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people, both of the town and the country. His house and gardens were
thrown open to the inspection of the whole assembled company. The
delighted crowd admired immensely the pictures and the pleasant gardens.
On the lawn, lying between the great grove and the hall, an enormous tent
was pitched, or rather a vast canvas canopy erected, open on all sides,
in which was laid a charming banquet; a military band from Stockington
barracks playing during the time. Here Sir Simon made a speech as
rapturously received as that to the farmers. It was to the effect, that
all the old privileges of wandering in the grove, and angling, and
boating on the river were restored. The inn was already rebuilt in a
handsome Elizabethan style, larger than before, and to prevent it ever
becoming a fane of intemperance, he had there posted as landlord, he
hoped for many years to come, his old friend and benefactor, William
Watson. William Watson should protect the inn from riot, and they
themselves the groves and river banks from injury.

Long and loud were the applauses which this announcement occasioned. The
young people turned out upon the green for a dance, and in the evening,
after an excellent tea, the whole company descended the river to
Stockington in boats and barges decorated with boughs and flowers, and
singing a song made by William Watson for the occasion, called "The
Health of Sir Simon, last and first of his Line!"

Years have rolled on. The groves and river banks and islands of Rockville
are still greatly frequented, but are never known to be injured: poachers
are never known there, for four reasons. First, nobody would like to
annoy the good Sir Simon; secondly, game is not very numerous there;
thirdly, there is no fun in killing it, where there is no resistance; and
fourthly, it is vastly more abundant in other proprietors' demesnes, and
it is fun to kill it there, where it is jealously watched, and there is a
chance of a good spree with the keepers.

And with what different feelings does the good Sir Simon look down from
his lofty eyrie, over the princely expanse of meadows, and over the
glittering river, and over the stately woods to where Great Stockington
still stretches farther and farther its red brick walls, its red-tiled
roofs, and its tall smoke-vomiting chimneys. There he sees no haunts of
crowded enemies to himself or any man. No upstarts, nor envious
opponents, but a past family of human beings, all toiling for th