Such a glorious sight on this May evening as made the lawyer's heart beat, though many years had passed since the fountain of poetry flowed for him.

The hawthorn and chestnut trees were all in flower; the maple and ash wore their most luxuriant foliage.

The grand old oaks in their leafy boughs concealed myriads of singing birds; underneath the shade of the trees, the blue hyacinths stretched out like the waves of the azure sea, the violets hid their modest heads, great golden primroses shone like stars from the midst of green leaves.

The air was sweet and warm; the music of the birds and the whispers of the wind were full of melody.
"A man possessed of all this," thought Mr.Forster again; "he must be mad." Then the carriage stopped before the grand entrance of one of the most magnificent mansions in England.

Ulverston Priory--whose beauty has been described, in prose and in verse, by pens more eloquent than mine.
"Is Lady Carruthers at home ?" asked Mr.Forster of the stately old butler.
"My lady is at home, sir." "Will you ask if it is convenient for me to see her?
I have come hastily from London on important business." With all the solemnity an old family retainer displays on such occasions, the butler led the way to the library.
"I will send your message to my lady at once, sir." He went away and soon returned.
"My lady is dressing, but she will be with you in a few minutes." He placed a decanter of the famous Ulverston sherry on the table, and withdrew.