and commenced heaping upon his head epithets delicacy forbids our inserting here-calling him a clerical old lecher, an assassin, and a disturber of the peace and respectability of the house.  Indeed, Madame Ashley quite forgot to faint, and with a display of courage amounting almost to heroism, rushed at the poor parson, and had left him in the state he was born but for the timely precautions of Mr. Stubbs, who, finding a revolver in his possession, and wanting no better proof of his guilt, straightway took him off to the guardhouse.  Parson Patterson would have entered the most solemn and pious protestations of his innocence but the evidence was so strong against him, and the zeal of Mr. Sargeant Stubbs so apparent, that he held it the better policy to quietly submit to the rough fare of his new lodgings.

“I have a terror of these brawls!” says Mr. Snivel, emerging from his hiding-place, and entering the chamber, followed by the high legal functionary.

“A pretty how-do-ye-do, this is;” returns Madame Ashley, cooling her passion in the rocking-chair, “I never had much respect for parsons—­”

“Parsons?” interrupts Mr. Snivel, inquiringly, “you don’t mean to say it was all the doings of a parson?”

“As I’m a lady it was no one else.  He was discovered behind the curtain there, a terrible pistol in his pocket-the wretch!”

Mr. Snivel exchanges a wink with the Judge, points his thumb over his left shoulder, and says, captiously:  “I always had an implacable hatred of that old thief.  A bad lot! these plantation parsons.”

Mr. Stubbs having discovered and removed the assassin, the terrified damsels return to their chambers, and Madame Ashley proceeds to close her house, as the two legal gentlemen take their departure.  Perhaps it would be well to inform the reader that a principal cause of Anna’s preference for the Judge, so recently manifested, was the deep impression made on her already suspicious mind by Mr. McArthur, the antiquary, who revealed to her sincerely, as she thought, her future dark destiny.

CHAPTER XXVI.

In which A high functionary is made to play A singular part.

The morning following the events detailed in the foregoing chapter, finds the august Sleepyhorn seated on his judgment-seat.  The clock strikes ten as he casts his heavy eyes over the grotesque group gathered into his little, dingy court-room; and he bows to his clerk, of whom he gets his law knowledge, and with his right hand makes a sign that he is ready to admonish the erring, or pass sentence on any amount of criminals.  History affords no record of a judge so unrelenting of his judgments.