glittering stone, it sparkled with its pinnacles in the sunshine as it
rose in strong relief against its verdant background. The winding valley,
which was studded, but not too closely studded, with clumps of old trees,
formed for a great extent on either side of the mansion a grassy demesne,
which was called the Lower Park; but it was a region bearing the name of
the Upper Park, that was the peculiar and most picturesque feature of this
splendid residence. The wooded heights that formed the valley were not, as
they appeared, a range of hills. Their crest was only the abrupt
termination of a vast and enclosed tableland, abounding in all the
qualities of the ancient chase: turf and trees, a wilderness of underwood,
and a vast spread of gorse and fern. The deer, that abounded, lived here
in a world as savage as themselves: trooping down in the evening to the
river. Some of them, indeed, were ever in sight of those who were in the
valley, and you might often observe various groups clustered on the green
heights above the mansion, the effect of which was most inspiriting and
graceful. Sometimes in the twilight, a solitary form, magnified by the
illusive hour, might be seen standing on the brink of the steep, large and
black against the clear sky.

We have endeavoured slightly to sketch St. Genevieve as it appeared to our
friends from Beaumanoir, winding into the valley the day after Mr. Lyle
had dined with them. The valley opened for about half-a-mile opposite the
mansion, which gave to the dwellers in it a view over an extensive and
richly-cultivated country. It was through this district that the party
from Beaumanoir had pursued their way. The first glance at the building,
its striking situation, its beautiful form, its brilliant colour, its
great extent, a gathering as it seemed of galleries, halls, and chapels,
mullioned windows, portals of clustered columns, and groups of airy
pinnacles and fretwork spires, called forth a general cry of wonder and of
praise.