occupant of the room; and the lights near the fire, at its farther end,
hardly reached to the window at which I sat.

The shorn grass sloped gently downward from the windows till it met the
broad level on which stood, in clumps, or solitarily scattered, some of the
noblest timber in England. Hoar in the moonbeams stood those graceful
trees casting their moveless shadows upon the grass, and in the background
crowning the undulations of the distance, in masses, were piled those woods
among which lay the solitary tomb where the remains of my beloved mother
rested.

The air was still. The silvery vapour hung serenely on the far horizon,
and the frosty stars blinked brightly. Everyone knows the effect of such a
scene on a mind already saddened. Fancies and regrets float mistily in
the dream, and the scene affects us with a strange mixture of memory and
anticipation, like some sweet old air heard in the distance. As my eyes
rested on those, to me, funereal but glorious woods, which formed the
background of the picture, my thoughts recurred to my father's mysterious
intimations and the image of the approaching visitor; and the thought of
the unknown journey saddened me.

In all that concerned his religion, from very early association, there was
to me something of the unearthly and spectral.

When my dear mamma died I was not nine years old; and I remember, two days
before the funeral, there came to Knowl, where she died, a thin little man,
with large black eyes, and a very grave, dark face.

He was shut up a good deal with my dear father, who was in deep affliction;
and Mrs. Rusk used to say, 'It is rather odd to see him praying with that