d a dead silence reigned throughout the house. I saw no more
of Slade that night. Early in the morning, I left Cedarville; the
landlord looked very sober when he bade me good-bye through the
stage-door, and wished me a pleasant journey.

NIGHT THE FIFTH.

SOME OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF TAVERN-KEEPING.

Nearly five years glided away before business again called me to
Cedarville. I knew little of what passed there in the interval, except
that Simon Slade had actually been indicted for manslaughter, in
causing the death of Morgan's child. He did not stand a trial, however,
Judge Lyman having used his influence, successfully, in getting the
indictment quashed. The judge, some people said, interested himself in
Slade more than was just seemly--especially, as he had, on several
occasions, in the discharge of his official duties, displayed what
seemed an over-righteous indignation against individuals arraigned for
petty offences. The impression made upon me by Judge Lyman had not been
favorable. He seemed a cold, selfish, scheming man of the world. That
he was an unscrupulous politician, was plain to me, in a single
evening's observation of his sayings and doings among the common herd
of a village bar-room.

As the stage rolled, with a gay flourish of our driver's bugle, into
the village, I noted here and there familiar objects, and marked the
varied evidences of change. Our way was past the elegant residence and
grounds of Judge Hammond, the most beautiful and highly cultivated in
Cedarville. At least, such it was regarded at the time of my previous
visit. But, the moment my eyes rested upon the dwelling and its various
surroundings, I perceived an altered aspect. Was it the simple work of
time? or, had familiarity with other and more elegantly arranged
suburban homes, marred this in my eyes by involuntary contrast? Or had
the hand of cultivation really been stayed, and the marring fingers of
neglect suffered undisturbed to trace on every thing disfiguring
characters?

Such questions were in my thoughts, when I saw a man in the large
portico of the dwelling, the ample columns of which, capped in rich
Corinthian, gave the edifice the aspect of a Grecian temple. He stood
leaning against one of the columns--his hat off, and his long gray hair
thrown back and resting lightly on his neck and shoulders. His head was
bent down upon his breast, and he seemed in deep abstraction. Just as
the coach swept by, he looked up, an