LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 2122, 11 December 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE MYSTEBY OF LOUD 88-ACKENBUItY: A NOVEL. BY AMELIA B. EDWAKDS. Author of "Barbara's History," "Bebenham's Vow," &c. ( Continued. Chapter XVIII. LA.NOTREY GBANGE. Cochrane was nothing if not critical; but he at once confessed that neither at homo nor abroad had he eoen anything to compare in its way with Langfcrey Grange. He fell in love at the first glimpse of it between the trees, and his admiration expressed in a gathering crescendo, increased at every step. The house stood in the midst of a green flit, embowered in trees, surrounded by pastures, and approached by a private road, interrupted by at least a dozen gates. Mis 3 Savago, however, conducted Shorn by a shorter way, first crossing the little river by a high wooden bridge, and then taking a footpath across the meadows. Presently they came to a field larger than the rest, in which thare were many cows and some fine elms ; and then, through an opening in the trees, Mr Cochrane caught sight of a most curious old house patterned all over in black and white, with projecting upper storeys, and all kinds of jutting and ivy-grown chimneys, and quaint case-ment-windowa filled with ancient lozengepaned glass that winked and glittered in the afternoon sunlight. Drawing nearer, he saw that this house was out off from the surrounding meadows by a moat, _ and approached by a delapidated Btono bridge; the rampart having been pulled down to right and left of the bridge, and the ground converted into a green slope planted with cherry-treea to the water's edge. fcever had he beheld so quaiat a dwellinghouse. It was like a great toy ; and the patterning of the walls wa3 as various and capricious as the designs in a Japanese puzzle. Squared off into compartments by the larger beams, every foot of the surface was dispered with chevrons, quatrsfoils, crosses, diamonds, diagonals, circles, and the like, all done in timber on the plaster ground—the timber painted black, and the plaster toned down by age to a creamy yellow. -And there were black pendants like stalactites at each gable corner; and lines of carved scroll-work under the jutting eaves 5 and over the gateway, supported by twisted pillars, two at each side, a deep cornice quaintly sculptured with rows of heraldic shields in panelled recesses. Thaso sbiolds yet snowed traces of gold and colours, but all the rest—pillars, capitals, cornices, pendants—were in old black oak. ! Cochrane stood for a momt-nt, still and , silent. It seemed to him that he was looking at a very old and very beautiful picture. i Then his delight broke out in exclamat tions. ,„ . , r The absence of uniformity, the surprising £ fancifulne3s of the details, moved him to a 1 sort of antiquarian rapture. t Above all, he was charmed with the soft 1 harmony of color; the time-worn tints of 9 the wood and plaster ; the faded reds and yellowa of the old flat roofing tiles; the sober

[green of the ivy, which had spread up all one side of the wing to the right of the gateway, and overrun a cluster of tall chimneys above, looking like a gigantic hand in a green glove, • with one finger pointing upwards. ' In heaven's name !' he cried,' what is the date of this house ?' But Lancelot, smiling, bade him follow Miss Savage, who had gone on while they stood gazing, and was now crossing the bridge over the moat. A blind retriever lying In the gateway lashed the ground feebly with his tall at hor approach, and pulling himself together by an effort, followed her into the courtyard. At the sight of this courtyard—or rather of the buildings by which it was surrounded—Mr Coohrane drew a long breath. The south side thai by which they entsred —was two storeys in height; the north, east and west sides but one. The east side, to their right as they stood in the gateway, consisted of a long uniform wing lit by four casement windows on the ground floor, and by four smaller ones above. It contained the oflioos. The north side, now faoing them, contained the dwelling rooms, and was the part of the house inhabited by Miss Langrey and her niece. The west side, being carried only half way, ended in a boldly patternsd gable-end with carved pilasters at the corner; while a low wall and a small gate connected it with the north, or entrance wing. This gate led to the cherry orchard by the moat, and round to the garden at the back. But it was the north side opposite the gateway that held Mr Cochrane breathless. The quaintness of the outer fagade wbb nothing to the quaintness of this inner front. To describe it in such wise as to convey, any exact impression by means oj words io impossible. It was simply a fantastic and heterogeneous jumble of parts that seemed to have no connection with each other —to have been set down, as it were, by accident, and left there by [mistake. The doorway was in the left hand corner —a wonderful old doorway, enclosing a deep, dark porch, flanked on each side by three clusters of twisted pillars, and surrounded by a cornice quaintly carved in roßettes and zigzags, all in black wood. Above thia porch were three courses of quatrefoils in timber and plasterwork, white upon black, and black upon white, in panelled recesses, divided by dwarf pilasters, the whole supporting a very large window surmounted by a gable. This porch window protected some twelve feet beyond what seemed to be the main line of building. The rest of the front consisted of two most singular and picturesque bay windows; the one a half octagon ranging level with the porch ; the other a half sextagoi placed considerably more forward, and filling the angle at the M.B. corner of the court yards. These windows stood wide apart below, but their upper storeys, each face capped with a jutting gable end, bo far overhung their basements that they met above, forming a continuous chain of casements placed at all kinds of angles. They looked, in short, like a pair of enormous top heavy lanterns leaning against each other; or like two very elaborate and fragile towers of glass which a breath might shatter. Coohrane stood and gazed, and did not utter a word —gazed at the courses of scrolland panel-work that divided the lower from the upper storeys of these wonderful old windows ; at the varied patterns of the tiny casement-panes, set in shapes of stars, rosea, crosses', diamonds, and the like ; at the grotesque heads terminating every bracket and pendant and gargoyle ; at the crests and mottoes and quaint legends carved along the cross beams under the nodding gables. Here he read : ' LATJNaTREY-LoYAULTE.' On the next beam : ' God is in Aft thinok.' A little farther on : ' This Winbov whire kbpayred by Philip Latjngtrey—ln ye YeARE OP OURS LORDE MDLIX.' Lancelot watched him, enjoying his undisguised astonishment. Miss Savage's attention, meanwhile, was engrossed by some three or four score of cnowy fan-tailed pigeons. These pretty creatures—her own especial pets—had espied her from the roof ; ana first one, then two, then half adozen, came fluttering down, cooing and courtseying about her feet, and clamouring softly for their accustomed food. Laughing, she took off her hat end let them settle in a cloud on her head, on her shoulders, on her upraised hand and arm. The slanting sunlight caught her where she stood, while behind her lay the house all in shadow. It was a ready-made picture, and Lancelot, looking on with the eye of an artist, longed to paint it on the spot. ' Well,' he said presently, 'what do you think of the place ? Does it come up to your expectations?' Mr Coohrane's wandering gaze had by this time strayed down from the windows to the courtyard. He was looking almost with surprise, evidently with admiration no longer at the house, but at the lady. •My expectation,' he said slowly. 'My expectation fell far short of the reality.' Sbo was tall —taller than he had at fisst supposed—younger, fairer, altogether lovelier and more attractive. Her eyelids, too, were no longer red ; and now that he saw her without her hat, he discovered that Bhe had wonderfully kind, frank, pleasant eyes, blue rather than grey, with long dark lashes, and a half shy, half eager look in them which might easily flash into laughter, or kindle into honest anger. The brows above these eyes were level, and the forehead brood and low; and the mouth—well, yes, the mouth was large, not so large as he had thought; yet larger than quite coincided with Horace Cochrane's standard of perfection. Bat it was a beautiful mouth for all that, and the little even teeth which that smile disclosed were perfectly charming. As for her hair—bright, wavy, chesnut hair, with glint of red gold upon it—he had no fault to find with that; not even with the way she wore it, though nothing could well be more careless without being positively untidy. Scanning her thus critioally, point by point, as he might have scanned an uncatalogued painting In a gallery, hesitating to what master it should be attributed, ho decided that Miss Savage not only came up to the level of her reputation, but that there was something peculiarly fresh, and vivid in her beauty—that it belonged, in fact, to the Venetian school, and that she ought to have been painted (had che only lived three hundred years ago) by Paris Bordone, He half thought, indeed, that she reminded him of a Bordone which he had Been somewhere or another abroad j but he could not remember where. Meanwhile, the pigeons circled, and lighted, and strutted ; and Miss Savage unconscious of criticism, thought only of feeding them. ' jJo, please, Lancelot, tap on the kitchen window, and bid Joan or Bridget briDg me some food for them,' she criad, appealingly. Lancelot did as he bidden, and a buxom damsel in pattens presently appeared with a sieve of barley in her hand. ' Thof hot thoir bait, Miss, a'ready,' she said in a tone of remonstrance, ' I dunno what Bridget 'ull say.' Winifred laughed, and flung the barley in great handfuls about the yard. ' Never fear, Joan,' she said. ' Leave Bridget to me. I will take the blame. Here Lily !—Poor Lily !—Reine- Blanche ! Snowdrift! Oh, Bijou ; you greedy bird ! How dare you bo so bold ?' Bijou had perched upon the edge of the seive, and wa3 impru Aently helping himself. ' So each pigeon has its name ? But when all are white, how can you possibly tell one bird from another ?' asked Mr Cockrane, with suddenly awakened interest. She looked round, smiling. ' How does a Ehepherd know hi 3 sheep ? My pigeons look all alike to you. because you are not accustomed to them ; yet I see as much difference between Bijou and Lily and Snowdrift as if no two were of the same colour. But you are awaiting all this time to pay your vloit to my aunt and I see the house I I arn treating you very rudely.' ' I am seeing the houso now, said Cochrane. ' The inside cannot possibly be as picturesque as the outside.' Mis 3 Savage put the sieve on tho ground, Bijou and all; said a_ few words in a low voice to Joan, and leaving her pets to finish their meal, offered to lead the way through the unoccupied rooms. ' I have sent word to my aunt that yon are here,' she said, 'but before you go In you may as well see t'e south wing. Down, Prinoe—down! No, Jack—you must stay outside. Good dogs—lie down!' She led the way to a door under the gateway first fetching tho key from where

it hung inside the porch, The lock was rusty, and Lancelot with difficulty turned the key. ' We hardly ever open these rooms,' said Miss Savage. ' They are fall of dußt and ghosts, ana are going fast to ruin.' ' Ghost*! Are you so rich that you own more than one ?' ' "We are so poor that we do not own even one? There is a tradition of a wandering light which io seen in the gallery overhead when a Langtrey ia about to die ; but that is a poor substitute for a family apparition, and we refuse to helieve in it. You are now in the Little Hall, I don't know what use they made of it in the old time—we have turned it into a lumber-room for all kinds of rubbish.' It was a gloomy room with panelled walls, and one large casement window so thick with dust that it let in scarcely any light. It was not so dim, however, but that they could see at the farther end a heterogenous pile of old furniture, packing-cases, tarnished cornices and picture-frames, mouldy harness, rusty pikes and halberts, old book-cases, boxes, fishing-tackle, garden tools, and the like. Beyond this lay a smaller room called the ' Still room,' surrunded by presses and communicating by a passage with the old kitchen in the Bast Wing—a great, gloomy cavern of a place, with rows of rnsty hooks in the rafters overhead, and a huge fireplace at which many an ox had been roasted in the olden time. Never since Stephen Langtrey's father came of age had those rafters echoed to the laughter of wassailers. The hearth had been co'd for more than fifty years. The hams and flitches were gone : and the place now contained only a quantity of firewood stacked against the wall, and a store of potatoes laid by for winter consumption. Mr Cochrane peeped up the chimney—a blackened funnel ending in a patch of daylight high above—and compared it to a shaft in a coal mine. Then they retraced their steps, went in at another door on tho opposite side of the gateway, and fonnd themselves in the Great Hall or Banqueting Boom, whioh, with its old black pannelling, high carved chimneypiece, and fragments of rusty armor hanging on the walls, occupied the other half of the South Front ground floor. Thence, by way of a narrow staircase, Miss Savage took them up to the first floor. 'Thece,' sho eaid, 'are what used to be called the "state apartments." You are now entering the long gallery, or throneroom, where Queen Elizabeth is said to have danced.' Following her into the long gallery, they found an old white-haired woman-servant hastily removing the cover from an ancient arm-chair standing on a little dais under a faded canopy at the upper end of the room. ' So, among your ancestral honours, you number a visit frem the Virgin Queen V said Cochrane. ' Y«>s ; she stayed here for a night in the course of one of her Northern Progresses—l think in 1557. Is that right, Bridget?' ' In the year of onr Lord fifteen hundred and seventy-eight, Miss.' replied the old dame, dropping one little curtsey to Brackenbury, and another to the stranger. ' Her Most Gracious Majesty arrived on the twenty-eighth of May, accompanied by the Lords Burleigh, Leicester, Arundel, and Hunsdon, and a numerous suite; and departed the following morning. That is the chair In which Her Most Gracious Majesty sat; and in this gallery she danced a measure with Sir Marmaduke Langtrey.' ■ I never can remember whether it was in eighty-seven or seventy-eight,' laughed Miss Savage ; ' but yon will find it duly chronicled in ' .Nichols's Progresses'—and in Bridget's portentous memory. She will tell you all about°tho portraits, too —better than any catalogue.' (To be continued.)