1857. 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



363 



when the trees were leafless and the air chill ; we 

 came into the harbor of Liverpool, in a day bright 

 and warm, and the beautiful grounds opposite the 

 city were covered with verdure, and the trees were 

 loaded with foliage. I walked out immediately 

 from my hotel, alone, without a guide or particu- 

 lar object, to see green trees and hear the birds 

 sing once more, and forget the sea and the ship 

 which had been our prison for three long weeks. 

 I came, by accident or instinct, upon a beautiful 

 spot, known as St. Jamoo's Cemetery. A hedge of 

 hawthorn, close and green and carefully cut, sur- 

 rounded it. I walked through the spacious avenue 

 of trees and flowering shrubs ; it was almost even- 

 ing, and a thousand small birds were singing their 

 vesper hymns. In the tops of the old oaks were 

 hundreds of rooks, cawing and hopping about, and 

 occasionally, in a flock of fifty or more, wheeling off 

 into the air, and back to their nests again. Under- 

 neath the spreading branches a group of merry 

 children were playing, two little girls swinging a 

 rope for a third to jump. I stopped and listened a 

 moment to their sweet voices, and passed on. In 

 front of a church was a smooth shaven lawn, starred 

 all over, like the blue vault at night, with a little 

 flower I had never seen before. *'Are those the 

 English daisy?" I asked of a gentleman who was 

 passing. "Certainly, sir, they are," he replied, 

 "you must be a stranger in the country, not to 

 know the daisy." "This is my first day in Europe," 

 I replied; and then I told him I was an American, 

 and without further introduction, he proposed to 

 walk with me over the city, and we walked and 

 talked until the light of day was gone, and then I 

 sought my hotel. I was awakened at the dawning 

 of the day, by the song of a bird near my window, 

 which was partly open, a song which I had never 

 heard before, but 1 knew in an instant that it was 

 the note I had always longed to hear, that of the 

 sky-lark, the morning songster of the old English 

 poets, whose praises are so exquisitely sung by the 

 poet Shelley. They proved, on inquirj-, to be caged 

 birds hanging under my window, which still greet- 

 ed the dawn with their joyous song, though they 

 could not rise to meet the rays of the sun before 

 they touch the earth. 



"Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings." 



I shall hear them in their native homes before I 

 see my own again. 



I might tell of the famous docks at Liverpool, of 

 my visit to the old town of Chester, and attending 

 service on the Sabbath there at the old cathedral, 

 more than a thousand years old — of the walls 

 which surround the town, built of stone, from twen- 

 ty to forty feet high, and eight or ten in thickness, 

 and about two miles in circumference, but I should 

 never end my letter, were I to more than hint at 

 these subjects. 



At Chester, I met with two gentlemen from Lin- 

 colnshire, two fine specimens of English farmers, 

 men whom I hope to find representatives of a large 

 class of Englishmen. We made acquaintance in 

 the railway "carriages," as our cars are called here. 

 Finding they were close observers of the agricul- 

 ture of the route on which we were travelling, I, 

 without hesitation, introduced myself to them as 

 an American desirous of gaining information on 

 agriculture in England. 



Now, we at home ai'e in the habit of regarding 

 Englishmen as especially reserved and unsocial. I 

 have read cf one who gave as a reason for not res- 

 cuing another from drowning that he had not been 

 introduced to him. 



My first impressions, upon personal experience, 

 merely, would be that they were the most social, 

 open-hearted, accommodating people in Christen- 

 dom. The kindness of my new friends certainly 

 did much towards giving me this impression. Ws 

 dined together at the hotel, and they then informed 

 me that they were going for agricultural observation, 

 mainly, into North Wales, for a day or two, and in- 

 sisted that I should go with them. Although my 

 luggage had gone to London by express, excepting 

 a small travelling bag, and my costume was not 

 very captivating, I was rather pleased with the idea, 

 and when they mentioned the Vale of Llangallen as 

 their first stopping-place, I could resist no longer. 

 The old song, 



"While the maid of Llangallen smiles sweetly on me," 



decided the matter. Besides, Llangallen is on the 

 river Dee, and we have all heard the song, 



"The moon had climfced the highest hill 

 That rises o'er the source of Dee," 



and the hills on our rout, are famed for their jnc- 

 turesque beauty. So we took the train about twen- 

 ty miles through a beautiful country, across into 

 Wales. We saw fine fields of wheat, according to 

 my notions, but my Lincolnshire friends had a 

 much higher standard than I, on that point. Most 

 of the wheat in this country is drilled, and comes 

 up very even and regular. In. many fields, we saw 

 companies of women and children weeding the 

 wheat. It is considered bad husbandry to allow 

 any weeds to mature in the wheat crop, and my 

 friends were not sparing in their reprobation of 

 any tenant who allowed the wild turnip, or any 

 similar weed, to be seen among the wheat. We 

 noticed large fields if beans, in drills, carefully cul- 

 tivated by hand. They are much used all over 

 England for nearly all kinds of stock. Acres and 

 acres of peas are also to be seen, all along the lines 

 of the railway, the whole length of the two hundred 

 miles from Liverpool to London that I have trav- 

 elled. Vetches or tares are also much used, and 

 cut at this season for green fodder for horses and 

 cows. Upon all these crops, I shall have more to 



