selves, and especially the housewives of working men, must take the matter in hand, and adopt the requisite steps to secure the efficient ventilation and healthfulness of their dwellings. The working classes, as all other classes, have their own health very much in their own power. They can practice habitual cleanliness, and secure the efficient ventilation of their houses. Nothing is so cheap as air, and water is to be had at small cost. These ought to be used in abundance everywhere. It is not necessary, either, that any working man, in the receipt of average good wages, should live in an unhealthy locality. The rent of good cottage dwellings is very little, if at all more than that of bad ones; and if men were to avoid taking houses in districts which were filthy and undrained, shunning unwholesome neighbourhoods as they would a pestilence, doubtless landlords would soon consult their own interests, and put their cottage tenements in a more wholesome and attractive condition for occupancy. Were all close streets, and dirty lanes and courts thus to be avoided, landlords would certainly be more careful how they built houses in future. A few very brief directions will suffice, in reference to the methods of efficiently ventilating the apartments of dwellings. Two conditions are requisite-first, that a sufficient quantity of pure air has free access to the apartment, and second, that there be a free exit for the exhausted or deleterious air from the apartment. Indeed the one condition involves the other. The manner in which the first condition is generally fulfilled is, by the air entering the doors or windows, or through the chinks in them; and the second, as houses are constructed in this country, is effected by the chimney, through which (especially when a good fire burns in the grate) the foul air is drawn up out of the apartment. The main problem of ventilation is-how is the air of the apartment to be so changed, and rapidly changed, as not to expose the body to injurious draughts of cold air during the process of change? poison, and a hot-bed of disease. Sleep in it will be unsound and unrefreshing; the occupant will rise up in the morning languid and oppressed, debility will be in course of time induced, and not improbably, serious disease. The regular admission of the atmosphere into our rooms, at a proper temperature, instead of causing "colds," will generally be found their best preventitive. The absence of pure air is the cause of most of the indispositions that are generally attributed to "draughts." When the body is over-heated, and shut up in a close, unventilated room, the lungs and the skin are brought to such a state of morbid susceptibility that the invigorating action of the pure atmosphere, when the system is suddenly exposed to it, often produces colds and inflammation, sometimes attended by fatal results. The prevention of colds and catarrhs, and the preservation of a proper temperature, are quite compatible with efficient ventilation; and a stream of pure air may, even in the coldest season, be kept quietly undulating through the apartment, so as both to keep the temperature agreeable and the air sufficiently pure. Where gas is burned in any apartment, the deterioration of the air is very rapid, and consequently, ventilation ought to be so much the more carefully provided for. Combustion poisons the atmosphere precisely as respiration does; and where both gas is burning and human beings are breathing, the air becomes doubly deteriorated, and therefore the supply of pure air ought to be so much the more abundant. This ought to be carefully provided for in shops and warehouses where many burners are used. Young men and women are often kept till very late hours in such places, exposed to poisoned air, which produces the most deleterious results on their constitutions. This is one, and not the least, of the evils of late hours of business. The best method of removing the carbonic acid and heat produced by the combustion of gas, is to have tubes proceeding from every burner, and opening into the chimney. The impure air might also be carried off by means of a common tin pipe placed in the roof of each apartment, and opening into the outer air. Workshops might be ventilated by several methods. Mr. Poynbee has invented a ventilating pane, which is very efficient for this purpose; it allows the entrance of the external air without causing any draught, in which consists its great value. Dr. Arnott has also contrived a very efficient chimney ventilator, which may be had for 12s. or 15s. It is inserted into the chimney near the ceiling of the Dr. Reid, who has devoted a great deal of time and pains to the study of this subject, recommends that the air should be allowed to enter the house freely by a large aperture; that it should first be received (when the temperature is low) into a stove-room; and, after being sufficiently warmed there, that it should then pass freely into all the apartments, either through the doors or by express channels. The used air will be carried off by the chimneys and an open fire; or, when the number of occupants of the apartment is large, by larger and ex-apartment, and being provided with a balanced valve, it press openings. This is the whole secret and art of ventilation. But, of course, it is not every house that can command a stove-room;" and any ventilatory instructions intended for general use, must be of a much simpler character than the above. Let it be first understood that the great want is fresh air constantly passing through the apartment. Fortunately there are chinks in most doors and windows which admit of a partial renovation of the air, otherwise the results of the bad ventilation of rooms would be much more apparent even than they now are. The huts of the agricultural peasantry, which are well supplied, even through reason of their very miserableness, with pure air, are often healthier than many of the snug, well-built dwellings of our large towns. The doors and windows of apartments ought to be frequently thrown open, to allow the thorough draught to pass through them,-the chimneys being left quite open. Bed-room chimneys ought never to be stopped up. The windows of the sleeping apartment ought to be left open for the greater part of the day, and all the bed-clothes freely exposed to the sun and the air. When this is neglected, when the windows are allowed to remain closed all day, the chimney is kept stuffed up, and the bed is unaired, the apartment becomes a receptacle of admits of the escape of the heated and impure air, 1 while it prevents any return of smoke. It is surely the duty of employers to adopt all such reasonable and ample methods of promoting the health and comfort of those in their employment. ON THE CURABILITY OF INSANITY. "It cannot but be a matter of the highest gratification to every humane mind to perceive, as the general result of the statistical tables of insanity hitherto published, that at least one half of the miserable subjects of this ment, of recovery or improvement. This cannot be said most fearful calamity are capable, under proper treatof many of the commonest diseases which afflict mankind. And yet how sedulously will friends and relatives watch and persevere in every remedy till the last gasp; while the earliest germinations of consumption, for instance, the caprices of temper, or the changes in character, which are the shadows of coming events far more frightful and deplorable than the excavations of scrofula, or the agonies of cancer, are from ignorance unheeded, or concealed from shame; and when the necessary seclusion has at length for interference, how wearied of expense, or desirous of been sought for, how impatient for results, how anxious change!"-From Dr. Winslow's Journal of Psychological Medicine. GREAT ISSUES FROM LITTLE THINGS. How common it is to hear people say in reference to matters of habit and life, "it is of little importance," "it is only a trifle," "it cannot be of any consequence," and | other current phrases of kindred import. Let us remind the reader, that EVERYTHING is of consequence; and if we could by any means produce that conviction, we should be doing pre-eminently good service. It would mightily assist in moulding man into a wise, thoughtful, noble being; strong in virtue, sound in morals, and true in principle. There is not a thought lodging for a moment in the intellect; there is not a word passing through the lips; there is not a single thing done, however mean and private, but has its given power in shaping the next thought we may think-in deciding the quality of the next action we may perform. As in physical science, even an atom has its legitimate value in the vast scheme of which it forms so mean a part; as from out of it, there is perpetually, and from the necessity of its being, going forth an energy-a force, which has its effect on all things, even the most distantly remote, and forms an essential part of the vast, magnificent economy of order. So man! thy thought, thy word, thy act, is like that little atom, pregnant with power, which not only goes to build up thy own nature, shape thy own mind, and colour thy own life; but has its effect also, sure, though unconscious, in the education of other minds, and the formation of other characters. Contained in a thought, there often lies in embryo an issue of vast results, which like the influence of what we call an atom, is indefinite and immeasurable in its range. invite attention to the power exerted on character by "little things." A little fire may produce much ruin, a little word may break up old friendships, a little fact may lead to the discovery of a hidden law, a little event has changed the condition of a people. Little things are mighty agents in producing individual meanness or greatness; whilst through that individuality they exert a great, a real power, in deciding the fortunes of an empire. As in nature the acorn produces the oak, so in mind, a thought or an act may decide the quality of a life. The laws which govern our system, and uphold all its planets and stars in imposing harmony, are unseen, but not less real; the influence which mind gives to mind is invisible and unconscious, but not less a fact. "The small continual creeping of the silent footsteps of the sea Mineth the wall of adamant, and stealthily compasseth its ruin. The weakness of accident is strong, where the strength of design is weak. The world in its boyhood was credulous, and dreaded the vengeance of the stars; The world in its dotage is not wiser, fearing not the influence For trifles, lighter than straws, are levers in the building up of FAMILY REFORM. Family reform is the very pivot upon which every other reform turns. Novel principles have their birth in the family circle, it is the great seminary for power, greatness, love, wealth, friendship, and their concomitant virtues, vices, and talents. The smallest beginnings have great endings, and the spirit of charity, instilled with tact into the bosom of a child, bursts forth enlarged in the Thus the future in a high sense lives in the present. The minds of the next generation are the creations of the minds of this. To a great extent it is for us to determine what they shall be and do. There is an organic relation-actions of the man, and perhaps by sympathy may have ship as real, existing between generations national, as between generations individual. In both cases the hereafter receives its complexion from the now. When we thus regard ourselves as the centres of a formative influence, which is really accomplishing successive intellectual creations, and deciding the culture and development of other spirits; it behoves us to regard our mission as a very responsible, whilst it is a happy and highly dignified one. It comprehends within it a great duty, and rightly fulfilled, it will confer upon us elevated honour. Let us so faithfully attend to the culture of our being, that we may in the economy of moral influences under which we live, be the almoners of blessing, truth, and freedom, to peoples yet unborn. That we may realize a position so important, so god-like, we must cultivate the divine element within us-we must aim at intellectual and moral greatness; and as a first step to greatness we must faithfully attend to "little things." The man who attains to greatness, does not do so by one convulsive struggle, but by a series of conflicts, by | successive victories and defeats. He proves his qualification for great enterprise by fulfilling duties improperly denominated mean. The man who waits for an occasion of greatness, never will be great at all. Your great man is he who does the duty of the day; that which is nearest to him, however insignificant to others it may appear. Little things are the seed of things that are great, whether it be in goodness or evil. Vast sequences result from trifies. A little folly has often created wretchedness disease, and beggary. A little resolution has won, within man's own will, victories more sublime and imperishable than those of Trafalgar, or Waterloo. "Man is an almanac of self-a living record of his own deeds." Aye! and let us say of his own thoughts too-it is because every thought and deed writes itself down in indelible lines on the register of his inner being, that we ultimately a large share in the future policy of a nation. We may look to the difference betwixt a man brought up from his earliest infancy in a rebellious, thoughtless, or extravagant household; and another who has lived in peace, and felt the glow of filial love; contrast them, how different the bearing of their minds! If the former be good and tolerant, it is only because, being pestered and. worn by bickerings, he has been led to compare his home with the homes of others. And if the latter person be unjust, it never fails to show a wayward disposition instigated by evil communion, and makes its repentance still the more acute. Often do we hear a penurious man exclaim, by way of a compromise with his conscience, as he turns his back upon some starving wretch, "Charity begins at home!" How little is that man aware of the mighty truth which he utters! Charity does begin at home, but by no means ends there; it is nourished carefully, and in its leading-strings, amid kindred spirits, and makes man a more domesticated, kind, and thinking animal; more ready to forgive by thinking on the possible cause of offence, and placing himself in the same position; more ready to endure uncomplainingly, because he is aware that there are certain annoyances which cannot always be readily remedied; more willing to allow another's opinion, because he judges man by a higher standard; peaceful, because knowing the value of peace; loving, by having love bestowed on him; pitying, because in the fulness of contentedness he can afford to pity rather than hate; in short, imbued with all the better feelings, because he daily sees their blessings. THE MAN OF DECISION. T. H. J. The man of decision is not to be trifled with. He has his views, and he will maintain them. He has his resolves, and he will execute them. He is not be checked by one, or frightened by another. His motto is, "my work must be done." THE WORLDLY MAN'S SORROW. In the pauses of Life's conflict, when we turn aside to rest, But the world soon pressed upon us, with a cold, tyrannic power, And our words come slow and guarded, lest they should betray the breast. Now, we love what is convenient, drawing it within our sphere: But when all alone, we ponder on ourselves, as now we are, DIAMOND DUST. Ir is easy, and even delightful, to relate miseries conquered and sorrows that have passed away, when hope and comfort are left behind; but when, instead, despair stands by and refuses to depart, the recollection is appalling, nor can sympathy or kindness soothe it. THE three most difficult things are-to keep a secret -to forget an injury-and to make good use of leisure. WHOEVER abolishes justice cares for no religion. He seldom lives frugally who lives by chance. HE, who commands himself, commands the world too; and the more authority you have over others, the more command you must have over yourself. TRUE quietness of heart is got by resisting our passions, not by obeying them. To an impudent accusation oppose a short and humble answer. IMPATIENCE deprives man of movement and impels him to danger. GOD created hope when listening to repentance. To live amidst general regard is like sitting in sunshine, "calm and sweet.' HE who giveth his thoughts to charity carries the key of heaven. worth more than gold or silver. GOOD newspapers are the only paper currency that is NOWHERE-a place where no one ever has been, "I have sold my Heavenly Birthright! I am perjured, weak, and nor ever will be. base! DAY AND NIGHT. Day and Night contended with one another for the preference. The fiery, brilliant, busy Day spoke thus concerning the strife:-"Poor, gloomy mother," said he, "What hast thou like my sun, my heavens, my fields, my restless, busy life? What thou makest die, I waken to feel new life; what thou causest to sleep, I raise." "Do I not also thank thee for thy activity?" said the discreet, veiled Night. 46 Must I not refresh what thou hast wearied? And when can I so well accomplish this as through thy own forgetfulness? I go forth, the mother of gods and men. I take all that I have brought forth, with their own contentment, into my lap; soon as the border of my garment is touched, they forget thy delusions, and bow their heads gently down. Then I nourish, then I sustain the peaceful soul with dew from Heaven. To those eyes that, under thy fierce sunbeams, dared not look towards Heaven, I, the veiled Night, unveil a host of innumerable suns, innumerable images, new hopes, new stars." Day even now touched the border of her sable garment, and silent and weary sank into her curtained lap. But she, in her starry mantle and her starry crown, still sat with eternal tranquillity upon her brow. Ir is often extremely difficult in the mixed things of this world to act truly and kindly too; but therein lies one of the great trials of a man-that his sincerity should have kindness in it, and his kindness truth. INSTRUCT your son well, or others will instruct him ill. No child goes altogether untaught. Send him to the school of wisdom, or he will go of himself to the rival is always teaching going on of some sort, just as in fields academy, kept by the lady with the cap and bells. There --vegetation is never idle. THERE are more fools than knaves in the world, else the knaves would not have enough to live upon To live is a gift; to die is a debt. It is a sign of wisdom to be willing to receive instruction: the most intelligent sometimes stand in need of it. He who is reckless of the Future must have had a desperate Past. THOSE who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. Their other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality: but this one alone is rendered an immortal child; for death has arrested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence. AMBITION is like a wild horse, which prances unceasingly until it has thrown off its rider. world. To be proud of learning is the greatest ignorance in the THERE is in some tempers such a natural barrenness, that, like the sands of Arabia, they are never to be cultivated or improved; and some will never learn anything, because they understand everything too soon. Contumelies, VEX not yourself when ill spoken of. not regarded, vanish; but, repined at, argue either a puny soul or a guilty conscience. PASSION makes those fools who otherwise are not so, and shows those to be fools who are so. He who will take no advice, but be always his own counsellor, is sure to have a fool often for his client. REMORSE without repentance is the poison of life. Printed and Published for the Proprietor, by JOHN OWEN CLARKE, (of No. 9, Hemingford Terrace, East, in the Parish of St. Mary, Islington, in the County of Middlesex) at his Printing Office, No. 3, Raquet Court, Fleet Street, in the Parish of St. Bride, in the City of London, Saturday, February 2, 1850. A LAST VISIT TO EBENEZER ELLIOTT. It is a favourite with success in trade and commerce. dogma of some men, that he who courts the muses must necessarily be unfitted for the practical business of life; THE year that has just gone out has witnessed the and that to succeed in trade, a man must live altogether departure of another of our great Poets-for such, in our for it, and never rise above the consideration of its little opinion, was Ebenezer Elliott, the "Corn Law Rhymer." details. This is, in our opinion, a false and grovelling Though closely identified with a political movement, to notion, and at variance with actual experience. Generally which for a time he consecrated the service of his lyre, speaking, you will find the successful literary man-a man he had nevertheless the large world-wide vision of the of industry, application, steadiness, and sobriety. He must true poet, who is of no sect nor party. Any one who be a hard worker. He must apply himself. He must econoreads his poems will not fail to note how closely his soul mize time, and coin it into sterling thought, if not into was knit to universal nature-how his pulse beat in sterling money. His habits tell upon his whole character, unison with her how deeply he read, and how truly he and mould it into consistency. If in business, he is diliinterpreted her meanings. With a heart glowing for love gent; and his intelligence gives him resources, which to of his kind, out of which indeed his poetry first sprung, the ignorant man are denied. It may not have been so in and with a passionate sense of wrongs inflicted upon the the last century, when the literary man was a rara avis, a suffering poor, which burst out in words of electric, world's wonder, and was fêted and lionized till he became almost tremendous power,-there was combined a tender- irretrievably spoilt; but now, when all men have grown ness and purity of thought and feeling, and a love for readers, and a host of men have become writers, the literary nature in all her moods, of the most refined and beautiful man is no longer a novelty-he drags quietly along in the character. In his scathing denunciations of power mis- social team, engages in business, succeeds, and economizes, used, how terrible he is; but, in his expression of beauty just as other men do, and generally to much better purand goodness, how ineffably sweet! Bitter and fierce pose than the illiterate and uncultivated. Some of the most though his rhymes are when his subject is "the dirt- successful men in business, at the present day, are men kings-the tax-gorged lords of land; " we see that all who regularly wield the pen in the intervals of their daily his angry nature is disarmed when he takes himself out occupations-some for self-culture, others for pleasure, to breathe the fresh breath of the wide heavens, in the others because they have something cheerful or instrucGreen Lane, on the Open Heath, or up among the Wild tive to utter to their fellow-men; and shall we say that Mountains. There he takes nature to his bosom-those men are less usefully employed, than if they had calls her by the sweetest of names, pours his soul out before her, gives her his whole heart, and yields up to her his most manly adoration. You see the beautiful side of the poet's character in his exquisite poems entitled "The Wonders of the Lane," "Come and Gone," "The Excursion," "The Dying Boy to the Sloe Blossom," "Flowers for the Heart," "Don and Rother," and even in 66 'Win-hill," that most powerful of his odes, as well as in many other of his minor poems. The utterance is that of a man, but the heart is tender as that of a woman. These exquisite little poems of Elliott, in their terseness and vividness of expression, and their sweetness and delicacy of execution, cannot fail to remind one of the kindred magical power and genius of Robert Burns. Elliott's life proved, what is still a disputed point, that the cultivation of poetic tastes is perfectly compatible been sotting in a tap-room, cracking filberts over their wine, sleeping over a newspaper, gadding to the clubs, or riddling their "friends" with the sparrow-hail of small censure and next-door-neighbour scandal ? Ebenezer Elliott was a man who profitably applied his leisure hours to the pursuit of literature, and while he succeeded in business, he gained a reputation as a poet equal to that of the highest of his time; though probably he is not yet appreciated to the full extent that he deserves. After a long life spent in business,-working his way up from the position of a working man to that of an employer of labour, a capitalist, and a merchant, he retired from active life, built a house on a little estate of his own, and sat under his own "vine and fig tree" during the declining years of his life; cheered by the prospect of a large family of virtuous sons and daughters growing up around him in happiness and usefulness. We enjoyed the pleasure of a visit to this gifted man, at his own fireside, little more than a month before his death. It was one of the last lovely days of autumn, when the faint breath of summer was still lingering among the woods and fields, as if but too loath to depart from the earth she had gladdened; the blackbird was still piping his loud mellifluous song in the hedges and coppice, whose foliage was tinted in purple, russet, and brown, with just enough of green to give that perfect autumnal tint, so beautifully pictorial, but so altogether impossible to paint in mere words. The beech-nuts were dropping from the trees, and crackled under-foot, and a rich damp smell rose from the decaying leaves by the road-side. After a short walk through a lovely, undulating country, from the Darfield station of the North Midland Railway, along one of the old Roman roads, so common in this part of Yorkshire, and which leads into the famous Watling Street, near the town of Pontefract,-we reached the village of Old Houghton, at the south end of which stands the curious Old Hall-one of the most interesting remains of middle age antiquity in this part of the country. Its fantastic gable-end, projecting windows, quaint door-way, diamond "quarrels," and its great size looming up in the twilight, with the well-known repute which the house bears of being "haunted," made us regard it with a strange awe-like feeling; it seemed like a thing not of this every-day world; indeed, the place breathes the very atmosphere of the olden time, and a host of associations connected with a most interesting period of old English history are called up by its appearance. It reminds one strongly of the fantastic old Tabard, in Dickens' "Barnaby Rudge" (we think it is); and this identification is further confirmed, by the fact of this Old Hall being now converted into a modern public-house, the inscription of licensed to be dronk on the premises," &c., being legibly written on a sign-board over the fantastic old porch. "To what base uses," alas! do our old country houses come at last! Being open to the public, we entered; and there we found a lot of the village labourers, ploughmen, and delvers, engaged, in a boxed-off corner of the Old Squire's Hall, drinking their Saturday-night's quota of beer, amidst a cloud of tobacco smoke; while the mistress of the place, seated at the tap in another corner of the apartment, was dealing out her potations to all comers and purchasers. A huge black deer's head and antlers projected from the wall, near the door, evidently part of the antique furniture of the place; and we had a glimpse of a fine broad stone staircase, winding up in one of the deep bays of the hall, leading to the state apartments above stairs. Though strongly tempted to seek a night's lodging in this haunted house, as well as to explore the mysteries of the interior, we resisted the desire, and set forward on our journey to the more inviting house of the poet. We reached Hargate Hill, the house and home of Ebenezer Elliott, in the dusk of the autumn evening. There was just light enough to enable us to perceive that it was situated on a pleasant height, near the hilltop, commanding an extensive prospect of the undulating and finely-wooded country towards the south; on the north, stretched away an extensive tract of moorland, covered with gorse bushes. A nicely-kept flower garden and grass plot lay before the door, with some of the last of the year's roses still in bloom. We had a cordial welcome from the poet, his wife, and two interesting daughters-the other members of his large family being settled in life for themselves-two sons, clergymen, in the West Indies; two in Sheffield, and others elsewhere. Elliott looked the wan invalid that he was, pale and thin; and his hair was nearly white. Age had deeply marked his features since last we saw him; and, instead of the iron-framed, firm-voiced man, we had seen and heard in Palace Yard, London, some eleven years before, and in his own town of Sheffield at more recent dates, he now seemed a comparatively weak and feeble old man. An anxious expression of face indicated that he had recently suffered much acute pain,-which indeed was the case. After he had got rid of that subject, and begun to converse about more general topics, his countenance brightened up, and, under the stimulus of delightful converse, he became, as it were, a new man. With all his physical weakness, we found that his heart beat as warm and true as ever to the cause of human kind. The old battle-struggles of his life were passed in review, and were fought over again; and he displayed the same zeal, and entertained the same strong faith in the old cause which he had rhymed about, and Colonel Thompson had written about, long before it seized hold of the public mind. He mentioned, what I had not before known, that the Sheffield Anti-Corn Law Association was the first to start the system of operations, which was afterwards adopted by the League, and that they first employed Paulton as a public lecturer; but to Cobden he gave the praise of having popularized the cause, knocked it into the public head by dint of sheer hard work and strong practical sense, and to Cobden he still looked as the great leader of the day-one of the most advanced and influential minds of his time. The patriotic struggle in Hungary had enlisted his warmest sympathies; and he spoke of Kossuth as "cast in the mould of the greatest heroes of antiquity." Of the Russian Emperor, he spoke as "that tremendous villain, Nicholas," and he believed him to be so infatuated by his success in Hungary, that he would not know where to stop, but would rush blindly to his ruin. The conversation was led towards his occupations in this remote country spot-whither he had retreated from the busy throng of men, and the engrossing pursuits and anxieties of business. Here he said, he had given himself up to meditation and thought; nor had he been idle with his pen either, having a volume of prose and poetry nearly ready for publication. Strange to say, he spoke of his prose as the better part of his writings, and, as be himself thought, much superior to his poetry. But he will not have been the first instance of a great writer who has been in error as to the comparative value of his own works. On that question the world, and especially posterity, will pronounce the true verdict. He spoke with great interest of the beautiful scenery of the neighbourhood, which had been a source to him of immense joy and delight; of the two great old oaks, near the old Roman road, about a mile to the north, under the shade of which the Wapontake formerly assembled, and in the hollow of one of which, in more recent times, Nevison the highwayman used to take shelter, but it was burnt down in spite, after his execution, by a band of gipsies; of the glorious wooded country which stretched to the south-Wentworth, Wherneige, Conisborough, and the fine scenery of the Dearne and the Don; of the many traditions which still lingered about the neighbourhood, and which, he said, some Walter Scott, could he gather them up before they died away, would make glow again with life and beauty. "Did you see," he observed, "that curious Old Hall on your way up? The terrible despot Wentworth, Lord Strafford, married his third wife from that very house, and afterwards lived in it for some time; and no wonder it is rumoured among the country folks as haunted;' for if it be true that unquiet, perturbed spirits have power to wander over the earth, after the body to which they had been bound is dead, his could never endure the peaceful rest of the grave. After Wentworth's death it became the property of Sir William Rhodes, a stout Presbyterian and Parliamentarian. When the great civil war broke out, Rhodes took the field with his tenantry, on the side! of the Parliament, and the first encounter between the two parties is said to have taken place only a few miles to the north of Old Houghton. While Rhodes was |