Jrom tfje f&eart af tfje 



IN spite of old Burton's remark, " Who sees not a great dif- 

 ference between the Wolds of Lincolnshire and the Fens ? " it 

 may be feared that much popular ignorance exists on the point. 

 An impression prevails that there is no scenery in Lincolnshire, 

 and that its air is unhealthy. A glance at its farmers by the 

 covert side, when waiting for the fox to break, or its plough- 

 boys driving their horses afield, would dispel the latter illusion. 

 Could a townsman follow these plough-lads home, and watch 

 their consumption of bacon and dumplings, he would simply 

 be amazed. As for the former belief, not three miles from 

 where we write, rises a hill which commands a wide view over 

 a fair champaign country, in which at least twenty church- 

 towers can be counted. Beyond it, blue sky and a warm grey 

 sea melt into far-distant haze, while a suspicion of Yorkshire 

 and even the fine tower of Patrington, in Holderness, meets 

 the eye in that white bank, like a long line of cloud stretching 

 along to the left. Ruskin and De Wint have purged our eyes, 

 and taught us to see beauties in the flat fenland, did we care to 

 point them out at present. Sir C. Anderson rises to eloquence 

 at the view from the Cathedral towers, while Turner's brush, 

 or Seymour Haden's etching needle, might have dwelt lovingly 

 on " that very remarkable, and, in our opinion, unique view 

 from the bank at Burton Stather, broken by tussocks of rough 

 grass, and interspersed with old elders and picturesque thorns 

 and whins, among which the rabbits play and springs trickle, 

 lurking below the damp moss and tangled fern. There have 

 we often stood and watched the steamers, the varied sails of 



