88 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND. 



frocked, red-headed, wool-hatted carter breeches, stockings, 

 hob-nailed shoes, and &quot; Gee-up Dobbin&quot; English carter. Little 

 birds hop along in the road before us, and we guess at their 

 names, first of all electing one to be Robin-Redbreast. We 

 study the flowers under the hedge, and determine them 

 nothing else than primroses and buttercups. Through the 

 gates we admire the great, fat, clean-licked, contented-faced 

 cows, and large, white, long-wooled sheep. What else was 

 there ? I cannot remember ; but there was that altogether 

 that made us forget our fatigue, disregard the rain, thought 

 less of the way we were going serious, happy, and grateful. 

 And this excitement continued for many days. 



At length as it becomes drenching again, we approach a 

 stone spire. A stone house interrupts our view in front ; the 

 road winds round it, between it and another ; turns again, 

 and there on our left is the churchthe old ivy-covered, 

 brown-stone village church, with the yew-tree we knew it 

 at once, and the heaped-up, green, old English churchyard. 

 We turn to the right ; there is the old ale-house, long, low, 

 thatched-roofed. We run in at the open door ; there he sits, 

 the same bluff and hearty old fellow, with the long-stemmed 

 pipe and the foaming pewter mug on the little table before 

 him. At the same moment with us comes in another man. 

 He drops in a seat raps with his whip. Enter a young 

 woman, neat and trim, with exactly -the white cap, smooth 

 hair, shiny face, bright eyes, and red cheeks, we are looking 

 for &quot; Muggoyail, lass /&quot; 



_* -.. . . Mug of ale ! ay, that s it! Mug of 

 ale ! Fill up ! Fill up ! and the toast shall be 

 &quot;MERRIE ENGLAND ! HURRAH !&quot; 



We sit with them for some time, and between puffs of 

 smoke, the talk is of &quot; the weather and the crops.&quot; The maid 



