KIDD'S OWN JOURNAL. 



327 



AN AFTERNOON RAMBLE,— 

 A SKETCH FROM NATURE. 



A CIRCUMSTANCE, unimportant in itself, 

 obliged me some considerable time since, to 

 stop for the night in a small village remote from 

 any of the great roads. After refreshing 

 myself in mine inn, after the usual manner 

 of travellers, I began to reconnoitre the 

 locality in which fate had cast my lot for 

 the next twelve hours. It was an ancient 

 hostelry, called "The Leather Bottle ; " 

 beneath its faded sign an inscription denoted 

 that the house was kept by Millicent Gilly- 

 flower, a widow. A great, obtrusive-look- 

 ing bow-window, gave the place an air of 

 consequence above that of the surrounding 

 tenements ; and there was a little enclosed 

 green on one side, intended for playing at 

 bowls. In one corner of this green stood 

 several benches and a rustic arbour ; and in 

 another reposed the body of an old yellow 

 post-chaise of the most ancient fashion. 



The wheels had long trundled themselves 

 away, and had been replaced by four low 

 posts, upon which stood this veteran of the 

 roads, like some Greenwich pensioner rest- 

 ing upon his wooden legs. The interior had 

 been converted by the ingenuity of Mistress 

 Gillyflower into a resting-place for her 

 feathered subjects ; the upper part being 

 fitted up with perches, whilst from below 

 two fierce-looking hens stretched out their 

 necks, and threatened to peck at the eyes of 

 all those who were rash enough to look 

 under the seat. Beyond this enclosure was 

 the little garden, the especial pride and care 

 of the hostess. The entrance to it was 

 guarded by two tall yew-trees, cut into the 

 shape of pepper-castors, which stood like 

 sentries on each side of the gate. 



The garden was kept with the utmost 

 neatness, and was gay with summer flowers. 

 It did my heart good to look at them, for 

 there I recognised many old friends which 

 are now banished from modern gardens : 

 there were goodly plots of camomile, and 

 rosemary, and rue, and pennyroyal, inter- 

 spersed with the livelier hues of " love lies 

 bleeding," " Venus 1 looking-glass," and " the 

 devil in the bush." There the " Star of 

 Bethlehem" reared its spiral bloom, and 

 there flourished the stately sunflower. Com- 

 mend me to a well-grown sunflower, with 

 his jolly round face, that one can see out of 

 the parlor window ! Having selected a 

 fine clove pink for the ornamenting of my 

 waistcoat, I sauntered forth into the village 

 to pass away the evening till bed-time. My 

 arrival seemed to have caused a consider- 

 able sensation, for the whole population of 

 the place, including, I believe, every cat 

 and dog, turned out to look at me. The 

 village was like most of its kind, a straggling 



collection of hovels, some old, some new, 

 some thatched, and some tiled ; most of them 

 were crowded with ragged and noisy chil- 

 dren, whilst some few were remarkable for 

 their neatness, and seemed the abode of 

 peace and happiness. 



" Here, at least," thought I, " dwell con- 

 tent and prosperity. Man seems in the 

 country to be of a different species from the 

 pale, care-worn beings of a crowded city; 

 he has leisure to pause from toil, to look 

 around him, and to feel conscious that he 

 exists for a noble purpose. What a relief 

 it is to turn one's back upon the great Baby- 

 lon, to lose sight of the pale-faced clerks 

 and eternal blue-bags, that haunt one in the 

 smoky purlieus of Lincoln's Inn." Many 

 were the smiling faces that peeped from be- 

 neath their snowy cap-borders to take a look 

 at the strange gentleman. A troop of bare- 

 legged urchins were wading through a 

 brook, engaged in the humane employment 

 of spearing minnows with a two-pronged 

 fork ; these also, abandoning their piscatory 

 sport, joined the retinue which had already 

 followed me from the door of the " Leather 

 Bottle." Thus escorted, I sauntered along 

 in my favorite attitude, my hands clasped 

 behind me under the tails of my coat, my 

 chin slightly elevated, my step deliberate 

 and measured as that of a village dominie. 

 After many stoppages, to muse upon what- 

 ever attracted my attention, I entered a 

 narrow lane, the approach to which was 

 guarded by a turnstile. A few yards further 

 stood a cottage which I wished to examine ; 

 for I was attracted towards it by a kind of 

 old-world appearance about the place. It 

 was built of wood, and plastered between 

 the beams with yellow clay, being construc- 

 ted after the fashion in which our ancestors 

 delighted ; the gables stood towards the 

 front, with their little diamond-paned win- 

 dows of coarse glass almost obscured by the 

 capacious eaves. 



According to the taste of former times, 

 the whole skeleton of the house was visible. 

 There were beams and uprights, and corner 

 pieces, and cross-trees, all formed of solid 

 oak, and intersecting the plaster in a lozenge- 

 like pattern. In front of the cottage was a 

 small enclosure, for it could scarcely be 

 called a garden ; here grew the stumps from 

 which some cabbages had been cut, and a 

 few stunted specimens of that vegetable ; 

 the whole of the floricultural department 

 was comprised in one large rose tree, which, 

 though old and cankered, was covered with 

 bloom; beyond this, there was no attempt at a 

 garden. Another object, however, very soon 

 engaged my attention, and this was a wicker 

 cage, containing a young blackbird, which 

 hung upon a nail near the window. It was 

 about five o'clock in the afternoon, and the 



