in the tender indulgence of sorrow. Having closed however, his pious petitions for the soul of the deceased he was rising from the hallowed mould and about to retrace his pathway homewards, when a dim light glimmering from amidst the ruins arrested his attention. Greatly astonished at a phenomenon so singu