A Farmer’s Life 
heaths and corn-fields and tree-lined lanes and 
the courting couples of eighteenth-century Ash 
—from this dream of rural England—imagina- 
tion drifts off, I find (I only knew it on seeking 
the cause of a certain vague change of sentiment 
that had come over me for a second), to eighteenth- 
century Westminster. A touch of old London 
comes in—the London of John Gilpin. The 
age-long country sleep is awakened by the chatter 
of a City inn. A silver crown-piece I keep—a 
five-shilling piece—is what does it. ‘The coin, 
to be sure, was minted in the sixteen nineties— 
the last figure of its date has been worn down 
smooth. Yet it bears another date. For all 
across the image of King William III is engraved, 
in careful writing, the following inscription: 
“* Susanah (sic) Blackburn Born 16th Decr 1794 
given by R Martin Senr.”’ 
Who R. Martin, Senr. can have been it passes 
me to say. I never heard of him in any other 
connection; but surmise discovers in him an 
esteemed crony of Mr. or of Mrs. Blackburn. 
Now, the Susannah Blackburn of this gift was 
—my own grandmother; and so, thanks to this 
coin, I am reminded (almost unawares, as I have 
hinted) of that other element which tinged and 
probably invigorated the tradition in which John 
Smith grew up. The provincial outlook re- 
mained, Through his father’s family he received 
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