walls are of gray stone, covered with ivy, or crusted with golden
lichens; its front, long and low, is picturesquely diversified with
oriel windows, gable ends, and shadowy angles. Behind is a steep,
craggy range of woody hills; in front, a terraced garden of great
extent; full of old-fashioned bowers, and labyrinth-like walks, and
sloping down to a noble park, whose oaks and beeches are of wonderful
beauty, and whose turf is soft as velvet and greener than any artist
ever dreamed of.

Fifty years ago the owner of this lovely spot was Squire Henry Hallam.
He was about sixty years of age, stout and fair and dressed in fine
drab broad-cloth, with a white vest, and a white cambric kerchief tied
loosely round his neck. His hat, drab also, was low-crowned and
broad-brimmed, and, as a general rule, he kept it on. In the holy
precincts of a church, or if the national anthem was played, he indeed
always bared his head; but, in the first case, it was his expression
of a religious sentiment, in the second he saluted his country, and,
in a measure, himself.

One evening in the early spring he was sitting upon a low sofa in the
room that was specially his own, mending some fishing tackle. A couple
of setter puppies were worrying each other on the sofa beside him,
and a splendid fox-hound leaned her muzzle on one of his broad knees,
and looked up into her master's face with sad reproachful eyes. She
was evidently jealous, and watching anxiously for some look or word
of favor. She had not long to wait. The puppies became troublesome;
he chided them, and put the bit of leather they were quarreling about
in his pocket. Then he patted the hound, and said: "There's a deal
o' difference between them and thee, Fanny, and it's a' in thy favor,
lass;" and Fanny understood the compliment, for she whimpered happily,