Each nook and dell of that fair Park is engraven on my heart of hearts. On this grassy slope, I walked with Mary, as she bent her steps toward the village, where the poor awaited her with blessings. In yonder pleasant path, Anne, the wit of the family, almost killed me with laughter. On that gently-rising eminence, the hounds threw off—and there, after a hard day’s run, William, the eldest son, who was ever in at the death, presented my delighted self with the brush. Under the shade of those wavy beeches, which every moment strewed their leaves in our path, did the graceful and chivalrous George teach the timid school girl to ride, or rather, to manage her rein; he was a very Bayard on horseback, and a kind horse-master to boot. He loved to see the noble animals well and judiciously treated, whether on the road or in the stable. I remember a saying he had, which amused us all immensely—it was this: “Never ’ammer your ’unter along a ’ard road—if you wish to ’ammer along a ’ard road, ’ire a ’ack and ’ammer ’im.” George was handsome, accomplished, and good—to my girlish fancy, a very “_preux chevalier, sans peur et sans reproche_”—but he was a decided lady’s man, and, of course, a passionate and rather general admirer of beauty. I knew I was not handsome, so I never again accepted an invitation to join that dear and happy circle; and thus ended the one romance of my life. But this is a digression. My readers will remember the very pressing invitation I had received from Mrs. Edward Travers, to join her at Woodlands; nevertheless, I judged it unadvisable, for the present, to accede to her wishes, trusting that, thrown entirely on her husband for society, the young wife might, in time, learn to consider him as her first and best friend. It was, therefore, not until the first week in October, that I started from Warenne Vicarage, at about 7 A. M., for the railway station, in order to take the train, which met the express from London, as this was the only one which would enable me to reach Woodlands the same evening. It was one of those lovely and soft, yet fresh mornings peculiar to our climate, at this season of the year, when the sky, though serene, is not cloudless, and the air is at the same time balmy and exhilarating, and, as it were, charged with vitality. The white hoar frost clung like gems to the blades of grass, and caused the varied tints of the Autumn leaves to appear still more fresh and glowing. I, for my part, confess to feeling great delight in railway travelling—the commencement of a journey, especially if the end of it promises pleasure, always raises my spirits in fine weather.