er in scenting the air with delicious perfume. Some of these trees or
bushes were many yards round. Immense rhododendrons also flourished.
Exquisite and graceful trees rose above them; the laburnum, no longer in
bloom, acacias, and the lovely pepper tree. Standing out from a wealth
of blossom and verdure was an old well, surmounted by some ancient and
picturesque ironwork. Beyond it was a yet more ancient and picturesque
house of grey stone, an equally venerable flight of steps leading up to
the front entrance. The house was large, and whatever it might be now,
must once have fulfilled some ecclesiastical purpose. It occupied the
whole length of the large garden, the remainder being closed in by high
walls. Opposite, to the right, uprose the Bishop's palace, and beyond it
the lovely towers and spires of the cathedral.

It was one of those rare scenes very seldom met with, which plunge one
at once out of the world into an Arcadia beautiful as dreamland. We
stood and gazed, silent with rapture and admiration; threw
conventionality to the winds, forgot that we had no right here, and
wandered about, inhaling the scent of the flowers, luxuriating in their
rich colours, feasting our eyes and senses on all the old-world beauty
of architecture by which we were surrounded; carrying our sight upwards
to the blue skies and wondering if we had not been transported to some
paradise beyond the veiling. It was a Garden of Eden.

[Illustration: CHAPEL OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, ROSCOFF.]

Then suddenly at the open doorway of the house appeared a lady with a
wealth of white hair and a countenance full of the beauty of sweetness
and age. She was dignified, as became the owner of this fair domain, and
her rich robe rustled as she quietly descended the steps.

We now remembered ourselves and our intrusion, yet it was impossible to
retreat. We advanced bareheaded to make our humble apologies and sue for
grace.

The owner of this earthly paradise made us an elaborate curtsey that
surely she had learned at the Tuileries or Versailles in the bygone days
of an illustrious monarchy.

"Monsieur," she said, in a voice that was still full of melody, "do not
apologise; I see that you are strangers and foreigners, and you are
welcome. This garden might indeed entice anyone to enter. I have grown
old here, and my eyes are never tired of beholding the beauties of
Nature. In St. Pol we are favoured, you know, in possessing one of the
most fertile soi