was in the room, and poured out its contents into his own chuddur. They then scampered off-after liberating Kadir Jan, her child, and the cowherd, from their confinement. "These are atrocious villains," observed the Daroga, when he visited the spot. "If they had been actuated by superstitious motives only, they would have stopped with the murder of the witch;" and this was exactly the view taken of the case by the higher authorities. All the culprits were captured, tried, and convicted; and Sudderudeen and Dagoo were sentenced to be hanged. Megoo, as an accomplice, was punished with fourteen years' imprisonment; while Ghutnee, who had not joined in the attack, nor entered the house, was convicted of having attempted to conceal the plundered property, and sentenced to six months' imprisonment. BURIED ALIVE. THERE lived in the town of Goruckpore a stout, hearty, middleaged Mahomedan, named Badul Khan, a sensible and saving daylabourer, who owned a neat house, a tidy wife, and a troop of healthy children, of whom both the parents were equally fond. It was altogether a happy family; if their earnings were not much, their wants were still less; and there was great contentment in the household generally, and happiness also, barring one unfortunate crook in their lot. This crook existed in the shape of an old mother-in-law, named Dhona, who had been bedridden for several years, and was now suffering fearfully from leprosy in a very advanced stage. Her life, in fact, was a tissue of sighs and groans; there was anguish written on every wrinkle of her old face; and her misery cast a gloom on all the faces around her. "Ah, miserable me!" was her unceasing cry. "Life, that is so dear to all others, is hateful to me; and yet death, that approaches every one, seems to have forgotten me altogether;" and her constant complaints in this tune spread a sadness over the household which it was impossible to dispel. "Bind me and fling me into the fire or the river," was her constant request. "I cannot endure this pain any longer. It is a most fearful thing to rot by inches as I am rotting. Oh, Badul, my son, have pity on me!" and the disease had made such ravages on her person, and life had become so loathesome therefrom, that her prayer was natural. Badul fully commiserated her sufferings. But what could he do for her? He could only listen to her cries in silence, or pass on. But the old woman began to become more and more impor. tunate; her sufferings made her unreasonable; she gradually became abusive, and finally threatened Badul that, if he did not give effect to her wishes, she would appear against him in the day of judgment. "Think not this, Badul, to be an idle threat. I am thy wife's mother, and have always been as a mother to thee, and before the eternal tribunal my complaint against thee will not go for nought. Badul still evaded compliance; but the appeal of his mother-inlaw became daily more touching as the symptoms of approaching dissolution were accelerated; and eventually his wife also, unable to endure her parent's sufferings, joined her entreaties with the reproaches of Dhona. "I love my mother better now than ever I did before. But she is one mass of suffering only, and it would be a relief to all of us if she ceased to exist." It was impossible for Badul's good sense to accept this reasoning; but he was so vexed that he did not know what to do, or how to repel the influences brought to bear against him; and he at last yielded to the pressure by digging a grave for Dhona. "It is very foolish to yield to the opinion of others in a matter of this sort; and I trust I shall not do so. But there is no harm in having a grave ready, for the old woman cannot hold out much longer." It was thus that Badul vindicated the course taken by him, and these were his actual thoughts at the time the grave was dug. But Dhona became yet more clamorous when she learned that the house for her reception had been completed; and, as every one pressed Badul to yield to her entreaties, he, in a weak moment, agreed to do so. "Badul," said Dhona, "I command you to carry me to the grave that stands ready for me. Dare you disobey me?" "Oh, my husband!" said Badul's wife, "have pity on the poor woman who cannot help herself, and be equal to your trial." "God strengthen me, then," cried Badul; "if it must be done I shall do it ;" and arising from where he sat he placed his motherin-law on a bedstead, and covered her with a sheet. Her voice was feeble and trembling now, but her lips quivered, and there was an unobserved flush over her pale cheeks; her heart's desire was satisfied when she felt the bedstead raised by her son-in-law to convey her to the grave. Arrived at the grave-side, Badul went to an adjoining field to get assistance to effect the interment, and there was no difficulty in securing the services of four of his comrades. "She can't live beyond a day or two at most. It is doubtful if she can be said to be alive now. Her toes and fingers are falling to pieces, and worms have got into her feet and body. We are fully justified in interring her now, my friends." Thus reasoned Badul with the labourers who came to help him, and they admitted the full force of his argument. Shall we raise the sheet and take a look at her for the last time?" asked one of the men. "What for?" inquired Badul. "The sight may unnerve us, and render us unfit to carry out the burial," and this being accepted as good reasoning, the covered body was thrown into the open grave, which was hurriedly filled up. The act was unlawful and culpable, and Badul and his assistants were apprehended, tried, and convicted. But the circumstances of the case were so peculiar that the court held that the duress already undergone by the prisoners, from the time of their arrest to their final conviction, was sufficient punishment for their offence. They were, therefore, simply cautioned and discharged. THE SOLDIER'S GUARANTEE. THE Red Cross flies o'er Candahar, Jalalabad is ours It flaunts above the Piewar Pass, Defiant fly; Nor Khyber we'll restore That Indian gate 'Gainst Russian hate Is England's evermore. March proudly, comrades! to your tread O'er flood and field The sword we wield. FENWICK HALL, although greatly altered and enlarged by successive owners since its erection, still wore externally that union of strength and security with the domestic requirements of a dwelling house, apparent in such of the mansions of the nobility and gentry as were built during the reign of Henry VII., when the jealousy of the monarch revived the prerogative of the crown assumed by the earlier usurper, Stephen, and forbade the erection of castles. While the weakness and uncertainty with which the laws were administerd, and the suddenness and cruelty with which violence was resorted to by either party during civil wars, rendered it desireable that every residence of importance should be capable of resisting an armed force, and built in such a manner as to be convertible into a fortress at the will of its inhabitants. Fenwick Hall was a large, low pile, built of brick and stone, removed from the ruins of an older dwelling, dismantled during the wars of the Roses, and given, with the honour of Compton, to a faithful follower of the first Tudor King, after the successful issue of the battle of Bosworth Field, on the payment of a red rose yearly on "All Soul's day." Fenwick Hall, as it at first stood, was in the form of a hollow square, the four sides of which were only one room deep, so that there was no communication round the inside but by passing through the intermediate rooms. On the outside there were no windows on the ground floor, and those on the upper stories had been strongly barricaded. The entrance in the centre of the north front was protected at the date of its erection by windows projecting on other sides from small turrets, from which assailants could be opposed without danger to those within. Above the porch was a projection also of stone, rising to the top of the building, and fancifully ornamented. Under the pediment or frontier were the royal arms of England, beneath a crown supported by a greyhound and |