Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1855-03-15
A UFFOLK TALE.

once took notes of the legends of old coun-
try houses, and the best can remember fingers
about an old Queen Anne mansion in Suffolk.
There are terraces paved with lozenges of black
and white stones before the house, and two bay
trees, of great height and great age, keep guard
and there is always a dry rustic in the evergreen
leaves, whether the wind be up or not, that
startles one like the rustic of brocaded silks
along corridor. A strange old dial is over the
door, and the date of one Of Marlborough's bat
ties upon it. Many an eye has been turned to
it to read the lesson that it still teaches for it
is an old school-master that outives many schol-
ars Bat the story, the story In the begin
ming Of George the Seconds time, there lived
here country gentleman and his young wife.
He wasof tho Squire Western race and neglect
ed his wife for the covert side, the rivers bank,
and the fox hnnters debauch. She fell in love
with an officer who was staying at the house;
his pity for her grew into love, and love became
sin. The husband, thrown from his horse,
came in one day earlier than was expected, and
found his wife with her lover. In his rage he
struck her, and drawing his sword, advanced
against the officer but, bruised by his previous
fall, he fell and was stabbed to the heart by his
adversary. Packing up her jewels, and some
rouleax of her husbands, the guilty woman fed
with the murderer, whose hands were still red
with the blood of him she once had loved She
left her only child. a girl of exquisite beauty,
then about eight years of age The fugitive
was not heard of for ten years. The daughter
had grown up into womanhood and beauty, and
was on the eve of marriage with young farmer
in the neighborhood, for the estate had fallen
into decay during the minority, and he had be-
come her equal in wealth if not in birth. 1t
was a November evening, starless, moonless,
cheerless. If you looked out through the mis-
/ ty windows of the old hall into tho woods, you
could heer no sounds but the frog drops, drip,
drip, dripping, pattering on the dead leaves, or
splashing in the rain pools. dense blue fog
steamed up from the dark woods. By the old
hall fire sat the maiden and her lover, when
mufled sound, as of wheels on turf, sounding at
distance, grew nearer and nearer, as if they
were coming swiftly up the grass-covered drive
to the hall They looked out and saw black
coach, with black plumes upon its four corners,
approaching the wheels were muffled with
black-the horses were black-the coachman
wore mask, as did the two men who swung
behind and before the windows were drawn
curtains of black My heart bleeds while tell
its sequel. 1t was the proud mothers unnat-
ural greeting of her daughter, On the door
being opened, the masked men rushed in, seized
the maiden, and the lover resisting, stabbed him
and left him in his blood. The doors were clos
ed, and the coach drove off ere a rescue could
be effected No traces of the mother or daugh-
ter could ever be found but there is reason to
suppose that both died in convent near Namur.
The house fell into other hands, and but for the
preservation of the old picture gallery. l should
never have learned the tragical story .-Nsu
Monthly Magazine.