whose own actual reminiscences went back to the epoch of Gage and Howe, and even supplied him with a doubtful anecdote or two of Hutchinson.  He was one of that small, and now all but extinguished, class whose attachment to royalty, and to the colonial institutions and customs that were connected with it, had never yielded to the democratic heresies of after-times.  The young queen of Britain has not a more loyal subject in her realm—­perhaps not one who would kneel before her throne with such reverential love—­as this old grandsire whose head has whitened beneath the mild sway of the republic which still in his mellower moments he terms a usurpation.  Yet prejudices so obstinate have not made him an ungentle or impracticable companion.  If the truth must be told, the life of the aged loyalist has been of such a scrambling and unsettled character—­he has had so little choice of friends and been so often destitute of any—­that I doubt whether he would refuse a cup of kindness with either Oliver Cromwell or John Hancock, to say nothing of any democrat now upon the stage.  In another paper of this series I may perhaps give the reader a closer glimpse of his portrait.

Our host in due season uncorked a bottle of Madeira of such exquisite perfume and admirable flavor that he surely must have discovered it in an ancient bin down deep beneath the deepest cellar where some jolly old butler stored away the governor’s choicest wine and forgot to reveal the secret on his death-bed.  Peace to his red-nosed ghost and a libation to his memory!  This precious liquor was imbibed by Mr. Tiffany with peculiar zest, and after sipping the third glass it was his pleasure to give us one of the oddest legends which he had yet raked from the storehouse where he keeps such matters.  With some suitable adornments from my own fancy, it ran pretty much as follows.

* * * * *

Not long after Colonel Shute had assumed the government of Massachusetts Bay—­now nearly a hundred and twenty years ago—­a young lady of rank and fortune arrived from England to claim his protection as her guardian.  He was her distant relative, but the nearest who had survived the gradual extinction of her family; so that no more eligible shelter could be found for the rich and high-born Lady Eleanore Rochcliffe than within the province-house of a Transatlantic colony.  The consort of Governor Shute, moreover, had been as a mother to her childhood, and was now anxious to receive her in the hope that a beautiful young woman would be exposed to infinitely less peril from the primitive society of New England than amid the artifices and corruptions of a court.  If either the governor or his lady had especially consulted their own comfort, they would probably have sought to devolve the responsibility on other hands, since with some noble and splendid traits of character Lady Eleanore was remarkable for a harsh, unyielding pride, a haughty consciousness of her hereditary and personal