musements than in the oldest counties
of England. As Harry said, the weather and business were probably chief
causes of the evil, while the inundation of French fashions and ideas
had helped to sustain it.

By the time Harry had concluded his lecture, and Karl had got in a
general and particular remonstrance, the one on behalf of all country
gentlemen, and the other on behalf of himself, they had nearly crossed
the broad river, and the boat was rapidly gliding into a small bay
surrounded by high wooded banks. The sun had gone down, and the
stillness of a summer evening had settled upon the scene; the swallows
skimmed along the smooth water, which the breeze no longer ruffled, and
from the distant sloops that now seemed sleeping on the calm surface,
Ashburner could plainly hear the voices of their crews. In a few moments
the men stopped rowing, and in another moment the boat grated on the
gravelly beach, and the party jumped out. Karl told the men when they
would return, and then they began clambering up a narrow path which
wound up the hill. Ashburner noticed a light skiff lying in the bay,
painted and fitted up with more than ordinary taste, and with light oars
that looked as though they were meant for a lady's hand. Soon the path
brought the little party to the top of the hill, which opened on clear
meadows, across which could be seen a plain white house, half hidden by
the old trees that were grouped around it. The Bensons seemed well
acquainted with every thing, for they led the way without hesitation,
till they reached what seemed to be a carriage-way from the house to the
public road, that could be seen not a great way off. Ashburner saw at a
glance, as they approached the house, that there was a mingling of old
things with new in a great deal that concerned it. While the edifice
itself was old, and among old trees that told its age far better than
the modern verandah which ran around it, or the white paint which
covered it, the approach to it had been laid out with more modern taste.
There could be seen the remnants of an old fence that had recently
bounded a road, innocent of windings, and regardful only of distance.
The trees along the carriage-way had not been set out long, and the
clumps scattered here and there, with a good deal of taste, were but
saplings, and more closely around the house were tall elms that had been
growing many a long year, and told plainly of ancient times and ideas.

Karl Benson led t