eous beauty of their
yellow flowers, and spreading beds of fern, that loveliest of
leaves, as beautiful in its form, and almost as architectural
in its natural symmetry, as the more classical acanthus.

As we advanced into the very heart of the country, the
character of the scenery changed, and became of a more
woodland description. Hedges on both sides of the road bounded
our view, but there was ample compensation for this in these
delicious hedges themselves, in which hawthorn stood out in
sturdy independence from among the intricacies of shrubs and
brambles, that imprisoned their stems, while they scattered
their snowy blossoms on the shining leaves and green patches
of grass beneath them; in which the frail but daring eglantine
twined its weak tendrils round the withered trunk of some
hollow, worn-out oak; in which the wild clematis and the
feathery traveller's-joy, as children love to call it, flung
their fairy flowers in reckless profusion over the tangled
mass from whence they sprung. There was enough in these hedges
to make up for the loss of views; but we had views too, when,
for a moment, a gate, a stile, a gap in the hedge itself,
opened to us glimpses of such woods and dells as we read of in
the Midsummer Night's Dream.

We reached Brandon at four o'clock. It stands in the midst of
what was formerly a chase of immense extent, and which now
forms a park of extraordinary size, and of singular beauty.
The hand of man seems to have done but little to improve that
beauty: the house stands as if by chance in the midst of a
wilderness of downy hills and grassy valleys, of hawthorn
groves, and wild commons, of remnants of forests, and miles of
underwood. I was so engrossed by the strange character of
this, to me, perfectly novel scenery, that I thought little of
anything else as we drove up to the house: and when on
reaching the entrance door, the servants rushed to let down
the step, and seize upon the luggage, I felt taken by
surprise; rousing myself, I took an affectionate leave of Mrs.
Hatton, who was proceeding to her own home in the town of--,
about ten miles beyond Brandon, and we did not part without my
promising her, that, if I could possible contrive it, I would
visit her there before I left Dorsetshire.

CHAPTER V.

But ever and anon of griefs subdued,
There comes a token like a scorpion's sting,
Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued;
And slight withal may be the things w