gave the alarm. On entering the summer-house, these unhappy young people were found dead, and weltering in their blood. Mr. Sharp had no doubt been lingering on the premises all night, and had come prepared to see Miss Shuckburgh, and, if he could not bend her from her resolve, to destroy both himself and her. He had only too terribly obeyed the dictates of his passion and despair.

Such is one version of the story; but by others, it was deemed more probable that this fearful event was the result of a mutual agreement between the lovers. The father of Lieutenant Sharp, though he had placed his son in the Bedfordshire militia, was only a gentleman farmer, residing at the Prioryfarm, near Bedford; and therefore it probably was that Sir Stewkley Shuckburgh did not deem the youth of sufficient standing or property to match with his daughter. Lieutenant Sharp was a young man of fine person, of a gay disposition, and much admired. It was therefore supposed that Miss Shuckburgh, seeing the opposition of her father to be insurmountable, the lovers agreed thus to fall together, rather than to abandon their attachment; but, in both suppositions, more was imagined than was positively known. A certain degree of mystery must for ever hang over the affair.

Since then, every object about the place which could suggest to the memory this fatal event, has been changed or removed. The summer-house has been razed to the ground, the disposition of the garden itself altered, much of the timber felled, the surrounding scenery remodelled, the house itself renovated.

In the opinion of those who knew the place before, the whole has been much improved. The house is large and handsome; the park is pleasant and well stocked with deer. It is probable that these efforts to obliterate the remembrance of so fearful a catastrophe from the minds of the family, may have not been without their salutary effect; but such tragic passages in human life become part and parcel of the scene where they occur;they become the topic of the winter fireside. They last while passions and affections, youth and beauty, last. They fix themselves into the soil, and the very rock on which it lies. They are breathed from the woods and fields around on the passer by, like the dim whispers of Pan, or his watching fawns; and, though the house were razed from the spot, and its park and pleasaunces turned into ploughed fields, it would still be said for ages,-here stood Shuckburgh-hall, and here fell the young and lovely Miss Shuckburgh, by the hand of her despairing lover!

VISIT TO THE GREAT JESUIT COLLEGE

OF STONYHURST IN LANCASHIRE.

A College of Jesuits, existing in England in the nineteenth century, possessing a large property there, and flourishing, and proselyting the inhabitants all round them-this is a subject of curious interest! There is something in the very name of it that makes us prick up our ears, and open our eyes, and prepare to inquire and to wonder. At all events-after having read the annals of Romish persecution, the history of Inquisitions, and of this most subtle and distinguished Order itself -this was and has been long the effect upon me. When, years ago, I heard that there was a Jesuits' college at Stonyhurst, my curiosity was strongly aroused. To imagine the disciples of Ignatius Loyola erecting their standard amid the spinners and weavers of Lancashire-the fathers of that famous order which had figured so conspicuously in the dark annals of the Inquisition; which had insinuated its members into every country and city-into the cabinets and councils of all kings; which had so often directed the political power of Europe, traversed the vast lands of India and America, and moulded savage nations to its designs; of that order so awful in history

for its peculiar policy, its sagacity, and its talent, coming out into the face of the English people, into the full blaze of the freest opinion, into the very midst of the jealous and searching scrutiny of Protestant sectaries-was a moral phenomenon worthy of close attention. One was curious to see what system of action these Proteus-like priests assumed; what were the political and social maxims they professedly held; by what links and lines of sympathy, or, at least, of accordance, they sought to connect themselves with a population alive with the spirit of freedom in all its shapes-in religion, in commerce, and in government. Accordingly, Mrs. Howitt and myself took the opportunity, on our way northwards, to visit this interesting place. We went thither from Blackburn, where we were spending a short time with our friends; and found it a delightful drive of ten miles, principally along Ribblesdale, in which Stonyhurst is situated. After proceeding about two and a half miles north of Blackburn, Ribblesdale, one of the finest and most extensive vales in England, opened upon us, with Stonyhurst conspicuous on the opposite side of the valley, on a fine elevation, amidst its woods. The building has a noble and commanding aspect, worthy of its situation. It was apparently about three or four miles distant, and I suppose, was not much more; one of the Jesuits afterwards telling us that they considered it by the footpath, a pretty direct line, to be about seven miles between Stonyhurst and Blackburn; but the carriage road is very circuitous, holding down the valley as far as Whalley, and then along winding lanes through Mitton; so

that it proves a good ten miles. But whoever takes the drive, will not think it one yard too much; a more delightful one can rarely be found. From the first opening of this splendid vale, you have Stonyhurst lying full in view; Ribchester, the celebrated Roman station, to the left, in the level of the valley; down the vale to the north-east, you have the castle of Clitheroe, standing on its bold and abrupt eminence; and as you wind along the eastern side of the dale, with the Ribble below you on your left, and above you on your right, woods and cottages with their little inclosures, the ruins of Whalley Abbey come in view, and, high beyond, the bare and cloud-mottled heights of Pendle-hill. The ruins of Whalley Abbey, made so familiar to the public by Dr. Whittaker's history, are still very extensive and picturesque. Old walls mingled with large trees; large windows here and there visible, still displaying their tracery; a house with smoking chimneys in the midst; and the Calder, a beautiful stream, between high banks, running close past— present a very attractive whole to a passer-by. Here we crossed a bridge and wound away to the left, in a circuitous course, to Stonyhurst; in fact, going, in a great measure, backward again. The lanes through which we drove were fine old pastoral lanes, all embowered with tall luxuriant hedges, rich with fresh foliage, and sweet with the flowers of the elder and the wild rose.

It was the time of roses;

We plucked them as we passed.-Hood:

for it was, in fact, the 29th of June. So we drove on, every