The OBELISK stands Proudly Overlooking my Park, Readers. It is Beautiful, though Perhaps not So Beautiful as it May have been. It is Tall, though Indeed not So Very Tall as Others. It is Girthy, but Alas, not Enough to house a Secret Room. It descends Only a Short Distance Underground, Sufficient for its Foundation.
But O! my Readers! Every Side of this OBELISK is Inscribed with Runes, Ancient Incantations, and Histories Heretofore Unknown. On Clear Evenings the Wind seems to whisper of Forgotten Things, of Promises Made Between Persons Long Since Parted from this Life.
My Nieces are Quite Annoyed by the Whole Affair. They have united Against Me to declare we must depart for London, Bath, or Some Other Such Fashionable Locale. While I have been Persuaded a Change could suit, I feel Fashion and Diversion are not All One should seek on One's Travels.