THE LAND OF BLACKBERRIES. 
123 
after the manner of school-boys and the ancients. At 
Goffers Oak we rest for the night, and enjoy that deli¬ 
cious slumber in a snowy bed which can only be enjoyed 
at a country inn in the land of Blackberries.^ 
The mornings are grey and misty at Blackberry time, 
so before venturing on the great expedition we have 
in view, let us be internally fortified with a good break¬ 
fast. The fragrant coffee tickles the sense until the 
nose seems to laugh at the conceit, and the palate, 
beguiled by the bland richness of the fresh butter and 
new-laid eggs, threatens to forget the anticipations 
of more Blackberries. 
We are away at last, upon the roadside, gathering as 
we go from the brambles that skirt the pathways. Away 
with conventionalities; fling away the books; and let us 
for the present live for Blackberries. The berries are as 
black as death, and as delicious as the first kiss of a fond 
lover. There they hang like sugary showers of healing 
and delectable manna ; hatless, on tiptoe, forgetting 
drawing-room and parlour courtesy, scorning etiquette 
and the doctrine of appearances, and like children in our 
aboriginal wildness, we gather and eat, we eat and gather. 
Satisfied, we walk on, and take the path to the left, 
which leads to “Newgate Street” and “Little Berk- 
* Goffe’s Oak stands on Cheshunt Common, overlooking the 
ancient lands of Guffley, and commanding a splendid panorama of 
hill country beyond. The tree from which the inn takes its name, 
is an ancient oak planted in the reign of William the Conqueror, 
and which is now a hollow ruin, though still bearing a head of 
foliage. The inn is one of the best samples which remain of the 
“ Good Old Time,” and still preserves the English characteristics 
of female beauty, domestic comfort, and hearty good cheer. 
