SOMEWHERE between Wakefield and Doncaster, but much nearer Wakefield, there is a little village called Burdeck, which even in these days of progress is but a small place, and of no importance in any way. But in the days of which I am about to tell you something, it was so utterly insignificant, so little known except to the few who lived there, and to the nobleman of whose estate it formed part, that had it been swallowed up by an earthquake, some time might have elapsed before it was missed. Yet to the twenty or thirty families who lived there, Burdeck was just as interesting and important as London is to such of my readers as may happen to live there; nay, perhaps more important, because y…
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