96 AN AMERICAN FARMER IN ENGLAND. 



Ethcfleda. Who was she? She was "the queen" here a thou- 

 sand years ago, I believe ; you'll be shown her great-grandmother's 

 cradle somewhere about town probably. 



Just above is another bridge. What a fine arch. Yes ; the 

 widest in the world, it is said. That was not built by a queen ; 

 but a little girl was the first to cross it, who afterwards " devel- 

 oped" into "her most gracious Majesty, Victoria, whom God long 

 preserve," as the loyal guide-book hath it. 



" . . . . Poor fellow ! he is very lame." 

 " Probably an impostor, sir ; don't encourage him." 

 " He asks a penny to keep him from starving ; his son has not 

 been able to get work lately, or he would not let him beg." 



" There's enough work for him if he really wants it ; it's what 

 they all say. Give a ha'penny, then, and be rid of him. Now, look 

 over there, between the trees, and see the entrance to the Marquis 

 of Westminster's Park." A great, fresh pile of bombastic towers 

 and battlements to flank a gate and protect the woman who opens 

 it from rain and frost. It is but recently finished, and costs, 

 says the printer, 10,000. 



What says the beggar ? Free trade and the Irish have cut 

 down wages, since he used to work on the farms, from five shil- 

 lings to eighteen pence. 



He reasserts it. He has stood himself at Chester Cross on the 

 market day, and refused to work for four-and-sixpence, and all 

 the beer he could drink. It may be true the printer tells us ; 

 in the old Bonaparte years, in harvest time, it was not unlikely 

 to have been so. With wheat at a guinea a bushel, the farmers 

 did not have the worst of it. Soldiers can't reap, but they must 

 eat. The government borrowed money to give the farmers for 

 supporting the war, and now the farmers are paying the debt. 



