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By this time they were arrived in sight of the house and well as they were acquainted with it, the father and son almost involuntarily drew their reins, to admire the beauty of the situation. It was a lovely morning in June: the remains of the old abbey to the left, the manor-house to the right, and the river seen between the two was bright in the rays of an unclouded sun. There was the gatehouse, built by Prior Kirton, in the time of Henry VII., with its broad Tudor arch, octagonal flanking turrets, and mouldings of vine leaf and roses: the prior's rebus, a dog sitting on a barrel (Cur-ton), was wrought in the spandrels. A honeysuckle climbed up one of the angular turrets, and flung its long sweet arms over the grey stone. Beyond it you might see the smooth turf, once the great courtyard; the ruins of the refectory on one side, and the remains of the church on the other: there were the four massy belfry arches, springing out from a thicket of glossy holly bushes, though their ponderous superstructure had long since fallen in: there were the banded shafts of the nave pillars, with their delicate mouldings, and deeply hollowed bases: the choir arch yet remained perfect, and festoons of the pale flowers of deadly nightshade hung down from it where the high altar had once stood, to which the soft turf still rose in undulating steps, was a black beech, with its smooth white trunk, and dark purple leaves and through the intricate windows of the Lady chapel the flush of a pink Maybush might be

seen, as if in mimicry of the glitter of jewels which had once decked the same spot. There was also the old wall, now ruinous and blocked up with fallen rubbish there was a room, called by tradition the abbat's parlour, there was the abbey barn, a noble cross structure: and the arches of the cloister bridge (mentioned before) that spanned the stream, and in the cool dark shade it threw across the waters, afforded a favorite retreat to trout, and small fish. The ground, as it sloped down to the river, was as soft and smooth as velvet: the water itself was fringed with a thick skirting of bulrushes, sedge, and irises while on its surface floated many waterlilies, some white, with their silver petals and yellow antlers; some yellow, like little knops of gold. The house, a structure of the time of King James the 1st, was of the old red Ely brick, which, when exposed to the sun and storms of two hundred years, assumes so venerable an appearance; but in the wellcarved fragments built here and there into the walls, it bore sad witness that the materials of the House of GOD had been appropriated to the abode of man. Fenced off by a sunk ditch and ha-ha from the rest of the park, it was sheltered behind by a thick wood of chestnuts; while the lawn in front was somewhat formally laid out in beds of various quaint shapes; circular, semi-circular, starlike, crescent-shaped, or diamond festooned. The sweet warm scent of an English June, the hum of bees, the song of larks,

and the whispering of the wind in the branches, made Ayton Priory seem to its visitors a perfect paradise.

Having ascertained from the servant that his master and mistress were at home, and ushered through the venerable old hall, and up the short oaken staircase, the banisters whereof were curiously carved throughout, and terminated in two lions, Sir John Morley and his son were warmly welcomed by Charles Abberley, who had not yet met his old friend.

“I was on the point," he said, "of riding over to Teynton to call on you: I have longed to do so, these three days, but I thought you would have quite enough to do without receiving visitors.”

"I would have found time enough for you, Abberley, at all events," said his friend; "though certainly my days have been pretty well taken up in getting settled. But I think I have tolerably well succeeded at last."

"I a am very glad to hear, Mr. Morley," said Col. Abberley, "that we are to have the pleasure of having you amongst us. My son takes the credit of not having intruded on you before to himself, but I can assure you that I had quite a difficulty in keeping him back."

"I don't know whether the young men of the present day read more than they used to do, Colonel," said Sir John, "but I am sure they buy more books than we could have afforded in our time. I sug

gested to Robert the propriety of adding a wing to my house for his library; how he has contrived to dispose of it, I can hardly think."

While Robert Morley and his friend were discussing the characters and histories of college acquaintance, and Sir John was consulted by Col. Abberley and his lady on various points of local arrangement, Mrs. Laxington, a widow lady who resided at Teynton, and having a moderate income and nothing to do, was as well acquainted with most of her neighbours' concerns as they were themselves, was announced.

"How do you do, Mrs. Abberley? How are you, Colonel? Ah, Sir John, glad to see you here! Really, Mr. Morley, it is quite a treat to have you amongst us again. Hot weather this-is it not? good for the hay they tell me- -but the walk here almost too warm. But I could not help coming, Mrs. Abberley, to thank you for our treat yesterday-don't know when I have enjoyed a day more; weather so clear and fine, and the place so pretty, and the party so pleasant; dear me! it was really enchanting."

"I am glad you enjoyed yourself," said Mrs. Abberley; "I left orders with the servants to give any assistance you might want."

"Thank you a thousand times—so they told me ; but Mr. Tomkins is so clever at that sort of thing, that really we wanted nothing at all. A little picnic at the Abbey," she added, explanatorily to Sir John Morley, who looked as if he did not compre

hend; "Mrs. Abberley was kind enough to give me leave to bring a small party; we came yesterday, and had dinner and tea: there was Mrs. Dixon, and her sons and four daughters, Dixon could not come very clever doctor he is, Col. Abberley, has immense practice; he would have liked it of all things-but he had to ride over to Mr. Jones, at Studham-he is in a bad way, I am afraid. They say he had three doctors with him last Friday— enough to kill any man, I think, and so I told Mrs. Dixon-but that was my little joke, you know, Colonel; well, that was six; young Tomkins, seven; Mr. and Mrs. Turner and Miss Turner, ten; John Williams and his sister, twelve; myself, thirteenwho else was there? I know there were fourteen, because we had put down thirteen at first, and then young Tomkins laughed, and said it would not be lucky-so clever of him, now, wasn't it? and then, you know, Mrs. Abberley, though I am quite above such old superstitions, one never knows what may revive them and one has heard strange things come of them; however, as I said to William Tomkins when we went out, don't you think, I said, that I mind any of that nonsense-but the more the merrier --and the dinner that will do for thirteen will do for fourteen. 'Oh no!' he said, 'I never thought you would care for such foolery-fit enough for the old superstitious fellows who built this place, but not for us now-a-days.' But, as I was saying,-who was the fourteenth? Oh! I know, old Mrs. Wyndham

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