90 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND. 



cock. There are little, narrow windows in the steeple, and 

 swallows are flying in and out of them. Old weather-beaten 

 stone and mortar, glass, lead, iron, and matted ivy, but not a 

 splinter of wood or a daub of paint. Old England for ever ! 

 Amen. 



A mile or two more of such walking as before the shower, 

 and we came to a park gate. It was, with the lodges by its 

 side, neat, simple, and substantial. The park was a handsome 

 piece of old woods, but, as seen from the road, not remarkable. 

 We were told, however, that there was a grand old hall and 

 fine grounds a long ways within. Near the park there were 

 signs of an improving farmer : broad fields of mangel-wurzel 

 in drills ; large fields, partly divided by wire fences, within 

 which were large flocks of sheep; marks of recent under- 

 draining ; hedges trimmed square, and every thing neat, 

 straight, and business-like. 



As it grows dark we approach another village. The first 

 house on the left is an inn a low, two-story house of light 

 drab-coloured stone. A bunch of grapes (cast in iron) and a 

 lantern are hung out from it over the foot-path, and over 

 the front door is a square sign &quot; THE RED LION licensed 

 to sell foreign spirits and beer, to be drunk on the premises&quot; 

 We turn into a dark hall, and opening a door to the left, en 

 ter the kitchen. S^uch a kitchen ! You would not believe 

 me if I could describe how bright every thing is. You would 

 think the fireplace a show-model, for the very bars of the 

 grate are glistening. It is all glowing with red-hot coals ; a 

 bright brass tea-kettle swings and sings from a polished 

 steel crane hook, jack, and all like silver ; the brass coal 

 scuttle, tongs, shovel, and warming-pan are in a blazing glow, 

 and the walls and mantel-piece are covered with bright plate- 

 covers, and I know not what other metallic furniture, all bur 

 nished to the highest degree. 



