As soon as Smeaton had entered the garden, the statuary (for so I suppose we must call him), paused and looked round. He instantly perceived the man who had followed them, planted on the opposite side of the way; and, carefully locking the gate, he followed his companion through his grove of leaden figures, pointing out to him, with the mingled affection of a parent and an artist, the various excellences of his on productions. He had no modesty upon the subject--it was a quality indeed which did not greatly embarrass him on any subject, and, probably, Praxiteles did not value the immortal works of his hand, whether in marble or ivory, so highly as Jacob Van Noost estimated his own productions. "See that Apollo," he exclaimed, pointing to a figure of the Belvidere God. "I have caught the fire and the spirit, you see; and, as for the grace, I think I may venture to say that the little elevation which I have given to the left arm greatly increases it, as well as the dignity." Smeaton walked on with more speed than was quite flattering to his companion. He was a good-natured creature, however, Van Noost; and he merely gave his shoulders a slight shrug, hurried his own pace, and, arriving before the other at the little old green blistered door, threw it open to give him admission, pointing with his hand, at the same time, to the entrance of a small parlour, the clean-washed and neatly-sanded floor of which you reached by descending a single step. He then shut and locked the house-door, hung up his hat upon a peg behind it, and, entering the parlour, placed a chair for his guest, with a low bow, saying-- "Here you are safe, my lord; and here you had better remain till the grey of the evening. Ay, your noble father often sat in that chair, speaking bad Dutch against my father's bad English, examining his beautiful models, and choosing out such as he wished to possess." CHAPTER II. We will now move, for a while, to a far distant scene, and go back to a somewhat earlier period of the year; for, having a violent objection to all stiff rules, I cannot even consent to bind myself by the very good advice of Count Antoine Hamilton--"_Mon ami, toujours commencez par le commencement_;" in which he differed from Horace, and a great many wonderful men of old. On the western coast of England, and in one of the most beautiful parts of that beautiful coast, is a spot which I must describe, not only for the benefit of those who may profit by it, or of those who may love to identify any place they read of, with some place which they remember or imagine, but because many of the principal events of my tale occurred in the midst of that precise scene. Those who know the sea-board of Devonshire will, I think, have no difficulty in recognising the locality from certain distinctive marks.