Rookwood

fellow, with a swelled red face inf

, used as a sanctum, snuggery, or smoking-room, a singular trio were assembled, fraught with the ulterior purpose of attending the obsequies of their deceased patron a

tment it was; wainscoted with rich black oak; with a fine old cabinet of the same material, and a line or two of crazy, worm-eaten bookshelves, laden with sundry dusty, unconsulted law tomes, and a light sprinkling of the elder divines, equally neglected. The on

ed him to be as much out of character with his situation as the refined and luxuriant charms of his mistress were out of keeping with her artless attire. This was Sir Piers's mother, the third wife, a beautiful woman, answering to the notion of one who had been somewhat of a flirt in her day. Next to her was a magnificent dame, with the throat and arm of a Juno, and a superb bust-the bust was then what the bustle is now-a paramount attraction; whether the modification be an improvement, we leave to the consideration of the lovers of the beautiful-this was the dowager. Lastly, there was the lovely and ill-fated Eleanor. Every gentle grace belonging to this unfortunate lady had been stamped in undying beauty on the canvas by the hand of Lely, breathing a spell on the picture, almo

had ridden forth, with the intent to hunt, on the eventful occasion detailed by Peter Bradley,-his velvet cap, his buck-handled whip, and the residue of his equipment for t

rwards retained him there; and Mr. Codicil Coates, clerk of the peace, attorney-at-law, bailiff, and receiver. We were wrong in saying that Tyrconnel was retained. He was an impudent, intrusive fellow, whom, having once gained a

mpanions, had any choice remained to him. He did not endure this state of things without much outward show of discontent. "Anything for a quiet life," was his constant saying; and, like the generality of people with whom those words form a favorite maxim, he led the most uneasy life imaginable. Endurance, to excite commiseration, must be uncomplaining-an axiom the aggrieved of the gentle sex should remember. Sir Piers endured, but he grumbled lustily, and was on all hands voted a bore; domestic grievances, especially if the husband be the plaintiff, being the most intolerable of all mentionable miseries. No wonder that his friends deserted him; still there was Titus Tyrconnel; his ears and lips were ever open to pathos and to punch; so Titus kept his station. Immediately after her husband's demise, it had been Lady Rookwood's intention to clear the house of all the "vermin," so she expressed herself, that ha

ter a civic feast. The natural rubicundity of his countenance was darkened to a deep purple tint, like that of a full-bl

he conclave, disappeared under the genial influence of "another and a better" bottle, and ga

ho, according to Christopher North, form the predominant portion of mankind. In appearance, the doctor was short-necked and puffy, with a sodden, pasty face, wherein were set eyes whose obliquity of vision was, in some measure, redeemed by their expression of humor. He was accounted a man of parts and erudition, and had obtained high honors at his university. Rigidly orthodox, he abominated the very names of Papists and Jacobites, amongst which heretical herd he classed his companion, Mr. Titus Tyrconnel-Ireland being with him synonymous with superstition and Catholicism-and every Irishman rebellious and schismatical. On this head he was inclined to be dispu

n. Many's the fine fellow's heels tripped up unawares, when least expected. Death hangs over our heads by a single hair, as your reverence says, precisely like the sword of Dan Maclise,[6] the flatterer of

red and round as an apple, and almost as diminutive. "It is to be regretted

s; "no such thing-it was apo

you mean," replied Coates, who, like

been a hard drinker all his life, is a bad sign. The lowering system never answers-never. Doctor, I'll just trouble you"-for Small, in a fit of absence, had omitted to pass the bottle, though not to help himself. "Had he stuck to this"-holding up a glass, ruby bright-"the elixir vit?-the grand panacea-he might have been hale and hearty a

ng creature of clay like himself for remission of his sins; but, if there was any load of secret guilt that might have weighed heavy upon his cons

state is entailed, yet still there are charges-you understand me-very strange to refuse to see me. Some people may regret it-may live to regret it, I say-that's all. I've just sent up a package to Lady Rookw

all Lady Rookwood's doing," added he, in a whisper. "I, his medical adviser and confidential friend, was ordered out of the room; and, although I knew it was as much as his life was worth to leave him f

ch man puffed for very life. Small next knocked the ashes from his tube, and began to replenish it, coughing significantly. Mr. Coates expelled a thin, curling stream of vapor from a minute orifice in the corner of his almost invisible mouth, and ar

'll not get a wink of sleep, I fear, for a week to come. There must have been something dreadful upon Sir Piers's

Coates and Sma

n wine had got the better of him; and then all of a sudden, in the midst of his shouting, he stopped, exclaiming, 'What! here again?-who let her in?-the door is fast-I locked it myself. Devil! why did you open it?-you have betrayed me-she will poison me-and I cannot resist. Ha! another! Who-who is that?-her face is white-her hair hangs about her shoulders. Is she alive again? Susan! Susan! why that look? You loved me well-too well. You will not drag me to perdition! You will not appear against me! No, no, no-it is not in your nature-you whom I doted on, whom I loved-whom I-but I repented-I sorrowed-I prayed-prayed! Oh! oh! no prayers would avail. Pray for me, Susan-for ever! Your intercession may avail. It is not too late. I will do justice to all. Bring me pen and ink-paper-I will con

coughe

in to him; for a door I had never seen, and never even dreamed of, opened in the wall, and in stepped Peter Bradley-ay, you may well stare, gentlemen; but it was Peter, looking as stiff as a crowbar, and as blue as a mattock. Well, he walked straight up to the bed of the dying man, and bent his great, diabolical gray eyes upon him, laughing all the while-yes, laughing-you know the cursed grin he has. To proceed. 'You have called me,' said he to Sir Piers; 'I am here. What would you with me?'-'We are not alone,' groaned the dying man. 'Leave us, Mr. Tyrconnel-leave me for five minutes-only five, mark me.'-'I'll go,' thinks I, 'but I shall never see you again alive.' And true enough it was-I never did see him again with breath in his body. Without more ado, I

e aware, as I dare say you are already, of an occurrence which cast a shade over his early life, blighted his character, and endangered his personal safety. It was a dreadful accusation. But I believe, nay, I am sure, it was unfounded. Dark suspicions attach to a Romish priest of the name of Checkley. He, I believe, is beyond the reach of human justice. Erring Sir Piers was, undoubtedly. But I trust he was more weak than sinful. I have reason to think he was the tool of others, especially of the wretch I have named. And it is easy to perceive how that incomprehensible lunatic, Peter Bradley, has obtained an as

d qualities, and not few they were. What was there becoming a gentleman that he couldn't do, I'd like to know? Couldn't he hunt as well as ever a one in the county? and hadn't he as good a pack of hounds? Couldn't he shoot as well, and fish as well, and drink as well, or better?-only he couldn't carry his wine, which was his misfortune, not his fault. And wasn't he always ready to ask a friend to din

one without had vainly tried to open. Titus rose to unclose i