“I may speak foolishly, ay, knavishly, Always carelessly, yet no one thinks it fashion To poise my breath; for he that laughs and strikes Is lightly felt, or seldom struck again.” MARSTON. Brigland-Abbey was one of those desirable mansions which auctioneers love to describe, but which are beyond all power of advertising flattery. It stood on a gradually descending and very extensive sweep of land; at the back of which rose a dense and ancient forest, and in front flowed a stream which had been artificially widened into the semblance of a fair and placid lake. The building was in harmony with the scenery; graceful, stately, extensive. The architect had successfully imitated the florid Gothic style of building; and over the principal entrance was a window of enormous magnitude, and most brilliant colouring. Through this window the beams of the declining sun cast on the marble pavement of the great hall a luxuriant mass of variegated light, forming one of the most magnificent specimens of internal beauty which any mansion in this kingdom has to boast. This beautiful estate was the property of Mr. John Martindale, but the residence of the Hon. Philip Martindale. The elder Martindale had, for the place of his abode, a fancifully constructed cottage, immediately opposite to the great gates that opened into the park; and so well placed was this residence, that it had a most beautiful and imposing view of the great building. For when Mr. Martindale had finished the erection of the splendid abbey, it was remarked to him, as it has been remarked to many others who have built splendid mansions, “Now you should have another house opposite to this, that you may enjoy the pleasure of looking at this magnificent pile.” On this principle the proprietor acted; residing in a dwelling called the cottage, and giving up the great house to his hopeful cousin. He found a peculiar pleasure in this whim; for thereby he became master of the master of the great house; and nothing pleased him more than to be mistaken for a person of no consequence, and then to be discovered as the opulent and remarkable Mr. Martindale. Some of his neighbours used to report that he had a right to a title, but that he would not prosecute his claim, because he despised titles as mere foolery. These good people were wrong in their conjecture; but the supposition was not displeasing to Mr. Martindale.