in the country for a race."

CHAPTER III.

No--that hallowed form is ne'er forgot
Which first love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory's waste.
'Twas odor fled
As soon as shed:
'Twas morning's winged dream;
'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream:
Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again
On life's dull stream.

Dr. Strickland and his pupil had been fairly ensconced, and for some
time past settled in the pretty, sunny rooms in the south wing of the
manor house. All the windows of the lower suite opened to the ground,
and overlooked and led into a Dutch flower garden, which, in accordance
with its name, was laid out in formal walks with high box borders on
each side, and stiffly-shaped flower beds of poppies, and tulips, and
marigolds, and clusters of monkshood, and the tall white lilies of
France, edged round with thyme and sweet basil. In the soft green turf,
were planted evergreen trees, which were cut and clipped into fantastic
shapes of peacocks, and pyramids, and cubes, and swans, and other
devices. Here and there were clumps of holly and yew, from the midst of
which some fawn or dryad, some Hebe or Flora, in Italian marble, had
long kept watch. Then there were the old cedars of Lebanon, with seats
encircling their great trunks, the ends of their long branches lying on
the grass, offering beneath them, rest and shade at any hour of the day.
The western side of the garden terminated in what was known as Lady
Dorothy's walk. A straight, long, gravel walk, bordered on either side
by a few feet of soft turf, and an avenue of yew trees two centuries
old. The small closely-growing foliage of these trees was so dense that
it formed a perpetual green wall, effectually shutting out all the
world, with the exception of the sun at noonday, and the stars and moon
at night. At the head of the walk was a sundial, and at the further end
a fountain. Not a great, noisy, conspicuous construction, suggestive of
the rush and turmoil of life, drowning in its splash all the sweet
sounds of bird and bee, and the marvelous music of nature, but a pure,
gentle, dainty little fountain, the sound of whose crystal drops, so
full of soothing and tenderness, fell upon the ear like the voice of the
one we love. Near the fountain was a rustic seat from which one might
look across the park with its forest trees,