2i8 Fotir-in-Hand in Britain. 



song to-day, " Cowden Knowes," and when he was done 

 Andrew immediately asked : " Whaur did ye get that ? 

 Ye didna get that out of a book! " 



Right, my boy. It was at his father's knee. Who 

 ever learnt a Scotch song out of books ? They are pos- 

 sessed of souls, these songs, to be caught only from 

 living lips. The bodies alone are to be found within 

 the bars. 



Passing Bolton we saw the first bowling green, sure 

 proof that we are getting northward, where every village 

 has its green and its bowling club, the ancient game of 

 bowls still offering to rural England attractions para- 

 mount to more modern sports. 



We lunched at Grisdalebrook, ten miles from Lan- 

 caster, which was to be our stopping-place. To-day's 

 drive was made fragrant by the scent of new-mown hay, 

 and we passed many bands of merry haymakers. When 

 Dickens pronounced no smell the best smell, he must 

 have momentarily forgotten that which so delighted us. 

 I do give up most of the so-called fine smells, but there 

 are a few better than Dickens's best, and surely that of to- 

 day is of them. We went into a Catholic church in one 

 of our strolls — for let it be remembered many a glorious 

 tramp we had — and the coach was rarely honored with 

 all the party when a chance to walk presented itself. 

 The requests posted upon the door of this church seemed 

 to carry one back a long way : 



" Of your charity pray for the soul of Rebecca Robinson, who 



