looked around us. The picturesque views were enchanting, and the sublime
grandeur of the beautiful oaks was most striking. We had been travelling
in Wales, where we had been delighted with the most romantic scenery;
but this park at Bow-wood possessed a richness and a luxuriance such as
we all declared we had never seen before; and the gravel road, the whole
of the mile through the park, was more like the neatest gravel walk in a
garden than a public carriage road. There was not a pebble the size of a
marble, not a leaf, a straw, or a blade of grass, the whole way; every
thing was kept up in the neatest and most perfect style that I ever saw.
We remarked to each other, as we passed along, that the Marquis must
have returned, as no servants would take such pains with a place in a
master's absence.

At length we drove up to the door, and upon inquiring of the porter
whether the Marquis was at home, he answered, "No;" that he was gone
into Wales, and not expected back for a month. We asked if we could see
the house? The answer was, that it was never shown to any one but
the Marquis's friends. My Berkshire friend smiled, and looking very
significantly said, "Well, Hunt, we have had a very pleasant drive, but
I told you how it would be; we may, therefore, as well turn round and
drive back again." I was about to put some other question to the porter,
when the housekeeper approached; an elegant, handsomely dressed matron,
who inquired, "Pray, Sir, is your name Hunt?" I, of course, answered her
in the affirmative; upon which she begged we would alight. She then rang
a bell, and desired the porter and another servant to take the carriages
round the yard, and put the horses in the stable, and take care of them.
She then informed us, that the Marquis had written home, to desire
that, if I came with my friends, we should be shewn the house, gardens,
grounds, cascade, and every thing at Bow-wood.