and forcing-houses; some visited the stables; some wandered amid the wild scenery of the park; there was a game of bowls going on between some lively parties, while others were content to remain still and listen to the music. An air of general content and satisfaction appeared; every body was determined to be pleased, and a great many actually were so. The party of a wealthy and single man, would naturally be popular; and as he took great pains to go about and diffuse his civilities among all the young ladies, introduce those who wished it to each other, recommend amusements, suggest variety to the dull, and encourage every kind of hilarity, there was no outward symptom of discontent or ennui; all was as lively and harmonious as the music on the lawn.
Victoria had carried off Captain Hepburn, to show him what she considered the most curious part of the park. Such was her excuse.
This was an avenue of very ancient yews, whose large stems and branches, intertwined over head, formed a gloomy aisle, which reminded one of a cathedral crypt. It led to a circle of still older trees of the same species, surrounding a mound of earth; the trunks were hollowed by time, the over-hanging boughs were, many of them, blanched and bare, and sprung out like huge skeleton arms, which produced a ghastly spectral effect; beyond, and inclosing them, was a double row of gigantic oaks, just now in all the glory of young spring foliage; but even their bright green was unable to give a liveliness to a scene in which such heavy and dark hues predominated. The ground beneath their feet was dry and brown, a thick carpet of the needle-shaped leaves of the yews making it soft and slippery; no green plant could spring under their poisonous shade; there was neither leaf nor flower to be seen; all was gloomy and somber as a neglected church-yard.
“Now, is not this wild and strange, Captain Hepburn?” said the young lady. “I brought you here alone, that you might enjoy the full effect of contrast; we left light and music, company and mirth—here we have gloom and silence, solitude and
somber thoughts. Tell me, do you think this is the work of those ancient Druids, who ruled your country before history begins, or do you suppose the Saxons, my countrymen, worshiped here their Thor and Friga?”
“It is very strange and wild, truly, Miss Fielding; do you delight in such violent contrasts? Old as they are, however, I think these trees are hardly old enough to be planted by Druid hands: remember the lengthened period—nineteen hundred years at least.”
“Horrid, to destroy my pleasant illusions; I had hoped to awe you into immediate acquiescence with my fancies.”
“And pass for Friga with the golden hair, yourself, for you are more like a Saxon than a British divinity of old?” said he, with smiling gallantry.
“I am Saxon on my mother’s side,” replied she, “as you doubtless know; so is my cousin Charles; but I believe we both intend to turn English in our habits and homes for the future.”
She colored a little as she said this, and, after a moment’s pause, she added—