AN EVENING IN THE SQUIRE'S KITCHEN.
It was a miserable evening; outside it was snowing and blowing, and in the squire's parlour the candle burned so dimly that you could scarcely distinguish anything in the room but a clock-case with some Chinese ornaments, a large mirror in an old-fashioned frame, and a silver family tankard. The squire and I were the only occupants of the room. I sat in a corner of the sofa with a book in my hand, while the squire himself had taken a seat in the other corner buried in the perusal of the manuscript of a political
