to judge from appearances, seemed to have thrived excellently in
the atmosphere of desolation which surrounded them. It was some
time before I could get the clumsy old lock to act properly, or
summon sufficient strength to turn the key; but at length
perseverance met with its proverbial reward, and the door moved
slowly and noisily on its hinges. Still bearing my candle, I went
on my way into a second corridor, which was literally carpeted
with dust, the accumulation probably of the ten years to which my
host had referred.

All round was gloomy and silent as a sepulchre, save that every
now and then the loosened boards creaked beneath my tread, or some
little misanthropical animal, startled from his hermitage by the
unwonted sound of my steps, hurried across the passage, making as
he went a tiny trail in the thick furry dust. Several galleries
branched off from the mainway like tributary streams, but I preferred
to steer my course down the central corridor, which finally conducted
me to a large antique-looking apartment with carved wainscot and
curious old paintings on the panelled walls. I put the candle upon
a table which stood in the centre of the room, and standing beside
it, took a general survey. There was an old mouldy-looking bookcase
in one corner of the chamber, with some old mouldy books packed
closely together on a few of its shelves. This piece of furniture
was hollowed out, crescent-wise, at the base, and partially concealed
a carved oaken door, which had evidently in former times been the
means of communication with an adjoining apartment. Prompted by
curiosity, I took down and opened a few of the nearest books on
the shelves before me. They proved to be some of the very earliest
volumes of the "Spectator,"--books of considerable interest to me,--
and in ten minutes I was quite absorbed in an article by one of