86 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND. 



Over a hedge, a nice, new stone villa s with the gardener 

 shoving up the sashes of the conservatory, and the maids 

 tearing clothes from the drying-lines ; 



A bridge, with children shouting and waving hats ; 



A field of wheat, in drills as precisely straight, and in 

 earth as clean and finely-tilled, as if it were a garden-plant ; 



A bit of broad pasture, with colts and cows turning tail 

 to the squall ; long hills in the back, with some trees and a 

 steeple rising beyond them ; 



Another few minutes of green bank ; 



A jerk a stop. A gruff shout, &quot;BROMBRO!&quot; A great 

 fuss to get the window on the other side from us open ; call 

 ing the conductor ; having the door unlocked ; squeezing 

 through the ladies knees, and dragging our packs over their 

 laps all borne with a composure that thews them to be used 

 to it, and that they take it as a necessary evil of railroad 

 travelling. The preparations for rain are just completed as 

 we emerge upon a platform, and now down it comes in a 

 torrent. We rush, with a quantity of floating muslin, white 

 ankles, and thin shoes, under an arch. With a sharp whistle 

 and hoarse puffing the train rumbles onward ; grooms pick 

 up the lap-dog and baskets; flaunting white skirts are 

 moved again across the track ; another rush, in which a 

 diminutive French sun-shade is assisted by a New York um 

 brella to protect a new English bonnet ; a graceful bow m 

 return, with lifting eyebrows, as if in inquiry ; and we are 

 altogether crowded in the station-house. 



In a few minutes they go off in carriages, and room is left 

 us in the little waiting-room to strap on our knapsacks. The 

 rain slackens ceases, and we mount, by stone steps up a 

 bank of roses and closely-shaven turf, to the top of the bridge 

 over the cutting. 



There we were right in the midst of it ! The country 



