Successive terraces of almost regal extent, from above whose marble balustrades and rows of urns the tufted green of rare and rich plants, in a long, gorgeous wreath of foliage, was peeping, ran, tier above tier, conducting the eye, among statues and graceful shrubs, to the gables and chimneys of the quaint but vast chateau itself. The forecourt upon which the great avenue debouched was large enough for the stately muster of a royal levee; and at intervals, upon the balustrade which surrounded it, were planted a long file of stone statues, each originally holding a lamp, which, however, the altered habits of the place had long since dismounted. If the place had been specially contrived, as it was said to have been, for privacy, it could not have been better planned. It was literally buried in an umbrageous labyrinth of tufted forest. Even the great avenue commanded no view of the chateau, but abutted upon a fountain, backed by a towering screen of foliage, where the approach divided, and led by a double road to the court we have described. In fact, except from the domain itself, the very chimneys of the chateau were invisible for a circuit of miles around, the nearest point from which a glance of its roof could be caught being the heights situated a full league away. If the truth must be told, then, Monsieur Le Prun was conscious of some disparity in point of years between himself and his beautiful wife; and although he affected the most joyous confidence upon the subject, he was nevertheless as ill at ease as most old fellows under similar circumstances. It soon became, therefore, perfectly plain, that the palace to which the wealthy bridegroom had transported his beautiful wife was, in truth, but one of those enchanted castles in which enamored genii in fairy legends are described as guarding their captive princesses--a gorgeous and luxurious prison, to which there was no access, from which no escape, and where amidst all the treasures and delights of a sensuous paradise, the captive beauty languished and saddened. END OF PART I. [From the Examiner.] TO CHARLES DICKENS. BY WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Call we for harp or song? Accordant numbers, measured out, belong Alone, we hear, to bard. Let him this badge, for ages worn, discard; Richer and nobler now Than when the close-trimm'd laurel mark'd his brow, And from one fount his thirst Was slaked, and from none other proudly burst Neighing, the winged steed. Gloriously fresh were those young days indeed! Clear, if confined, the view: The feet of giants swept that early dew; More graceful came behind, And golden tresses waved upon the wind.