alike to be cherished and to be valued.
Under his auspices the garden of the fair Constance soon flourished:
his taste guided her pencil, and his voice accompanied her lute. Sir
Ratcliffe, too, thoroughly enjoyed his society: Glastonbury was with him
the only link, in life, between the present and the past. They talked
over old times together; and sorrowful recollections lost half their
bitterness, from the tenderness of his sympathetic reminiscences. Sir
Ratcliffe, too, was conscious of the value of such a companion for his
gifted wife. And Glastonbury, moreover, among his many accomplishments,
had the excellent quality of never being in the way. He was aware that
young people, and especially young lovers, are not averse sometimes to
being alone; and his friends, in his absence, never felt that he was
neglected, because his pursuits were so various and his resources so
numerous that they were sure he was employed and amused.

In the pleasaunce of Armine, at the termination of a long turfen avenue
of purple beeches, there was a turreted gate, flanked by round towers,
intended by Sir Ferdinand for one of the principal entrances of his
castle. Over the gate were small but convenient chambers, to which you
ascended by a winding stair-. case in one of the towers; the other was
a mere shell. It was sunset; the long vista gleamed in the dying rays,
that shed also a rich breadth of light over the bold and baronial arch.
Our friends had been examining the chambers, and Lady Armine, who was a
little wearied by the exertion, stood opposite the building, leaning on
her husband and his friend.

'A man might go far, and find a worse dwelling than that portal,' said
Glastonbury, musingly. 'Me-thinks life might glide away pleasantly
enough in those little rooms, with one's books and drawings, and this
noble avenue for a pensive stroll.'

'I wish to heaven, my dear Glastonbury, you would try the experiment,'
said Sir Ratcliffe.

'Ah! do, Mr. Glastonbury,' added Lady Armine, 'take pity upon us!'

'At any rate, it is not so dull as a cloister,' added Sir Ratcliffe;
'and say what they like, there is nothing like living among friends.'

'You would find me very troublesome,' replied Glastonbury, with a smile;
and then, turning the conversation, evidently more from embarrassment
than distaste, he remarked the singularity of the purple beeches.

Their origin was uncertain; but one circumstance is sure: that, before
another month had pa