in town or country; and one note from Mr.
Hal/Fresco was particularly vexing to poor
Mariana (Miss Gushington), who I know had
come for the express purpose of meeting him
at the Castle.

The county paper contained the following
paragraph, which Mr. Coggleshall read to
us:—

RUBBLE CASTLE. We are glad to learn that this
interesting, ancient, historical, and local Norman
relic, has passed into the hands of Udolpho
Coggleshall, Esquire, a gentleman of enlarged views
and ample property, in whom we hope to see those
baronial glories revived which have so long lain
dormant under the icy manners of the late
uncongenial proprietor.

I think my husband felt a little pride at
this paragraph; and, if so, it was soon checked
by the receipt of a very large claim for
poor-rates, which came amongst the letters.

"A most unjust assessment," he exclaimed,
"and I shall certainly appeal against it.
One hundred and twenty pounds for
poor- rates! Why, what on earth do they reckon
the rent of this"—he checked himself as he
was about to say something disrespectful of
the place, and added, calmly, "this castle?"

"Ah!" replied old Mr. Crowcomb, taking
up the conversation, "I thought as much; I
thought as much. If you will be a baron,
Coggleshall, you'll find you must pay for it!"

We passed the short day in viewing what
little was to be seen in the surrounding
country; made a pilgrimage to the nearest
town—a very poor place in appearance — and
returned to the Castle early in the afternoon.
When we arrived in front of the drawbridge,
we noticed two persons in long beards and
German hats sketching from different points,
and we thought we saw a photographic
apparatus moving off in the distance. A
stout, elderly gentleman, in a white necktie,
with several other gentlemen of equal
age, but of very unequal size, were standing
near the place. When Mr. Coggleshall made
the necessary signal to the warder, the stout
gentleman, who appeared to be the elected
spokesman of the party, advanced, and said:
"Have I the pleasure of addressing the new
proprietor of this noble relic?"

"I am the present proprietor," returned
my husband.

"We are the acting committee of the West
Sussex, or B division, of the British
Archæological Association," continued the
stout gentleman, who paused for a reply.

"Indeed!" returned my husband, vacantly.

"It is a proud, but an onerous position
which you occupy," continued the stout
gentleman, enquiringly.

"I don't exactly understand you, sir,"
replied Mr. Coggleshall, while we all listened
with interest.

"When I say proud," returned the stout
gentleman," I mean in owning the roof which
once sheltered the great Rufus (called Rufus
the pug-nosed) after the siege of Mudport:
when I say onerous, I mean in reference to
what you may do with that roof."

A murmur of approbation ran through the
committee, or deputation, at this speech; and
tall gentlemen stooped to whisper to short
gentlemen, while short gentlemen stretched
themselves to whisper to tall gentlemen.

"I suppose," replied my husband, "that I
have the usual liberty to deal as I like with
my own property?"

"No, sir; pardon me;" returned the stout
gentleman, very excitedly, "not exactly so in
this case. If I may be allowed the expression,
your country has an historical lien upon
these hallowed walls, and we wait upon you,
as guardians of local archæological monuments,
to satisfy ourselves that the place will
receive no injury in your hands."

"Then, sir," replied my husband, very
coolly, "with every respect for my country,
and the association you so ably represent, I
must decline to satisfy you upon that point."

"You are not the possessor of a vulgar
house," returned the stout gentleman, with
much energy; "you are the recipient of a
sacred trust. Remove but one brick of that
trust,—desecrate but one stone,— and the
voice of civilised Europe will be raised in one
universal yell of indignation against you!"

The drawbridge, governed by the feeble
and ancient warder, had by this time descended
slowly to its place, and we prepared to
cross it.

"Good day," said my husband, turning
politely to the stout gentleman, and the
deputation, who seemed to be astonished at the
unsatisfactory result of their spokesman's tact
and eloquence.

"Good day, sir," replied the stout gentleman,
raising his hat with dignity. "Remember your
trust: the eyes of your country—of
the Archæological Association—are upon
you."

We were disappointed upon our return at
not finding an expected visitor, Mr.
Coggleshall, senior, the father of my husband.
He had written to say he would arrive at the
railway-station by a certain train, and we
had sent the coachman over with a carriage
to meet him. The train arrived, but no Mr.
Coggleshall, and the servant had come back
as he went.

Dinner passed over much the same as the
day before, except that one of the maids had
to wait in the place of John Thomas the
footman, who had gone to bed with a violent
cold and face-ache. The soup was greasy,
and the meat was half-raw, for the cook had
become more rebellious, having been without
any authoritative supervision during the day.
The night was even a little colder than the
last, and we retired to our stony chambers,
if anything a little earlier.

In the morning, the first thing that met
my eye, as I looked somewhat early out of
our window, which commanded a view of the