The day arrived. A post-chaise stood in front of the old grey manor-house. I have it all before me. The pointed gables-the high-pitched, dark weather; stained roof-the numberless latticed windows-the moat, now dry, which had once served to keep out a body of Cromwell's horse-the tall elms, which had nestled many a generation of rooks-the clump of beech trees, and the venerable wide-spreading oak-the broad gravelled court on one side, and the velvety...