LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2356, 21 October 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

HOW WE LO3T A TBEABUBE. [" London Society."] {Continued. ) This was soon done, and behold! there were the rooms exaotly as they used to be, but not a soul in them. None of the furniture had been removed, and the plates and crumbs of the last meal wero still on the kitchen-table. The clothes prsss in the bedroom, however, was empty and open. Mr Dawkins and I looked at each other, but could not guess In the least what had become of Muller and bis family. We then tried the neighbors for information, and ascertained from an old washerwoman, who lived two doors off, that she had seen Muller leave in Jean Dubois' cart at daybreak that very morning. ' And a nice lot of boxes he had with him. They seemed so heavy that he and Dubois could hardly lift them Into the cart.

' Boxes ?' remarked Mr Dawkins inquiringly. ' Yes, boxes of good white deal, fonr of them, all with the sides bound with Iron clamp?.' ' And do yon know where Madame Muller Is ?' I asked.

' Oh yes ; she told Madame Chevert yesterday that she was going off in the morning train to Dunkerque, to meet her mother, who was coming from Germany; and she took the child with her. The old woman direoted ns to the carter's house, to which we at once walked, and found that he bad started very early that morning with some boxes for Mr Muller. He had gone by the Calais road, and would not be back till the evening, or perhaps not till next morning. Here was a nice state of things! Muller had evidently absconded, and we could not find out anything about him till the carter returned.

But the pnzzle was, where did the heavy boxes come from ? I had an Inward consciousness that something serious had happened, but what it was I had not the least Idea.

Mr Dawkins suggested that we should go and see if the interior of the church was all right. We found everything there as usual. Then we began to look about In an objectless sort of way, to see if we oould find any traces of the lost one ; and at last, looking into the shed built against our boundary wall, where we kept the coals for heating the churoh in winter, I saw a large quantity of freshly dug earth. This seemed strange, and going In I stumbled over a heavy board, which was thus slightly displaced, and revealed part of a hole. 1 lifted the board away, and saw a neatly cut circular opening, but how deep I could not tell. I called Mr Dawklns, and, tying a piece of string which was In my pocket to his walking-stick, we felt for the bottom, but failed to find it. • We must get some one to go down and see what this means,' said I, 'it strikes me that there may be a passage through this hole leading under the church.' ' That is not at all Improbable,' said Mr Dawkins ; ' and now I come to think of it, Muller spoke to me rather mysteriously a few weeks ago of bis having an idea that there must be crypt under here, and that some day it might be found out.' ' Shall we put this into the hands of the authorities, Mr Dawkins?' I asked. Mr Dawklns, however, thought that we had better wait for the return of the carrier, and see it there was anything In the hole. ' For If there is anything wrong, and we call in the polioe, we may be involved In a lot of trouble, before the business is over.

Accordingly we agreed to conduofc our exploration ourselves, and to meet again at the church after lunch, with candles and a rope and tools. I was too excited myself to make much of a meal, and was waiting at the church long before two o'clock, with a oouple of lanterns and a packet of candles. A few minutes after Mr Dawkins appeared, and with him his eldest son, a little active boy of fifteen. They had brought with them a coil of rope, Our first act was to let a lantern down the hole. We could then see that it had been made by an experienced workman, as we found that at a depth of a few feet it was carefully shored up with short pieces of timber. We could soon see the bottom, at a great depth. We then pulled the lantern up, and let down young Dawkins, who was in high glee at the prospect of an adventure. After some ten or eleven feet of rope had passed through our hands, he cried ' Stop ! I have reached the bottom.' We then gave him the lantern, and asked what the place .was like. He answered that there was plenty of room to turn about In, and that the hole was continued in a horizontal direction towards the church. At this I became thoroughly excited, stripped off my coat, and lighted the other lantern, and then got Mr Da wkina to lower me. Down I went, and looked about me.

The tunnel leading towards the church was regularly supported at intervals with side posts and cross pieces of wood, and was big enough to allow a man to crawl on hie hands and knees very comfortably. As there seemed no great difficulty In the matter I shouted up to Mr Dawkins :

' We are going np the passage ; you had better go into the church, and if you hear a knocking, you will know that we are below.'

The wall of the church was only some twenty-five feet from the coal shed; we soon penetrated to that distance, and young Dawkins, who preceded me, said—'We have come to a hole in a wall; and the ground seems lower on the other side.' After lowering his lantern he fonnd that there was a fall of about three feet, down whioh be st-pped. I followed, and holding np our lanterns wc stood upright. We were in an angle of a stone-built chamber, evidently a portion of the crypt of the old monastery, whose existence had never been suspected. The open space in which we stood was some twenty feet sqnare ; two of Its sides were formed of old stone walls, the other two of heaps of rubbish, reaching quite up to the low arohed roof. Looking carefully around, traces of Muller's handiwork were to be seen everywhere; here was a passage tunnelled through the rubbish ; there a wall bored through, and the bones of several skeletons proved that he had disinterred some bodies in his search. One Btone coffin lay in a corner, with its lid off; within was the skeleton of its tenant, quite perfect, with a leaden crucifix resting against the riba. After deliberating a little we determined to examine the" largest of three openings into the rubbish, as it showed signs of having been well trodden down, and was of a good size. We followed it for some little distance, and again emerged into the opon orypt. Almost the first thing that we noticed was a small iron door, half eaten away with rust. It had been taken off its hinges and lay at our feet. In the wall opposite was a small massively built recess. And now it was that we found evidence of the success of Mailer's search, for on the floor of the reoess was a quantity of old and rotten wood, some of it still joined together with rusty clamps. It was evidently the remains of several large and strong chests, while the look of the place at onoe led to the idea that we had come upon the treasure-chamber of the monks.

It was evidently useless to attempt any more exploration, and we now only thought of communicating with Mr Dawkins. We knocked against the roof with one of the pieces of wood which was lying about, without receiving any response. Then we returned to the first chamber, and after several attempts succeeded in getting an answer from above. On trying to ascertain its whereabouts, we were guided to a place whore I fancied I saw a stone in the roof which seemed loose. On looking more closely I perceived a chink at its edge, through which I thought I could see a dim light. I dragged a large stone from the rubbish, and placed It beneath this spot. I could then easily touch the roof, about a foot above my head. I cried up through the chink, • Can you hear mo, Mr Dawkins ? ' I then heard his answer quite plainly, ' Yes, I can.' ' Then help me to lift this stone when you see it move.' I pushed with all my force against one side of the flag, which moved upwards without much trouble. Mr Dawkins put his hands below as it was lifted, and by turning It over we made an opening some three feet by two, which let a flood of light into the old crypt. With the help of a pull from above I emerged from my subterraneous excursion,

and fonnd rryself In the northern aisle of the church. I was in a dreadful state, drippine; with perspiration, my hair covered with earth and brickdust, both my braces burst, my trousers gone at the knees, and showing hardly a vestige of their original black. Altogether I must have appeared a very remarkable specimen of an elderly and respectable citizen, with a comfortablo inoome and five .children.

We then hauled up my assistant, who was j glad enough to go and cool himself in the courtyard. When ho was outside I sat down in a pew, to the detriment, I fear, of Its cushion, wiped my forehead, took a Httle of the dust out of my eyes, and uttered a long ' pbew I ' I looked at Mr Dawkins ; he looked back at me, shook his head, drew up his eyebrows, and, with a long-drawn sigh, said. Well, Mr Lamb ? ' 'lt's anything but well,'l replied; and proceeded to give him a jerky and disjointed account of our exploration. I ended with —'So, you see, there have been nice going J on in the crypt; and I say, suppose for the sake of argument —' ' Suppose what ? ' asked Mr Dawklns. ' Muller—the boxes—ahem! any amount of treasure—who is responsible ? ' •0, of course, you and Mr Blinker, as joint trustees.' ' Are we, said I, firing up. * And how about your share, Mr Dawkins 1 ' There waa an awkward pause. ' I think we had better not say any more about it till we have seen Dubois; there may still be some mistake about the boxes. And now I think we have kept James waitInglong enough.' He called his son in, and cautioned him against saying a word about our exploration. We then replaced the stone, which fitted perfeotly, and adjourned to the vestry. After a lengthy course of brushing and wiping, James and I appeared in something more like our natural condition We carefully looked the churoh and the coal shed, and proceeded to our respeotive dwellings. I slunk home by back streets, in a dreadful state of mind lest any of my acquaintances should see me In my present disreputable state. However, I was lucky enough to meet no one on the way ; but I shall not Boon forget the horrified face of our maid Justine when ah© opened the door to me. I muttered something to her about having met with a slight accident, and ran up to my bedroom, where I changed by clothes and made myself generally presentable. Mrs Lamb was out, so I bad not to account for my condition to her; and I determined not to speak of the matter till I had seen the carrier. After dinner, and again at halfpast ten at night, I went and inquired at his house, bat not even at the latter hour were Dubois and his cart forthcoming. As I turned away the second time I met Mr Dawklns coming on the tame errand. We both agreed that there was nothing to be done but to go to bed and wait till the next morning. Accordingly, after a restless night and a hurried breakfast, I walked to Mr Dawkln's house, and we both set off to look up the oarrler. We fonnd that he had just returned and his wife was warming coffee for him. 'Good morning, M. Dubois,' said Mr Dawklns. ' Good morning.' ' You have just returned from Calais, I believe ?' ( To he continued.)

Some few years ago a Latin poem was written by an enthusiastic breeder of Shorthorns on the celebrated cow Queen Mary, whose like, it is said, we 9hall not see again. Since that time nothing has been done in the way of poetry on cattle, except a stray verse or two, until a few weeks ago, when the " Hereford Times" published a butcher boy's effusion in verse on a Hereford heifer slaughtered at Albany. The poetry is not so refined and classical as the Latin verses to which allusion has been made, but it has some sense and some humour, whereas the Latin poem has neither. It was sent to the above-mentioned journal by Mr W. H. Sotham, whose name will be familiar to some of our readers, and we give it by way of showing that history in repeating itself does so with a certain amount of difference. The extract is as follows : —A little while before Christmas Mr Erastus Corning, the wellknown American breeder of Herefords, near Albany, N.Y., sent Edith, one of the moßt comely of his famous Hereford herd, to the butcher, Mr John Battersby, and pinned to a splendid roast of fonr ribs, displayed at a restaurant, were the following verses, written by 8.8. Toby, a boy in the butcher's employ : Toung, unsuspecting creature, passing fat and fair, Just in the heyday of thy bloom, With eyes so mild and vari-coloured hair— Death is thy doom. But two short years have passed above thy head Since first those eyes beheld the light. What will he feel who reared thee when thou art dead Next Monday night ? Thy pedigree is long—thy line boasts sires In numbers greater than has any Van Who left, for Albany, the tapering spires Of Amsterdam. Most placidly now flows within thy veins The pure, unsullied Hereford blood ; Yet thou art doomed to death, and thy remains For human food. The ancients to their gods made sacrifice On altars of their cattle neat ; They let the odours to the gods arise, And ate the meat. We, not more godly, on next Christmas Day Thy tender cuts will broil at morning j Boast other parts at two—the rest we'll lay Aside for corning. So Edith, dear, farewell, until we meet Thy meat upon the dinner-tree ; And then—poor victim of the steak—we'll treat John Battersby.