Clumps of elms and oaks dot over the huge green flat.

Every one of them would have been down long since, but that the Marquis is not allowed to cut the timber.
Up that long avenue the Snobographer walked in solitude.

At the seventy-ninth tree on the left-hand side, the insolvent butcher hanged himself.

I scarcely wondered at the dismal deed, so woful and sad were the impressions connected with the place.

So, for a mile and a half I walked--alone and thinking of death.
I forgot to say the house is in full view all the way--except when intercepted by the trees on the miserable island in the lake--an enormous red-brick mansion, square, vast, and dingy.