ity to
the country. Almost beneath them stood the reverend church of Uffington
overtopping the ancient village clustering round it. Numerous other
towers and spires could be seen peeping out of groves of trees, which,
together with the scattered mansions and farmhouses surrounded by
granges and stacks of hay and beans, gave interest and diversity to the
prospect. The two most prominent objects in the view were the wooded
heights of Farringdon on the one hand, and those of Abingdon on the
other.

Proceeding along the old Roman road, still distinctly marked out, and
running along the ridge of this beautiful chain of hills, they arrived
at an immense Roman encampment, vulgarly called Uffingham Castle,
occupying the crown of a hill. A shepherd, who was tending a flock of
sheep which were browsing on the delicious herbage to be found within
the vast circular space enclosed by the inner vallum of the camp,
explained its purpose, and they could not but regard it with interest.
He informed them that they were in the neighbourhood of the famous White
Horse, a figure cut out of the turf on the hillside by the Saxons, and
visible for many miles. Conducting them to a point whence they could
survey this curious work, their guide next directed them to Ashdown
Lodge, which lay, he told them, at about four miles' distance. They had
wandered a little out of their course, but he accompanied them for a
mile, until they came in sight of a thick grove of trees clothing a
beautiful valley, above which could be seen the lofty cupola of the
mansion.

Cheered by the sight, and invigorated by the fresh breeze blowing in
this healthful region, they pressed forward, and soon drew near the
mansion, which they found was approached by four noble avenues. They had
not advanced far, when a stalwart personage, six feet two high, and
proportionately stoutly made, issued from the covert. He had a gun over
his shoulder and was attended by a couple of fine dogs. Telling them he
was called John Lutcombe, and was the Earl of Craven's gamekeeper, he
inquired their business, and, on being informed of it, changed his surly
manner to one of great cordiality, and informed them that Mrs.
Buscot--such was the name of Amabel's aunt--was at home, and would be
heartily glad to see them.

"I have often heard her speak of her brother, Mr. Bloundel," he said,
"and am well aware that he is an excellent man. Poor soul! she has been
very uneasy about him and his family d