On a spacious terrace of the western wing, whose broad steps of fine Italian marble led down to the clear, open, finely gravelled walk that surrounded a beautiful and well kept lawn, were grouped, in various positions, a number of ladies, gentlemen, and children, with all of whom, the juveniles excepted, the reader is already acquainted. The Earl of Castlemere, with his beautiful Countess leaning lovingly on his arm, are pacing leisurely up and down among the assembled guests, exchanging here and there words of courteous pleasantry. Lounging over the back of a handsome fautiel, Colonel Snaffle, of the Lancers, is conversing with Pauline Barton, in his usual gay and lively manner, relating to some reminiscence which occurred to them while dwelling on the sunny plains of Hindostan. Horace Barton, Aunt Cotterell and the Rev. Charles Denham were discussing some knotty point concerning high and low church, etc., while some political question was evidently exciting the minds of the worthy old Stockbroker, Dr. Ashburnham, and Tom Barton. The good natured Draycott was exhausting his powers of pleasing by relating to Mrs. Ashburnham, her sister Emily and pretty Cousin Kate, the last _on dit_ going the rounds of the fashionable circles at the metropolis. Light-hearted, happy children gamboled on the broad marble steps, or seated on soft cushions at their parents' feet, listened to the sparkling wit, repartee and agreeable rattle that broke forth among the gay loungers on the terrace. Occasionally the eyes of the whole party would rest with admiration and pride on the scene enacting before them, and well they might, for on the smooth, soft, velvet-like sward of the croquet lawn, eight youthful figures, the eldest scarcely sixteen, were engaged in that most exhilarating, delightful and exciting of all out door amusements, the game of croquet.