Finally:

Religion of the name of seas shall come,
  Against the sett Adaluncatif;
  Obstinate sett deplorate shall be afraid
  Of the two wounded by Aleph and Aleph.

"I confess," says even M. Garencières, who
has dared so much, "my ignorance in the
intelligence of this stanza."

So do we.

LITTLE TROUT.

TRESTWOOD-DARENTH was not originally an
imposing structure, and how or when it acquired
the honour of a double name was never
satisfactorily ascertained. The title, nevertheless,
subsisted, and so did the family and descendants
of the first proprietor, until nine generations of
Blackacres, expending in succession the surplus
of their improving means in enlarging the
mansion, that building attained at last its
present dimensions and somewhat composite
appearance, bearing, as it does, the aspect of a
pinched palace, to which have been successively
added a poor-house, a riding-school, and a
private lunatic asylum.

To give but a faint idea of the ins and outs,
ups and downs, turns and bends, of this
remarkable residence, would occupy a summer's
day. If the inhabitants themselves were
sometimes at fault in working their way from one
end to the other, strangers had indeed to take
heed to their steps. The general difficulties
of the place were increased by the fact of no
two apartments being precisely on the same
level with each other, or with their relative
approaches—a want of harmony that had
occasioned more than one mishap through persons
failing to remember that they had to ascend
two steps into a bedroom, or jump down twice
that number to dinner.

Every prudent guest—and guests were
numerous under the roof of the hospitable
Blackacres—provided himself at once with a careful
plan of the house, in which was marked off
every snare and pitfal, with especial warnings
against seductive entries, which, promising
boudoir or billiard-room, landed you in the
butler's pantry, or even the coal-cellar.

With the external domain of Trestwood-
Darenth we have little or nothing to do. The
romance of our story—and a singular one it is
—will be confined within the walls. It may,
however, be incidentally mentioned that the
estate included a finely wooded park, and more
than one prosperous farm, whose extent and
revenue were equal to those of many a property
that exalts its owners to the rank of "county
people."

Mr. and Mrs. Blackacre, four daughters,
and three sons, a governess, and, upon an
average, fourteen guests, formed the party that
usually assembled at Trestwood-Darenth, and
pretty well filled that commodious but intricate
mansion. The master of the house strongly
objected to sitting down less than twenty to
dinner, and, as it frequently chanced that one
or more of his children were absent, it was his
wont to guard against any diminution of the
favourite number, by keeping his visiting
contingent well up to the mark.

Hence, it would occasionally come to pass
that the last-named element overflowed, and,
washing Charley Blackacre (the youngest) out
of his accustomed chamber, compelled him to
take refuge in a room on the ground floor, opening,
in fact, upon the hall, which, partaking of
the mingled character of the house at large,
was two-fifths library, one gun-room, one
chamber, and the remainder what you please.
The chamber portion consisted of a camp-bed
and washing-stand, and, with these, Charley had
passed many a contented night, often, inspired
perhaps by the sporting implements around
him, rising with the dawn, and bringing home
a creelful of dancing, crimson-speckled trout
for the matin meal.

It was more than suspected that another
motive—nothing less than filial affection—
incited Charley to these expeditions. He doted
upon his father, firmly believing him to be the
wisest sage, the truest patriot, the most
sagacious statesman, the most brilliant wit; that ever
preferred the privacy of domestic life to the
honour and renown that must otherwise have
been thrust upon him. It was a sweet, honest
faith, and a pleasing. Sad is it to dissent from
anything that has a root so commendable.
Truth, however, must be told, and the bare fact is,
that, unless an addiction to jokes of the minuter
kind be an evidence of superior mental endowments,
good kind Mr. Blackacre was not above,
if indeed he was equal to, the ordinary run of
men.

Charles never missed, nor failed to applaud,
his father's jokes. He would as soon have
omitted to greet his sovereign at the third
encounter, because he had taken off his hat to her
twice before. The new jests he hailed with
bursts of glee, the old he relished with a calm
enjoyment, as one might sip and toy with wine
of an approved and mellow vintage. And it was
for one of these latter, besides for trout, that
Charley went, a-fishing.

He knew that when Binns the butler
ostentatiously placed those fish on the table, with a
glance that sufficiently indicated whose skill had
provided them, his father would infallibly
remark:

"Ha, ma'amselle! more of your kinsmen?"
and therewith select the most delicate for
Mademoiselle Trautchen Pfalz, the little German
governess.

(Linguists will forgive the explanation that
"Trautchen," little trout, is a corruption of
Trudchen, short, with diminutive added, for
Gertrude.)

"Ha, ha, ha! Good, sir, good!" shouted
the faithful Charley, with the keen enjoyment
of a sportsman who has bagged his "stalk."

Little Trout was such a very minnow that
she might have held the post of governess to
Hop o' my Thumb. She had small set features,
and a cloud of dusky hair, which it was her will
to confine within a lurid crimson fillet, forming