Over the brow of the ridge—and there stretches before you a wide landscape of cultivated park ground. It is a park, of many acres, for the pleasure-taking of the hands of the Hollow. What is not here! Groves and lawns, walks and seats under the trees; prepared places for cricket and base ball and gymnastic exercises; swings for the children. Flowers are cultivated here in profusion, of rare as well as common kinds; and they are in abundance enough to be on hand whenever floral decorations are wanted for a wedding or a funeral in the cottages, or a festival in church or schoolhouse. For there are festivals every now and then, besides the three national ones. The park has great plantations of fruit trees also; the fruit free to all, from the time it is officially declared to be ripe. And I assure you, it is very little disturbed before such announcement. The park is under an excellent police, and nothing but the most perfect order prevails. On the further edge of the park, if you go so far, you will see a low elegant building of grey stone, with many cosy little windows and doors. It is the home for the disabled and superannuated old people. No herding in one common community of forlornness; each small apartment or establishment is perfect in its way, with its own entrance, and its own little kitchen and sleeping room. There are people appointed to look after the comfort of those who are finishing their days there, but nobody to interfere with it. Wych Hazel is there very often, and her pony chaise never stops before a door but to bring brightness within. But down in the Hollow there are the schools yet to visit; they are the pleasantest schoolrooms you ever saw. There is the bank. There are the public baths. And I know not what beside. The schools are provided with means and teachers for the art instruction of those who show capability for art proficiency; and designers and mechanics for Roll's work are growing up under Rollo's eyes. And nobody enters work at his mills but wants to stay with him; and nobody ever wishes, in all the Hollow, I think, to do anything but what the master wishes; for they all know he does not live to himself. A visiter came to the Hollow however, about the time I speak of, who was not ready to take the testimony of his eyes, not yet of his ears, and he had both. It was an old gentleman who had left the railway station a few miles from Crocus, and depositing his baggage at the village inn desired to be driven on to the famous manufacturing establishment in the neighbourhood. He was an elderly man, but vigorous yet, of the sort of frame both of mind and body which holds out a tough resistance to life's wear and tear. That such he had seen, his somewhat set face, overhanging brows, and keen, unrestful eyes, bore witness. The brows were particularly drawn together to-day, and the eyes critical, almost suspicious, in their glance.