‘I thank you,’ said Sir Telegraph, ‘but I am not particular; a glass will suit me as well as the best skull in Europe. Besides, I am a moderate man: one bottle of Madeira and another of claret are enough for me at any time; so that the quantity of wine a reverend sconce can carry would be just treble my usual allowance.’ They walked together towards the abbey. Sir Telegraph earnestly requested, that, before they entered, he might be favoured with a peep at the stable. Mr. Forester of course complied. Sir Telegraph found this important part of the buildings capacious and well adapted to its purpose, but did not altogether approve its being totally masked by an old ivied wall, which had served in former times to prevent the braw and bonny Scot from making too free with the beeves of the pious fraternity. The new dwelling-house was so well planned, and fitted in so well between the ancient walls, that very few vestiges of the modern architect were discernible; and it was obvious that the growth of the ivy, and of numerous trailing and twining plants, would soon overrun all vestiges of the innovation, and blend the whole exterior into one venerable character of antiquity. ‘I do not think,’ said Mr. Forester, as they proceeded through part of the grounds, ‘that the most determined zealot of the picturesque would quarrel with me here. I found the woods around the abbey matured by time and neglect into a fine state of wildness and intricacy, and I think I have left enough of them to gratify their most ardent admirer.’ ‘Quite enough, in all conscience,’ said Sir Telegraph, who was in white jean trousers, with very thin silk stockings and pumps. ‘I do not generally calculate on being, as an old song I have somewhere heard expresses it, Forced to scramble, When I ramble, Through a copse of furze and bramble; which would be all very pleasant perhaps, if the fine effect of picturesque roughness were not unfortunately, as Macbeth says of his dagger, “sensible to feeling as to sight.” But who is that gentleman, sitting under the great oak yonder in the green coat and nankins? He seems very thoughtful.’ ‘He is of a contemplative disposition,’ said Mr. Forester: ‘you must not be surprised if he should not speak a word during the whole time you are here. The politeness of his manner makes amends for his habitual taciturnity. I will introduce you.’ The gentleman under the oak had by this time discovered them, and came forward with great alacrity to meet Mr. Forester, who cordially shook hands with him, and introduced him to Sir Telegraph as Sir Oran Haut-ton, Baronet.