belief hereafterwards, that the treasure
which they were convinced had actually
been deposited there, had been removed
by some more trusting and active listener
than their father had proved.

This same governess remained with them
to the time of her death, which, occurred
some years later, under the following
circumstances as extraordinary as her dream.

THE EARL'S HALL.

The good governess had a particular
liking for the old castle, and when lessons
were over, would take her book or her work
into a large room in the ancient building,
called the Earl's Hall.  Here she caused
a table and chair to be placed for her use,
and in the chiaroscuro would so sit at her
favourite occupations, with just a little ray
of subdued light, admitted through one of
the glassless windows above her, and
falling upon her table.

The Earl's Hall is entered by a narrow-
arched door, opening close to the winding
stair.  It is a very large and gloomy room,
pretty nearly square, with a lofty vaulted
ceiling, and a stone floor.  Being situated
high in the castle, the walls of which are
immensely thick, and the windows very
small and few, the silence that reigns here
is like that of a subterranean cavern.  You
hear nothing in this solitude, except
perhaps twice in a day, the twitter of a
swallow in one of the small windows high
in the wall.

This good lady, having one day retired
to her accustomed solitude, was missed
from the house at her wonted hour of
return. This in a country house, such as
Irish houses were in those days, excited
little surprise, and no alarm.  But when
dinner hour came, which was then, in
country houses, five o'clock, and the
governess had not appeared, some of her
young friends, it being not yet winter, and
sufficient light remaining to guide them
through the gloom of the dim ascent and
passages, mounted the old stone stair to the
level of the Earl's Hall, gaily calling to her
as they approached.

There was no answer. On the stone
floor, outside the door of the Earl's Hall,
to their horror, they found her lying
insensible. By the usual means she was
restored to consciousness; but she continued
very ill, and was conveyed to the house,
where she took to her bed.

It was there and then that she related
what had occurred to her.  She had placed
herself, as usual, at her little work table,
and had been either working or reading—
I forget which—for some time, and felt in
her usual health and serene spirits. Raising
her eyes, and looking towards the door, she
saw a horrible-looking little man enter.  He
was dressed in red, was very short, had a
singularly dark face, and a most atrocious
countenance. Having walked some steps
into the room, with his eyes fixed on her,
he stopped, and beckoning to her to follow,
moved back toward the door. About half
way, again he stopped once more and turned.
She was so terrified that she sat staring at
the apparition without moving or speaking.
Seeing that she had not obeyed him, his
face became more frightful and menacing,
and as it underwent this change, he raised
his hand and stamped on the floor.  Gesture,
look, and all, expressed diabolical fury.
Through sheer extremity of terror she
did rise, and, as he turned again, followed
him a step or two in the direction of the
door. He again stopped, and with the same
mute menace, compelled her again to follow
him.

She reached the narrow stone doorway
of the Earl's Hall, through which he had
passed; from the threshold she saw him
standing a little way off, with his eyes still
fixed on her. Again he signed to her, and
began to move along the short passage
that leads to the winding stair. But
instead of following him further, she fell on
the floor in a fit.

The poor lady was thoroughly persuaded
that she was not long to survive this vision,
and her foreboding proved true.  From
her bed she never rose.  Fever and delirium
supervened in a few days, and she died.
Of course it is possible that fever, already
approaching, had touched her brain when
she was visited by the phantom, and that
it had no external existence.

THE GREAT MAGYAR.

IN FOUR PARTS. CHAPTER V.

WE must for a moment recal attention to
the date in Hungarian history which this
narrative has now reached.

From the 16th of March to the 5th of
July, the Austrian government, expelled
from its capital, disorganised and thoroughly
discouraged, submits, without even a
semblance of remonstrance, to each condition
imposed on its weakness by the growing
impatience of Kossuth.  Each new
concession, however, is secretly recorded as
a debt, which Vienna statesmen are
resolved that Hungary shall some day repay