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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1eb3038 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65900 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65900) diff --git a/old/65900-0.txt b/old/65900-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9e1629a..0000000 --- a/old/65900-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12804 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Over Fen and Wold, by James John Hissey - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Over Fen and Wold - -Author: James John Hissey - -Release Date: July 23, 2021 [eBook #65900] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER FEN AND WOLD *** - - - - - OVER FEN AND WOLD - - [Illustration] - - [Illustration: A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY MANOR-HOUSE.] - - - - - Over Fen and Wold - - - BY - - JAMES JOHN HISSEY - - AUTHOR OF ‘A DRIVE THROUGH ENGLAND,’ ‘ON THE BOX SEAT,’ - ‘THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES,’ ‘ON SOUTHERN ENGLISH ROADS,’ ETC. - - Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, - Healthy, free, the world before me, - The long brown road before me leading wherever I choose. - WHITMAN. - - WITH FOURTEEN FULL PAGE (AND SOME SMALLER) ILLUSTRATIONS - BY THE AUTHOR - - AND A MAP OF THE ROUTE - - - London - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1898 - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - DEDICATED - - TO THE MOST CHERISHED MEMORY OF - - MY ONE-YEAR-OLD SON - - WILLIAM AVERELL HISSEY - - Darling, if Jesus rose, - Then thou in God’s sweet strength hast risen as well; - When o’er thy brow the solemn darkness fell, - It was but one moment of repose. - - Thy love is mine--my deathless love to thee! - May God’s love guard us till all death is o’er,-- - Till thine eyes meet my sorrowing eyes once more,-- - Then guard us still, through all eternity! - - - - -[Illustration: A HOME OF TO-DAY.] - - - - -PREFACE - - -The following pages contain the chronicle of a leisurely and most -enjoyable driving tour through a portion of Eastern England little -esteemed and almost wholly, if not quite, neglected by the average -tourist, for Lincolnshire is generally deemed to be a flat land, mostly -consisting of Fens, and with but small, or no scenic attractions. We, -however, found Lincolnshire to be a country of hills as well as of Fens, -and we were charmed with the scenery thereof, which is none the less -beautiful because neither famed nor fashionable. Some day it may become -both. Lincolnshire scenery awaits discovery! Hitherto the -pleasure-traveller has not found it out, but that is his loss! - -We set forth on our tour, like the renowned Dr. Syntax, “in search of -the picturesque,” combined with holiday relaxation, and in neither -respect did we suffer disappointment. Our tour was an unqualified -success. A more delightfully independent, a more restful, or a more -remunerative way of seeing the country than by driving through it, -without haste or any precisely arranged plan, it is difficult to -conceive, ensuring, as such an expedition does, perfect freedom, and a -happy escape from the many minor worries of ordinary travel--the only -thing absolutely needful for the driving tourist to do being to find an -inn for the night. - -Writing of the joys of road-travel in the pre-railway days George Eliot -says, “You have not the best of it in all things, O youngsters! The -elderly man has his enviable memories, and not the least of them is the -memory of a long journey on the outside of a stage-coach.” The railway -is most excellent for speed, “but the slow old-fashioned way of getting -from one end of the country to the other is the better thing to have in -the memory. The happy outside coach-passenger, seated on the box from -the dawn to the gloaming, gathered enough stories of English life, -enough aspects of earth and sky, to make episodes for a modern Odyssey.” -And so did we seated in our own dog-cart, more to be envied even than -the summer-time coach-passenger, for we had full command over our -conveyance, so that we could stop on the way, loiter, or make haste, as -the mood inclined. - -Sir Edwin Arnold says, “This world we live in is becoming sadly -monotonous, as it shrinks year by year to smaller and smaller apparent -dimensions under the rapid movement provided by limited passenger trains -and swift ocean steamships.” Well, by driving one enlarges the apparent -size of the world, for, as John Burrough puts it, “When you get into a -railway carriage you want a continent, but the man in his carriage -requires only a county.” Very true, moreover the man who steams round -the world may see less than the man who merely drives round about an -English county: the former is simply conveyed, the latter travels--a -distinction with a vast difference! - -In conclusion, I have only to express the hope that the illustrations -herewith, engraved on wood from my sketches by Mr. George Pearson (to -whom I tender my thanks for the pains he has taken in their -reproduction), may lend an added interest to this unvarnished record of -a most delightful and health-giving holiday. - - J. J. HISSEY. - -1898. - - - - -[Illustration: SOMERSBY CHURCH AND CROSS.] - - - - -CONTENTS - - -CHAPTER I - - PAGE - -The planning of our tour--Ready for the road--The start--One of -Dick Turpin’s haunts--Barnet--A curious inn sign--In the coaching -days--Travellers, new and old--A forgotten Spa--An ancient map 1 - - -CHAPTER II - -Memorial of a great battle--An ancient fire-cresset--Free -feasting!--Country quiet--Travellers’ Tales--Hatfield--An -Elizabethan architect--An author’s tomb--Day-dreaming--Mysterious -roadside monuments--Great North Road _versus_ Great Northern -Railway--Stevenage--Chats by the way--Field life--Nature as a -painter--Changed times 21 - -CHAPTER III - -A gipsy encampment--A puzzling matter--Farming and farmers, past -and present--An ancient market-town--A picturesque bit of old-world -architecture--Gleaners--Time’s changes--A house in two counties--A -wayside inn--The commercial value of the picturesque 41 - - -CHAPTER IV - -Biggleswade--“Instituted” or “intruded”!--A poetical will--The river -Ivel--A day to be remembered--The art of seeing--Misquotations--The -striving after beauty--Stories in stone--An ancient muniment chest--An -angler’s haunt--The town bridge--The pronunciation of names--St. -Neots 58 - - -CHAPTER V - -The charm of small towns--The Ouse--A pleasant land--Buckden -Palace--A joke in stone--The birthplace of Samuel Pepys--Buried -treasure--Huntingdon--An old-time interior--A famous coaching inn--St. -Ives--A church steeple blown down!--A quaint and ancient bridge--A -riverside ramble--Cowper’s country--Two narrow escapes 73 - - -CHAPTER VI - -Cromwell’s birthplace--Records of the past--Early photographs--A -breezy day--Home-brewed ale--Americans on English scenery--Alconbury -Hill--The plains of Cambridgeshire--The silence of Nature--Stilton--A -decayed coaching town--A medieval hostelry--A big sign-board--Old-world -traditions--Miles from anywhere 97 - -CHAPTER VII - -Norman Cross--A Norman-French inscription--A re-headed statue--The -friendliness of the road--The art of being delightful--The turnpike -roads in their glory--Bits for the curious--A story of the -stocks--“Wansford in England”--Romance and reality--The glamour -of art--“The finest street between London and Edinburgh”--Ancient -“Callises”--A historic inn--Windows that have tales to tell 118 - - -CHAPTER VIII - -A picturesque ruin--Round about Stamford--Browne’s “Callis”--A chat -with an antiquary--A quaint interior--“Bull-running”--A relic of a -destroyed college--An old Carmelite gateway--A freak of Nature--Where -Charles I. last slept as a free man--A storied ceiling--A gleaner’s -bell--St. Leonard’s Priory--Tennyson’s county--In time of vexation--A -flood--Hiding-holes--Lost!--Memorials of the past 139 - - -CHAPTER IX - -A land of dykes--Fenland rivers--Crowland Abbey--A unique triangular -bridge--Antiquaries differ--A mysterious statue--A medieval rhyme--A -wayside inscription--The scenery of the Fens--Light-hearted -travellers--Cowbit--A desolate spot--An adventure on the road--A -Dutch-like town 161 - - -CHAPTER X - -Spalding--“Ye Olde White Horse Inne”--An ancient hall and quaint -garden--Epitaph-hunting--A signboard joke--Across the Fens--A strange -world--Storm and sunshine--An awkward predicament--Bourn--Birthplace -of Hereward the Wake--A medieval railway station!--Tombstone -verses 186 - -CHAPTER XI - -A pleasant road--Memories--Shortening of names--Health-drinking--A -Miller and his mill--A rail-less town--Changed times and changed -ways--An Elizabethan church clock--A curious coincidence--Old -superstitions--Satire in carving--“The Monks of Old” 204 - - -CHAPTER XII - -A civil tramp--Country hospitality--Sleaford--A Lincolnshire -saying--A sixteenth-century vicarage--Struck by lightning--“The -Queen of Villages”--A sculptured anachronism--Swineshead--A strange -legend--Local proverbs--Chat with a “commercial”--A mission of -destruction--The curfew--Lost our way--Out of the beaten track--A -grotesque figure and mysterious legend--Puzzling inscriptions--The end -of a long day 226 - - -CHAPTER XIII - -The Fenland capital--Mother and daughter towns--“Boston stump”--One -church built over another--The company at our inn--A desultory -ramble--An ancient prison--The Pilgrim Fathers--The banks of the -Witham--Hussey Tower--An English Arcadia--Kyme Castle--Benington--A -country of many churches--Wrangle--In search of a ghost--A remote -village--Gargoyles--The grotesque in art 248 - - -CHAPTER XIV - -Wind-blown trees--Marshlands--September weather--Wainfleet--An -ancient school--The scent of the sea--The rehabilitation of the -old-fashioned ghost--A Lincolnshire mystery--A vain search--Too much -alike--Delightfully indefinite--Halton Holgate--In quest of a haunted -house 268 - -CHAPTER XV - -In a haunted house--A strange story--A ghost described!--An offer -declined--Market-day in a market-town--A picturesque crowd--Tombs of -ancient warriors--An old tradition--Popular errors--A chat by the -way--The modern Puritan--A forgotten battle-ground--At the sign of the -“Bull” 288 - - -CHAPTER XVI - -Six hilly miles--A vision for a pilgrim--The scenery of the -Wolds--Poets’ dreams _versus_ realities--Tennyson’s brook--Somersby--An -out-of-the-world spot--Tennyson-land--A historic home--A unique relic -of the past--An ancient moated grange--Traditions 309 - - -CHAPTER XVII - -A decayed fane--Birds in church--An old manorial hall--Curious -creations of the carver’s brain--The grotesque _in excelsis_--The old -formal garden--Sketching from memory--The beauty of the Wolds--Lovely -Lincolnshire!--Advice heeded!--A great character--A headless -horseman--Extremes meet--“All’s well that ends well” 329 - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -A friend in a strange land--Horse sold in a church--A sport of the -past--Racing the moon!--Facts for the curious--The Champions of -England--Scrivelsby Court--Brush magic--Coronation cups--A unique -privilege--A blundering inscription--A headless body--Nine miles -of beauty--Wragby--At Lincoln--Guides and guide-books--An awkward -predicament 352 - -CHAPTER XIX - -“A precious piece of architecture”--Guest at an inn--A pleasant -city--Unexpected kindness--A medieval lavatory--An honest lawyer!--The -cost of obliging a stranger--Branston--A lost cyclist--In search of -a husband!--Dunston Pillar--An architectural puzzle--A Lincolnshire -spa--Exploring--An ancient chrismatory 372 - - -CHAPTER XX - -A long discourse--The origin of a coat-of-arms--An English -serf--A witch-stone--Lincolnshire folk-lore--A collar for -lunatics--St. Mary’s thistle--A notable robbery--An architectural -gem--Coningsby--Tattershall church and castle--Lowland and -upland--“Beckingham-behind-the-Times”--Old Lincolnshire folk 395 - - -CHAPTER XXI - -A cross-country road--A famous hill--Another medieval inn--“The -Drunken Sermon”--Bottesford--Staunton Hall--Old family deeds--A -chained library--Woolsthorpe manor-house--A great inventor!--Melton -Mowbray--Oakham--A quaint old manorial custom--Rockingham -Castle--Kirby 415 - - -CHAPTER XXII - -A well-preserved relic--An old English home--Authorities differ--Rooms -on the top of a Church tower--A medieval-looking town--A Saxon -tower--Bedford--Bunyan’s birthplace--Luton--The end of the -journey 436 - -APPENDIX 443 - -INDEX 445 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - -A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY MANOR-HOUSE _Frontispiece_ - -A HOME OF TO-DAY _Page_ vii - -SOMERSBY CHURCH AND CROSS " xi - -OLD BRASS CROMWELL CLOCK _To face page_ 1 - -ST. IVES BRIDGE _Page_ 1 - -A WAYSIDE INN _To face page_ 66 - -AN OLD COACHING INN: COURTYARD OF THE -GEORGE, HUNTINGDON " " 84 - -A MEDIEVAL HOSTELRY: THE BELL, STILTON " " 110 - -A QUIET COUNTRY ROAD " " 154 - -CROWLAND ABBEY " " 174 - -A FENLAND HOME " " 194 - -A BIT OF BOSTON " " 255 - -AN OLD-TIME FARMSTEAD " " 284 - -SOMERSBY RECTORY " " 318 - -SCRIVELSBY COURT " " 358 - -STIXWOLD FERRY " " 389 - -TATTERSHALL TOWER " " 406 - -WOOLSTHORPE MANOR-HOUSE " " 428 - -MAP OF ROUTE _End of book_ - -[Illustration: OLD BRASS CROMWELL CLOCK. - -_See page 8._ -] - - - - -[Illustration: ST. IVES BRIDGE. - -_See page 91._ -] - - - - -OVER FEN AND WOLD - - - - -CHAPTER I - - The planning of our tour--Ready for the road--The start--One of - Dick Turpin’s haunts--Barnet--A curious inn sign--In the coaching - days--Travellers, new and old--A forgotten Spa--An ancient map. - - -Our tour was planned one chilly winter’s evening: just a chance letter -originated the idea of exploring a portion of Lincolnshire during the -coming summer. Our project in embryo was to drive from London to that -more or less untravelled land of fen and wold by the old North Road, and -to return to our starting-point by another route, to be decided upon -when we had finished our Lincolnshire wanderings. It was in this wise. -The day had been wild and blustery, as drear a day indeed as an English -December well could make. A bullying “Nor’-Easter” had been blowing -savagely ever since the morning, by the evening it had increased to a -veritable storm, the hail and sleet were hurled against the windows of -our room, and the wind, as it came in fierce gusts, shook the casements -as though it would blow them in if it could. My wife and self were -chatting about former wanderings on wheels, trying fairly successfully -to forget all about the inclement weather without, each comfortably -ensconced in a real easychair within the ample ingle-nook of that cosy -chamber known to the household as “the snuggery”--a happy combination of -studio and library--the thick curtains were closely drawn across the -mullioned windows to exclude any possible draughts, the great wood fire -on the hearth (not one of your black coal fires in an iron grate -arrangement) blazed forth right merrily, the oak logs crackled in a -companionable way, throwing at the same time a ruddy glow into the room, -and the bright flames roared up the wide chimney ever and again with an -additional potency in response to extra vehement blasts without. - -“What a capital time,” I exclaimed, “to look over some of the sketches -we made during our last summer holiday; they will help us to recall the -long sunny days, those jolly days we spent in the country, and bring -back to mind many a pleasant spot and picturesque old home!” No sooner -was the idea expressed than I sought out sundry well-filled sketch-books -from the old oak corner cupboard devoted to our artistic belongings. -True magicians were those sketch-books, with a power superior even to -that - -[Sidenote: _REMINISCENCES_] - -of Prince Houssain’s carpet of _Arabian Nights_ renown, for by their aid -not only were we quickly transported to the distant shires, but we also -turned back the hand of Time to the genial summer days, and, in spirit, -were soon far away repeating our past rambles, afoot and awheel, along -the bracken-clad hillsides, over the smooth-turfed Downs, and across the -rugged, boulder-strewn moors, here purple with heather and there aglow -with golden gorse; anon we were strolling alongside the grassy banks of -a certain quiet gliding river beloved of anglers, and spanned, just at a -point where an artist would have placed it, by a hoary bridge built by -craftsmen dead and gone to dust long centuries ago. Then, bringing -forcibly to mind the old beloved coaching days, came a weather-stained -hostelry with its great sign-board still swinging as of yore on the top -of a high post, and bearing the representation--rude but effective--of a -ferocious-looking red lion that one well-remembered summer evening bade -us two tired and dust-stained travellers a hearty heraldic welcome. Next -we found ourselves wandering down a narrow valley made musical by a -little stream tumbling and gambolling over its rocky bed (for the -sketches revealed to the mind infinitely more than what the eye merely -saw, recalling Nature’s sweet melodies, her songs without words, as well -as her visible beauties; besides raising within one countless -half-forgotten memories)--a stream that turned the great green droning -wheel of an ancient water-mill, down to which on either hand gently -sloped the wooded hills, and amidst the foliage, half drowned in -greenery, we could discern at irregular intervals the red-tiled -rooftrees of lowly cottage homes peeping picturesquely forth. Then we -were transported to an old, time-grayed manor-house of many gables and -great stacks of clustering chimneys, its ivy-grown walls and -lichen-laden roof being backed by rook-haunted ancestral elms; the -ancient home, with its quaint, old-fashioned garden and reed-grown moat -encircling it, seemed, when we first came unexpectedly thereon, more -like the fond creation of a painter or a poet than a happy reality. - -“Don’t you remember,” said my wife, as we were looking at this last -drawing, “what a delightful day we spent there, and how the owner, when -he discovered us sketching, at once made friends with us and showed us -all over the dear old place, and how he delighted in the old armour in -the hall, and how he told us that his ancestors fought both at Crecy and -Agincourt--how nice it must be to have valiant ancestors like that!--and -don’t you remember that low-ceilinged, oak-panelled bed-chamber with the -leaden-lattice window, _the haunted room_, and how it looked its part; -and afterwards how the landlady of the village inn where we baited our -horses would have it that the ghost of a former squire who was murdered -by some one--or the ghost of somebody who was murdered by that squire, -she was not quite sure which--stalks about that very chamber every -night. And then there were the curiously-clipped yews on the terrace, -and the old carved sun-dial at the end of the long walk, and----” But -the last sentence was destined never to be finished, for at that moment -a knock came at the door, followed by a servant bringing in a letter all -moist and dripping, a trifling incident, that, however, sufficed to -transport us back again from our dreamy wanderings amongst sunny summer -scenes to that drear December night--our fireside travels came to an -abrupt end! - -[Sidenote: “_TRY LINCOLNSHIRE_”] - -“What a night for any one to be out,” I muttered, as I took the -proffered letter, glancing first at the handwriting, which was -unfamiliar, then at the postmark, which bore the name of a remote -Lincolnshire town, yet we knew no one in that whole wide county. Who -could the sender be? we queried. He proved to be an unknown friend, who -in a good-natured mood had written to suggest, in case we should be at a -loss for a fresh country to explore during the coming summer, that we -should try Lincolnshire; he further went on to remark, lest we should -labour under the popular and mistaken impression (which we did) that it -was a land more or less given over to “flats, fens and fogs,” that he -had visitors from London staying with him with their bicycles, who -complained loudly of the hills in his neighbourhood; furthermore, “just -to whet our appetites,” as he put it, there followed a tempting list, -“by way of sample,” of some of the good things scenic, antiquarian, and -archæological, that awaited us, should we only come. Amongst the -number--to enumerate only a few in chance order, and leaving out Lincoln -and its cathedral--there were Crowland’s ruined abbey, set away in the -heart of the Fens; numerous old churches, that by virtue of their -remoteness had the rare good fortune to have escaped the restorer’s -hands, and not a few of these, we were given to understand, contained -curious brasses and interesting tombs of knightly warriors and -unremembered worthies; Tattershall Castle, a glorious old pile, one of -the finest structures of the kind in the kingdom; the historic town of -Boston, with its famous fane and “stump” and Dutch-like waterways; -Stamford, erst the rival of Oxford and Cambridge, with its Jacobean -buildings, crumbling colleges, and quaint “Callises” or hospitals; -Grantham, with its wonderful church spire and genuine medieval hostelry, -dating back to the fifteenth century, that still offers entertainment to -the latter-day pilgrim, and, moreover, makes him “comfortable -exceedingly”; besides many an old coaching inn wherein to take our ease; -not to mention the picturesque villages and sleepy market-towns, all -innocent of the hand of the modern builder, nor the rambling -manor-houses with their unwritten histories, the many moated granges -with their unrecorded traditions, and perhaps not least, two really -haunted houses, possessing well-established ghosts. - -Then there was Tennyson’s birthplace at pretty Somersby, and the haunts -of his early life round about, the wild wolds he loved so and sang -of--the Highlands of Lincolnshire!--a dreamy land full of the -unconscious poetry of civilisation, primitive and picturesque, yet not -wholly unprogressive; a land where the fussy railway does not intrude, -and where the rush and stress of this bustling century has made no -visible impression; a land also where odd characters abound, and where -the wise sayings of their forefathers, old folk-lore, legends, and -strange superstitions linger yet; and last on the long list, and perhaps -not least in interest, there was the wide Fenland, full of its own -weird, but little understood beauties. Verily here was a tempting -programme! - -[Sidenote: _A TEMPTING PROGRAMME!_] - -Pondering over all these good things, we found ourselves wondering how -it was that we had never thought of Lincolnshire as fresh ground to -explore before. Did we not then call to mind what a most enjoyable tour -we had made through the little-esteemed Eastern Counties? though before -starting on that expedition we had been warned by friends--who had never -been there, by the way--that we should repent our resolve, as that -portion of England was flat, tame, and intensely uninteresting, having -nothing to show worth seeing, fit for farming and little else. Yet we -remembered that we discovered the Langton Hills on our very first day -out, and still retained a vivid impression of the glorious views -therefrom, and all the rest of the journey was replete with pleasant -surprises and scenic revelations. Truly we found the Land of the Broads -to be flat, but so full of character and special beauty as to attract -artists to paint it. “Therefore,” we exclaimed, “why should not -Lincolnshire prove equally interesting and beautiful?” Perhaps even, -like the once tourist-neglected Broads, the charms and picturesqueness -of Lincolnshire may some day be discovered, be guidebook-lauded as a -delightful holiday ground. Who knows? Besides, there was the drive -thither and back along the old coachroads to be remembered; that of -itself was sure to be rewarding. - -The letter set us a-thinking, and the special shelf in our little -library where sundry road-books and county maps are kept was searched -for a chart of Lincolnshire. We were soon deeply engrossed with books -and maps, and with their aid planned a very promising tour. By the time -the old brass Cromwell clock on the bracket in a corner of the -ingle-nook struck twelve we had finally decided, for good or ill, to try -Lincolnshire; already we found ourselves longing for the summer time to -come that we might be off! - -But for all our longings and schemings it was the first of September -before we actually set out on our journey; however, if this were -unkindly delayed by the Fates, to make amends for such delay it must be -confessed that they granted us perfect travellers’ weather, for during -almost the whole time we were away from home there was not a day either -too hot or too cold for open-air enjoyment, we had very little rain, and -plenty of sunshine. - -According to my experience, the month of September and the first week in -October are generally the finest times in the year in England. During -our journey we picked up, to us, many fresh bits of weather-lore and -old-folk sayings; these are always welcome, and one of them runs thus: -“It’s a foul year when there are not twenty fine days in September.” In -that month truly the days are growing gradually shorter, but, - -[Sidenote: _IN TRAVELLING ORDER_] - -on the other hand, the dust--that one fly in the ointment of the driving -tourist--is not so troublesome, indeed on this occasion it did not -trouble us at all, nor is the heat so oppressive, nor the light so -glaring as in July or August; and if the evenings draw in then, well, it -only means an early start to have still a good long day before one, and -the dusk coming on as you reach your night’s destination is a plausible -excuse for indulging in a homelike fire in your apartment; and what a -look of friendly familiarity a fire imparts to even a strange room, to -say nothing of the mellow glow of candles on the table where your meal -is spread! There is something indescribably cheery and suggestive of -comfort, cosiness, and taking your ease about a fire-warmed and -candle-lighted room! Truly there are certain compensating advantages in -the early evenings! Did not Charles Lamb, writing to a brother poet, -Bernard Barton, exclaim of July, “Deadly long are the days, these summer -all-day days, with but a half-hour’s candle-light and no fire-light at -all”? - -Now, kind reader, please picture in your mind’s eye our comfortable and -roomy dog-cart, carefully packed with all our necessary baggage, rugs, -and waterproofs, the latter in case of cold or wet; our sketching and -photographic paraphernalia; and even every luxury that long experience, -gleaned from many former expeditions of a like nature, could suggest; -not forgetting a plentiful supply of good tobacco of our favourite -mixture, nor yet books to beguile a possible dull hour, which, however, -never occurred. Amongst the books was a copy of Kingsley’s _Hereward -the Wake_, as this treats of the Fenland heroes, as well as describes -much of the lowland scenery of Lincolnshire. When I add that we included -in our “kit” a supply of candles in case the light at some of the -country inns should be too poor to read or write by comfortably, I think -it may be taken for granted that nothing was forgotten that would in any -way add to our ease or pleasure. It is astonishing how materially the -thought of such apparent trifles adds to the enjoyment of an outing like -ours. Even a good field-glass enhances the interest of a wide prospect, -such as is continually met with during a lengthened driving tour, by -enabling one the better to make out any special feature in the distant -panorama. - -Being thus prepared for the road, one cloudy September morning found us -driving slowly out of the vast conglomeration of smoke-stained bricks -and mortar that go to make the city--or county is it?--of London. -Passing the Marble Arch, we reached the Edgware Road, up which we turned -our horses’ heads, bound first for Barnet, taking Finchley on the way, -and striking the Great North Road just beyond the latter place, which -famous old coaching and posting highway we proposed to follow right on -to “Stamford town” in Lincolnshire. - -The morning was warm, cloudy, and rainless, though there had been a -prolonged downpour during the night, but the barometer was happily on -the rise, the “Forecast” in the paper prophesied only occasional -showers, and we gladly noted that - -[Sidenote: _THE FREEDOM OF THE ROAD_] - -there were frequent patches of blue showing through the cloud-rifts -above; all of which points taken together gave promise of improved -meteorological conditions, so that, in spite of the dulness of the -moment, we drove along in the most optimist of moods, firm in the belief -that the day would turn out fine; but fine or wet, we set forth on -pleasure bent with a fixed determination, come what might in the shape -of weather, to enjoy ourselves, and it would have taken a good deal more -than a few showers just then to damp our jubilant holiday spirits. - -No children fresh from school could have felt “jollier” than we did on -that memorable morning, at perfect liberty to wander whither we would, -masters of our conveyance, with no anxiety as to luggage, bound by no -tiresome time-tables, but departing and arriving at pleasure, stopping -here and there when anything of interest attracted our attention, -loitering by the way or hastening along at our own sweet pleasure: the -freedom of the road was ours, more desirable to us than the freedom of -any city, however great that city might be; and the former is to be had -by all, and the latter is only for the favoured few! - -Now, kind reader, if you will permit me to call you so once more, as at -last we really have started on our tour, I take the opportunity to crave -your welcome company, and cordially invite you in spirit to mount on to -the box-seat and join us in our pleasant pilgrimage along the highways -and byways of this little-travelled corner of Old England, and allow me -to do the honours of the country as we pass through it, and for the -nonce to act the part of “guide, philosopher, and friend.” - -For the first few miles it was a getting-out-of-town all the way; houses -and villas lined the road more or less, with tantalising peeps -between--peeps ever growing wider and more frequent--of the greenful -country stretching away to the blue horizon beyond, a beyond that looked -very alluring to our town-tired eyes. We drove on apace, for we found -nothing to specially interest or detain us till we reached Barnet; we -felt only anxious to escape as speedily as possible from the -ever-spreading domain of bricks and mortar, and to reach the real open -country, where pleasant footpaths take the place of the hard pavements, -and fragrant hedgerows, verdurous meadows, and tilled fields with their -green and golden crops that of houses raised by the speculative -builder--to sell. How much better was the old system of men building -their own homes to live in! The speculative builder is the unhappy -product of a progressive (?) century; he perhaps is responsible for the -uglification of London more than aught else, and, alas! is still adding -to it. - -Passing through the once rural hamlet of Whetstone, it was difficult to -realise that this now frequented spot was erst the favourite -hunting-ground of that famous (or infamous, if you will) -arch-highwayman, Dick Turpin. Great indeed was the terror inspired by -his name, for it is recorded that many a Scotch nobleman, squire, and -merchant of the period, having occasion to go from Edinburgh to London -or _vice versa_, - -[Sidenote: _A POPULAR SIGN_] - -actually preferred to risk the dangers and suffer the certain -discomforts of the then tedious sea voyage between those places, rather -than face the possibility of meeting with Master Turpin--lord of the -road from London to York! A driving tour would have afforded plenty of -excitement in those days, though I shall ever maintain that -adventures--and this from personal experiences of such with Indians, -bears, and rattlesnakes, whilst exploring the wild forests and mountains -of far-off California--are vastly better to read about than to -experience. Adventures are excellent things to relate to your friends in -after-dinner talk, if you can only get them to take you seriously! - -Arriving at Barnet, we pulled up at the “Red Lion,” and rested there to -bait our horses. The sign of the inn--perhaps the most popular of all -English signs--was not painted on a board and upheld by a post, as so -frequently obtains in old-fashioned hostelries such as this; but the -lion was carved in wood, and skilfully carved too, whilst to add to his -dignity we found him rejoicing in a fresh coat of vermilion, and still -further to attract the wayfarer’s attention he was supported upon a -wrought-iron bracket that projected right over the pavement. This sign, -standing thus boldly aloft on its great bracket, was a point of interest -in the everyday street for the eye to dwell upon--an interest emphasised -by past-time associations, for thus, before the coming of the iron -horse, had it greeted our inn-loving forefathers when journeying this -way, and in a pleasantly defiant manner bade them stop and take their -ease; not that they needed much pressing to do so, for did not the -worthy Dr. Johnson, when posting across country, frequently exclaim, -“Here is an inn; let us rest awhile”? But that was in the leisurely days -gone by when mortals had more time to call their own. I have often -wondered, could he be conjured back to life again, what the worthy -doctor would think of present-time ways, what he would say of the -railways, but above all, what his opinion would be of the huge company -hotel, where he would find his individuality merged in a mere number. I -trow he would prefer his comfortable tavern, where he could have his -quiet talk--and listeners. - -I find, by referring to some ancient and valued road-books in my -possession, that the two chief inns of the coaching age at Barnet were -the “Red Lion” and the “Green Man,” each patronised by rival coaches. -The latter sign I imagine, judging from the frequent mention of it in -the same authorities, to have been at the period a very common and -popular one, though now apparently gone entirely out of favour. What was -the origin of this strange sign I cannot say, but it may be remembered -that green men--that is, men with their faces, arms, and hands stained -that hue, and their bodies covered with skins--were frequently to be -found amongst the processions and pageants of the sight-loving Middle -Ages, such a “get-up” being intended to represent a savage, and constant -mention of them was made in the old writings and plays. In the play of -_The Cobblers Prophecy_ (1594) one of the characters is - -[Sidenote: _“THE GREEN MAN”_] - -made to say, “Comes there a pageant by? Then I’ll stand out of the green -man’s way.” I find also, in Dr. Brewer’s _Handbook of Allusions_, an -extract given from a play of a year later, entitled, _The Seven -Champions of Christendom_, which runs as follows:--“Have you any squibs, -or green man in your shows?” During the next century, and for some time -afterwards, gamekeepers were usually clad in green, a fact noted by -Crabbe: - - But the green man shall I pass by unsung?... - A squire’s attendant clad in keeper’s green. - -At one or other of these two once famous hostels the old coaches took -their first change out, or their last change in, and not much time was -allowed for or lost in the changing either; for if our ancestors, -according to modern notions, made haste slowly, at least they made all -the haste they knew. The now quiet (except at the time of the noted -horse fair) Barnet High Street was then astir all the day long and half -the night with the coming and going of coaches, to say nothing of -“posters,” and the roadway rang with the rattle and clatter of fast -travelling teams, the air was resonant with the musical echoes of the -frequent horn, whilst the hurried shout of “next change” kept the -inn-yards alive and ready, the ostlers alert. Steam has changed all -this; now we travel more speedily but less picturesquely, more -luxuriously but less romantically. Why, the very meaning of the word -travel--derived, my dictionary informs me, from “travail; excessive -toil”--has surely wholly lost its signification in this easy-going age -of Pullman cars, and mail steamers that are in reality floating palaces? -Yet somehow I sometimes find myself sighing for a little less luxury and -speed, and for more of the picturesqueness and goodfellowship engendered -by the conditions of old-time travel, that stands out in such sharp -antithesis to the ugliness and unmannerly taciturnity that has come with -the railway; the ugliness is universal, but the taciturnity, for some -cause I cannot fathom, is confined mostly to England. - -Said a prominent citizen of Chicago to me one day, upon his arrival at -St. Pancras Station, where I went to meet him as my visitor, in response -to my greetings: “Well, sir, as you kindly ask me, I guess I had a -mighty pleasant voyage in the steamer, and found your countrymen aboard -most agreeable and entertaining; but when I got on the cars at Liverpool -with four other Britishers, we had a regular Quakers’ meeting-time all -the way to London, and when I chanced to make a remark they really -appeared utterly astonished that a stranger should venture to address -them. Now that just strikes me as peculiar, and if that’s your -land-travelling manners I guess I don’t much admire them; surely there’s -no sin in one stranger politely speaking to another; indeed, it seems -sort of rude to me to get into a car and never as much as utter ‘Good -morning,’ or ‘I beg your pardon,’ as you pass a party by to take your -seat. Perhaps you can tell me just how it is that your countrymen are so -stand-offish on the cars?” But we could not answer the question -satisfactorily to the querist or to ourselves. - -[Sidenote: _A “PHYSIC WELL”_] - -It may be news to many--it was to me till the other day, when quite -accidentally I came across the fact in an ancient road-book--that in the -days of Charles II. Barnet was a watering-place of considerable repute, -even disputing supremacy with its rising rival of Tunbridge Wells. In a -field near the town on the Elstree Road is the formerly famous but now -almost forgotten chalybeate spring known two centuries ago as the -“Physic Well,” and much resorted to by the fashionable folk of the -Restoration days. On glancing over the ever fresh and entertaining -_Diary_ of Samuel Pepys, that chatty old-time road-traveller, who was -always getting up “betimes” and starting off somewhere or another, I -noted the following entry:--“11 August 1667 (Lord’s Day).--Up by four -o’clock, and ready with Mrs. Turner” (why so often without your wife, -good Mr. Pepys?) “to take coach before five; and set out on our journey, -and got to the Wells at Barnett by seven o’clock” (not a great rate of -speed), “and there found many people a-drinking; but the morning is a -very cold morning, so as we were very cold all the way in the coach.... -So after drinking three glasses, and the women nothing” (wise women), -“we back by coach to Barnett, where to the Red Lyon, where we ’light, -and went up into the great room, and drank and eat ... and so to -Hatfield,” where he “took coach again, and got home with great content.” - -Amongst my prized possessions is a quaint and ancient map of London and -the country for about twenty miles round. This interesting map I find, -by an inscription enclosed in a roll at the foot, was printed, and -presumably engraved, in Amsterdam, when I cannot say, for unfortunately -no date is given; an antiquarian friend of mine, however (an authority -on old prints), declares it to be of about the time of Charles II., -though he says it might possibly be copied from an earlier production of -the same kind and made up to that approximate date. It is just probable, -therefore, that Mr. Pepys may have seen, and used, a similar map; and on -mine I find “Barnett Wells” duly marked at a point about a mile -south-west of the town. - -These ancient maps, besides being very interesting, oftentimes reveal -the origin of puzzling place-names otherwise untraceable; for instance, -I never could account for the peculiar title of the little Sussex town -of Uckfield until one day I found it spelt “Oakefield” on an old map, -and as oaks still abound in the locality, I have no doubt that Uckfield -was evolved therefrom; and I could enumerate many other instances of a -like nature. So, on further consulting my Amsterdam chart, I find -Hatfield, which we shall reach in due course, given as -“Heathfield,”--now from this to Hatfield is an easy transition; next I -observe that the country immediately north of Barnet is represented as -wild and unenclosed, and is marked “Gladmore Heath.” A corner of this -bears the gruesome but suggestive title “Dead-man’s Bottom”: it is -highly probable that the famous battle of Barnet was fought on this open -waste, it being a suitable site for such a conflict, and the “Dead-man’s -Bottom” may mark - -[Sidenote: _AN INTERESTING MAP_] - -the spot where a number of the slain were buried. Hertfordshire is also -rendered, as now generally pronounced, “Hartfordshire,” so perhaps it is -the spelling, not the pronunciation, that has changed. A wonderful -production is this old map, for in the apparently sparsely populated -country around the then moderate-sized city of London each church tower -is pictured in miniature; even solitary houses, including numerous -farmsteads, are so shown; tiny drawings of windmills abound; and on the -rivers, wheels are marked here and there, evidently intended to point -out the position of sundry water-mills; bridges over the rivers are -infrequent, but fords across and ferries over them are plentiful; now -and again one is reminded of other days and other ways by a dot, -inscribed above or below, simply but sufficiently “The Gallows”--a -familiar but gruesome spectacle, the reality of which must often have -been forced on the unwelcome sight of past-time travellers, and possibly -haunted the memories and dreams of the more nervous amongst them for -long afterwards. Even at one lonely place the map condescends to place a -solitary tree with the title “Half-way Tree.” On the little river Wandle -several water-mills are shown, most of which bear merely names, but -sometimes is added the kind of mill. I note on this same short stream -the following kinds: “Iron mill,” “copper mill,” “pouder mill,” and one -“brasile mill,” whatever that may be. On the river Lea I find a “paper -mill,” but that is the only one of the sort I can discover, though -“pouder” mills abound. The latter perhaps were called into requisition -by the recent Civil wars. One lonely house is marked “hanted.” Could -this possibly mean haunted? But I must stop my disquisition, for I could -easily discourse for a whole chapter upon this curious map, were I to -let my pen run away with me as it is inclined to do. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - Memorial of a great battle--An ancient fire-cresset--Free - feasting!--Country quiet--Travellers’ tales--Hatfield--An - Elizabethan architect--An author’s tomb--Day-dreaming--Mysterious - roadside monuments--Great North Road _versus_ Great Northern - Railway--Stevenage--Chats by the way--Field life--Nature as a - painter--Changed times. - - -Leaving Barnet, we soon reached a bit of triangular green enlivened by a -pond that was just then monopolised by geese; here, where the old and -formerly famous “Parliamentary and Mail Coach Turnpike” to Holyhead -diverges from the almost equally famous Great North Road of the -pre-railway days, stands a gray stone obelisk that challenges the -attention of the passer-by, and is inscribed with history thus: - - Here was - Fought the - Famous Battle - Between Edward - the 4th. and the - Earl of Warwick - April the 14th. - Anno - 1471. - In which the Earl - Was defeated - And Slain. - -I regret to have to record that immediately below this inscription, cut -also in the stone, and in the same kind and size of lettering, is the -obtrusive warning notice, so over-familiar to nineteenth-century eyes, -“Stick no Bills.” What bathos this! - -Here at Hadley the ancient church tower is surmounted by a rare and -interesting relic of the never-returning past in the shape of an iron -cresset or fire-beacon. The last time that this was used seriously was -in 1745, during the scare occasioned by the Stuart rising in the North. -The story goes that at the late hour in the evening when the beacon was -lighted, a large party from London, who had been feasting at the “Red -Lion” at Barnet upon the best that mine host could lay before them, all -rushed out during the excitement and quite forgot to return and pay -their reckoning! A curious example of forgetfulness caused by -excitement, as the fact that their bill remained unpaid never appears to -have occurred to any of the party in after days! This is a sample of one -of the stories of the road that, improved upon and embellished to fancy, -the coachmen of the past used to entertain their passengers with; there -was hardly a house, and certainly very few inns, on the way but had some -little incident, history, or tradition connected with it; these latter -afforded the jehus of the period (past-masters in the art of -embroidering fiction upon fact) plenty of raw material for the -production of their wonderful fund of anecdotes. My grandfather, who had -travelled a good deal by coach in his early life, said that the virtue -of these stories lay not so much in the matter as in - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT BEACON_] - -the inimitable way in which they were told; but therein is the art of -story-telling--the craft of making much out of simple materials. - -The primitive mode of signalling events by beacon had this serious -drawback, that, should any one beacon by accident or set purpose be set -alight, needless alarm was forthwith spread throughout the land, and no -amount of care in watching the various collections of piled-up wood and -other inflammable material could, experience proved, prevent mischievous -or designing persons from sometimes surreptitiously lighting them; on -the other hand, when they were lighted legitimately, possibly fraught -with warning of great import to the State, sudden fogs and storms -occasionally prevented the message from speeding on its way. It must -have been both a picturesque and a thrilling sight in “the brave days of -old” for the expectant watchers on some commanding eminence to observe -the progress of the blazing beacons, as one answered the other from -height to height, the ruddy glare of the fiery signals gleaming plainly -forth against the darkness of the night. - -On from Hadley to Hatfield we had an excellent road, that led us through -a prettily wooded and pleasantly undulating country. As we drove along, -rejoicing in the pure sweet air and rural quietude after the smoke-laden -atmosphere and noise of town, the sunshine kept struggling through the -gray clouds overhead, and great gleams of golden light came and went, -warming and brightening up the little world around us, and enhancing the -natural beauty of the scenery by the varied effects they produced on -the landscape. A gleamy day is a picture-making and picture-suggesting -day, as artists full well know. By the time we reached Hatfield the sun -above had obtained complete mastery of the situation, and was doing his -best to make all things below pleasant for us. - -At Hatfield we pulled up at another “Red Lion,” and there we elected to -rest a while and “refresh the inner man,” as the country-paper reporters -have it, for our halt at Barnet was solely for the benefit of our -horses. In the coffee-room we found a party of four gentlemen lunching; -laughing and talking, their conversation was carried on in so loud a -tone of voice that, willing or unwilling, we could not help hearing -nearly all they said; their jovial jokes they made public property, and -the general good-humour and enjoyment of the party was quite infectious. -Manifestly they had no fear of strangers overhearing their tales and -talk, which rather surprised us, as sundry anecdotal reminiscences of -famous personages were freely related, which, if one could only have -felt sure of their veracity, would have been most entertaining. It was -indeed a right merry, possibly an inventive, and certainly a rather -noisy, quartet. Truly the various people that the road-traveller comes -in contact with from time to time often dispute interest with the -scenery. As Sir Arthur Helps says, “In travel it is remarkable how much -more pleasure we obtain from unexpected incidents than from deliberate -sight-seeing,” and it certainly appears to me that a driving tour -specially - -[Sidenote: _ARTIST AND AUTHOR_] - -lends itself to meeting with incidents. Such an informal and unusual way -of wandering puts you as a rule on a friendly, companionable footing -with everybody you meet: people take an interest in your journey, they -confide in you and you in them, there is a sort of freemasonry about the -road that has its attractions, you seem to belong to the countryside, to -be a part and parcel of your surroundings for the time being, in strong -contrast with the stranger suddenly arriving by the railway from -somewhere far away. He is brought, the driving tourist comes--a -distinction with a difference! - - * * * * * - -But to return to the coffee-room of our inn. Amongst the anecdotes that -were forced upon our attention, one still remains in my memory, and this -I think worth repeating as a fair sample of the rest, and because it -deserves to be true, though possibly it is not, or only in part; -however, here it is, and I trust if any one of that merry company should -by chance read this, they will pardon the liberty I have taken--or else -be more careful of their conversation for the future in public! The -story is of a perfectly harmless nature, and characteristic of the -parties concerned, or I would not repeat it. It appears then that one -day Carlyle was making a first call upon Millais at his fine mansion in -Palace Gate. After looking around the sumptuous interior, Carlyle -presently exclaimed, in his gruff manner, “What! all from paint?” -Millais made no reply at the moment, but as his guest was leaving he -quietly remarked, “By the way, what a reputation you’ve got, -Carlyle--and all from ink.” - -One anecdote begets another, and the foregoing distantly reminds me of a -story of Turner that came to me through a private source, which -therefore I do not believe has got into print yet--but I may be -mistaken. Once upon a time then--as the fairy stories begin, for I am -not certain about the exact date, and do not care to guess it--a certain -art patron demanded of Turner the price of one of his pictures, with a -view to purchasing the same, and deeming that Turner asked rather a -large sum, he jokingly exclaimed, “What, all those golden guineas for so -much paint on so much canvas?” To which the famous artist replied, “Oh -no, not for the paint, but for the use of the brains to put it on with!” -and I think the artist scored. - -Now I am wandering again, but not by road, as I set out to do, and -instead of enjoying the pleasant scenery and fresh air, I am wasting the -time indoors chatting about people. Let us get into the open country -again, and before we start on the next stage, there will be just time to -stroll round and take a glance at the fine old Jacobean pile of Hatfield -House, a glorious specimen of the renaissance of English architecture -that vividly recalls the half-forgotten fact that once we were, without -gainsaying, an artistic people; for no one but a great artist could have -designed such a picturesque and stately abode, two qualities not so easy -to combine as may be imagined. - -It is a most singular fact that the name of the architect of this -majestic mansion is not known; but the building so distinctly reminds me -of the work of John Thorpe that I have no hesitation in putting it down -to his creative genius. He was beyond all doubt the greatest architect -of the Elizabethan age; it was he who designed the glorious mansions of -Burleigh “by Stamford town,” Longford Castle, Wollaton Hall, most -probably Hardwicke Hall, Holland House, and many other notable and -picturesque piles, not to forget Kirby in Northants, now, alas! a -splendid ruin, which we shall visit on our homeward way. - -[Sidenote: _THE STONES OF ENGLAND_] - -Writing of the stately homes of England, it seems to me that the stones -of England have their story to tell as well as the “Stones of Venice,” -over which Ruskin goes into such raptures. Why is it ever thus, that -other lands seem more attractive than our own; wherein lies the virtue -of the far-away? Who will do for Old England at our own doors what -Ruskin has so lovingly done for Venice of the past? What a song in stone -is Salisbury’s splendid cathedral, with its soaring spire rising like an -arrow into the air; what a poem is Tintern’s ruined abbey by the lovely -Wye-side; what a romance in building is Haddon’s feudal Hall; what a -picture is Compton Wynyates’ moated manor-house! and these are but -well-known specimens, jotted down hastily and at haphazard, of countless -other such treasures, that are scattered all over our pleasant land in -picturesque profusion, but which I will not attempt to enumerate -catalogue fashion. - -Between Hatfield and Welwyn I find no mention of the country in my -note-book, nor does my memory in any way call it to mind; the scenery, -therefore, could not have impressed us, and so may be termed of the -uneventful order. At the sleepy little town of Welwyn we came upon its -gray-toned church standing close by the road, and as we noticed the door -thereof was invitingly open, we called a halt in order to take a peep -inside. We made it a point this journey never to pass by an ancient -church, if near at hand, without stepping within for a glance, should -happily, as in this case, the door be open; but with one or two rare -exceptions we did not go a-clerk-hunting,--that sport is apt to pall -upon the traveller in time, unless he be a very hardened antiquary or -ardent ecclesiologist. It was an open or closed door that generally -settled the point for us, whether to see a certain church or leave it -unseen! We were not guide-book compilers, we did not undertake our -journey with any set idea of “doing” everything, we took it solely for -the purpose of spending a pleasant holiday, so we went nowhere nor saw -anything under compulsion. I think it well to explain our position thus -clearly at the start, so that I may not hereafter be reproached for -passing this or that unvisited; nor now that our outing is over do I -believe we missed much that was noteworthy on the way--nothing, indeed, -of which I am aware; though, by some strange caprice of fate, it ever -seems that when the traveller returns home from a tour, should anything -escape his observation thereon, some kind friend is certain to assure -him that just what he failed to see happened to be the very thing of the -whole journey the best worth seeing! Indeed, this incident so - -[Sidenote: _A SELF-APPOINTED GUIDE_] - -regularly re-occurs to me, that I have become quite philosophical on the -subject! There is no novelty about the same experience often repeated; -the only rejoinder it provokes on my part is a smiling “Of course,” or a -mild, remonstrating “Oh! I left that for another day.” - -On entering Welwyn church, we encountered a talkative old body; why she -was there I cannot say, for she was apparently doing nothing, and this -is no tourist-haunted region with guides of both sexes on the watch and -wait for the unwary; but there she was, a substantial personage not to -be overlooked. At once she attached herself to us, and asked if we had -come to see Dr. Young’s tomb--“him as wrote the _Night Thoughts_.” We -meekly replied that we did not even know that he was buried there. -“Well,” she responded, “now I do wonders at that, I thoughts as how -everybody knew it.” From the superior tone in which she said this, we -felt that she looked down upon us as ignoramuses--such is the lot of the -traveller who does not know everything! Then she pointed out with a -grimy finger--assuming the aggravating air of one who has valuable -information to impart, and will impart it whether you will or no--a -marble slab put up to the memory of the worthy doctor (I presume he was -a worthy doctor) on the south wall of the nave. Having duly inspected -this, our self-appointed guide suddenly exclaimed, still maintaining her -amusing didactic manner, “He’d much better have gone to bed and slept -like a good Christian than have sit up o’ nights a-writing his -thoughts.” We weakly smiled acquiescence, though perhaps it was hardly -a fair thing to do, for we had to confess to ourselves that we had not -even read the book in question. “Have you?” we queried. “Lor’ bless you, -sir,” replied she, still in an authoritative tone of voice, “books is -all rubbish, I never reads rubbish; give me the papers with some news in -’em, I says, that’s the reading for me,” and with this we took our -hurried departure. We have taught the people to read, which is a most -excellent thing, but, from all my experience, the country folk prefer -newspapers, frequently of a trashy nature, to solid books; for the -present they devour the “penny dreadful,” whilst the cheap classic -remains unread! - -Out of Welwyn the road mounted slightly, and to our left we passed a -large park; the sun’s rays glinting down between the big tree-trunks -therein sent long lines of golden light athwart the smooth sward, and -the lengthening shadows suggested to us that the day was growing old, -and that, unless we wished to be belated, we had better hasten on. Then -followed a pleasant stretch of wooded country, the west all aglow with -the glory of the setting sun, whilst a soft grayness was gradually -spreading over the east, blotting out all trivial details, and causing -the landscape there to assume a dim, mysterious aspect; in that -direction the scenery might be commonplace enough in the glaring light -of mid-day--possibly it was, but just then under that vague effect it -looked quite poetical, and by giving our romantic fancies full rein we -could almost have imagined that there lay the enchanted forest of - -[Sidenote: _A ROADSIDE ENIGMA_] - -fairy-tale renown. A little occasional romancing may be allowed on a -driving tour; he is a dull and unpoetic soul, indeed, who never indulges -in a moment’s harmless day-dreaming now and again! - -Soon the slumberous, unprogressive little town of Stevenage came in -view, and just before it, on a green space to the right of the road, we -espied six curious-looking, grass-grown mounds all in a row, like so -many pigmy green pyramids. We afterwards learnt that these are supposed -to be Danish Barrows; but learned antiquaries, like most of their kind, -are not all agreed upon this point, though the majority hold to the -Danish theory. Still, Danish or not, there they stand to challenge the -curiosity of the observant wayfarer. A roadside enigma that doubtless -puzzled our forefathers, and afforded food for discussion when -journeying in these parts, the railway traveller misses them and much -else besides as he is whirled through the land at a speed that only -permits of a blurred impression of fields and woods, of rivers and -hills, of church towers, towns, hamlets, and farmsteads--that is, when -the train is not rushing through a cutting, or plunging into a darksome -tunnel. In a scenic sense between the Great North Road and the Great -Northern Railway is a vast gulf! - -At the present day, at any rate at the time we were there, these -prehistoric relics were serving the undistinguished purpose of a -ready-made and somewhat original recreation-ground for the town’s -children; for as we passed by we observed quite a number of them -climbing up and down the barrows, playing “King of the Castle” thereon, -and generally romping over and round about them with much noisy -merriment. I really think that these ancient mounds deserve to be better -cared for; those things that are worthy of being preserved should be -preserved, for antiquity once destroyed can never be replaced; it is too -late when a monument of the past has disappeared to discover how -interesting it was. - -At Stevenage we put up for the night at the “White Lion,” a homely -little hostelry, where we found clean and comfortable, if not luxurious, -quarters for ourselves, and good accommodation for our horses, and not -being of an exacting nature, were well content. So ended our first long -day’s wanderings. - -We had seen so much since we left London in the early morning, that we -felt it difficult to realise, on the authority of our copy of -_Paterson’s Roads_ (last edition of 1829), we had only travelled some -thirty-one miles; the precise distance we could not arrive at, since -Paterson takes his measurement from “Hick’s Hall,” and we did not start -from the site thereof; indeed, exactly where “Hick’s Hall” stood I am -not very clear--somewhere in Smithfield, I believe. - -Next morning, following the excellent example of the chatty Mr. Pepys, -and to borrow his favourite expression, we “awoke betimes,” to find the -sunshine streaming in through our windows, whilst a glance outside -revealed to us a glorious bright blue sky, flecked with fleecy -fine-weather clouds. - -[Sidenote: _LEISURELY TRAVEL_] - -This cheery morning greeting could not be resisted, so, early though it -was, we got up and dressed without any needless delay, and, sketch-book -in hand, set forth to explore the place before breakfast, which, -however, we took the precaution of ordering to be ready for us on our -return, for it is trying for a hungry man to have to wait for his meal! -Before going out, however, we paid our usual visit of inspection to the -horses, who, we discovered, were having their toilet performed for them, -luxurious creatures! though not without much “sishing,” and subdued -exclamations of “Whoa! my beauty,” “Steady there now,” “Hold up, can’t -yer”--sounds and utterances dear to the hearts of grooms and ostlers. We -were glad to note that the horses looked fit and fresh, and not a whit -the worse for their previous hard day’s work. - -On the road we have always found that it is the pace rather than the -distance that “knocks up cattle”; but haste formed no part of our -programme, as we travelled to see and enjoy the scenery, not merely to -pass through it, to sketch, to photograph, to inspect a ruin, or to do -whatever took our fancy at the time; also to chat at our leisure with -any one who appeared to be interesting and willing to chat--prepared -under those conditions to converse with anybody from a ploughboy to a -peer that chance might bring across our path, so that we might learn -“how the world wags” according to the different parties’ views. - -As Montaigne remarked, “Every man knows some one thing better than I do, -and when I meet a stranger therefore I engage him in conversation to -find that one thing out.” So we have discovered that even a -lightly-esteemed ploughboy, familiar all his life with Nature in her -many moods, at home in the fields and hedgerows, could tell us many -things we did not know, which are common knowledge to him. A chat with -an intelligent ploughboy, for such boys exist, may prove a profitable -and interesting experience, for perchance it may be racy of the soil, -full of the ways of wild birds and winged things, of the doings of -hares, rabbits, weasels, foxes, and other animals belonging to the -countryside, and of countless idle-growing things besides; above all, it -is genuinely rural, and conveys an unmistakable flavour of the open air. - -An intelligent rustic is unconsciously a close Nature-observer, and by -listening to what he has got to say, if you can only get him to talk and -keep him to his subject, you may make valuable use of the eyes of others -who can see, but give small thought to what they see. - -The works of White of Selborne and of Richard Jefferies have proved how -attractive and refreshing to the town-tired brain are the faithful and -simple record of the natural history of the English fields and -woodlands, and the descriptions of the charms and beauties of the -English country in all its varied aspects. One great value of such -writings is that they induce people to search for, and teach them how to -seek out, similar beauties for themselves in their everyday -surroundings, that they never before so much as imagined to exist. So -that truly a new, a costless, and a lasting pleasure in life is opened -out to them. - -[Sidenote: _A “THOROUGHFARE” TOWN_] - -We found Stevenage to be a quiet, neat little town of the “thoroughfare” -type, to employ a term much in vogue in the coaching days when -describing places consisting chiefly of one long street. Wandering -about, we noticed an old building that had manifestly been a hostelry of -some importance in the pre-railway period, the archway giving entrance -to the stable-yard still remaining. Now the building is converted into a -pleasant residence, though, owing to the necessities of its former uses, -it stands too close to the roadway to afford that privacy which the -home-loving Briton so dearly delights in; which, on the other hand, the -average American citizen so heartily dislikes, considering such -comparative seclusion to make for dulness, and to savour of -unsociability. Such old buildings, converted, wholly or in part, from -inns to houses, are to be found frequently along the Great North Road. A -stranger, not aware of the fact, might well wonder why those great -houses were built with their ample arches in the little village street, -and so close upon the roadside. - -At one end of the town we found a rather pretty gabled cottage with a -high-pitched roof, from which rose a good group of chimneys. This -cottage, with its tiny garden railed off from the footpath by a wooden -paling, made quite a charming subject for the pencil, and was the first -to adorn our sketch-book. Whilst putting a few finishing touches to our -drawing, a native came up. An artist at work always seems to have an -irresistible attraction for country people. He opened up a conversation -by admiring our sketch, though in a qualified manner. He was pleased to -say that it was “mighty” pretty, only he preferred a photograph to a -drawing any day. He had had a photograph taken of his house lately, and -on the photograph you could count every brick on the walls and every -tile on the roofs. “Now, that’s what I call a proper kind of -picture,--not but that yours is very nice for hand-work”! - -This is a very fair specimen of the criticisms that the long-enduring -landscape painter has frequently to put up with when at work in the -open. - -Next our art-critic and photograph-admirer presumed that we must be -strangers, as he knew most of the folk round about, but did not remember -having “sighted us afore.” We replied that we were. “Now, do you know,” -responded he, “I was sure of that”; and seeing no advantage in further -continuing the conversation, we hastened off to our inn--and breakfast. - -In spite of our early rising, it was ten o’clock before we got “under -weigh,” but when one sets out exploring and sketching, to say nothing of -gossiping, time flies. - -It was one of those rare and perfect days that come only now and then in -the year, which, when they come, linger lovingly in the memory for long -after. A stilly day of soft sunshine wherein is no glare; overhead great -rounded clouds of golden white, shading off into a tender pearly-gray, -were sailing slowly across a sea of pure, pale blue,--clouds - -[Sidenote: _CLOUD SCENERY_] - -ever varying in size and form, so that the eye was involuntarily -attracted to the scenery of the sky, as well as to that of the land; for -the changeful sky-scape--as Turner, Constable, and other painters have -shown--lends a wonderful charm to our English scenery,--clouds that -caused vast cool-gray shadows to chase each other in endless succession -over the wide countryside, till, space-diminished, the shadows vanished -into infinity, where the circling gray of the dim horizon melted into a -misty nothingness. - -The warmth of the cheerful sunshine was tempered by a soothing southerly -wind--a lazy wind that came to us laden with a mingling of fragrant -country odours distilled from flower, field, tree, and countless green -growing things as it lightly passed them by. It was a day inspiriting -enough, one would have imagined, to convert even a confirmed pessimist -into a cheerful optimist, and for us it made the fact of simply existing -a something to be thankful for! - -Manifestly the Fates were kindly disposed towards us. It was no small -matter to start forth thus in the fulness and freshness of such a -morning, free as the air we breathed, with our holiday only just -beginning, its pleasures barely tasted, and positively no solicitude -whatever except to reach an inn for the night; in truth, there was no -room for the demon Care in our dog-cart, so he was compelled to stay -behind “out of sight” and “out of mind.” We were purely on pleasure -bent, and we managed very successfully to maintain that part of our -programme from the beginning to the end of our tour. Good health means -good spirits, and being out so much in the open air, we laid in a -plentiful stock of the former. An out-of-door life, such as the one we -led, without fatigue, and with a sufficiency of interest to pleasurably -engage the attention, is the finest tonic in the world, I verily -believe, for mind and body, bracing both up; so that the answer of the -happy driving tourist to the doleful query, “Is life worth living?” -would be, to employ the schoolboy’s expressive slang, “Very much so.” - -After Stevenage we entered upon a pleasantly undulating and purely -agricultural and pastoral country, with nothing noteworthy till we came -to a neat little village that we made out from our map to be Graveley. -Here an unpretending inn, the “George and Dragon” to wit, boasted of a -fine wrought-iron support for its sign, doubtless a relic of a past -prosperity when this was a much-travelled highway, and the hostelries on -the road had the benefit of many customers. We noticed that the painting -of the sign, at least in our estimation, was sadly inferior in artistic -spirit to the clever craftsmanship displayed in the iron-work supporting -it; possibly the sign-board was of old as artistically limned as its -support was wrought, but the weathering of years would efface the -drawing and colouring, and later and less skilful hands may have renewed -the design, whilst, of course, the more enduring iron would still retain -its ancient charm of form unimpaired. - -The gracefulness and bold curving and twisting of the metal-work that -supports and upholds the sign of many an ancient coaching inn had a -peculiar fascination for us, and frequently brought our pencil - -[Sidenote: _A CONCEIT IN METAL_] - -into requisition to record their varied outlines and quaint conceits, -that truly splendid specimen of the “Bell” at Stilton--about which I -shall have more to say when we arrive there--especially delighting us. -At the sign of a certain “White Hart” elsewhere we could not but imagine -that the open iron-work above it in the shape of a heart was not -accidental, but intended as a play on words in metal, if the expression -may be allowed. - -After Graveley the road plucked up a little spirit and the scenery -improved, just as though it were doing its best to please us. At one -point there suddenly opened a fine view to the left, reaching over a -vast extent of country bounded by an uneven horizon of wooded -hills--hills that showed as a long, low undulating line, deeply blue, -but enlivened by touches of greeny-gold where the sunshine rested for a -moment here and there; it was as if Nature in one of her lavish moods -had washed the horizon over with a tint of ultramarine, “for who can -paint like Nature?”--little she recks the quantity or the rarity of the -hues she employs, miles upon miles oftentimes, and that for a mere -transient effect! To our right also our charmed visions ranged over a -wide expanse of wooded plain, so space-expressing in its wealth of -distances, the blue of which made us realise the ocean of air that lay -between us and the remote horizon, the reality of the invisible! - -After the confined limits of the house-bound streets of town, our eyes -positively rejoiced in the unaccustomed freedom of roving unrestrained -over so much space--a sudden change from yards to miles! I have found -from experience what a relief it is for the eye to be able thus to alter -its focus from the near to the far-away: the vision like the mind is apt -to become cramped by not being able to take a broad view of things. I -verily believe that the eyes are strengthened by having the daily -opportunity of exercising their full functions; this may be a fanciful -belief on my part, but I hold it and write advisedly. - -Gradually, as we proceeded, our road widened out, and was bounded on -either hand by pleasant grassy margins, that, had we been on a riding -instead of a driving tour, would certainly have tempted us to indulge in -a canter. These grassy margins used to form part of the hard, well-kept -highway when there was room for four coaches abreast at one time -thereon. I wonder whether these spare spaces will ever be utilised for -cycle tracks? - -What, I further wonder, would our ancestors--could they come back to -life again, and travel once more along the old familiar roads--think of -the new steel-steed, and what would they make of the following notice, -appended to the sign of an old inn on the way, which we deemed worthy of -being copied?-- - - Good Accommodation - and - Stabling - for - Cyclists and Motorists. - -This brings to mind the truth that lies in the old Latin saying, -_Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis_. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - A gipsy encampment--A puzzling matter--Farming and farmers past and - present--An ancient market-town--A picturesque bit of old-world - architecture--Gleaners--Time’s changes--A house in two counties--A - wayside inn--The commercial value of the picturesque. - - -On one of the grassy wastes by the roadside, a sheltered corner overhung -by branching elms, we espied a gipsy encampment. A very effective and -pretty picture the encampment made with its belongings and green setting -of grass and foliage. There were three brilliantly-coloured caravans -drawn up in an irregular line and partly screening from view the same -number of brown tents; in and out of caravans and tents sun-tanned and -gay-kerchiefed children were noisily rampaging; from amidst the brown -tents a spiral film of faint blue smoke lazily ascended, to be lost to -sight in the bluer sky above; and to complete a ready-made picture, the -gipsies’ horses were tethered close at hand, grazing on the rough sward. -Truly the gipsy is a picturesque personage, though I have to confess he -is not much beloved in the country; yet I should regret to have him -improved entirely away, for he does bring colour and the flavour of -wild, free life on to the scene, well suiting the English landscape. - -The gipsy, for reasons best known to himself, is apt to resent the -advances of strangers, even when made in the most amiable manner. The -artist, who, for the sake of his picturesqueness and paintable -qualities, is inclined to overlook the gipsy’s possible sins of -commission on other people’s property, finds it difficult to sketch him; -for myself, I am content to “snap-shot” him photographically on passing -by, as I did on this occasion; which proceeding, however, he was prompt -to resent with some gruffly muttered exclamation, to which we chaffingly -replied, in the blandest of voices, “But you know a cat may look at a -king.” Upon which he shouted after us, not in the politest of tones, -“Yes, but a photograph machine ain’t a cat, and I ain’t a king, nohow,” -and we felt that after all the gipsy had the best of the skirmish in -words. The gipsy is manifestly no fool, or, with so many enemies on all -sides, he would hardly have held his own for so long, and be extant and -apparently flourishing as he is to-day. “It’s the gipsy against the -world,” as a farmer once remarked to me, “and bless me if the gipsy -don’t somehow score in the struggle.” - -As we passed by the encampment, the incense of burning wood, mingled -with sundry savoury odours, came wafted our way on the quiet air, and it -appeared to us that a gipsy’s life in the summer time was a sort of -continuous picnic, not without its charms. Such a charm it has indeed -for some minds, that we have more than once on previous expeditions -actually met imitations of the real article in the shape of lady and -gentleman gipsies (the term truly seems - -[Sidenote: _CARAVANNING_] - -rather a misnomer), touring about in smartly turnedout caravans, driven -by liveried coachmen. But all this seems to me far too respectable and -luxurious to be quite delightful. The dash of Bohemianism about it is -absurdly artificial; moreover, the coming of a caravan, both from its -size and unfamiliar appearance, of necessity invites an amount of -attention that is not always desirable, and is frequently very annoying. -Speaking for myself, I must say that when I travel I endeavour to -attract as little notice as possible; I go to observe, not to be -observed. Still, every one to his taste. If I have not become a -caravannist myself, it is certainly not from want of having the charms, -real or imagined, of that wandering and expensive life on wheels -instilled into me by a friend who owns a pleasure caravan, and has -travelled over a goodly portion of southern England in it, though he had -to confess to me, under close cross-examination, that there were certain -“trifling” drawbacks connected with the amateur gipsy’s life: first, -there was the aforementioned unavoidable publicity that a large caravan -entails; then there was the slow pace such a cumbrous conveyance imposes -on you at all times; the heat of the interior caused by the sun beating -on the exterior in hot summer days; to say nothing of having to go, at -the end of a long day’s journey, in search of camping ground for the -night, entailing often a loss of time and a good deal of trouble before -suitable quarters are found and permission to use them is obtained; -besides this, there is stabling to secure, and a foraging expedition has -to be undertaken, hardly a pleasure should the weather be wet! Whilst a -simple inn is all that the more modest and less encumbered -driving-tourist needs. - -As we proceeded on our way, our attention was presently arrested by -something strange and quite novel to us: on the telegraph wires, that -stretched forth in long lines by the roadside, were suspended numerous -little square bits of tin, and this for a considerable distance. The -bits of tin, as they were swayed about by the wind, made weird music on -the wires. Had we chanced to have driven that way at night, and heard -those sounds coming directly down from the darkness above, without being -able to discover the cause, we should have been much mystified; indeed, -some hyper-nervous people passing there in the dark, under the same -circumstances of wind and weather, might have come to the conclusion -that this portion of the Great North Road was haunted. Such reputations -have been established from lesser causes. - -We were at a loss to account for the strange arrangement, so we looked -about for somebody to question on the subject, and to solve the mystery -for us if possible. There was not a soul in sight on the road, far off -or near; for that matter, there never is when wanted. However, another -look around revealed a man at work in a field near by, and to him we -went and sought for the information desired, and this is the explanation -we received in the original wording: “What be them tin things for on the -telegraph postes?” They were really on the wires, but I have long ago -discovered that you - -[Sidenote: _A CHAT BY THE WAY_] - -must not expect exactness from the average countryman. “Why, they be put -there on account of the partridges. You see, the birds, when they be -a-flying fast like, don’t always see them wires, and lots of them gets -hurt and killed by striking themselves against them. You know, sir, as -how partridges is partridges, and has to be taken great care on; if the -quality only took the same care of the poor working-man, we should be -happy.” The poor working-man, or labourer, in the present case did not -appear very miserable or poorly clad, so we ventured to remark: “Well, -you don’t seem particularly unhappy anyhow.” At the same moment a small -coin of the realm changed ownership in return for the information -imparted, and we went our way, and the man resumed his work, after -promising to drink our very good healths that very night, and we saw no -reason to doubt that the promise would be faithfully kept. The one thing -you may positively rely upon the countryman doing, if you give him the -opportunity, is “to drink your health.” - -I may note here that during my many chats with the English labourer, in -different counties far apart from each other, I have found their chief -complaint (when they have one and venture to express it) is not so much -the lowness of their wage, or the hardness of their work, as the -poorness of their dwellings. Even the farm-hand begins to expect -something better than the too often cold, damp, and draughty cottages -that for generations past, in some parts of the country more than -others, his “rude forefathers” had to put up with uncomplainingly, or -otherwise. It seems to me that the best way of stopping the emigration -from the country to the town is to make the country more attractive to -the countryman by housing him better. “But cottages don’t pay,” as a -landlord once informed me, and in this age it is difficult to make men -enter into philanthropic enterprises--unless they return a certain _per -cent_! A moneymaking generation likes to mix up philanthropy with -profit--to do good openly and make it pay privately! - -From the agricultural labourer upwards to the farmer, and from the -farmer to the landowner, is an easy and natural transition. Now, since I -commenced taking my holidays on the road several years ago, agricultural -depression has, alas! gradually deepened, and my driving tours in rural -England have brought me into frequent contact with both landowner and -tenant farmer, and now and again with that sadly growing rarity the -independent and sturdy yeoman who farms his own little freehold, -perchance held by his ancestors for long centuries; with all of these I -have conversed about the “bad times,” and have obtained, I think, a -fairly comprehensive view of the situation from each standpoint. -Endeavouring, as far as is possible with fallible human nature, to take -the unprejudiced position of a perfectly neutral onlooker--a position -that has caused me in turn to heartily sympathise with each party--the -conclusion that I have reluctantly come to is this, that unless a great -war should be a disturbing factor in - -[Sidenote: _AN OLD SAYING_] - -the case--an ever-possible contingency, by the way--with cheapened ocean -transit and competition with new countries, land in Old England will no -longer produce a profit to the modern tenant as well as to the landlord, -and pay big tithes besides. It must be borne in mind that the tenant -farmer of to-day has progressed like the rest of the world. He needs -must possess a certain capital, and no longer is he or his family -content with the simple life or pleasures of his predecessors. His wife, -son, and daughters will not work on the farm, nor superintend the dairy, -as of old; they all expect, and I think rightly expect, in an age when -Board School children learn the piano and other accomplishments, a -little more refinement and ease. And if this be so, I take it that the -only way to solve the difficulty of making the land pay is somehow to -get back the disappearing yeoman: the pride of possession will alone -ensure prosperous farming. A local saying, possibly pertinent to the -question, was repeated to me one day by a large tenant farmer in the -Midlands, who had lost by farming well. It runs thus: - - He who improves may flit, - He who destroys may sit. - -And much truth underlies the proverbs of the countryside. Now a yeoman -would not have to “flit” for improving his freehold, and a man does not -generally destroy his own. - -Whilst our thoughts had been wandering thus, the dog-cart had kept -steadily on its way, and our reverie was broken by finding ourselves in -the quaint old market-town of Baldock, driving down its spacious and -sunny main street, which we noticed with pleasure was lined with trees, -and bound by irregular-roofed buildings, mellowed by age into a -delicious harmony of tints. Nature never mixes her colours crudely. I -know no better study of colour harmonies than the weather-painting of a -century-old wall, with its splashes of gold, and silver, and bronze -lichen, its delicate greens and grays, its russets and oranges, and all -the innumerable and indescribable hues that the summer suns and winter -storms of forgotten years have traced upon its surface--hues blending, -contrasting, and commingling, the delight of every true artist, and his -despair to depict aright. With buildings age is the beautifier; even -Tintern, with its roofless aisles and broken arches, could not have -looked half as lovely in the full glory of its Gothic prime, when its -walls were freshly set, its sculptures new, and traceries recently -worked, as it looks now. No building, however gracefully designed, can -ever attain the perfection of its beauty till Time has placed his -finishing touches thereon, toning down this and tinting that, rounding -off a too-sharp angle here, and making rugged a too-smooth corner there, -adorning the walls with ivy and clinging creepers, and decorating the -roof with lustrous lichen! - -Baldock had such a genuine air of antiquity about it, with its ancient -architecture and slumberous calm, so foreign to the present age, that we -felt that without any undue strain upon the imagination we could picture -ourselves as medieval travellers - -[Sidenote: _QUAINT ALMS-HOUSES_] - -arriving in a medieval market-town! Baldock does not suggest, as so many -country towns unfortunately do, a bit of suburban London uprooted and -dumped down in a distant shire. No, Baldock has somehow managed to -retain its own characteristic individuality, and it pleases the lover of -the picturesque past because of this. To the left of the broad roadway -our eyes were charmed by the sight of a quaint group of ancient -alms-houses, situated within a walled enclosure, through which wall a -graceful archway gave entrance to the homes. Whilst we were admiring -this pleasing specimen of old-time work, one of the inmates came out and -invited us inside; but the interior, upon inspection, did not attract us -as the exterior had done: the latter had not been spoilt by furniture or -paper, or any other modern addition, to disturb its charming and restful -harmony. The rooms looked comfortable enough, however, and the old body -who showed us over declared that she was more than satisfied with her -quarters,--even life in an alms-house could not affect her manifestly -cheerful and contented disposition. A prince in a palace could not have -looked more satisfied with his lot. Inscribed on a stone tablet let into -the front of the building we read: - - Theis Almes Howses are - the gieft of Mr Iohn Wynne - cittezen of London Latelye - Deceased who hath left a - Yeareley stipend to everey - poore of either howses to - the Worldes End. September - Anno Domini 1621. - -And may the stipend be regularly paid to the poor “to the Worldes End,” -according to the donor’s directions, and not be devoted to other and -very different purposes, as sometimes has been the case elsewhere with -similar gifts, under the specious pretext of changed times! - -Judging from the date affixed to these alms-houses, they were standing -just as they are now, looking doubtless a little newer, when Charles I. -passed a prisoner through here in the charge of General Fairfax; on -which occasion, according to long-cherished local tradition, the vicar -offered him for his refreshment some wine in the Communion cup. That -must have been an eventful day for Baldock. - -Not only the alms-houses, but the other buildings round about, of red -brick, with the pearly-gray bloom of age over them, were very pleasant -to look upon. Perhaps their colour never was so crude and assertive as -that of the modern red brick with which we construct our cheap misnamed -Queen Anne villas--which have nothing of the Queen Anne about them,--a -red that stares at you, and is of one uniform, inartistic hue--a hue -quite on a par as regards unsightliness with the chilly, eye-displeasing -blue of Welsh slates. Since the railways have come and cheapened -communication, Welsh slates have spread over all the land like an ugly -curse; you find them everywhere--they have displaced the cheerful ruddy -tiles that so well suit the gentle gloom of the English climate and the -soft green of its landscapes, they have ousted the pleasant gray stone -slab and homely - -[Sidenote: _THE MAGIC OF FAME_] - -thatch. Welsh slates are bad enough, but, alas! there is even a lower -depth of ugliness. Corrugated iron is still more hideous, and this I -sadly note is coming into use as a roofing material; it is cheap and -effectual, absolutely waterproof--and such an eyesore! How is it that -things are so seldom cheap and beautiful--truly there are exceptions, -but these only prove the rule--are these two qualities sworn enemies? If -only the Welsh slates were of the delicious greeny-gray tint of the more -expensive Cumberland ones, it would be a different matter. It is an -astonishing thing how even good architects are neglectful of colour in -their buildings, and what comparatively small thought they devote to the -beauty of the roof. - -Many people possibly would see nothing to admire or commend in Baldock; -it would probably impress the average individual as being a sleepy, -old-fashioned sort of place, deadly dull, and wholly devoid of interest; -so doubtless the same individual would consider Stratford-on-Avon, had -not Shakespeare been born there, and had not that magic accident of his -birth caused the town to be visited and written about by famous authors, -its beauties sought out and belauded by guide-book compilers, its quaint -old-world bits of architecture to be sketched and painted and -photographed endlessly, so that we all know how to admire it. Now, so -far as I am aware, no very notable person has been born at Baldock, so -the tourist comes not thither; and with nothing eventful to chronicle -about the town, nothing to commend it but its quiet naturalness and -picturesqueness, which it shares with many another ancient English -market-town, Baldock will have to sleep on unfamed, for its quiet charms -are not of the nature to assert themselves or appeal to everybody. There -is a beauty that requires searching after, which, not being pronounced, -the eye needs training to see. Still, I think that even the most -unobservant traveller, on passing through the quiet little town, must -note its pleasing look of mellowness and naturalness, the latter of -which qualities is attractively refreshing in this age of artificiality. - -Out of Baldock our road rose gradually on an embankment, possibly one of -the later improvements made by the old Turnpike Trust, when there was -actually a feeling amongst the coach proprietors that they might -successfully compete with the coming iron horse--an idea that took some -time to dispel, for even as late as October 1837 I find, from an old -coaching poster so dated, that the “Red Rover” from London to Manchester -was re-established as a commercial speculation. How long this -“well-appointed coach” ran after its establishment I cannot say. - -From the top of the rise we obtained a good view of Baldock, that, with -the woods around, the silvery sheen of water below, and the soft sky -above, made a very pretty picture; so pretty, indeed, that the -temptation to sketch it was not to be resisted. But later on we had to -harden our hearts and pass by many a picturesque spot without using our -pencil, otherwise we should have made more sketches than - -[Sidenote: _OLD CUSTOMS_] - -miles per hour, and our journey would not have been finished by -Christmas time. To the artist eye, accustomed to look out for beauty, -rural England is one succession of pictures! - -We now struck upon a purely farming country, where the fields were large -and divided by hedgerows into a sort of glorified and many-tinted -chessboard--not a happy comparison certainly, but “‘twill serve.” In -some of the fields we saw gleaners, women and children, at work amongst -the stubble,--I had nearly written at play, so unlike work did their -occupation seem, for the children were romping, and the women were -laughing and chatting, and it did our hearts good to hear the merry -prattle and cheerful voices. Would all labour were as lightsome! - -We had an idea that the gleaner, like the almost forgotten flail, was a -thing of the past, but were delighted to find that the good old custom, -honoured by over two thousand years of observance, sung of by poets and -beloved by painters, has not wholly disappeared, and that some of the -romance of the fields is left to us. The flail, that used to knock out -the corn on the old barn floors with much thumping, I have not met with -for years long past, but I believe, from what I hear, that it still is -used in a few remote places. The reaping machine has driven the slow -sickle into a few odd corners of the land, where the ground is rough and -the crops are small, though sometimes it has momentarily reappeared -elsewhere when the corn has been badly laid. The mowing machine also has -to a great extent, though less universally, taken the place of the -scythe. And with these changes has come a change over the sounds of the -countryside. For the occasional whetting of the scythe we have the -continuous rattle of the machine; and the puffing and peculiar humming -of the steam-thresher, heard from afar, has taken the place of the -muffled thumping of the flail on the soft straw, only to be heard a -short way off. - -The fact cannot be blinked that husbandry has lost not a little of its -past-time picturesque and poetic aspect. Perhaps no one realises this -more than the artist; for though it may be done, and has been done, yet -for all it is not easy to put romance into commonplace machinery--that -means poetry without the gathered glamour of the associations of long -years. Machinery has at last but too successfully invaded the farm, and -the agriculturist is being slowly converted into a sort of produce -manufacturer. Now it is difficult to grow sentimental over machinery! -The time may even come when the readers of Crabbe, Gray, Thomson, and -other poets of the countryside will need the aid of a commentator to -understand their terms aright. Only the other day a literary man asked -me to describe a flail, as he was not quite sure what it was! Possibly -some of us hardly realise how rapidly “the old order gives place to the -new,” till unexpectedly the fact is brought to mind by some such -question. I am thankful to say that I have heard nothing of the “Silo” -of late, so that I trust that ensilage, that was to do such great things -for the English farmers, is a - -[Sidenote: _THE POETRY OF TOIL_] - -failure, and never likely to usurp the place of the pleasant hay-field -and fragrant haystacks. We simply cannot afford to improve the merry -haymaking away--it is the very poetry of toil. - -Driving on, we presently passed the fortieth milestone from London, just -beyond which a post by the roadside informed us that we had entered -Bedfordshire. Crossing this imaginary line brought back to mind a story -we had been told concerning it by an antiquarian friend, as -follows:--Just upon the boundaries of Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire -formerly stood a rambling old farm-house; the living-room of this was -long and low, and on the centre beam that went across the ceiling (such -as may still be found in ancient buildings) was inscribed this legend: -“If you are cold, go to Hertfordshire”--which apparently inhospitable -invitation was explained by the fact of the peculiar situation of the -room, one-half being in the one county and one-half in the other, and it -chanced that the fireplace was at the Hertfordshire end! - -Soon after the change of counties, at the foot of a long gradual -descent, we found ourselves in the hamlet of Astwick, where by the -wayside we espied a primitive but picturesque little inn boasting the -title of “The Greyhound,” with a pump and horse-trough at one side, as -frequently represented in old pictures and prints of ancient -hostelries--a trough of the kind in which Mr. Weller the elder so -ignominiously doused the head of the unfortunate Mr. Stiggins. Besides -the trough there was a tiny garden of colourful flowers in front of the -inn by way of refinement, and above the weather-tinted roof uprose a -fine stack of clustering chimneys. The chance light and shade effect of -the moment suited well the unpretending but pleasant bit of old-time -architecture, so we proceeded to photograph it, not, however, before the -landlord had divined our intention, and had placed himself in a -prominent position, so that he might be included in the picture. A -worthy man the landlord proved to be, as we found out in after -conversation with him, and we promised to send him a copy of the -photograph; but “the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’” amateur -photographers “gang aft agley,” for it happened we had forgotten to -change the plate, and so took the old inn right on the top of a previous -photograph of another inn, and the photographic mixture was not -favourable to clearness or an artistic result! The negative when -developed showed two signboards on separate posts in different positions -and at different angles, two roofs, one just over the other, a hopeless -jumble of windows, and two stacks of chimneys occupying, the same place -at the same time, in spite of the well-known axiom that no two things -can do so. The Astwick landlord truly was there, but converted into a -veritable ghost, for through his body you could plainly trace the -doorway of the first inn! Certainly the result amused sundry of our -friends, but then the photograph--photographs, I mean,--were not taken -for that purpose, and friends are so easily amused at one’s failings! -This reminds me that a famous artist once told me, speaking of -experiments in painting, that he preferred a magnificent failure to a -poor success; but our failure was not magnificent. - -[Sidenote: _“HEART OF OAK”_] - -Having, as we fondly imagined, secured a fine photograph, we entered -into a conversation with the landlord, which resulted, as we hoped, in -his inviting us to “take a glance” inside, where he pointed out the -floors to us, which he said were all of “heart of oak,” and further -remarked, “You don’t find that in modern buildings of this sort”--a -statement in which we heartily concurred. He also showed us the -staircase, likewise of oak. He had not been in the house long, we -learnt, and when he bought the place “it was all going to ruin”; but he -put it in good order. “Lots of people come to sketch and photograph the -old inn, and some of the people who come patronise us for refreshment.” -So it would seem that, after all, the picturesque has a commercial -value--a fact we were delighted to note. Who would go even a mile to -sketch a modern-built public-house? for the primitive inn was really -that, though its picturesque and thought-out design suggested a more -dignified purpose. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - Biggleswade--“Instituted” or “intruded”!--A poetical will--The - river Ivel--A day to be remembered--The art of - seeing--Misquotations--The striving after beauty--Stories in - stone--An ancient muniment chest--An angler’s haunt--The town - bridge--The pronunciation of names--St. Neots. - - -Some three miles or so beyond Astwick we reached high ground, from which -we had extensive views to the right over miles of fields and undulating -greenery. Shortly after this we dropped down into the drowsy old town of -Biggleswade; at least it struck us as being a very drowsy sort of place -when we were there, but doubtless it wakes up to a little life and -movement once a week, on market-days. Even the Biggleswade dogs looked -sleepily inclined, curled up under the shelter of various doorways, -hardly indeed condescending to give us a glance as we passed by; whilst -the nature of dogs generally is to make the arrival of a stranger in -their parts an excuse to rush out and bark at him, good-naturedly or the -reverse as the mood moves them. A dog seems to reason with himself, -“Barking is the chief pleasure of life; here comes a stranger, let’s -have a bark!” - -Here we drove into the ancient and rambling stable-yard of an old inn -near the market-place, and - -[Sidenote: _A SUGGESTIVE WORD_] - -handed our horses over to the good keeping of the ostler; and whilst our -lunch was being prepared we wandered out to have a look round the town, -but found nothing to specially interest us, so all else failing, we -sought the church. Even here we did not discover much to reward us, -though the open and carved timber roof of the south aisle was good, with -its ornamental bosses and corbels formed of sculptured figures of -angels, the whole being more or less decayed and the worse for age. On -the woodwork are some slight remains of decorative painting. - -Placed against the wall of the church we observed a board with the -following heading--“The Vicars of Biggleswade,” followed by a list of -names of the said vicars, “from 1276 to the present time, with the dates -of their Institution.” Glancing down the long list of names, after each -we noticed the word “instituted,” followed by the date thereof; but when -we came to that of William Raulius, we noted instead of the usual -“instituted,” the suggestive word and date “intruded 1658” was inserted! - -Of this church my _Paterson’s Roads_, that does duty as a sufficient -guide-book for us, remarks: “This substantial ancient edifice was built -in the year 1230; it was formerly collegiate, and still contains several -of the stalls. The parishioners have all an equal right to any of the -seats, for which privilege, however, they are constrained to repair or -rebuild the fabric when requisite.” Under the heading of “Biggleswade,” -the same excellent road-companion also remarks of Sutton Park, near by, -on the road to Potton, “It is traditionally stated that this seat -formerly belonged to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who gave it to -Roger Burgoyne, ancestor of the present proprietor, by the following -laconic grant:-- - - I, John of Gaunt, - Do give and do grant, - Unto Roger Burgoyne, - And the heirs of his loin, - Both Sutton and Potton, - Until the world’s rotten. - -There is also a moated site in the park, still known by the name of John -of Gaunt’s Castle.” - -Leaving Biggleswade, we crossed the river Ivel, but until the crossing -thereof we had no idea that there was a river of such a name in -England,--a driving tour is certainly helpful to a better and more -minute knowledge of the geography of one’s own land. Then we entered -upon a far-reaching level stretch of country, with a great expanse of -sunny sky above, and the silvery sheen of stilly waters showing below in -slothful river and clear but stagnant dyke. We could trace our road for -miles ahead in curving lines lessening to the low horizon, inclining -first this way and then that, now disappearing, to reappear again along -way off. The eye--the artistic eye at any rate--rejoices in such a -succession of sinuous curves, as much as it abhors the dictatorial and -monotonous straight line; it likes to be led by gentle and slow degrees -into the heart of the landscape, and away beyond into the infinity of -space where the vague distance vanishes into the sky. Possibly the -muscles of the eye more readily - -[Sidenote: _A PLEASANT LAND_] - -adapt themselves to such easy and gradual transition from spot to spot -than to the harsher insistence of a straight line. Nature herself hardly -ever indulges in the latter; man may make it, but she, in time, on every -opportunity, mars it gloriously. - -On either hand, as we drove on, stretched a level land of tilled fields -and verdant meadows, the many colours of the crops and the varied greens -of the pastures forming a gigantic mosaic. To the right of us rose some -rounded fir-crowned hills, if hills be the right term, for only perhaps -in a flat country would such modest elevations be dignified with the -title of hills. These, to employ a familiar painter’s expression, “told” -deeply blue--with all the beauty of ultramarine and all the depth of -indigo. - -It was an open breezy prospect, delightful to gaze upon, though there -was nothing exciting or grand about it save the great distances and the -wide over-arching sky; but it had the charm of wonderful colouring, and -was full of lightness and brightness that was most inspiriting; full of -cheery movement too, where the wild wind made rhythmic waves of the long -grasses and unreaped fields of corn, and rustled the leaves and bent the -topmost branches of the saplings before its gentle blasts, or where it -rippled the gliding waters of the winding river and silvery streams, -causing them to glance and sparkle in the flooding sunshine. All Nature -seemed buoyant with an exuberant vitality upon that almost perfect -afternoon, and the gladness of the hour entered into our very souls and -made us exultant accordingly! It was a day to call fondly back to mind -when pent up in London during the darksome and dreary November days, -half asphyxiated with the smoke and sulphur laden atmosphere; then the -very remembrance of such a time of golden sunshine and fresh and -fragrant breezes is of untold refreshment. - -Some people might have deemed that prospect, composed chiefly of flat -fields, sluggish waters, and scattered trees, uninteresting and -unbeautiful, with nothing to commend it, still less to rave about; but -there is such a thing as the art of seeing, which art reveals, to those -who cultivate it, beauty in the most unexpected places. The charm of -form and colour is often a noteworthy factor that makes for beauty in a -prospect that is devoid of the picturesque and the “sweetly pretty.” The -best training in the art of seeing and discovering beauty that I know is -to make a series of sketches from Nature, in colour--water-colour for -preference, as being clearer of tint and easier applied. Take, for -instance, a bit of an old stone wall, or, better still, a -weather-stained boulder on some moor, outline it as well as you -can--never mind the drawing at first, it is the colour you must look -for--copy these tint for tint, hue for hue, as faithfully as you can. -Before starting you may imagine that the rugged boulder is simply gray -all over, lighter on the side where the sun shines, and darker in the -shadows, and that is all; but as you try to represent its surface you -will soon discover, if you only look hard and carefully enough, that -what you at first deemed to be merely a mass of gray is composed of a -myriad changeful colours: - -[Sidenote: _A NEW SENSE_] - -there are sure to be the silver, and the gold, and perchance the red, of -clinging lichen (glorious colours these); then there are the greens of -mosses, and countless weather-stains here and there, all to be given; -then the rock itself, you will perceive as the eye gets more accustomed -to its novel task, is composed of countless tints, changing with almost -every change of surface, and where the boulder lies half in shadow you -will perceive a sort of blue-gray bloom--look very hard for this; then -the blackest shadows, you will note, are rich and deep, and look quite -colourful beside any single tint you may mix in the hope of representing -them. The more you study that boulder, the more colour you will see in -it; and if all this unexpected colour exists in one simple rock, to -leave the charms of varying form unconsidered, what must there not exist -on the whole wide moor? Look for yourself and see. After your eye has -had its first lesson in the art of seeing and searching out the -beautiful, it will naturally, unconsciously almost, begin to look for it -everywhere--and expect it! I fear I have perhaps written this in too -didactical a manner, but I find it difficult to express myself clearly -otherwise, and must plead this as my excuse for a failing I find it so -hard to endure in others. - -It was sketching from Nature that first taught me to look for and find -beauties in my everyday surroundings that before I had never even -imagined to exist. This art of seeing came to me like a new sense--it -was a revelation, and it has ever since afforded me so much positive and -lasting pleasure, that I can truly say it has materially increased the -happiness of my life. Surely if “a man who can make two blades of grass -grow where one grew before is a benefactor to his race,” to add, however -slightly, to the happiness of life is to be a benefactor too, humble -though the addition may be. - -Now, after this over-long digression, let us once more resume the even -tenor of our tour. I had nearly written the even tenor of our way, and -placed the words between inverted commas, so familiar does the saying -sound; but I find on reference that Gray really wrote “the noiseless -tenor of their way,” which is not exactly the same thing, and it is as -well to be correct in small details as in great. It is astonishing to me -how often familiar quotations go wrong in the quoting; indeed, it is -rather the exception to find them rightly given. I have only just to-day -come across two instances of this whilst glancing over a magazine -article. First I note that Milton’s “fresh woods and pastures new” is -rendered, as it mostly is, “fresh fields and pastures new”; then -Nathaniel Lee’s “when Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war” is -misquoted, as usual, “when Greek meets Greek,” etc., quite losing the -point that when the ancient--not the modern!--Greeks were joined -together they were a doughty foe. But now I am wandering again right off -the road! - -Driving on, we presently crossed the little river Ivel by a gray stone -bridge, beneath which the stream ran clear and brightly blue. Across the -bridge we found ourselves in the straggling village - -[Sidenote: _A SUDDEN CONTRAST_] - -of Girtford. This began well with pretty cottages roofed with homely -thatch; then passing a wayside public-house with the uncommon title of -“The Easy Chair” (a sign that we do not remember to have met with -before), the village ended badly, in a picturesque point of view, with a -row of uninteresting cottages of the modern, square-box type, shelters -for man rather than habitations--commonplace, alas! and unsightly. The -sudden contrast from the old to the new was an object-lesson in ancient -beauty and modern ugliness. - -The progressive nineteenth century, by the mean and hideous structures -it has erected over all the pleasant land, has done much towards the -spoliation of English scenery. It has done great things, truly. It has -created railways, it has raised palaces, mansions, huge hotels, monster -warehouses, tall towers, and gigantic wheels of iron; but it has -forgotten the way of rearing so simple and pleasing a thing as a -home-like farmstead; it cannot even build a cottage grandly. Yet how -well our ancestors knew how to do these. Still, the wanderer across -country now and then sees signs of better things, a promise of a return -to more picturesque conditions, and this sometimes in the most -out-of-the-way and unexpected quarters. Thus, during our drive, have we -chanced upon a quaint and freshly-painted inn sign done in a rough but -true artistic spirit, supported by wrought-iron work of recent date, -worthy of the medieval craftsman; and in quiet market-towns and remote -villages have our eyes occasionally been delighted by bits of thoughtful -architecture, the outcome of to-day, with their gable fronts, mullioned -windows, and pleasant porches, in reverent imitation of what is best in -the old. Besides these, sundry restorations of ancient buildings -backwards, not forwards, point to a striving again for beauty. - -An excellent and most delightful example of the revival of picturesque -village architecture we discovered the other year when driving through -Leigh, near Tunbridge, where the modern cottages are all pictures, -charming to look upon with their half-timber framework, thatched roofs -of the true Devon type, many gables, big chimneys, and quaint -porches--all modern, but imbued with the spirit and poetry of the past. -It is as though a medieval architect had been at work on them. The -simple cottages are nobly designed; there is no starving of material in -the attempt to make the utmost of everything; they are all humble -abodes, yet dignified; a millionaire might live in one and not be -ashamed; and withal they are essentially English. If they have a -failing, it is perhaps that they look a trifle artificial--too -suggestive of the model village or of stage scenery; but this I take it -arises mainly because we are not accustomed in these commonplace days to -find poetry out of books and paintings, so that the coming suddenly upon -it realised in bricks and mortar strikes one for the moment as strange -and unreal. - -After another stretch of wide, open country, flushed with air and -suffused with sunshine, the hamlet of Tempsford was reached. By the -roadside - -[Illustration: A WAYSIDE INN.] - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT CHEST_] - -here stood the ancient fane, gray and dusky with years. Its door was -unfastened, so we stepped inside. Our hoary churches are stories in -stone, to those who can read them; though not always is the reading -easy, or the story complete. The first thing on entering that attracted -our attention was an unusually fine medieval muniment chest, its age -uncertain, but without doubt centuries old. It had evidently been cut -out of the solid trunk of a tree (presumably of an oak). The chest is -now much worm-eaten, and is bound round with many broad iron bands, and -further secured by five locks. They had great faith in big locks in -those days--locks with twisted keyholes, though to the modern mind they -look easy enough to pick. The problem that presented itself to us was, -seeing that about two-thirds of the wood was interlaced with these metal -bands, why was not the chest at the start made wholly of iron? In this -case the bands promise to outlast the worm-eaten and decaying wood they -enclose, though in some old chests of a similar nature the iron has -rusted more than the wood has perished, possibly owing to atmospheric -conditions, for dampness would probably destroy the iron quicker than -the wood, and dryness would reverse these conditions. - -At the west end of the north aisle we observed a curious triangular -window, and in the pavement at the base of the tower we found two flat -tombstones a little apart. One is inscribed in Latin to the memory of -“Knightley Chetwode,” and the other in English to his wife, who, we -learnt, was noted for her “piety towards God, fidelity to the King and -the Protestant succession”; though why the virtues of the husband -should be set forth in Latin and those of his wife in English I do not -quite see. - -On the wall of the tower we also noted the following inscription cut in -a stone slab, the exact import of which was not very clear to us; -possibly it related to some rebuilding:-- - - Wi[=ll] Savnderson Gē - and Thō[=m] Staplo Yēō - Overseers of this New - Work & patentyes of his - Maiesties Letters - Patent Granted for - the same May xii--1621. - -The lettering of this was delightfully full of character, and pleasing -to look upon simply for the forms of the letters--a something quite -apart from the mechanical precision with which the present-day engravers -render their works, possibly because they cannot do otherwise; it does -not require much thought to be simply precise! - -Just beyond Tempsford our road came close to the side of the -quiet-flowing Ouse, and there, where for a space the road and river ran -together, stood an inviting and picturesque inn, whose sign was that of -“The Anchor.” An ideal angler’s haunt it seemed to us as we passed by, -with an old punt and boats close inshore, and shady trees overhanging -the gleaming stream. There was a look of homely repose about the spot -quite incommunicable in words, a beauty about the fresh greens and -silvery grays of the wind-stirred foliage to be felt, not described. - -[Sidenote: _THE WINDING OUSE_] - -And how deep and rich were the luscious reflections where the woods -doubled themselves in the glassy flood! How peace-bestowing it all was! -We would, for the moment, that we were simple fishermen, and that this -were our journey’s end! Great was the temptation to stop and laze a -while, but we resisted it and drove on. We feared, perhaps, though we -did not confess this to ourselves, that too close an inspection might -rob us of our pleasant impressions. We had an ideal, and wished to keep -it! There is an art in knowing how much to leave unseen! - -On now we drove, through a land of broad and luxuriant meadows, cool and -tree-shaded, till we reached Eaton Socon, a pretty village with a small -green and a fine large church. Within the sacred edifice we discovered -little of interest, only portions of a rather good timber roof, a carved -oak screen of fair workmanship, and the remains of a squint blocked up. -If there were anything else noteworthy we managed very successfully to -miss it. - -Then a short stretch of road brought us once more to the blue winding -Ouse; at least it looked very blue that day. This we crossed on an -ancient, time-worn bridge, that had great recessed angles at the sides -wherein pedestrians might retreat and watch the long track of the -glimmering river, and dream day-dreams, should they be so minded, safely -out of the way of road traffic, and undisturbed by the passing and -repassing of those afoot. On the other side of the river we found -ourselves _at once_ in the wide market-place of St. Neots. At the -bridge the country ended and the town began; there were no straggling -suburbs to traverse. Close at hand, right in the market-place, we caught -sight of an inviting hostelry, the “Cross Keys” to wit. The first glance -at the old inn was enough to decide us in its favour. Relying on the -instinct begotten of long years of road travel, we had no hesitation in -directly driving under the archway thereof, where we alighted in the -courtyard, and sought and obtained, just what we then mostly needed, -comfortable quarters for the night. In the case of the selection of an -hostelry, we had learnt to judge by outside appearances, in spite of the -proverb to the contrary effect. Even in proverbs there are exceptions to -the rule! - -I should imagine, from the glance we had on passing over, that the -bridge at St. Neots forms a sort of outdoor club for a number of the -townsfolk. There is something magnetic about a river that equally -attracts both the young and the old; it is bright and open, it has the -charm of movement, and there is nearly always life of some kind to be -found by the waterside. Thither, too, at times the fisherman, or at any -rate the fisher-urchin, comes; and what a fascination there is for most -minds in watching an angler pursuing his sport, even though in vain! I -have frequently observed that in country towns where there is a widish -river and a convenient bridge over it, there on that bridge do certain -of the citizens regularly congregate at evening-time, when the day’s -work is done, for a chat, a quiet smoke, and “a breath of air before -turning in.” The town - -[Sidenote: _THE CHARM OF MYSTERY_] - -bridge has become quite an institution in some places! - -As we went out to do a little shopping, we were amused and instructed to -hear the different ways that the natives pronounced the name of their -town. One would have imagined that there was only one way of doing this, -but we discovered three: the first party we conversed with distinctly -called it St. Notes, a second as emphatically declared it to be St. -Nots, and still another would have it St. Neets, whilst we as strangers -had innocently pronounced it as spelt; and now I do not feel at all -certain as to which is the prevailing local appellation, or if there may -still be another variety. - -Our bedroom window faced the old market-square--a large, open, and -picturesque space, pleasant to look upon; and at the window we sat for a -time watching the life of the place and the odd characters coming and -going. It was all as entertaining to us as a scene in a play, and a good -deal more so than some, for there was no indifferent acting in our -players, and no false drawing in the background--the perspective was -perfect! And, as we watched, the light in the west gradually faded away, -whilst the moon rose slowly and shone down, large and solemn, through -the haze that gathered around when the dusk descended. The gentle -radiance of the moonlight made the mist luminous with a mellow light--a -light that lent the magic charm of mystery to the prospect. The houses, -grouped irregularly round the square, were indistinctly revealed, all -their harsher features being softened down; then one after another -lights gleamed forth from their many-paned windows, with a warm yellow -cheerfulness in marked contrast with the cold silvery moonshine without. -The mist-damped roadway was reflective, and repeated vaguely the yellow -gleams above, and imparted to the scene quite a Turneresque effect. -Above the low-roofed houses, dimly discernible, rose the tall tower of -the stately parish church, so grand a church that it has earned the -epithet of “the cathedral of Huntingdon.” It was a poetic vision, very -beautiful and bewitching to look upon, we thought; but, after all, much -of the beauty in a prospect lies in the imaginative qualities of the -beholder: we may all see the same things, yet we do not see them in the -same manner! - - - - -CHAPTER V - - The charm of small towns--The Ouse--A pleasant land--Buckden - Palace--A joke in stone--The birthplace of Samuel Pepys--Buried - treasure--Huntingdon--An old-time interior--A famous coaching - inn--St. Ives--A church steeple blown down!--A quaint and ancient - bridge--A riverside ramble--Cowper’s country--Two narrow escapes. - - -One of the special charms of small towns like St. Neots is that you can -readily walk out of them in any direction right into the country; and -what a boon it must be to the inhabitants of such places to have the -real country all around them, easily accessible even to children, and -this without having to take to cab or railway! So next morning, after -starting early, as was our wont, we soon found ourselves amongst the -green fields and trees again. It was a bright sunshiny day, with a -fleecy sky above and a brisk breeze below--the very weather for driving. - -Just outside St. Neots we came to a gateway on the road with the gate -closed and barring our path; there was, however, a man at hand to open -it, and a very prominent notice-board facing us inscribed--“The man who -attends to the common-gate is not paid any wage, and is dependent upon -the free gifts of the public.” This notice struck us as being somewhat -novel, practically converting the gate into a toll-gate, for the moral -obligation to tip was thereby made manifest--and why should gates be -allowed on the main highways? - -After this we crossed a long open common, at the farther end of which we -passed through still another gate, that also needed another tip for the -opening thereof; then we came to our old friend the Ouse again, which we -crossed on a bridge by the side of a mill; just before reaching this we -noticed that there was a raised causeway approach to the bridge for -pedestrians above and alongside of the road, suggestive of winter -flooding. The causeway also suggested an excellent motive for a picture -with suitable figures on it, to be entitled “When the river is in -flood.” It would form quite a Leaderesque subject, taken at a time when -the day is waning, and wan yellow lights are in the sky, and a yellow -sheen lies on the stream. - -The Ouse here is very pretty, clear-watered, and gentle-gliding, fringed -with reedy banks and overhung by leafy trees, the whole being rich in -colour and broad in effect. Indeed, the Ouse is a very pleasant, lazy -stream, and a most sketchable one too. The discovery of the -picturesqueness of this river--of which more anon--was one of the -unexpected good things of our journey. - -Now our road led us, with many windings, through a pleasant land of -parks and park-like meadows, wherein grew great branching elms, beneath -whose grateful shelter the meek-eyed cattle gathered complacently. It -was an essentially peaceful, - -[Sidenote: _A PICTURESQUE PILE_] - -homelike country, green and slumberous, but wanting wide views; a -closed-in landscape, however beautiful of itself, becomes a trifle -monotonous in time--you can even have a monotony of beauty--the eye -loves to rake the countryside, to get a peep, now and then, of the blue -far-away, or of the gray outline of a distant hill. - -The first village on our way was Buckden, and here, being unprovided -with a guide-book, we had a delightful surprise, for as we entered the -place we caught a glimpse of the broken and time-worn towers of a large, -rambling, and picturesque pile of buildings, some portions ruined, -others apparently maintained and occupied. The structure was principally -of brick, but time-toned into a warmish gray with age. What could it be? -Manifestly, from its extent, it was a place of considerable importance. -Such surprises are happily to be expected in such a storied land as -England, wherein you cannot travel far without setting your eyes upon -some ancient history. In spite of the size and beauty of the -many-towered building, when we asked ourselves what it could be, we had -sadly to acknowledge that even the name of Buckden was unfamiliar to us! -So we consulted our ancient and faithful _Paterson_ to see what he might -say, and running our finger down the line of road, as given in the -“London to Carlisle” route, we read after the name of the village, -“Bishop of Lincoln’s Palace.” A note by the side, giving some details -thereof, says: “This venerable pile is chiefly constructed of brick, and -partly surrounded by a moat; it comprises two quadrangular courts, with -a square tower and entrance gateway, and contains several spacious -apartments. Large sums of money have been expended by different prelates -on this fabric, particularly by Bishops Williams and Sanderson, the -former in the reign of James I. and the latter in that of Charles II. -The situation of the edifice is extremely pleasant. The manor was -granted to the see of Lincoln in the time of Henry I.... Several of the -prelates belonging to this see have been interred in the parish church.” - -We gathered from this that probably the church would be fine and -interesting, so we alighted and made our way thither. Facing the quiet -God’s acre--I would like to write God’s garden, but it was hardly -that--stood one of the square, semi-fortified gateways of the palace, -embattled on the top, and having four octagonal flanking towers at its -sides; in the enclosed walls below were mullioned windows, the stonework -of which was perfect, but the glass was gone; at the foot of the gateway -commanding the approach were cross arrow-slits, presumably placed there -for ornament--a survival of past forms that, even when the tower was -raised, had long outlived their uses, so strong is the strength of -tradition. Thus to-day I know instances where the modern architect of -renown has introduced buttresses when the wall is strong enough without; -peaceful church towers are likewise embattled like a feudal castle keep, -and gargoyles introduced thereon, where, did the latter only carry out -their offices, they would pour the rain-water down in streams upon the -heads of the - -[Sidenote: _GARGOYLES_] - -congregation when entering or leaving the building! So, their true -functions gone, are obsolete forms retained for the sake of their -picturesqueness, which seems wrong art to me; rather should we attempt -to build for the needs of the present, and make those needs -ornamental--to construct soundly, and be content to adorn such -construction. The architects of old, I trow, did not introduce gargoyles -for the sake of ornament; they made them to throw the rain from off -their roofs and walls, purely for utility; then they proceeded to carve -and make them presentable, and converted an ugly excrescence into a -thing of beauty or quaintness, as the spirit moved them, but either way -they were interesting. Now that we have invented rain-water -pipes--which, let it be frankly owned, answer the purpose far better -than the old-fashioned gargoyles--we should seek, in the spirit of the -past, to make beautiful or quaint the headings of the same. Here is a -sadly neglected and legitimate opportunity to introduce the much-needed -decoration that _does_ decorate, and thus add an interest to our houses -they so much need. Instead of this, we are too often content with “stuck -on” ornaments, which do not ornament, serve no need, and merely profit -the builder’s pocket. - -But to return to the old Buckden Palace gateway. Though externally the -brick and stone work is in fair condition, the structure is but a -skeleton; however, this fact adds to its picturesqueness, and with the -better-preserved towers beyond, it helps to form a very pleasing group. -When we were there the ruined tower was in the possession of a flock of -noisy starlings--birds that strangely appear to prefer buildings to -trees, and who made themselves much at home in the ruins. - -Then we took a glance within the church, where several Bishops of -Lincoln lie buried close to their palatial home. Fortunate beings those -ancient bishops--to make the best of both worlds, and to ensure so many -earthly good things on their way to heaven; to be the servant of Him who -had not where to lay His head, and yet to sit on a throne, live in a -palace, and enjoy a princely income; nevertheless, to talk of losing all -for Christ, who said, “My kingdom is not of this world”! Strangely -inconsistent is the creed of Christianity with the history of the -Church. “Love your enemies” was the command of the Master. “Torture and -burn them” was the order of the medieval Church--and is the servant -greater than the Master? - -Buckden church, though interesting, was hardly so much so as might have -been expected; its open timber roof, however, was very fine, and was -adorned with a series of sculptured angels that manifestly had once been -coloured, but now had a faded look, and faded angels seem hardly -appropriate; moreover, not one of the number had his (or her?) wings -perfect; some had only one wing, and that broken, others were in a still -worse plight, having no wings at all! But why should angels have wings? -Is it that neither scholar nor artist can get beyond anthropomorphism? -Wings are hardly spiritual appendages. The medieval craftsman, in -representing angels so provided, must surely - -[Sidenote: _A CARVED JOKE_] - -have reasoned with himself somewhat in this fashion: Angels fly; now all -birds and creatures that fly have wings, therefore angels must have -wings; and so he added them to the human form, to represent a spirit. -The medieval craftsman could invent demons--veritable monsters who -breathed and struggled in wood and stone, and looked good-naturedly -diabolical with leering, wicked eyes, yet hardly dreadful--monsters that -appeared quite possible in some other and most undesirable world--these -were pure creations, but his angels were simply winged humanity, neither -original nor interesting, for their even placid features, if without -guile, were equally without character. - -The roof was supported by stone corbels, that in turn supported carved -oak figures of mitred bishops, from which sprang the great rafters with -the angels on. One of these corbels was most cleverly carved so as to -represent a roundish head with a hand held over one eye in a very -roguish way, and tears running down the cheek from the other; the -expression of the features, one half merry and the other grieved, was -marvellous, especially the mouth, part jocund and part miserable; it was -an odd conceit that compelled one to laugh, the comicality was -irresistible. Were I to worship in that church, I am afraid that the -most serious sermon would hardly affect me with that droll face peering -grinningly down--one half at least--and looking so knowing! A carved -joke! That is art in truth that converts the amorphous stone into a -thing of life, with the expressions of grief and joy. Compare such -living work with the lumpy, inexpressive, and meaningless stone-carving -that disfigures so many of our modern churches built “to the glory of -God” cheaply and by contract, and how great and distressing the -contrast! - -As we drove out of Buckden, we noticed what a fine coaching inn it -boasted once, namely the “George and Dragon.” The original extent of the -whole building, in spite of alterations, can still be easily traced; its -former size and importance may be gathered from the fact that there are -thirteen windows in one long line on its front, besides the great -archway in the centre, that is such a prominent feature in most -old-fashioned hostelries. - -A couple of miles or so beyond Buckden stands the pretty village of -Brampton, and here we made a short halt, as, besides its -picturesqueness, Brampton had a further interest for us in being the -birthplace of that celebrated Diarist and old-time road-traveller the -worthy Mr. Samuel Pepys, who was born here on 23rd February 1632, though -the event is not to be found in the parish register, for the excellent -reason that “these records do not commence until the year 1654.” I find -in the preface to the new edition of _Lord Braybrooke’s Diary of Samuel -Pepys_, edited by H. B. Wheatley, it is stated: “Samuel Knight, D.D., -author of the _Life of Colet_, who was a connection of the family -(having married Hannah Pepys, daughter of Talbot Pepys of Impington), -says positively that it was at Brampton” Pepys was born. The father and -mother of the ever-entertaining Diarist lived and died at Brampton, and -were buried there. - -[Sidenote: _A PRIMITIVE PROCEEDING_] - -The number of birthplaces of famous Englishmen that we came accidentally -upon during the course of our journey was a notable feature thereof. -Besides the instance just mentioned, there was Cromwell’s at Huntingdon, -Jean Ingelow’s at Boston, Sir John Franklin’s at Spilsby, Lord -Tennyson’s at Somersby, Sir Isaac Newton’s at Woolsthorpe, with others -of lesser note, the last four being all in Lincolnshire. - -But to return to Brampton. Pepys makes frequent mention of this place in -his notes, and gives some very amusing and interesting experiences of -one of his visits there under the date of the 10th and 11th of October -1667, when he came to search for and to recover his buried treasure. It -appears, after the Dutch victory in the Thames, and the rumours that -they intended to make a descent upon London, Pepys, with many others, -became alarmed about the safety of his property, so he sent a quantity -of gold coins in bags down to his father’s home at Brampton, with -instructions that they should be secretly buried in the garden for -security! A primitive proceeding truly, giving a curious insight of the -state of the times: one would have imagined that the money would really -have been safer hidden in London than risked on the road, where -robberies were not infrequent. - -When all fear of the Dutch invasion had vanished, Pepys journeyed down -to Brampton to get back his own, which caused him to moralise upon the -obvious thus--“How painful it is sometimes to keep money, as well as to -get it.” Having recovered his money, or nearly all of it, he relates -how about ten o’clock he took coach back to London. “My gold I put into -a basket, and set under one of the seats; and so my work every quarter -of an hour was to look to see whether all was well; and I did ride in -great fear all day.” And small wonder, for if any of the “gentlemen of -the road” had “got wind” of Mr. Pepys’s exploit, it is more than -probable that they would have eased him of his treasure; even without -such knowledge, there was just a possibility of a misadventure at their -hands. The only pleasant part of that memorable journey must have been -the ending thereof. I wonder whether Mr. Pepys ever heard of the -tradition, which has found its way as historic fact into some of our -school-books, that “in Saxon times the highways were so secure that a -man might walk safely the whole length and breadth of the land, with a -bag of gold in his hand.” The “in Saxon times,” however, calls to my -mind the inevitable beginning of the good old-fashioned fairy stories, -“Once upon a time.” Both terms are rather suggestive of romancing; at -least they put back dates to a safely distant period! - -On the church tower at Brampton, which stands close to the roadside, is -the date 1635 plainly carved in stone, and to-day as sharp and clear as -when first chiselled over two eventful centuries ago. From Brampton we -drove to Huntingdon. About midway between those places we passed, on a -triangular bit of green, a gray stone obelisk surmounted by a ball. At -first we imagined that we had come across - -[Sidenote: _COACHING INNS_] - -another wayside monument, but it disappointed us, proving to be merely a -glorified sign-post with hands pointing out the various directions, and -the various distances given below. Then leaving, to our left, the -historic home of Hinchinbrook, where the Protector spent some of his -boyish days with his uncle and godfather Sir Oliver Cromwell, we soon -entered the pleasant town of Huntingdon. Here we sought out the -“George,” one of the famous trio of coaching houses on the road that, -with its namesake at Stamford and the “Angel” at Grantham, disputed the -premier place for comfort, good living, and high charges. At either of -these well-patronised hostelries our forefathers were sure of excellent -fare and rare old port such as they delighted in: it was the boast of -some of the hosts, in the prime of the coaching age, that they could set -down before their guests better wine than could be found on His -Majesty’s table. If this were a fiction, it were a pleasant fiction; and -tired travellers, as they sipped their old bottled port, after feasting -well, doubtless deemed their landlord’s boast no idle one. - -Unfortunately the “George” at Huntingdon, unlike its two rivals -aforementioned, has externally been rebuilt, not, alas! on the -picturesque old lines, but in the square, commonplace fashion of plain -walls pierced with oblong holes for windows--a fashion so familiar to us -all. But upon driving beneath the archway and entering the courtyard, a -pleasant surprise awaited us. We found a picture in building presented -to our admiring gaze. It was one of those delightful experiences that -are so delightful because so unexpected: there is a wonderfully added -charm about pleasures that are unanticipated. This is why it is so -enjoyable to travel through a fresh country with all before you unknown -and therefore pregnant with possibilities; the mind is thus kept ever in -an agreeable state of expectancy, wondering what each new bend in the -road may reveal; and what a special interest there lies in the little -discoveries that one makes for oneself! Could a guide-book be produced -giving particulars of all one would see on a tour, so that one would -always know exactly what to expect everywhere, I make bold to say that a -tour undertaken with such a perfect companion would not be worth the -taking! - -But to get back to the “George” at Huntingdon. There, straight in front -of us, stood a goodly portion of the ancient inn, unlike the exterior, -happily unmodernised--a fact for all lovers of the beautiful to be -deeply grateful for. This bit of building retained its ancient gallery, -reached by an outside stairway (so familiar in old prints and drawings -of such inns), and in the great tiled roof above, set all by itself in a -projecting gable, was the hotel clock, that doubtless erst did duty to -show the time to a generation of road-travellers in the days before the -despotic reign of the steam-horse, when corn and hay, not coal and coke, -sustained the motive power. - -This unchanged corner of a famous old coaching hostelry spoke plainly of -the picturesque past. It was not a painter’s dream, it was a reality! It -suggested bits from _Pickwick_, and sundry scenes from novels of the -out-of-date romantic school. - -[Illustration: AN OLD COACHING INN: COURTYARD OF THE GEORGE, -HUNTINGDON.] - -[Sidenote: _AN INN TO OUR LIKING_] - -Indeed, it must formerly have been quite a Pickwickian inn, and in our -mind’s eye we conjured up a picture in which the immortal Sam Weller was -the chief character, standing in the courtyard below flirting with the -neat be-ribboned maids above as they leaned over the open gallery, when -for a moment business was slack in the yard, and the chamber bells had a -brief respite from ringing. The building and courtyard had a genuine -old-world flavour about them that was very charming, and to add to its -interest and attractiveness the building was not decayed or ruined, as -so many of the kind are, but was well preserved and maintained, so that -it must have looked to us much the same as it did in the days of our -ancestors--peace be to their ashes! - -At the “George” we were received by a motherly landlady with a welcoming -smile, that made us feel more like an expected guest arriving than an -utter stranger seeking food and shelter for a time; this ready greeting -in the good old-fashioned style promptly recalled to memory Shenstone’s -famous and often-quoted lines as to the warmness of the welcome a -traveller may find at an inn. - -So much to our liking were both landlady and hostelry, that we forthwith -determined to stop the night beneath the sign of the “George” at -Huntingdon, though it was only then mid-day. “I really must make a -sketch of your pretty courtyard!” I exclaimed to the landlady, after -returning her greeting with thanks, for we were always most particular -to repay courtesy with courtesy. “Oh! do wait till to-morrow,” she -begged, “as you are staying on, for I have ordered some flowers and -plants to put round about the yard. They will be here this afternoon, -and the place will look so much nicer with them.” So smilingly we -consented to wait till to-morrow, when the flowers and shrubs would be -in evidence. It was something to feel that so charming a relic of the -past was thus prized and cared for. Picturesqueness begets -picturesqueness; as a pretty house calls for tasteful things about it, -so a picturesque bit of old building like this mutely begs for flowers -and plants to complete its pleasantness. - -As we had the whole afternoon on our hands, we determined to do a little -local exploring. The only point to be considered was, in which direction -we should go. To settle this our map was consulted, and from it we -learnt that the ancient town of St. Ives was only, by rough scale -measurement, some four to five miles off; moreover, we noted that our -newly-made friend the Ouse flowed between the two towns with many a bend -that suggested pleasant wanderings; and as we were informed that there -was a footpath by the riverside, the wanderings were feasible. So we -made up our minds to get to St. Ives somehow, by railway if needs be and -a train served, and at our leisure to follow the winding stream afoot -back to Huntingdon. We felt a strong desire to become better acquainted -with the Ouse, as the few peeps we had already caught of its quiet -beauties much impressed us; still, we had a haunting dread of being -disappointed with a wider view, so often have - -[Sidenote: _A SLEEPY TOWN_] - -hopes raised in a similar manner proved illusive. Then we remembered -Wordsworth’s lines: - - Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! - It must, or we shall rue it! - We have a vision of our own; - Ah! why should we undo it! - -Well, we had “a vision of our own” of what the Ouse would be -like--“should we undo it?” We had asked ourselves almost a similar -question before of one picturesque spot by the same river’s side near -Tempsford, as may be remembered, but that was only of one special nook, -not of a five miles’ stretch of country! - -We found St. Ives to be a drowsy, old-fashioned town, delightfully -unprogressive, and little given to so-called modern improvements--a -place where the feverish rush of life seemed stayed. It struck us as -being quaint rather than picturesque, though its curious old bridge, -hoary with antiquity, certainly deserved both these epithets, and bits -of its buildings, here and there, proved eminently sketchable. Whilst we -were drawing an odd gable which took our fancy, an elderly stranger -approached and began to converse with us--a frequent incident under such -circumstances, so much so that we had become quite accustomed to it. The -stranger in this case turned out trumps, in that he was somewhat of a -character, possessing a fund of entertaining information about local -subjects that interested us. He was a quiet-spoken and pleasant-mannered -man, rather shabbily dressed, as though he paid little heed to the cut -of his coat or external appearances, but his linen was scrupulously -clean. We felt puzzled what position in the varied economy of life to -assign to him, nor did any chance remarks of his help us in this -respect. But, after all, who or what he might be was no business of -ours. “Have you seen the old bridge yet?” was one of his first -questions. Then he went on to say, “You must not miss that, it is the -queerest bridge in England; it was constructed by the old monks -originally; there’s a curious building right in the middle of it, on the -site of an ancient chapel in which prayers used to be offered up for the -safety of travellers starting on a journey, and thanks were given for -their safe arrival. When the chapel and priests were done away with, a -lighthouse was put up in its place to help the river traffic, so I’ve -been told; then the lighthouse got burnt down; and afterwards, when the -people found that they could get along without either chapel or -lighthouse, the place was converted into a dwelling-house, and that’s -what it is now. There’s not many folk, I fancy, in these times, who have -their home in the middle of a bridge! It is a wonderful old building, -you must not miss it on any account,” and we promised that we would not. -“Then there’s our church,” he went on; “the spire of it has been blown -down twice, though you might not think it on such a day as this; but it -does blow terribly hard here at times: the wind comes up the river and -sweeps down upon us in the winter, now and then, hard enough to take you -off your legs. I’ve been blown down myself by it when crossing - -[Sidenote: _A STRANGE STORY_] - -the bridge. But I was going to tell you a strange bit of history -connected with our church, which I believe is quite unique. Many years -ago--I don’t just now remember the exact date, but it was over two -hundred years back--a Dr. Wilde left a sum of money in his will, the -interest on which was to go to buy Bibles to be tossed for by dice on -the Communion table by six boys and six girls of the parish, and the -tossing still takes place every year according to the will, only now it -is done on a table in the vestry instead of on the Communion table. Now -that’s a bit of curious history, is it not?” and we confessed that it -was, and duly jotted it all down in our note-book just as told to us. -When we had finished, our informant further added, “I have heard that an -account of the dice-tossing was given in one of the London papers, only -by some mistake it was said to have taken place at St. Ives in Cornwall, -and some one from there wrote to the paper and said that there was not a -word of truth in the story.” So the conversation went on. The only other -item of special interest that I can remember now, is that he remarked -that perhaps we did not know the origin of the name of Huntingdon. We -confessed our ignorance on the subject, and he forthwith kindly -enlightened us, though I cannot, of course, in any way vouch for the -authenticity of a statement made by an utter stranger in the street of a -country town! Still, I give it for what it may be worth, and because the -derivation seems not only plausible but probable. According to our -unknown authority, then, in Saxon times the country around Huntingdon -was one vast forest given over to the chase, and the place was then -called Hunting-ton--or Hunting-town, in modern English--and from this to -Huntingdon is an easy transition. - -Curiously enough, just after writing this record of a chance -conversation, I came upon a paragraph in the _Standard_ giving an -account of the St. Ives dice-tossing, which runs as follows, and bears -out the story as told to us:--“The ancient custom of raffling for Bibles -in the parish church of St. Ives took place yesterday. The vicar -directed the proceedings, and twelve children cast dice for the six -Bibles awarded. The custom dates from 1675, and is in accordance with -the will of Dr. Wilde, who left £50 to provide a fund for the purpose. -It was expended on what is still called ‘Bible Orchard,’ with the rent -of which the books are bought, and a small sum paid to the vicar for -preaching a special sermon.” - -The bridge at St. Ives we found to be a most interesting and picturesque -structure, having a tall building over the centre pier, and in addition -a low and smaller building over another pier at the farther end, that -looked as though it might have been originally a toll-house. Four out of -the six arches of the bridge were pointed, and thereby suggested the -ecclesiastical architect. The remaining two were rounded, doubtless -reconstructed so at a later period. At the base of the house that stood -in the middle of the bridge was a little balcony with iron railings -round it, to which access was given by a door, so that the tenant of the -house could sit outside and have a quiet smoke whilst amusing himself -watching the craft going up and down stream. The bridges at -Bradford-on-Avon in Wiltshire and at Wakefield in Yorkshire have their -old chapels, and one of the bridges at Monmouth has its ancient -fortified gateway thereon; but I do not know of any bridge in England -besides that of St. Ives that has an inhabited house upon it. - -[Sidenote: A HOUSE ON A BRIDGE.] - -Crossing the river on the quaint, old, and timeworn bridge (of which an -engraving is given at the head of the first chapter), we soon found -ourselves once again in the greenful country; and walking over a meadow -that seemed to us a good mile long, we reached the pleasant Ouse, -shimmering like a broad band of silver in the soft sunshine, and gliding -slowly and smoothly along its sinuous course between flower-decked -fields and reed-grown banks, with over-arching trees ever and again that -gave deliciously cool reflections in the stream below. - -After the hoary bridge and ancient time-dimmed town, how fresh and -bright looked the fair open country, so full of exuberant vitality! How -gray and aged the dusky town appeared from our distant standpoint--the -wear and tear of centuries was upon it; by contrast how ever young and -unchangeable the country seemed. The one so mutable, the other so -immutable! - -As we wandered on, we suddenly found ourselves in a most picturesque -nook, where the river made a bend and a bay, and was overshadowed by -trees--a peace-bestowing spot it was, and in the shallow edge of the -stream, beneath the sheltering trees, cattle were lazily resting and -cooling themselves. Here too we discovered a rambling old mill, the -subdued droning of whose great wheel mingled with the plashing of -falling water and the murmuring sur--sur--suring of the wind-stirred -foliage--sounds that were just enough to make us realise the stillness -and tranquilness of the spot. One does not always comprehend the -quietude of Nature; we travel too much in company to do this. But -besides the old mill, that so pleased us that we forthwith made a sketch -of it, there was close at hand an ancient lock, gray and green, and just -sufficiently tumble-down to be perfectly picturesque. Look which way we -would, we looked upon a picture. Perhaps the one that pleased us best -was the view of the great gabled mill as seen from the top of the lock, -with the big leafy trees outstretching behind it, and the weedy and worn -towing-path winding in front. - -[Sidenote: OVER FEN AND WOLD.] - -As we stood by the lock sketching the old mill--called Knight’s mill, we -learnt from the lock-keeper--a barge came along drawn by a gray horse, -for there is traffic on the Ouse, but only just enough to give it a -little needful life and interest. As the barge proceeded on its journey, -we observed that, at a point where the tow-path apparently ended, the -horse went boldly down into the water and walked on in the river close -by the bank where it was shallow; it struck us from this that it would -hardly do to rely solely upon the tow-path for exploring purposes. - -Not far from the mill and lock is Hemingford Grey, a pretty village -whose fine old church stands picturesquely by the side of the river. The -church appeared formerly to have possessed a fine spire, but now only a -stump of it remains, and each angle of this is adorned with a small -stone ball that gives a curious look to the building. Just against the -churchyard, that is merely divided from the river by a low wall, is a -little landing-place for boats; so we imagined that some of the country -folk are rowed or punted to church on Sundays--quite a romantic and an -agreeable proceeding in the summer time. - -[Sidenote: TO CHURCH BY BOAT.] - -Here we saw a man on the bank fishing with a bamboo rod, contentedly -catching nothing--a lesson in patience and perseverance. The rod he -declared to be an ideal one to angle with, being so light and strong; -nevertheless, we observed that, in spite of this advantage, he had -caught no fish. Perchance they were shy or “off their feed” that day; -they always seem to be so, I know, when I go a-fishing. Then we asked -him about the church spire--had it never been completed, or had it been -struck by lightning, or had it been pulled down as unsafe? - -“You’ve not guessed right,” he replied; “it was blown down”! Now this -struck us as extraordinary. Church spires do not generally get blown -down, yet that very day we had come upon two, not very far apart, that -had so suffered. Either this part of England must be very windy, or the -spires must have been very badly built! It was a strange and puzzling -fact. - -Cowper stayed some time at Hemingford Grey, and wrote a few of his -poems there; and as it seems to me a most charming spot, I am perplexed -to understand how he could write of the scenery around Huntingdon, of -which it forms part, thus:--“My lot is cast in a country where we have -neither woods nor commons, nor pleasant prospects--all flat and insipid; -in the summer adorned with willows, and in the winter covered with a -flood.” Surely Cowper must have been in an extra melancholy mood at the -time, else why does he condemn a country thus, that he praises for its -beauties in verse? Are there two standards of beauty, one for poetry and -one for prose? - -So we rambled on by the cheerful riverside, over the greenest of -meadows, past ancient villages and picturesque cottages, past -water-mills, and with occasional peeps, by way of change, of busy -windmills inland, past primitive locks and shallow fords, till we -reached Godmanchester. Our verdict, given after our enjoyable tramp, is -that the Ouse from St. Ives to Huntingdon is a most picturesque and -paintable stream, simply abounding in picture-making material. Quite as -good “stuff” (to use artists’ slang) may be found on the Ouse as on the -Thames, with the added charm of freshness, for the beauties of the -Thames have been so painted and photographed, to say nothing of being -engraved, that they are familiar to all, and over-familiarity is apt to -beget indifference! - -So we rambled leisurely along by the river side, over meadows spangled -with daisies and buttercups, those lowly but bright and lovely flowers - -[Sidenote: _A NARROW ESCAPE_] - -of the sward, by ancient villages and unpretending cottage homes, that -pleased because they were so unpretending, by droning water-mills and -whirling windmills, by picturesquely neglected locks, by shallow fords, -and by countless beauty-bits such as artists love, till we reached -Godmanchester--a quiet little town, remarkable neither for beauty nor -for ugliness, that stands just over the Ouse from Huntingdon. Here we -crossed first some low-lying ground, and then the river by a raised -causeway and a long stone bridge, darkly gray from age; on the wall in -the centre of this bridge is a stone slab inscribed:-- - - Robertus Cooke - Ex Aquis emersus - Hoc viatoribus sacrum - D.D. 1637. - -It appears that, in the year above stated, this Dr. Robert Cooke, whilst -crossing the causeway, then in bad repair, was washed off his feet and -nearly drowned, the river running strongly past in heavy flood at the -time; and in gratitude for his narrow escape he left in his will a -certain sum of money, the interest on which was to be expended in -keeping the causeway and bridge in perfect repair for ever. - -This reminds me of the historic fact that no less a personage than -Oliver Cromwell, when a schoolboy, at this spot and under similar -circumstances, also nearly lost his life, but was saved from drowning by -the timely aid of a Huntingdon clergyman who was likewise crossing at -the time. When, in after years, Cromwell, no longer unknown to fame, -chanced to be passing through the streets of Huntingdon at the head of -his Ironsides, he happened to notice the very clergyman watching the -procession, and, smiling, reminded him of the incident, asking him if he -remembered it. “I do well,” replied the clergyman, who bore no love -towards the Puritans, “and I wish to God I had let you drown rather than -have saved your life to use it to fight against your king.” To which -Cromwell sternly retorted, “It was God’s will, you merely acted as His -servant to perform His wishes. Be pleased, sir, to remember that.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - Cromwell’s birthplace--Records of the past--Early photographs--A - breezy day--Home-brewed ale--Americans on English - scenery--Alconbury Hill--The plains of Cambridgeshire--The silence - of Nature--Stilton--A decayed coaching town--A medieval hostelry--A - big sign-board--Old-world traditions--Miles from anywhere. - - -Returning to our comfortable hostelry after our pleasant wanderings, we -felt just sufficiently tired to enjoy the luxury of taking our ease -therein, but “hungry as hunters” from our long tramp, therefore we -rejoiced in the fact that the worthy landlady had not forgotten her -guests, for we found quite a sumptuous repast awaiting us, worthy of the -ancient traditions of the house, though we on our part, it must be -confessed, were not equally worthy of the traditions of our ancestors in -the wine side of the feast; indeed, our healthy out-of-door life gave us -a positive distaste for wine of any kind. We always infinitely preferred -a homely draught of good old English ale, than which, for thirsty -mortals, a better drink has yet to be invented! - -It may be remembered--though we only gleaned the fact whilst in -Huntingdon--that Oliver Cromwell was born in that town, and was educated -at the grammar school there. The house in which the Protector “first -saw the light of day” has, alas! been pulled down, but an ancient -drawing thereof represents it as being a comfortable and substantial -two-storied building, apparently of stone, having Tudor mullioned -windows and three projecting dormers in the roof. At the commencement of -the century the house was standing, and was shown as one of the sights -of the place. If only photography had been invented earlier, what -interesting and faithful records might have been preserved for us of -such old historic places which are now no more! As it is, we have to be -content with ancient drawings or prints of bygone England, and these not -always skilfully done, nor probably always correct in detail. -Furthermore, artists, then as now, perhaps more then than now, romanced -a little at times, and therefore were not so faithful to facts as they -might have been; as witness many of Turner’s poems in paint, which, -however beautiful as pictures, are by no means invariably true -representations of the places and scenes they profess to portray. -Indeed, there is a story told of Turner, who, when sketching from Nature -upon one occasion, deliberately drew a distant town on the opposite side -of the river to which it really stood, because, as he explained, “It -came better so”! - -An unknown and very kind friend some time ago most courteously sent me a -number of prints from paper negatives taken in the early days of -photography by the Fox-Talbot process, and amongst these chanced to be -an excellent view of the ancient hostelry of the “George” at Norton St. -Philips in Somerset (a wonderful old inn, by the way, which I - -[Sidenote: _PHOTOGRAPHIC RECORDS_] - -have already very fully described in a former work[1]). When I received -the prints, I had only recently both carefully drawn and photographed -the quaint old-time hostelry, and I found that, even in the -comparatively short period that had elapsed since the Fox-Talbot -negatives were made, certain marked changes had taken place in the -building; so there can be no doubt as to the value and interest of such -recording photographs, for the lens has no bias, but faithfully -reproduces what is before it, neither adding to nor taking away -therefrom for the sake of effect. Now that, fortunately, both the -amateur and professional photographer are in evidence everywhere, future -generations will happily possess true, if not always artistic, -representations of places and historic spots as they really were at the -time of being taken; and in the case of matters of antiquarian or -archæological interest, we can well pardon the probable loss of -picturesqueness for the sake of accuracy. Fancy, if we could only have -to-day photographs preserved for us showing, for example, Fountains -Abbey in the full glory of its Gothic prime, or of other notable -buildings of the medieval age, how we should prize them! If we only had -a few faithful photographs of Elizabethan England to compare with -Victorian England, what a precious possession they would be! What would -not one give for a “snap-shot” of the Invincible(?) Armada arrogantly -sailing up the English Channel in stately procession, or of the -innumerable pageants of bygone times with all their wealth of -picturesque paraphernalia! - -[1] _Through Ten English Counties._ - -We were up early in the morning, and before breakfast had made a sketch -of the quaint and ancient courtyard of the “George,” an engraving of -which is given in the last chapter. By a little after nine the dog-cart, -packed for travelling, was at the side door of our inn, and bidding -good-bye to the landlady--who in the good old-fashioned manner had come -to see us off and wish us a pleasant journey--we took our departure, and -were soon once more in the open country. Overnight we had, as our wont, -consulted our map as to our next day’s stage, and determined that we -would drive to Stamford, just twenty-five and three-quarter miles from -Huntingdon, according to our faithful _Paterson_. - -Again we had delightful weather: a fresh, invigorating breeze was -blowing from the west; overhead was a deep blue sky, from which the sun -shone warmly, but not too warmly, down. The air was clear and sweet, and -the country all around full of brightness, colour, and movement, for the -wind swayed the trees in its path, and made golden waves as it swept -over the unreaped corn-fields, and green ones as it passed over the long -grasses in the meadows; it rippled the waters on ponds and rivers, and -whirled the sails of the windmills round at a merry pace; the brisk -breeze gave animation to the landscape, and seemed to imbue it with -actual life. Huntingdonshire, fortunately for the traveller therein, -possesses no large manufacturing towns, Huntingdon, St. Neots, and St. -Ives being of the compact, clean, homely order--more agricultural -centres than commercial ones. Therefore the atmosphere of the county is -not smoke-laden or oppressed with grayness, but pure, bright, and -buoyant, with the scent of the real country about it--an atmosphere that -makes one suddenly realise that there is a pleasure in merely breathing! - -[Sidenote: _HOME-BREWED ALE_] - -About two miles out we came to a little roadside inn having the sign of -the “Three Horse-shoes” displayed in front. Why three horse-shoes? Four, -one would imagine, would be the proper number. Here we observed a notice -that the thirsty wayfarer could indulge in “Home-brewed Ale,” rather a -rare article in these days of tied houses, when large brewing firms buy -up all the “publics” they can, so as to ensure the sale of their beer -thereto, and no other. Now, it may be pure fancy on my part, for fancy -counts for much, but in my opinion there is a special flavour and -pleasing character about _good_ home-brewed ale never to be found in -that coming from the big commercial breweries. - -A little farther on our road brought us to Little Stukeley, a rather -picturesque village. Here, to the left of the way, stood a primitive old -inn, with its sign let into the top of a projecting chimney-stack, an -uncommon and curious place for a sign. In fact there were two signs, one -above the other; the top one was of square stone carved in low relief to -represent a swan with a chain round its body. The carving was all -painted white (except the chain, which was black), and bore the initials -in one corner of C. D. E., with the date 1676. Just below this, on a -separate and oblong tablet, painted a leaden colour, was the carved -representation of a fish--intended, we learnt, for a salmon, as the inn -was called the “Swan and Salmon.” We felt duly grateful for the lettered -information, otherwise we might in our ignorance have imagined the sign -to be the “Swan and Big Pike”! - -Now we passed through a pretty but apparently sparsely-populated -country; indeed, it is strange how little the presence of man is -revealed in some portions of rural England, though the signs of his -labour are everywhere in evidence. Upon one occasion, when driving a -prominent American citizen, a guest of mine, across country (in order -that he might behold it from another point of view than that afforded by -a railway carriage, the general mode of seeing strange countries -nowadays), I took the opportunity of asking him what he was most struck -with in the English landscape. “Its uninhabited look,” was the prompt -reply; “and that is the very last thing I expected. I see great parks -here and there, and now and then I get a peep of a lordly palace -standing in stately solitude therein, as though it needs must keep as -far removed from the plebeian outer world as possible; but the homes of -the people (I mean those who are neither very rich nor very poor), where -do they hide themselves? From all I have seen to-day, had I not known -the facts, I should have imagined it was Old England that was the new -and thinly-populated land, and not my American State. With you, I guess, -it is a civilised feudalism that still prevails: the palace surrounded -by its park takes the place of the ancient castle surrounded by its -moat--the outer forms have changed, the spirit still remains. The -English country strikes me as a land of magnificent mansions and humble -cottages.” - -[Sidenote: _AS OTHERS SEE US!_] - -I was so struck by this statement of views, that on my return home I -looked up the works of some American authors who have written about -England, to gather what they might say on the subject, and I found that -John Burroughs, in an appreciative essay on English scenery in his -_Winter Sunshine_, writes his impressions of it thus:--“To American eyes -the country seems quite uninhabited, there are so few dwellings and so -few people. Such a landscape at home would be dotted all over with -thrifty farmhouses, each with its group of painted outbuildings, and -along every road and highway would be seen the well-to-do turnouts of -the independent freeholders. But in England the dwellings of the poor -people, the farmers, are so humble and inconspicuous, and are really so -far apart, and the halls and the country-seats of the aristocracy are so -hidden in the midst of vast estates, that the landscape seems almost -deserted, and it is not till you see the towns and great cities that you -can understand where so vast a population keeps itself.” It is -interesting sometimes “to see ourselves as others see us,” and never was -I more entertained than by hearing the outspoken opinions upon England -and the English of a notable Japanese official whom I met in California, -and who confided to me his ideas and views of things British, imagining -I was an American citizen all the time, and I did not undeceive him. - -On our map we saw Alconbury Hill marked right on our road of to-day, -also we found it noted in our _Paterson_, therefore we expected to have -some stiff collar-work, for we reasoned to ourselves, when an Ordnance -map makes prominent mention of a hill it means climbing for us; so we -were surprised to find the hill only a gentle, though rather long, rise, -with a descent on the other side to correspond--trotting-ground every -inch of the way. From the top of the modest elevation, however, we had -an extensive prospect opening out before us over the flat, far-reaching -plains of Cambridgeshire--a little world of green meadows and tilled -fields, varied by many-tinted woods, enlivened by the gleam of still -water and the silvery thread of winding stream--a vast panorama -stretching away farther than our eyes could reach, for the far-off -horizon was lost in a faint blue haze that seemed to wed the sky to the -land. There is a certain fascination in looking over such a breadth of -earth and sky to be felt rather than described; it affords one an idea -of the majesty of space! - -The country, as we drove on, became very lovely but very lonely; we had -the road all to ourselves for miles, not even the ubiquitous cyclist did -we see, and the fields on either hand appeared strangely deserted; a -profound peace brooded over all, so that even the tramping of our -horses’ feet and the crunching of our wheels on the hard road seemed -preternaturally loud--and we realised what a noise-producing creature -man is! I knew a Londoner, who lived within sound of the perpetual roar -of street traffic, after spending a night in a remote - -[Sidenote: _TRANQUILLITY OR DULNESS_] - -country house, actually complain of the painful stillness there, -averring that he could not sleep for it! So silent is Nature when at -rest, and so unaccustomed is the average town-dweller to its quietude. -To Charles Lamb the tranquillity of the country was “intolerable -dulness”; to others it is infinite rest. Lamb wrote: “Let not the lying -poets be believed, who entice men from the cheerful streets.... Let no -native Londoner imagine that health and rest, innocent occupation, -interchange of converse sweet, and recreative study, can make the -country anything better than altogether odious and detestable. A garden -was the primitive prison, till man, with Promethean felicity and -boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it”! - -Driving on, we observed a large old house to our right close to the -roadway; this we imagined from appearances had formerly been a fine old -coaching hostelry, but now it is divided down the centre, one half doing -duty as a farmstead, the other half still being a house of -entertainment, that proclaims itself with the sign of the “Crown and -Woolpack.” I find that an inn so named is marked at this very spot on a -last-century travelling map I possess, so that it was presumably then of -some importance. To-day it struck us that the farmhouse looked more -prosperous than the inn. - -As we proceeded, the country all around had a mellow, home-like look, -smiling and humanised with long abiding and the tireless toil of -generations of hardy workers: it was a delightful compound of green -fields, leafy trees, tangled hedgerows, murmuring streams, with winding -roads and inviting footpaths leading everywhere. Here and there, too, we -caught pleasant peeps of the gray gable-ends of ancient homes amidst the -woods, the rest being drowned in foliage. The scenery was thoroughly, -intensely English. Had you by some magic been suddenly transplanted -there from some distant region of the world, you would have had no -hesitation in saying that you were in England, for no other scenery in -the world is quite the same as what we looked upon. Here again let an -American give his opinion. I find Mark Twain, in his _More Tramps -Abroad_, thus writes: “After all, in the matter of certain physical -patent rights, there is only one England. Now that I have sampled the -globe, I am not in doubt. There is the beauty of Switzerland, and it is -repeated in the glaciers and snowy ranges of many parts of the earth; -there is the beauty of the fiord, and it is repeated in New Zealand and -Alaska; there is the beauty of Hawaii, and it is repeated in ten -thousand islands of the Southern Seas; there is the beauty of the -prairie and the plain, and it is repeated here and there in the earth. -Each of these is worshipful, each is perfect in its way, yet holds no -monopoly of its beauty; but that beauty which is England is alone--it -has no duplicate. It is made up of very simple details--just grass, and -trees, and shrubs, and roads, and hedges, and gardens, and houses, and -churches, and castles, and here and there a ruin, and over it all a -mellow dreamland of history. But its beauty is incomparable, and all its -own.” - -It is not always the grandest scenery that affords - -[Sidenote: _ENGLISH SCENERY_] - -the most lasting pleasure, rather is it the quiet beauty that lies in -our rural everyday landscape that holds the sweetest remembrance. -Grandeur may excite our admiration, call forth our most expressive -adjectives, but it is the lovable that dwells nearest the heart, whose -memory is the closest treasured in after years; and it is this very -quality of lovableness that the English scenery flows over with that so -charms and binds one’s affections. English scenery does not challenge -attention by any _tour de force_; it simply allures you by its sweet -smile and home-like look. As Thackeray says, “The charming, friendly -English landscape! Is there any in the world like it?... It looks so -kind, it seems to shake hands with you as you pass through it.” - -About twelve miles from Huntingdon stands the little decayed town of -Stilton--a famous place in the old coaching days, when the traffic here -on the Great North Road is said never to have ceased for five minutes, -day or night, the whole year round. But now Stilton has shrunk to little -more than a large village. Thanks to the railway, its prosperity is a -thing of the past, depending as it did almost wholly upon its inns, -which in turn depended upon the road traffic. As we drove into the -drowsy old town (I use the term in courtesy), that seems to have gone to -sleep never to waken more, our eyes were delighted by the vision of a -genuine, little-altered, medieval hostelry--of which very few remain in -the land. It was a picture rather than a place--a dream of old-world -architecture; and this is what we saw before us: a long, low, gabled -building, with bent, uneven roof and shapely stacks of chimneys, with -the usual low archway in, or about, the centre, giving access to the -stable-yard, and a grand old sign-board, supported by great brackets of -scrolled iron-work, and further upheld by a post in the roadway (there -is a curious old inn, the “Chequers,” at Tunbridge, with its sign -supported in a similar manner). The fine sign-board of the inn at -Stilton bears the representation of a huge bell, and forms quite a -feature in the building; the front of the latter has a delightful -mellow, gray tone--a sort of bloom that only age can give, the priceless -dower of centuries. - -So charmed were we with this quaint and picturesque specimen of a -past-time hostelry of the pre-coaching era, that we involuntarily pulled -up to gaze upon it at our leisure, half afraid lest it should prove an -illusion, and like a dream vanish into nothingness; but no, it was a -happy reality, and not the delusion of a moment--it was “a something -more than fiction.” Not often in these prosaic days does the driving -tourist come upon a romance in stone like this, for romance was written -large over all its time-toned walls--walls that since the hostelry was -first raised, over three storied centuries ago, must have looked upon -many strange sights and eventful doings. Then the highway to the North -was in parts but little better than a track. The “gentlemen of the road” -made travelling a doubtful delight, full of excitement, and more -dangerous than tiger-hunting now is. Little wonder, therefore, that our -medieval ancestors commended their souls to God before starting out on -a journey; even the early coaching bills took the precaution of stating -that “the journey would be performed, God permitting.” The modern -railway time-table compilers are not so particular! - -[Sidenote: _“THE BELL” AT STILTON_] - -Driving under the ancient archway, we entered the stable-yard of the -“Bell,” and found that, in spite of the changed times and forsaken look -of the place, we could put our horses up there, as well as obtain a meal -for ourselves. Whereupon we ordered the best that the house could -provide “for man and beast.” Having settled this necessary detail, we at -once went outside and began work on a sketch of the ancient hostelry (an -engraving which will be found with this chapter). So engrossed did we -become with our pleasant task, that we forgot all about our meal, so the -landlord had to come out to remind us about it. We excused ourselves by -remarking that we could eat and drink any day, but not always had we the -opportunity of sketching such a picturesque bit of building. The -landlord simply smiled, and gazed at us inquiringly. What was passing in -his mind I cannot say, but he remarked that our chops were getting cold. -Possibly he wondered at any one preferring to stand outside in the -roadway drawing an old inn, instead of sitting within it feasting. -Moreover, he reminded us that he had some excellent ale. This was a -sudden descent from the poetic to the practical, but the practical -prevailed, for we had to confess to ourselves that we were hungry, and -thirsty too; and as my wife pertinently remarked, “The chops won’t -wait, and the inn will; it has waited several hundreds of years where it -is, and you can finish your sketch after lunch.” The argument was -unanswerable, so we stepped within, and did ample justice to the repast -that mine host had provided. I am inclined to think that the sketch did -not suffer for the interruption, for a hungry man is apt to draw -hastily, be he ever so enthusiastic about his work. Our repast finished -and our drawing done, we sought out the landlord--a stout, -jovial-looking personage; may his shadow never grow less!--for a chat, -in the hope of gleaning thereby some information or traditions about the -old place, and were not wholly disappointed. - -It appeared that mine host had been there thirty-two years, and even in -his recollection much of the stabling and a portion of the building in -the rear also had gone to decay, and consequently was pulled down. He -seemed proud of his ancient inn, but especially proud of the original -sign-board, which, being of copper, for lightness, had not decayed, -neither had it warped. “Now, I’ll wager you cannot guess the height of -it within a foot,” he exclaimed, looking up at the swinging board. We -thought we could, it seemed an easy matter; so we guessed and failed! We -conjectured five feet. “Ah!” exclaimed the landlord, “I knew you would -guess wrong--everybody does. Why, it’s six feet and two and -three-quarter inches high! I’ve been up on a ladder and measured it -myself. It does look big when you’re up close to it. There used to be -lots of bets about it, I’ve heard, in the old coaching days, much to the -profit of the drivers; for you see they knew the height and - -[Illustration: A MEDIEVAL HOSTELRY: THE BELL INN, STILTON.] - -[Sidenote: _A FINE INN SIGN_] - -their passengers didn’t. It was said to be the finest sign on the road. -More than once, to settle a wager, the coach waited whilst the board was -measured. It’s a sad pity, but the scrolled iron-work is corroding away, -besides getting bent out of place here and there from the heat of the -sun, but I expect it will last my time for all that. The owner would -like to restore the old inn, only there is so little road custom now, it -would not pay to do so.” “But how about the cyclists,” we queried; “do -you not obtain a good deal of custom from them?” “Well, not very much, -sir. Somehow, they seem mostly to pass along without stopping. Now and -then one or two may stop just for a glass of ale, but the majority of -them simply slow down a bit as they pass by, and exclaim, ‘What a funny -old place!’ or a similar remark; but a few odd glasses of ale and a lot -of remarks don’t go far towards paying rent. You see, there’s nothing to -come here for, this isn’t a tourist country. Now, were we only near to a -watering-place, we should get a lot of folks a-driving over to see the -old house, refreshing themselves, and baiting their horses. Then there -would be money in it.” For myself, I am selfishly glad that the “Bell” -at Stilton is not near any fashionable resort, otherwise there would be -a great chance of its picturesqeness being improved away. As it is, it -may still, with a little repairing now and then, last for centuries, to -delight the eye of antiquaries and artists yet unborn--a bit of history -in stone of the never-returning past. - -Then the landlord asked us to go into his garden at the back, and there -presented us with one of his roses. “It’s a rare kind,” he said; “they -call it a new rose. A gentleman living near here gave a big price for a -stock one like it; but when he showed me his purchase I told him that I -had just the same kind in my garden, and it had been there for seven -years; and he would not believe me till he came and saw for himself. -There’s what you call a spa spring in the garden. In olden times it used -to be considered a cure for some complaints, but it seems forgotten now. -It is the only spring in the place; all the other water has to be got -from wells.” - -The name of Stilton is, of course, a familiar household word, as the -little town gave its name to the now famous cheese. I find my copy of -_Paterson_ has the following note about the place:--“Stilton has long -been celebrated for the excellence of its cheese, which not unfrequently -has been called the English Parmesan. It is asserted that this article -was first made by a Mrs. Paulet of Wymondham, near Melton Mowbray, in -Leicestershire, who supplied the celebrated Cooper Thornhill, who kept -the Bell Inn in this village, with this new manufacture, which he often -sold for 2s. 6d. per lb., and hence it is said to have received its name -from the place of sale. This Thornhill was a famous rider, and is -recorded to have won the cup at Kimbolton with a mare that he -accidentally took on the course after a journey of twelve miles.” -Another performance of this sporting worthy was to ride to London and -back for a wager within twelve hours. I find by my road-book the -distance for the double journey to be 150 miles, so that he must have -ridden over twelve miles an hour; and a good day’s work in truth! - -[Sidenote: _INN-LORE_] - -Most of the landlords of the old coaching hostelries were sporting men, -and wonderful stories are told of their doings, stories that probably, -like most wines, have improved with age. Indeed, a vast amount of -inn-lore (we have folk-lore, why not inn-lore?) may be picked up by the -road traveller of to-day, from talkative landlords and communicative -ostlers, if he be a good listener. I should think that I have gathered -this journey sufficient anecdotes of the road, good, bad, and -indifferent, to fill two chapters at least. But the stories lose much -when retold in prosaic print; it is the persons who tell them, and the -manner of telling, together with suitable surroundings, that give them a -special charm. To do them justice you must hear them in a remote country -hostelry from the lips of some jovial old host--for a few such may still -be found on the way--whose interest lies in that direction; and if told -in his low-ceilinged parlour, hung round with prints of coaching and -sporting subjects, produced in the pre-chromo-lithographic age, so much -the better; if over a pipe, better still. Then perchance mine host may -settle down and warm up to his subject, when one story will inevitably -suggest another, and that still another, and so on apparently _ad -infinitum_, till your note-book is filled with all sorts of curious -histories. Or failing the landlord, the “wrinkled ostler, grim and -thin,” may well supply his place; and the rambling old inn-yard where -some of the wonderful feats related took place, or are presumed to have -taken place, forms a very appropriate and telling background to the -tale. We have had the _Tales of my Landlord_. Who will give us the -_Tales of an Ostler_? These, judging from my own selection, might, with -a little necessary weeding, prove interesting and, in certain cases, -even sensational reading. - -I well remember, some few years back, when touring in Yorkshire, the -aged ostler of a solitary inn on the moors, where we were weather-bound -for a time, related to me, by way of pleasantly passing the time, a -blood-curdling story about the house in the “good old times.” I must say -that the story suited well the building, for it was a bleak, -inhospitable-looking house, with long untenanted, unfurnished chambers, -its stables going to decay, and mostly given over to cobwebs and -half-starved mice--the whole place looking doubly dreary in the dripping -rain: a gray drooping sky and a soughing wind serving only too -successfully to accentuate its dismalness. “Ah,” exclaimed the ostler as -we stood together sheltering from the steady downpour in a corner of the -stables, “there were queer doings in the old place. I’ve heard tell, in -past times, many a belated traveller who put up here for the night never -got no further if he were supposed to have much money upon him; that is, -for the landlord then, they do say, combined inn-keeping with robbery. -There were one bedroom in the house where they used to put likely -travellers to sleep, and this had a secret door to it. It’s yon room -with the low window overlooking the yard, and, well, next morning the -traveller had disappeared no one knew - -[Sidenote: _A GRUESOME STORY_] - -where; but a lot of skeletons have been found when digging in the moor -round about. However, one night the landlord caught a Tartar. There was -a scuffle in the room, and some pistol shots were heard, and the -landlord was found dead on the floor: the traveller turned out to be a -famous highwayman, who so cowed the rest of the house that he rode off -in the morning with a good share of the landlord’s plunder to which he -quietly helped himself.” But then the story may not be true, or only -true in part, for tradition is a sad scandal-monger; and tradition, -unlike a rolling stone, gathers substance as it goes on. I should -perhaps state, in fairness to the worthy ostler’s tale-telling talent, -that I have only given his grim story in brief, and have purposely -omitted some very gruesome and thrilling details that he positively -gloated over. These my readers can supply for themselves if they be so -minded, providing a trap-door in the floor of the chamber, with a deep -well immediately below, and flavouring to taste. - -But to return to the “Bell” at Stilton, from which I have wandered far -afield. This gray and ancient hostelry, with its weather-tinted walls, -produced an impression upon us difficult to analyse; it verily seemed as -though there must be some old legend or mystery connected with the -building and only waiting to be discovered. The glamour of romance -seemed to brood over it: a romance in which the “knights of the road” -figured prominently, and we began to weave a little story “all our own,” -after the most approved manner of Harrison Ainsworth. Dick Turpin must -have known this hostelry very well, it being on his favourite and most -paying line of road; and the chances are that he stopped at it more than -once, for it was in a remote position and a convenient halting-place for -his calling. Outwardly the old inn may be a trifle more time-toned and -not so trim or well kept as then, but otherwise I do not imagine that -either it or the town has altered much since his day. On the whole it -doubtless looks much the same to us now as it did to him. Stilton is a -place that in an age of change has remained unchanged; since the last -coach departed thence it appears to have fallen into a deep sleep with -small prospect of ever awakening again. The railway has left it quite -out in the cold. Of Stilton it may truly be written, “It was!” - -Dick Turpin must have passed by the “Bell” on his famous ride to -York--if ever that ride took place, for sundry hard-headed and -hard-hearted antiquaries, who ought to know better, declare the episode -to be as apocryphal as the “Battle of Dorking.” Legends should not be -judged by the same standard as matter-of-fact history! I wish learned -authorities would devote their time to some more profitable task than -that of upsetting innocent and perfectly harmless romances: already they -have demolished nearly all the fabled stories of my childhood, besides a -host of my favourite traditions which I liked to feel might be true, -such as the picturesque elopement of Dorothy Vernon. “In reality nine -out of every ten traditions are deliberate inventions.” Possibly; -nevertheless I find no special pleasure in being assured that “Cæsar -never cried that cry to Brutus; Cromwell never said ‘Take away that -bauble’; Wellington denied that he uttered, ‘Up, Guards, and at them!’ -and the story of Cambronne declaring that ‘The Old Guard dies, but never -surrenders,’ is now known to have been invented by Rougemont two days -after the battle.... As for the Abbé Edgeworth’s farewell to Louis XVI. -on the guillotine, the cry of the crew of the sinking _Vengeur_, and the -pretty story of young Barra in the war of La Vendée--these are all -myths”--and more’s the pity! - -It was with great reluctance that we bade goodbye to the quaint and -ancient “Bell” at Stilton, and in spite of the unreliability of -traditions generally, we could not help wondering whether there were any -truth in the oft-repeated story that Dick Turpin had half the landlords -between London and York “under articles” to him, and if the then -landlord of this special inn were one of them. - -[Sidenote: _MILES FROM ANYWHERE_] - -On the front of a lonely little hostel at Upware, in the wide Fenland of -Cambridgeshire, is inscribed “Five Miles from Anywhere. No Hurry,” and -it struck us that these words might equally well be painted on the -front, or beneath the sign, of the “Bell” at Stilton. There is a sense -of remoteness about the decayed, medieval hostelry that suits well the -legend: for Stilton is miles from anywhere, and it seems generations -removed from the present prosaic age of progress, rush, and bustle. It -is a spot in which the past appears the reality, and the present a -dream! - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - Norman Cross--A Norman-French inscription--A re-headed statue--The - friendliness of the road--The art of being delightful--The turnpike - roads in their glory--Bits for the curious--A story of the - stocks--“Wansford in England”--Romance and reality--The glamour of - art--“The finest street between London and Edinburgh”--Ancient - “Callises”--A historic inn--Windows that have tales to tell. - - -Leaving Stilton we had a pleasant stretch of rural country of the -restful, home-like, friendly order, but none the less beautiful because -of an unambitious type. It was a constant delight to us to search for, -and to discover what was most beautiful in the everyday English country -we passed through; the charm of such quiet scenery is that it never -palls nor becomes wearisome with familiarity, as more pretentious -landscapes often do. Far fresher and more enjoyable was it, to us, to -wander leisurely about rural England out of the well-beaten tourist -track than to traverse a district famous for its scenery, belauded by -guide-books, and crowded by excursionists, where beforehand you know -almost exactly what to expect and where therefore pleasant surprises, or -discoveries, are rare; but, on the other hand, by anticipating too much, -disappointment often awaits one. - -[Sidenote: _A MATTER OF SENTIMENT_] - -At Norman Cross, a tiny hamlet with a suggestive name, situated about a -mile on our way out of Stilton, there are the slight remains of the -colony of barracks that were erected in the last century, wherein some -thousands of French prisoners were confined during the Napoleonic wars. -From Norman Cross we drove merrily along until we came to the pretty -village of Water Newton, pleasantly situated by the side of the river -Nen, or Nene,--for I find it spelt both ways on my map. Here the -time-mellowed church, placed rather in a hollow a meadow’s length away -from the road, attracted our attention, though why it especially did so -I hardly know, for there was apparently nothing particularly noteworthy -about it, at least not more so than any one of the other country fanes -we had passed unregarded by that day. Moreover, our tastes for the -moment did not incline to things ecclesiastical. But it is a fact, that -now and then, without any definable cause, a certain spot, or place, -will excite one’s interest and arouse within one a strong desire to stop -and explore it: such sentimental, but very real, feelings defy all -reasoning; they exist but cannot be explained or reduced to an argument. - -So half-involuntarily we pulled up here. “We must see that old church,” -we exclaimed, though wherefore the compulsion we did not inquire of -ourselves; but we went, in spite of the fact that it was getting late -and that we had some miles more to accomplish before we reached -Stamford, our night’s destination. In the churchyard we noticed an -ancient stone coffin and lid, but we had seen many such stone coffins -and lids before, so that these did not specially appeal to us. Then -walking round the building, in search of any object of interest, we -happened to glance at the tower, and on its west side we espied, about a -third of the way up, a recess with a carved stone figure of a man -standing therein, the hands of which were clasped as though in prayer. -This at once excited our curiosity. On looking further we observed an -inscription below the figure apparently in Norman-French, but the -lettering was so much defaced that it was difficult to decipher, a -difficulty increased by the distance we were away from it; nevertheless, -nothing daunted, we boldly made the attempt, and whilst puzzling over -the spelling without, be it confessed, making much progress, the rector -fortunately discovered us and kindly came to our aid. Existence is -doubtless somewhat uneventful in this quiet spot, and possibly he was -not averse to the scarce luxury of a chat with a stranger. I must say it -seems to me that the life many of our refined and educated clergy lead -in remote, out-of-the-way rural districts, is not altogether an enviable -one, for, as a rule, the society of such is sadly restricted, and the -conversational powers of the farmers and agricultural labourers are apt -to be somewhat limited, not to say monotonous. Arcadia has its delights, -but they are not academical. The chief charms of ruralism to some people -are to be found second-hand in “open-air” books! Therein lies the -difference between the genuine and the pseudo Nature lover. - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT INSCRIPTION_] - -The church had been restored recently, so the rector informed us, and by -aid of a ladder the inscription had been deciphered as follows:-- - - VOVS : KE : PAR - ISSI : PASSEZ - PVR : LE : ALME - TOMAS : PVR - DEN : PRIEZ - -which I afterwards put into English thus, though I do not profess to be -a Norman-French scholar, but in this case the translation seems -manifest:--You that pass by here pray for the soul of Thomas Purden. -This truly sounds rather like a command than begging a favour of a -stranger, still I trust that this Thomas Purden had his demands amply -gratified, and I further trust that his soul has benefited thereby--but -what of the countless number of souls of other poor folk, equally dear -to them, who had neither money nor influence to cause such an entreaty -to be made public thus for their benefit? It was a hard faith that -seemed to make it thus easier “for a rich man to enter the kingdom of -God” than for a poor man, and calls to mind the Puritans’ dictum that -Purgatory was invented to enrich the priest! - -Who this Thomas Purden was the rector could not say, possibly now no one -can: he may have been the founder of the church, though in that case one -would have expected to find this memorial of him in the chancel, -according to the prevailing custom; it appears to me more probable, -therefore, that he was the builder of the tower, or possibly a -benefactor of the church; but this is pure conjecture on my part, and -conjectures must be taken for what they are worth. - -The head of the statue, we were informed, was not the original one, -which had decayed away or had been broken off, so that at the time of -the restoration of the church the figure was headless: “However,” we -were informed, “the builder, curiously enough, had some old carved stone -heads knocking about his yard, and he fitted on one of these in place of -the missing one”! Thus is the lot of the future antiquary made hard: but -this is not so blameworthy as an instance that came under my notice on a -previous tour, when I discovered that a mason had inserted an ancient -dated stone over the porch of an old house he had been called in to -repair, solely because he had it on hand and thought it looked -ornamental there! This was enough to deceive the very archæological -elect! I have to confess that the new head supplied to Master Thomas -Purden appeared to be, from our point of view below, a good “ready-made” -fit; but therein lies the greater pitfall for the future antiquary -aforementioned. - -“Now,” exclaimed the rector, “you will doubtless wonder why the figure -with such an appeal to the public was placed on the side of the tower -facing the meadows, and not on the side facing the road.” As a matter of -fact this detail had not occurred to us; one cannot think of -everything--though we tried to look surprised at the fact--then the -rector continued, apparently pleased by our perspicacity: “Well, -formerly the road went past the west front of the tower, close under it -indeed, and crossed the river by a ford; if you look along the fields -you can see traces of it even now.” So we looked and imagined we could -see the traces in question, but our eyes, naturally, were not so -accustomed to make them out as those of our informant. Then the rector, -seeing the manifest interest we took in his church, most courteously -devoted himself to us, and good-naturedly acted the part of guide, for -which attentive civility we felt duly grateful. But that was not all, -for after we had finished our inspection of the building, he, with -thoughtful kindness, invited us into his snug rectory, hospitably intent -on making us partake of afternoon tea; and this was by no means a -solitary occasion of such a kindness shown to us--pressed upon us would -be the more exact expression; utter strangers travelling by road! - -[Sidenote: _THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS_] - -Indeed, during our tour, the difficulty that frequently presented itself -to us when we did not wish to dally on the way was how we could -gracefully decline the many proffered invitations of a similar nature -without appearing to be rude. At one time we thought that probably the -sight of the dog-cart, as showing that we were presumably respectable -wayfarers, might have had something to do with the continued courtesies -we received, for in almost every stranger we met we seemed to find a -friend; but when touring alone on a walking tour, with only a knapsack -strapped on my back, I have experienced the same kindly treatment, often -too when in a dust-stained condition. On one well-remembered occasion -during the shooting season, when trespassing afoot across some moors in -search of a short cut, I came suddenly upon the owner of the land with -his party lunching; the owner was inclined to be indignant with me at -first, but an apology for my inexcusable trespass quietly expressed was -followed by a few minutes’ conversation, which ended in my being invited -to join the lunching party, no refusal being permitted. “We insist upon -your joining us as a penalty for your trespassing,” was the jovial -manner in which the invitation was enforced, and I accepted the -inevitable without further demur! - -After all the world is much as we make it; smile on it and it returns -your smiles, frown and it frowns back again, greet it good-naturedly and -it will return your greeting in kind. As Seneca says, “He that would -make his travels delightful must first make himself delightful.” And to -do this he should cultivate a pleasant manner; it costs so little and -returns so much, obtaining favours for which money would not avail, and -generally smoothing wonderfully the way of the wanderer. Thus Emerson -sings-- - - What boots it thy virtue? - What profit thy parts? - The one thing thou lackest, - The art of all arts. - - The only credential, - Passport to success, - Opens castles and parlours,-- - Address, man, address. - -And Emerson knew! - -During our past wanderings on wheels we have made numerous friends, and -have received many kind invitations to spend a time at their homes, and -in the course of this journey we received three such invitations, all -from perfect strangers; only one of which we were enabled to accept, and -in that case a most hearty welcome was extended to us. Such generous -hospitality shown, which included stabling our horses, such a manifest -anxiety evinced to make our short stay as enjoyable as possible, that -mere thanks seemed a wholly insufficient return. - -But to return to Water Newton church, after this digression and short -sermon on civility which my readers are fully licensed to skip, the -rector called our attention to the painstaking manner in which the tower -was constructed: “All of ashlar work and scarcely any mortar, or cement, -being used. The top of the tower has one feature about it that tells its -own story; as you will see, a quantity of old Norman tooth-moulding has -been employed in the window arches, manifestly preserved from an earlier -building, for the joints of the ornamentations do not come evenly -together; thus plainly proving resetting. On the farther and fourth side -of the tower that is less seen the windows have none of this moulding, -but are simply finished off in unadorned stone-work, the builders having -presumably used up all the old carving in the more prominent positions.” - -[Sidenote: _A CURIOUS NAME_] - -Then entering the church the rector pointed out to us the name of -“Original Jackson” cut in a flat tombstone on the floor. The Christian -name of “Original” being curious and, as far as I know, unique. At one -time we learnt that there had been a dove-cote in the tower, or rather a -portion of it formed a dove-cote of considerable size, and was doubtless -a source of profit to the pre-Reformation clergy. At the foot of the -tower is the old vestry door, and a very narrow one it is, so narrow -indeed that, the story goes, a former priest of goodly proportions was -unable to pass through it; therefore, as the door could not be -conveniently altered, a new vestry with an ampler means of approach had -to be devised. In a window recess in the south aisle is a recumbent -stone effigy, much mutilated and cracked; the feet of this rest upon a -lion, apparently showing the figure, which is under lifesize, to be -intended to represent a man, yet the features of the head with its long -hair suggest a woman. We understood that this effigy was the cause of -considerable dispute amongst antiquaries as to whether it were -representative of a knight or a dame. We decided in favour of the lady. -The church, we were informed, “is dedicated to St. Remigius, an almost -unique dedication in England.” - -Then adjourning to the rectory we were shown there some very interesting -specimens of Roman pottery and other ancient relics that the rector -himself had found in a gravel-pit near by, at a spot where an old Roman -encampment once had been. To show how times have changed we were told -that two old houses between the rectory and - -[Sidenote: _SHOEING CATTLE!_] - -the road were formerly small but flourishing inns; and that an old -farmer, aged eighty-three, who lived in an ivy-clad farmhouse a little -farther on our way, well remembers sixteen mail-coaches passing Water -Newton in the day: this was besides the ordinary non-mail-coaches, of -which there were a number. Another reminder of other days and other -ways, in the shape of a bygone custom quite novel to us, we gleaned from -an old gaffer we met on the way. From him we learnt that in the -pre-railway days, when the cattle were driven along the Great North Road -from Scotland to the London markets, the animals were actually shod like -horses so that their hoofs might stand the long journey on the hard -highway. Several blacksmiths on the road moreover, we were given to -understand, made a special business of shoeing such cattle apart from -shoeing horses. So one travels and picks up curious bits of information. -One man we saw gathering nettles assured us that, boiled, they made a -delicious green vegetable, besides purifying the blood and being a cure -for boils and the rheumatics. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I should not wonder -some day, when their virtues are discovered, to find rich people growing -them in their gardens instead of spinach and the like. Nettles be a -luxury. Now, if ever you suffers from the rheumatics mind you tries -nettles, they beat all the doctor’s medicine; they just do.” And we -promised to think the matter over. The idea of any one ever growing -crops of nettles in their kitchen-gardens amused us. Still the weed, -vegetable I mean, may have hidden virtues I wot not of; and possibly it -is not altogether wise to dismiss as absolute nonsense every item of -country folk-lore one comes upon. I always jot such sayings down in my -note-book, and shall soon have quite a collection of them. I remember -one simple remedy that a farmer’s wife told me of when a youngster, -which, boy-like, I at once tried--and actually found it effectual! Some -of the countryfolk’s cures, however, may be considered worse than the -disease. Here, for instance, is one for baldness that I have not tested: -“Rub well the bald parts with a fresh onion just cut, twice a day, for -ten minutes at a time at least; and you must never miss a rubbing till -the hair begins to grow again”! - -Leaving Water Newton we drove on through a level country, passing in -about a mile or so some ancient stocks and a whipping-post on a grassy -corner by the roadside; these had been painted manifestly to preserve -them as a curiosity. Some day, like ducking-stools and scolds’ gags, -they will possibly only be found in a museum. According to a paragraph -in a local paper that I extracted the gist of on the journey, the last -time that a man was condemned to the stocks in England was at the -village of Newbold-on-Avon in Warwickshire late in this century. The man -in question was a confirmed drunkard, and the magistrates fined him 7s. -6d. with the option of being placed in the stocks: the drunkard chose -the stocks which he well knew were decayed and unfit for use; so they -were forthwith repaired at some expense, which being done the man -suddenly found the money for the fine and so - -[Sidenote: _LOCAL PAPERS_] - -escaped the indignity of the stocks, and the doubtful honour of being -the last person to be legally confined therein. When all else fails in -the evenings at country inns, the local papers often afford much -entertainment combined with information. The local antiquaries -occasionally write to them upon matters of interest in the -neighbourhood; and such communications are frequently well worth -reading, for by perusing them the traveller out of the beaten track may -obtain intelligence of old-time relics and quaint rural customs that he -would otherwise probably never hear of, and such things are well worth -knowing and preserving. - -Wansford, the next village we came to, pleased us by its picturesqueness -and its pleasant situation on the banks of the Nene, a wide and -fishful-looking stream whose name we did not even know before we -undertook this tour; so that driving across country teaches one a good -deal about the geography of one’s own land, besides affording the road -wanderer an intimate knowledge of it, never obtainable from the railway. - -Wansford is built of stone and is a charming specimen of an old English -village; its houses and cottages strike the eye as being substantial, -comfortable, and enduring; for you cannot well build meanly with stone. -One large house in the village street, large enough to deserve the -often-misappropriated term of mansion, with its stone-slab, overhanging -roof, and strong stacks of chimneys, especially pleased us; neither -roof, wall, nor window seemed as though any one of them would need -repairs for long years: possibly this building was originally a fine -old coaching inn, for it stood close upon the roadway. Oh! the comfort -of a well-built home like this, with a roof fit to weather the storms of -centuries, and thick walls, so charmingly warm in winter and so -delightfully cool in summer, wherein you may dwell in peace, and bills -for repairs are almost an unknown thing. - -The church here is a box-like structure, small, primitive, and ugly, and -we merely went to view it because the rector at Water Newton had told us -that the ancient font thereof was curious; it being carved round with -men fighting--scarcely an appropriate ornamentation for a font in a -Christian church though, one would imagine! Quite in keeping with the -rude interior of this tiny fane is the wooden gallery at one end, with -the most suitable inscription:-- - - This Loft Erected - January 1st, 1804. - -I have only to add that it is an excellent example of the Churchwarden -era of architecture, and you seldom find a structure of the period more -ugly. - -At Wansford we crossed the river Nene on a fine old stone bridge of -thirteen arches, if we counted them aright: a solid bit of building -pleasing to look upon and making a pretty picture from the meadows below -with the clustering, uneven roofs of the village for a background. Over -the centre arch let in the wall we noticed a stone inscribed P. M. 1577. -Wansford is curiously called locally “Wansford in England” and has been -so called for generations. In my copy of _Drunken Barnaby’s four -journeys to the North of England_, edition of 1778, I find the following -lines:-- - - Thence to Wansforth-brigs ... - - * * * * * - - On a haycock sleeping soundly, - Th’ River rose and took me roundly - Down the Current: People cry’d - Sleeping down the stream I hy’d: - _Where away_, quoth they, _from Greenland? - No; from Wansforth brigs in England._ - -[Sidenote: _A GREAT ARCHITECT_] - -Now we hastened along to “Stamford town,” some six miles farther on, -where we proposed to spend the night. Just before we reached our -destination we passed to our right Burleigh park and house. Of the -latter we had a good view: a splendid pile it is, stately but not too -stately, dignified yet homelike, it combines picturesqueness with -grandeur--a rare and difficult achievement for any architect and one for -which Vanbrugh strove in vain; the more merit therefore to the famous -John Thorpe who designed Burleigh House, in my humble opinion the -greatest of English architects; his works speak his praises. The man who -originated the Elizabethan style of architecture was no ordinary genius! -Thorpe built pictures, he was never commonplace. - -My readers will remember Tennyson’s well-known lines about the “Lord of -Burleigh” and his village spouse; unfortunately, like the charming story -of Dorothy Vernon’s elopement, the romance loses much of its gilt by -too critical an examination. The lovely and loving Countess was the -Lord’s second wife, he having married another lady from whom he was -divorced. After the separation, acting upon the advice of his uncle, and -having lost all his own fortune, he retired into the country and -eventually took lodgings with a farmer named Thomas Hoggins at Bolas in -Shropshire, giving himself out to be a certain Mr. Jones, not an -uncommon name. Here “Mr. Jones,” possibly finding time hanging heavily -on his hands, promptly made love to his landlord’s daughter Sarah, the -village beauty, and eventually married her. It was not till after the -death of his uncle that he became “Lord of Burleigh,” all of which is a -matter of history. It was after this event, when he succeeded to the -Earldom and estates, that his rank was revealed, much in the romantic -manner that Tennyson relates. Then the new “Lord of Burleigh” took his -innocent and loving wife by easy stages to her home, pointing out all -the country sights and mansions on the way, she dreaming all the while -of the little cottage he so long had promised her-- - - All he shows her makes him dearer: - Evermore she seems to gaze - On that cottage growing nearer, - Where they twain will spend their days. - - * * * * * - - Thus her heart rejoices greatly, - Till a gateway she discerns - With armorial bearings stately, - And beneath the gate she turns; - Sees a mansion more majestic - Than all those she saw before: - Many a gallant gay domestic - Bows before him at the door. - And they speak in gentle murmur, - When they answer to his call, - While he treads with footstep firmer, - Leading on from hall to hall. - And, while now she wonders blindly, - Nor the meaning can divine, - Proudly turns he round and kindly, - “All of this is mine and thine.” - -[Sidenote: _A PICTURESQUE TOWNSCAPE_] - -Driving into Stamford, a place we had never visited before, we were -struck by the familiarity of the townscape presented to us; it seemed to -greet us like an old friend, whose face we had often seen. The square -towers, the tall tapering spires, with the gable-fronted, -mullion-windowed old houses, and the picturesque way that these towers, -steeples, and old-fashioned houses were grouped and contrasted had a -strangely well-known look--yet how could this be if we had not beheld -them before? Then we suddenly solved the promising mystery by -remembering that it was Turner’s engraved drawing of Stamford in his -“England and Wales” series of views that had brought the prospect to -mind. In this case--judging by our recollection of the engraving, a -great favourite, so strongly impressed upon us--Turner has been more -than usually topographically faithful: he appears to have taken very -little, if any, liberty with the buildings or the composition of the -subject--possibly because the natural grouping is so good, that art -could not, for the nonce, improve picturesquely upon fact. For it is not -the province of true art to be realistic, but to be poetic; the painter -is not a mere transcriber, but a translator. There is such a thing as -pictorial poetry; the pencil can, and should, be employed sincerely yet -romantically. Observe, in this very drawing of Stamford, how Turner, -whilst not departing one whit from the truth, has by the perfectly -possible, yet wonderful, sky-scape he has introduced, with the effective -play of light and shade that would be caused thereby, strong yet not -forced, and the happy arrangement of figures and the old coach in the -foreground, added the grace of poetry to the natural charms of the -ordinary street scene. The photograph can give us hard facts and precise -details, enough and to spare, yet somehow to the artistic soul the -finest photographs have a want, they are purely mechanical, soulless, -and unromantic. They lack the glamour of the painter’s vision, who gives -us the gold and is blind to the dross, he looks for the beautiful and -finds it; so he brightens his own life and those of others, and his work -is not in vain! - -Scott, who often travelled by this famous Great North Road, described -St. Mary’s Hill at Stamford as being “the finest street between London -and Edinburgh,” and surely Scott ought to know! To use an artist’s slang -expression of a good subject “it takes a lot of beating.” Besides being -beautiful, Stamford is one of the most interesting towns in England, -with quite a character of its own; it is essentially individual, and -therein lies its special charm: to me it is passing strange that such a -picturesque and quaint old town should be so - -[Sidenote: _AN ERST UNIVERSITY TOWN_] - -neglected by the tourist, and the few who do find their way thither -appear to come attracted solely by the fame of Burleigh House, one of -the “show” mansions of the country, merely treating old-world Stamford, -with all its wealth of antiquarian and archæological interest, as a -point of departure and arrival. For Stamford--whose name is derived we -were told from “Stone-ford,” as that of Oxford is from “Ox-ford” over -the Isis--was erst a university town of renown whose splendid colleges -rivalled both those of Oxford and Cambridge, and even at one period -threatened to supersede them, and probably would have done so but for -powerful and interested political intrigues. Of these ancient colleges -there are some small but interesting remains. Spenser in his _Faerie -Queene_ thus alludes to the town:-- - - Stamford, though now homely hid, - Then shone in learning more than ever did - Cambridge or Oxford, England’s goodly beams. - -But besides the remains of its ancient colleges, Stamford possesses -several fine old churches of exceptional interest, a number of quaint -old hospitals, or “callises” as they are locally called--a term derived, -we were informed by a Stamford antiquary we met by chance, from the -famous wool merchants of “the Staple of Calais” who first founded them -here--the important ruins of St. Leonard’s Priory, crumbling old -gateways, bits of Norman arches, countless ancient houses of varied -character, and quaint odds and ends of architecture scattered about. - -At Stamford we patronised the ancient and historic “George Inn,” that -still stands where it did of yore--an inn which has entertained -generations of wayfarers of various degrees from king to highwayman; -and, as in the past, opens its doors to the latter-day traveller, who, -however, seldom arrives by road. It was quite in keeping with the old -traditions of the place that we should drive into its ancient and -spacious courtyard and hand our horses over to the ostler’s charge, -whilst we two dust-stained travellers, having seen our baggage taken out -of the dog-cart, should follow it indoors, where the landlord stood -ready to welcome us, just as former landlords on the self-same spot -might have welcomed former travellers posting across country. During the -month of August 1645, Charles I. slept a night here on his way south -from Newark; it was Scott’s favourite halting-place on his many journeys -to and from London--and many other notables, of whom the list is long, -have feasted and slept beneath the sign of the “George” at Stamford. -“Walls have ears,” says the old familiar proverb: would that the walls -of the “George” had tongues to tell us something of the people who have -rested and feasted within its ancient chambers, to repeat for our -benefit the unrecorded sayings, witticisms, stories of strange -adventures on the king’s highway, and aught else of interest that may -have passed their lips. Marvellous men were some of those ancestors of -ours, who would sit outside a coach all day, and sit up half the night -consuming their three bottles of port, yet rise in the morning -headacheless and proceed with their journey smiling. There must be some -wonderful recuperative virtue about life in the open air, otherwise they -could hardly have led the life they did. Up early, and to bed late, with -port, or punch, nearly every night, and sometimes both--and yet we have -no record of their complaining of dyspepsia! Again I repeat they were -marvellous men; peace be to their ashes. - -[Sidenote: _RECORDS ON GLASS_] - -In many a coaching inn they have left mementoes of themselves by -scratching their names with dates, and sometimes with added verses, on -the window panes of the rooms: these always deeply interest and appeal -to me; they tell so little and so much! The mere scratches of a diamond -on the fragile glass have been preserved all those years, they look so -fresh they might have been done only a month ago. Nowadays it is only -the “‘Arrys” who are supposed to do this sort of thing, but in the olden -times even notable personages did not deem it beneath their dignity thus -to record their names. On the window of the room in which Shakespeare -was born at Stratford-on-Avon may be found the genuine signature of the -“Wizard of the North,” in company with those of other famed and unfamed -men and women. Where walls are silent, windows sometimes speak! I have -noted dates on these of nearly two centuries ago; the names of the -writers being thus unwittingly preserved whilst perchance they have -weathered away from their tombstones. Such records as the following -which I select haphazard from my note-book are interesting:--“Peter -Lewis 1735. Weather-bound,” or “G. L. stopped on the heath by three -men,” or again, “T. Lawes, 1765. Flying machine broken down, Vile -roades.” Suggestive comments that one can enlarge and romance upon. Now -and then these old-time travellers instead of leaving their names behind -them indulged their artistic propensities by drawing, more or less -roughly, representations of coats-of-arms, and crests, or else gibbets, -highwaymen, and such like. These old records on glass are an interesting -study, and are mostly to be found on bedroom windows; but panes get -broken in time, or destroyed during alterations, or the old houses -themselves get improved away, so these reminders of past days and -changed conditions of life and travel gradually grow fewer: it is -therefore wise of the curious to make note of them when they can. - -In the coffee-room of the “George” we met a pleasant company consisting -of three belated cyclists, and with them we chatted of roads, of -scenery, and many things besides till a late hour, when we retired to -rest and found that we had allotted to us a large front bedroom. We -could not help wondering how many other travellers, and who they might -have been, the same chamber had sheltered since the inn was first -established in the years gone by. Probably--it was even more than -probable--Scott himself may have slept in the very chamber we occupied. -Verily a glamour of the long ago, a past presence, seems to hang over -this ancient and historic hostelry! It is haunted with memories! - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - A picturesque ruin--Round about Stamford--Browne’s “Callis”--A chat - with an antiquary--A quaint interior--“Bull-running”--A relic of a - destroyed college--An old Carmelite gateway--A freak of - Nature--Where Charles I. last slept as a free man--A storied - ceiling--A gleaner’s bell--St. Leonard’s Priory--Tennyson’s - county--In time of vexation--A - flood--Hiding-holes--Lost!--Memorials of the past. - - -Early in the morning we started out to explore the town; first, however, -we found our way to Wothorpe a short mile off, from whence there is a -fine view of Stamford. At Wothorpe are the picturesque ruins of a small -mansion built by the first Earl of Exeter: “to retire out of the dust,” -as he playfully remarked, “whilst his great house at Burleigh was -a-sweeping.” The deserted and time-rent mansion is finely built of -carefully squared stones and has four towers one at each corner, square -at the base, but octagonal at the top; these towers, judging from an old -print we saw in a shop window at Stamford, were formerly capped by -shaped stone roofs, which in turn were surmounted by great weathercocks: -the towers when complete must have been quite a feature in the -structure, and have given it a special character--a touch of quaintness -that is always so charming and attractive in a building. The ruins are -weather-toned and ivy-grown and make a very pretty picture, though only -the outer crumbling walls remain. Wothorpe has arrived at such a -pathetic state of decay as to be almost picturesquely perfect, and -pleads to be admired! Man has ruined it, but nature left to work her own -sweet will has beautified it, for she has draped it with greenery, has -tinted its stones, and broken up its rigid symmetry. It is a sad thought -that a building should be more beautiful in ruin than in its perfect -state, but, as Byron says, - - there is a power - And magic in the ruin’d battlement, - For which the palace of the present hour - Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. - -From this spot we retraced our steps to Stamford, and wandering -desultorily about the town eventually came upon Browne’s Hospital, Bede -House, or Callis; a most interesting old building, the exterior of which -suggested to us a quaint interior, so we determined to obtain a glimpse -of the latter, if possible. As we were ascending the steps to inquire if -the place were shown we encountered a gentleman coming down, whom -instinctively we took to be an antiquary; though why we should have -jumped at such a conclusion it would be hard to say; and oddly enough it -turned out that we were correct in our conjectures, so we ventured to -ask him whether he thought we should be able to obtain admittance to the -building. There is nothing lost in this world by seizing opportunities -and asking polite questions, for oftentimes the traveller gains - -[Sidenote: _“A BROTHER LUNATIC!”_] - -much thereby. In this case we were well rewarded for making so simple an -inquiry, for the stranger, noting the interest we took in the fine old -building, appeared forthwith to take an interest in us, and thereupon -offered to show us over it himself--a civil word how profitable it -sometimes is!--he even appeared to enjoy his self-imposed task of doing -duty as a guide. Possibly it pleased him to have a talk with a -sympathetic soul as it did another antiquary we met later on, who on -parting with us jokingly remarked: “It has been a treat to exchange -views with a brother lunatic!” so bearing this in mind we chatted with -our new friend about things old, of bygone times, and of -antiquarian-lore galore--for he was a man whose life seemed in the past, -his conversation gave one the impression that he was born at least a -century too late for his own pleasure. The result of our discourse was -that on leaving the hospital we had so gained his good-will that he -further offered to show us something of the town, “As strangers might -readily miss so much, and I should like to point out to you a few of the -chief objects of interest”; then he added, “It will not be any trouble -to me; I’ve nothing particular to do this morning.” We were only too -glad to accept his kind aid, and greatly did we enjoy our exploration of -Stamford under his helpful guidance. - -But to “hark back” a little. Upon entering the old hospital our -attention was called to the carved stone figure of the founder over the -doorway, where he is shown holding a plan of the building in his hands. -Then we were led into a large, long hall having a heavy oak-beamed -ceiling. Here originally (I am now quoting from the notes I made on the -spot of what we were told) the poor inmates slept in cubicles, access to -which was gained by a gangway down the centre of the hall. Now that the -old folk have sleeping accommodation in another portion of the hospital, -the floor has been tiled, and the tiles are so laid as to show the -shape, size, and plan of the cubicles. A very excellent idea--if changes -must be made. Some ancient stained glass in a window here has “the -founder’s chief crest” painted thereon, “for the founder’s family had -the right to use two crests; only two other families in England having -this right.” The “chief crest” is a phœnix, it is placed over a -coat-of-arms on which three teasels are shown (these teasels puzzled us -until our friend explained what they were). The motto given is “_X me -sped_,” “Christ me speed,” we Anglicised it. An old “gridiron” table of -the time of Charles I. stood, when we were there, in the centre of the -hall; the ends of this draw out to extend it--an idea that the modern -furniture manufacturer might well consider as a possible improvement -upon the usual troublesome leaves and screw, nor prize it the less -because so long invented. I have a table made in a similar fashion and -find it most useful; two rings forming handles to pull out the ends. - -Then we came to the chapel, divided from the hall by a carved oak -screen; all the inmates are compelled to attend service here twice a -day. The large chapel window, with a high transom, is filled - -[Sidenote: _RELICS OF THE PAST_] - -with fine old stained glass, on a bit of which we discerned the date -1515. The bench-ends are good. As well as these we had pointed out to us -in its original position the pre-Reformation altar-stone, distinguished -by the usual five crosses upon it. At one side of the altar was an -ancient “cope-chair, in this the priest sat down, his cope covering the -chair, and from it he blessed the congregation. There were formerly two -of these chairs, but one was stolen”! Then we were shown a rare old -wooden alms-box of the fifteenth century; this was bound round with -iron. - -In the quaint old audit room over the hall, where we went next, painted -on a wooden panel set in the centre end of the wall we found the -following ancient inscription, commencing in Latin and ending in -English:-- - - Haec Domus Eleemosynaria fundata - Fuit a Guilielmo Browne - Anno Do[=n]i 1495. Anno Regio Henrici - VII Decimo - - This structure new contains twelve habitations - Which shall remain for future generations - For old and poore, for weake and men unhealthy. - This blessed house was founded not for wealthy. - Hee that endowed for aye and this house builded. - By this good act hath to sinne pardon yielded. - The honour of the country and this towne - Alas now dead his name was William Browne. - Be it an house of prayer and to diuine - Duties devoted else not called mine. - -Ten old men and two old women are boarded and cared for here, we learnt; -the women having to act as nurses if required. Outside the building -away from the road is a very picturesque and quiet courtyard with -cloisters; these seem verily to enclose an old-world atmosphere, a calm -that is of another century. The wall-girt stillness, the profound peace -of the place made so great an impression on us that for the moment the -throbbing and excited nineteenth century seemed ages removed, as though -the present were a fevered dream and only existed in our imagination. So -do certain spots enthral one with the sentiment of the far-away both in -time and space! From here there is a view to be had of a gable end of -the founder’s house; the greater part of the building having been pulled -down, and only this small portion remaining. - -The broad street outside Browne’s “Callis” was, we were told, the -opening scene of the bull-running. Most towns in past days, as is well -known, indulged in the “gentle sport” of bull-baiting, but from time -immemorial in Stamford bull-running took its place as an institution -peculiar to the town. The bull-running, we were told, was carried on, -more or less, in the following fashion. Early in the morning of the day -devoted to the “gentle sport” a bell-man went round to warn all people -to shut their shops, doors, gates, etc., then afterwards at a certain -hour a wild bull, the wilder the better, was let loose into the streets -and then the sport began. The populace, men, women, and boys, ran after -the bull, armed with cudgels, with which they struck it and goaded it to -fury; all the dogs of the town, needless to say, joining in the - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT SPORT_] - -sport and adding to the medley. By evening if the bull were not killed, -or driven into the river and perchance drowned, he was despatched by an -axe. Men occasionally of course got tossed, or gored, during these -disgusting and lively proceedings, and others were injured in various -ways: indeed it seems to have been very much like a Spanish bull-fight -vulgarised. This sport continued till about the year 1838. I presume -that there was no “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” -then; or is it that cruelty does not count when sport comes in? for as a -supporter of the Society once laid down the law to me dogmatically thus: -“It’s cruelty to thrash a horse, even if he be vicious, but it’s not -cruelty to hunt a fox or a hare, as that is sport; so we never interfere -with hunting: neither is bull-fighting cruel, for that is a sport.” -Well, my favourite sport is fly-fishing, and I am glad to learn that it -is not a cruel one, as “fish have no feelings.” But how about the boy -who impales a worm on a hook: has the worm conveniently “no feelings” -too? Shall we ever have a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to -Reptiles? - -The origin of the Stamford bull-running appears to be lost in the mists -of antiquity; of course where history fails legend must step in, and -according to legend the sport began thus:--Some time in the thirteenth -century (delightfully vague date! why not openly “once upon a time”?) a -wild bull got out of the meadows where it was grazing near the town and -rushed into the streets; it was chased by the populace, and chased by -dogs, and eventually driven into the river and drowned, after affording -much entertainment to the townsfolk; thereupon the bull-running was -established as a sport. The legend does not sound so improbable as some -legends do, but whether based on fact or not I cannot say. It is only -for me to repeat stories as they come to my ear. - -In the same street outside Browne’s “Callis,” we further learnt, the old -market cross stood which was taken down about the year 1790. According -to ancient engravings it appears to have been a structure with a tall -stone shaft in the centre, surmounted by a cross which was duly knocked -off by the Puritans; from this central shaft a roof extended to a number -of columns around, thus forming a shelter for the market folk. This -market cross is not to be confounded with a Queen Eleanor’s Cross that -stood beyond the Scot-Gate about half a mile from Stamford on the old -York and Edinburgh road. A glorious example, this latter must have been, -of one of these picturesque crosses erected in pious memory of a loved -consort, judging at least from a description of it we observed quoted in -a local guide-book we found in our hotel, which runs thus:--“A vision of -beauty, glorious with its aggregate of buttresses and niches and diaper, -and above all with the statues of Eleanor and Edward; the most beautiful -of that or any age. Shame to those savages in the Great Rebellion who -swept away the very foundations of it! But the cry of superstition hunts -down such things as these a great deal faster than age can despatch -them.” - -[Sidenote: _TRADITIONS_] - -Next our guide took us to the site of Brasenose College--mostly pulled -down in the seventeenth century by the corporation--but the outer wall -and an arched stone gateway still remain. On the gate here was a quaint -and ancient knocker, judged by antiquaries to be of the fourteenth -century; this was formed of a lion’s head in beaten brass holding a ring -in his mouth; we understood that it had left the town, a fact to be -regretted. It is singular that there should have been a college here of -the curious name of Brasenose, as well as the one at Oxford. There is -indeed a tradition that the veritable nose that surmounts the gateway at -Oxford came from the Stamford college, and was brought by the students -when compelled to return to their former university town. Another -tradition professes to give the origin of the peculiar name, stating it -to be derived from _brasen-hus_, or _hws_, a brew-house, it being said -that one was attached to the college--but the derivation, though just -possible, is more ingenious than convincing. - -Next we were taken to see the crumbling gateway of the ancient Carmelite -Friary; this had three niches for statues above, but is more interesting -to antiquaries than to the lovers of the picturesque; it now forms the -approach to the Infirmary. Then we visited the three chief churches, -noting in St. Martin’s the magnificent altar-tomb--gorgeous with colour -and gilt, but rather dusty when we were there--of Queen Elizabeth’s Lord -Treasurer, whereon he is represented in recumbent effigy clad in -elaborately adorned armour. Men dressed their parts in those days! -Space will not permit a detailed description of these historic fanes; -indeed, to do Stamford justice would take at least several chapters, and -I have not even one to spare! - -Next our wanderings led us into an old graveyard to see the last -resting-place of a famous Stamford native, whose size was his fame! His -tombstone inscription tells its own story without any further comment of -mine, and thus it runs:-- - - In Remembrance of - That Prodigy in Nature - DANIEL LAMBERT - who was possessed of - An exalted and convivial mind - And in personal greatness - Had no Competitor - He measured three feet one inch round the leg - Nine feet four inches round the body - And Weighed - Fifty-two stone Eleven pounds! - He departed this life - On the 21st of June - 1803 - Aged 39 years. - -“An exalted and convivial mind” is good, it is a phrase worth noting. -Our good-natured guide informed us that after the death of this worthy -citizen his stockings were kept for many years hung up in a room of one -of the inns as a curiosity, and that he distinctly remembered being -taken there by his father when a boy, and being placed inside one of the -stockings. - -After this in a different part of the town we had - -[Sidenote: _A HUNTED KING!_] - -pointed out to us “Barn Hill House,” an old gray stone building more -interesting historically than architecturally, for it was within its -walls that Charles I. slept his last night “as a free man.” He arrived -there disguised as a servant, and entered by the back-door--a hunted -king! Such are the chances and changes of fate: the ruler of a kingdom -coming stealthily in by a back-door, and seeking shelter and safety in -the house of a humble subject, clad in the lowly garb of a serving-man! -But I am moralising, a thing I dislike when others do it! possibly -through having an overdose thereof when I was a boy, for almost every -book I had, it seemed to me, concluded with a moral; till at last, I -remember, I used first to look at the end of any new work that was given -to me, and if I found the expected moral there, I troubled it no -further! - -We were shown much more of interest in Stamford, a town every square -yard of which is history; but space forbids a detailed description of -all we saw. One old house we were taken over had a very quaint and -finely-enriched plaster ceiling, for builders of ancient homes did not -believe in a flat void of whitewash. The ornaments of this ceiling were -rendered in deep relief, the chief amongst them being animals playfully -arranged; for instance there was, I remember, a goose in the centre of -one panel with a fox greedily watching it on either side; another panel -showed a poor mouse with two cats eyeing it on either hand; then there -was a hare similarly gloated over by two hounds; and so forth. We -visited the site of the castle and saw the last bit of crumbling wall -left of the once imposing stronghold, also the small remains of old St. -Stephen’s gate: then we returned to our hotel, our good-natured -antiquarian friend still keeping us company. - -Reaching the bridge that crosses the Welland river, which structure has -taken the place of the “stone-ford,” we had pointed out to us a line -marked upon it with an inscription, showing the height of the water at -the spot during the memorable flood of 15th July 1880, when the swollen -river rose above the arches of the bridge. On that occasion, we learnt, -our inn was flooded, the water reaching even to the top of the -billiard-table. During a former great flood in the seventeenth century, -we were told, the horses in the “George” stables were actually drowned -at their stalls. - -At our inn we reluctantly parted company with our entertaining -companion, not, however, before we had thanked him for his kindness to -us as strangers. It is these pleasant chance acquaintances the wanderer -so frequently makes that add a wonderful zest to the pleasures of -travel. - -The sign of the “George” inn, as of old, still hangs from the centre of -a beam that stretches right across the roadway; it is said that there -are only some twenty-five or twenty-seven signs remaining in England so -arranged. At the village of Barley in Herts, on the highway from London -to Cambridge, the “Fox and Hounds” possesses one of these signs. Here -may be seen figures of huntsmen, hounds, and fox, represented as -crossing the - -[Sidenote: _A SPORTING SIGN_] - -beam in full cry; the fox apparently just escaping into the thatched -roof of the inn, the hounds immediately following, whilst the merry -huntsmen bring up the rear. This very sporting sign shows well, being -strongly silhouetted against the sky; it is full of spirit and movement, -and has the charm of originality. - -I have forgotten to say we were told that at the village of Ketton, in -the near neighbourhood of Stamford, a gleaners’ bell used to be rung in -due season, as well as the curfew; before the first ringing of the -former no one might glean in the fields, nor after the second ringing -was any one allowed to continue their gleaning under the penalty of a -fine, which went to the ringers. I trust I need not apologise for making -note of these old customs, from time to time, as I come upon them. The -church at Ketton is considered to be the most beautiful in the county; -it has a central tower with a broach spire, and has been compared with -St. Mary’s at Stamford: the saying being that the latter “has the more -dignity, but Ketton the greater grace.” - -Before resuming our journey I may note that in the heyday of the -coaching age, I find from an old “Way Bill” that the time allowed for -the mail-coach from London to Stamford--89¼ miles--was 9 hours and 20 -minutes, including changes. - -Early next morning we set out from our ancient hostelry bound for -Spalding, with the intention of visiting the once far-famed Fenland -abbey of Crowland on the way, though from our map it appeared that the -roads and the dykes were rather mixed up, and our route thither was not -at all easy to trace; nor was the information we obtained at Stamford -very helpful: “It’s a good road as far as Market Deeping,” we were told, -“but beyond that you’ll have to find your way.” The worthy landlord of -the “George” came to the door to see us off, and right sorry we felt to -leave our genial host, comfortable quarters, and the interesting and -historic town of Stamford that bade us such a pleasant welcome into -Lincolnshire. - -In about a mile, or less, as we drove on we espied some picturesque and -important-looking ecclesiastical ruins; these we found to be the remains -of the nave of St. Leonard’s Priory, now debased, part into a barn and -part into a shed; and what a substantial barn the solid Norman work -made! fit to last for centuries still, if let alone; and the shed upheld -by the massive Norman pillars, between which the shafts of farm carts, -and sundry agricultural implements peeped forth--what a grand shed it -was! It is not always that a farmer has his out-buildings constructed by -Norman masons! The west front of the Priory is happily little changed -from its original state, the great arched doorway and windows above -being built up, but nothing more; the arches are elaborately decorated, -and suggest that when the whole was complete it must have been a fine -specimen of Late Norman work. What a pity it is that such picturesque -and interesting relics of the past are not carefully preserved as ruins, -instead of being patched up and altered to serve purely utilitarian -purposes. The ruin of a fine building like this, raised by skilled and -pious hands for the glory of God and not for the profit of man, should -be a prized possession and left to Mother Nature’s gentle care, which is -far less destructive than man’s hands--even the restorers! There are -many things to be done in the world, but you cannot convert the nave of -a stately priory, hallowed by the worship within its walls of departed -humanity, into a barn and a cart-shed consistently! - -[Sidenote: _A SUNSHINY DAY_] - -Now we entered upon a very pleasant stretch of greenful country, seeming -doubly pleasant under the glamour of that soft sunshiny morning--a -morning upon which the atmosphere was permeated with light, causing the -grassy meadows and leafy trees to put on a rare, rich golden-green, as -though glowing with brightness. Only under special conditions of weather -and time shall you look upon scenery thus glorified. To slightly alter -Wordsworth, such is-- - - The light that seldom is on sea or land, - The consecration, and the Poet’s dream. - -The blue sky overhead flecked with the lightest of summer clouds, the -buoyant air, the sun-steeped landscape, the general brightness and -cheerfulness of the day, impressed us with an indefinable but very real -joyousness and light-heartedness. We felt in truth, just then, that the -world was a very pleasant place to live in, and that especial corner of -it known as England the pleasantest part thereof. Then, as we drove -lazily on half lost in the luxury of day-dreaming--a very lotus-eaters’ -land it seemed to be that soft and slumberous morning--some chance -drifting of thought called to mind William Hazlitt’s remarks anent a -walking tour, a recreation in which he delighted: “Give me,” says he, -connoisseur of good things that he was, “the clear blue sky over my -head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and -a three hours’ march to dinner ... then I laugh, I leap, I sing for -joy.” Well, we could not readily run, nor yet leap, as we were driving -and in a quiet mood moreover, neither did we sing for joy; not that we -took our pleasures sadly, but rather for the hour did we delight in a -drowsy progress soothed into untold rest by the peace-bestowing quietude -that prevailed all around: our happiness was too real to need any -outward display, which but too often disturbs the deep repose of -absolute content. Such a sensation of inward satisfaction with oneself -and one’s surroundings comes not every day, not even with searching -after, but when it comes it makes one thankfully realise the full -meaning of-- - - that blessed mood - In which the burden of the mystery, - In which the heavy and the weary weight - Of all this unintelligible world, - Is lightened. - -Uffington, the first village on our way, proved to be a remarkably -picturesque one, clean and neat, with solid stone-built cottages, some -roofed with homely thatch, others with gray stone slabs, and all looking -pictures of contentment--let us hope - -[Illustration: A QUIET COUNTRY ROAD.] - -[Sidenote: _“GENUINE ENGLISH BRANDY!”_] - -it was not only looking! Soon after this we reached a roadside inn with -a swinging sign-board that proclaimed it to be “The Tennyson’s Arms,” -where we also learnt that we could quench our thirst with “strong ales.” -This somehow called to mind another notice we saw at a country “public” -elsewhere to this effect: “Ales and spirits sold here; also genuine -English brandy.” The last item was distinctly novel! “The Tennyson’s -Arms” reminded us that we were in the county that gave the great -Victorian poet birth. - -Next we came to Tallington, another clean and picturesque village: two -desirable qualities that unhappily do not always go together. There we -stopped to sketch and photograph a large stone-built pigeon-house that -would hold a little army of birds, which stood in an old farmyard; a -fierce-looking bull bellowing a loud disapproval of our -proceedings--across a strong high fence. - -Beyond Tallington we somehow got off our road and found ourselves in the -remote and sleepy hamlet of Barholm, an uninteresting spot. On the tower -of the church here, however, about half-way up, we observed a stone slab -with a rather quaint inscription thereon that we made out, with some -difficulty, to be-- - - Was ever such a thing - Since the Creation - A new steeple built - In time of vexation ... 1648. - -Then by cross-country crooked ways we reached Market Deeping, a sleepy, -decayed little town, whose first name is now a misnomer, as the market -is no more. The low-lying level country all around here, we learnt, was -under water during the great flood of 1880, when the corn-fields were so -flooded that only the tops of the ears of grain showed, and the ducks -swam three to four feet above what is now dry land--a great event in -local annals that even now affords a subject for local gossip. Such -notable occurrences give the rural folk a time to reckon from, more to -their liking than any date. “It were the year after the big flood,” or -“Three years afore the flood,” and so forth, are the remarks that may -frequently be heard. To a stranger in these parts, unaware of past -happenings, it sounds curious to listen to some such saying as this: “I -minds my father telling me, who died just afore the flood,” for to the -average stranger “the flood” suggests the Biblical one, and that was -some time ago now! - -From Market Deeping to Deeping St. James--another old decayed town that -looks as out-of-the-world and forsaken as though nothing would ever -happen again there--was but a short distance, our road following the -bends of the winding river Welland to our right, the air blowing -refreshingly cool on our faces from the gliding water. So picturesque -was the river-side with bordering old trees, cottages, and buildings, -tumbling weir, which made a pleasing liquid melody on the quiet air, and -wooden foot-bridge, that we were tempted to stop a while and sketch it. -At Deeping St. James we noticed as we passed by its grand old church, -whose dusky and crumbling walls tell the tale of the long centuries it -has bravely weathered. Near to this ancient fane, in a wide space where -three roads meet, stands a market cross apparently reconstructed from -old material, presumably that of the fine Perpendicular Cross that is -recorded to have stood somewhere here in past days. - -[Sidenote: _SECRET CHAMBERS_] - -Our antiquarian friend at Stamford had told us that shortly after -leaving “the Deepings” we should pass close to the roadside an ideal old -manor-house with a gateway-house in front, and having mullioned windows, -courtyard, great hall, oak screen, with quaint and characteristic -architectural details, that made it a most interesting place. “You -_must_ see it,” he exclaimed after enlarging rapturously upon its rare -beauties: a skeleton, he further informed us, had recently been found in -the roof there, supposed to be that of a man stowed away and starved in -a hiding-hole--without which advantage no old home of any pretensions -was considered complete. Strange to say, even only the other day an -architect of standing confided to me that more than once recently he had -been called upon to provide a secret chamber in large houses he was -employed to design: the real reason for this curious demand it would be -interesting to know. I have seen quite a modern country house with a -well-planned secret hiding-place, and the amount of ingenuity displayed -in the contriving of this excited my utmost admiration. But why such -things in the close of the nineteenth century? - -The charming word-pictures of this old home, within and without, had -raised both our expectations and curiosity. “You cannot possibly miss -it,” we had been assured; nevertheless we did so most successfully, much -to our regret and disappointment; in fact, to own the truth, we did not -so much as obtain even a glimpse of it. This was exceedingly provoking; -indeed, the roads about were very puzzling: they were very lonely also, -for we never came across a soul of whom to ask the way. The country was -a dead level and the hedges were high, so that we could not see much -beyond the roadway; it was like being in a maze, the point being to find -the old manor-house. Then it struck us as being rather a poor joke to -say that we could not possibly miss it! Could we not? Why, we did so -quite easily! Then we remembered that we had been told at Stamford that -we should have to drive through the village of Peakirk to get to -Crowland, and that we could not by any chance get there without so -doing. But somehow again we managed to accomplish the impossible, for we -eventually got to Crowland, but we never went through Peakirk or any -other village. The state of affairs was this, that we had lost our way, -there was no one about to put us right, sign-posts we looked for in -vain, or if we found one it was past service: so we simply drove -eastwards as far as we could, trusting to fate. Fortunately the day was -fine, and time was not pressing; indeed, we rather enjoyed the -delightful uncertainties of our position. We presumed that we should -arrive somewhere at last, and that was enough for us. There is a sort of -fascination in being lost at times--otherwise why do people go into -mazes. - -[Sidenote: _ANCIENT LANDMARKS_] - -Just about here, it must be confessed, our map failed us; indeed, I am -inclined to think that it omitted some of the roads altogether: quite -possibly the engraver may have confused them with the river or the -innumerable dykes that intersect the land in every direction. The more -we studied the map the more confused we became, till we folded it up and -put it carefully away, lest it should cause us to use bad language. A -map that fails, just when you most need its guidance, what a -temper-trying thing it is! However, a gentleman we met later on during -our tour had something more temper-trying to contend with: it appeared -that he started out touring in a motorcar, and the thing broke down -utterly, on an unsheltered stretch of road in the midst of a drenching -thunderstorm, so that he had to beg the loan of a horse from a farmer to -get the machine housed. To make the matter worse, some of the people -thought it a matter to laugh over, to see a horse lugging the helpless -motor along; but remembering that horses sometimes go lame on a journey -(though whilst touring we have never been delayed by such a mishap), we -sympathised with our fellow-wayfarer. - -Before we put our map away, however, a close scrutiny of it revealed to -us two spots marked with a cross, and after each cross the legends -respectively of “Kenulph’s Stone” and “St. Guthlak’s Cross.” The former -of these was one of the four boundary stones of “the halidome” of the -Abbey, and may still be found by the side of the Welland; the broken -shaft of the latter, with curious lettering thereon, is also to be seen -at Crowland. According to learned antiquaries the lettering forms the -following Latin inscription:--“_Aio hanc petram Guthlacvs habet sibi -metam._” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - A land of dykes--Fenland rivers--Crowland Abbey--A unique - triangular bridge--Antiquaries differ--A mysterious statue--A - medieval rhyme--A wayside inscription--The scenery of the - Fens--Light-hearted travellers--Cowbit--A desolate spot--An - adventure on the road--A Dutch-like town. - - -So we drove on till the tall hedgerows ceased and the country became -more open and assumed a wilder aspect: narrow dykes or ditches now -divided the fields instead of the familiar fences, so that our eyes -could range unimpeded over the wide landscape. Then presently, as we -proceeded, a high and long grass-grown embankment came into view, right -in front of us, and so our prospect ahead was suddenly shut in, reduced -from miles to yards! Approaching close to this embankment, we found that -our road turned sharply to the left and ran immediately below and -alongside of it. Here we pulled up and scrambled to the top of the steep -bank, just “to see what was on the other side.” The mystery of the vast -earthwork was solved: it was no Brobdingnagian railway scheme, but an -earthwork constructed to keep the river Welland in bounds when flooded, -though just then the river flowed sluggishly along, deep down below its -high-banked sides, as innocent-looking a stream as could well be -imagined. - -One striking peculiarity of the Fenland rivers is that they are mostly -held in thus by banks and are not allowed, as English rivers generally -are, the liberty to meander about at their own sweet will; for in these -parts the primary use of a river appears to be to do duty as a mighty -drainage dyke, and this curbing of wilful nature gives such rivers an -exceedingly artificial and somewhat tame look. Quaint to English eyes is -it to observe these great river-banks standing high above the -surrounding country and highways, for often, for convenience of -construction, do the roads follow the course of the streams and -water-ways. Well is this division of Lincolnshire called “Holland” or -“Holland in England,” as some maps have it. Indeed, this mighty level -land, now smiling with yellow corn-crops and rich green pastures, was -erst a swampy waste, more water than land; fit only to be the home of -wildfowl and coarse fish, till sundry Dutch engineers undertook to -reclaim it, importing their own countrymen to assist in the task. We -were told by a Lincolnshire man that several of the Dutch workmen never -returned home, but settled and married in the new “Holland in England” -that their labours had helped to create; furthermore, we were told that -a goodly number of purely Dutch names still existed in the county. - -After following along and below the embankment for a mile or more, our -road took to itself a sudden whim and boldly mounted to the top of the -bank which was wide enough to drive upon, and from our elevated position -we had a space-expressing prospect over a level country, reaching all -round to the long, low circling line of the bounding horizon. Though we -could not have been raised much above sea-level, still I have climbed -high mountains for a far inferior view. It is not the height one may be -above a scene that gives the observer therefrom the best impression of -it; indeed one may easily be elevated too far above scenery to -appreciate it properly. A bird’s-eye view of a landscape is not the one -an artist would select to paint; there is such a thing as a picturesque -and an unpicturesque way of looking on an object. Sometimes, truly, -scenery has been painted as a bird sees it, for the sake of novelty; but -novelty is not synonymous with beauty: they may join hands at times, but -as a rule they are utter strangers one to another. - -[Sidenote: _DIFFICULT DRIVING_] - -Then as we drove slowly and carefully on--for there were no fences to -the road on either side and it was not over safe to approach too near -the edges, or we might have been precipitated into the river on one -hand, or on to the fields below on the other, either of which events -would have brought our outing to a sudden termination--as we drove thus -cautiously on, the one remaining tower and great vacant archway of -Crowland’s lonely abbey came into sight, standing out a tender -pearly-gray mass against the sunlit sky: in all the ocean of greenery -round about there was nothing else in sight that raised itself -noticeably above the general level. - -There was something very impressive in this first view of the ancient -fane, rising in crumbling yet solemn majesty out of the ever-green world -below; a poem in stone, laden with ancient legend and fraught with -misty history. It was a scene for a pilgrim, pregnant with peacefulness, -and as lovely as a dream. Yet how simple was the prospect--a gray and -ruined abbey, a silent world of green suffused with faint sunshine that -filtered through the thin clouds above! Below us and before us stretched -the river gleaming for miles between its sloping banks, winding away -towards the picturesque pile of ancient devotion in curving parallels -that narrowed toward the distant horizon to a mere point; and this -describes all that was before us! - -After the abbey’s pathetic ruins, beautiful with the beauty of decay, -what most struck us was the sense of solitude, silence, and space in our -surroundings. On every side the level Fenland stretched broad as the -sea, and to the eye appearing almost as wide and as free; and from all -this vast lowland tract came no sound except the hardly to be -distinguished mellow murmuring of the wind amongst the nearer sedges and -trees. The river flowed on below us in sluggish contentment without even -an audible gurgle; no birds were singing, and, as far as we could see, -there were no birds to sing; and in the midst of this profound stillness -our very voices seemed preternaturally loud. There are two such things -as a cheerful silence and a depressing silence; the difference between -these two is more to be felt than described: of course all silence is -relative, for such a thing as absolute silence is not to be found in -this world; but the quietude of the Fens, like that of the mountain-top, -simulates the latter very successfully. The thick atmosphere about us -had the effect of subduing sounds doubtless, whilst it held the light, -as it were, in suspense, and magnified and mystified the distance. The -profound quietude prevailing suggested to us that we were travelling -through an enchanted land where all things slept--a land laid under some -mighty magic spell. - -[Sidenote: _A DISPUTED SPELLING_] - -As we proceeded along our level winding way, with the river for silent -company, the outline of the ruined abbey gradually increased in size, -and presently we found ourselves in the remote out-of-the-world village -of Crowland--or Croyland as some writers have it; but I understand that -certain antiquaries who have studied the subject declare that the latter -appellation is quite wrong, and as they may be right I accept their -dictum and spell it Crowland with my map, though, authorities and map -aside, I much prefer Croyland as the quainter title. - -The inhabitants appear to spell the name of their village indifferently -both ways. One intelligent native, of whom we sought enlightenment, said -he did not care “a turn of the weathercock” which way it was spelt, -which was not very helpful; but we were grateful for the expression “a -turn of the weathercock,” as it was fresh to us. He further remarked, -apropos of nothing in our conversation, “You might as well try to get -feathers from a fish as make a living in Crowland; and the people are so -stupid, as the saying goes, ‘they’d drown a fish in water.’” Manifestly -he was not in love with the place. He did not even think much of the old -abbey: “It’s very ruinous,” was his expression thereof. - -Crowland is a thoroughly old-world village; I know no other that so well -deserves the epithet: its gray-toned cottages, grouped round the decayed -and time-rent fane, save the ruins from utter desolation. Crowland -impressed us as a spot that exists simply because it has existed: like -the abbey, it looks so old that one can hardly imagine it was ever new. -It is-- - - A world-forgotten village, - Like a soul that steps aside - Into some quiet haven - From the full rush of tide. - A place where poets still may dream, - Where the wheels of Life swing slow; - And over all there hangs the peace - Of centuries ago. - -Crowland village, apart from its ruined abbey, is quaint rather than -beautiful; it appeals to the lover of the past perhaps more than to the -lover of the picturesque. We found there a primitive and clean little -inn where we stabled our horses and procured for ourselves a simple, but -sufficient, repast that was served in a tiny parlour. Whilst waiting for -our meal to be prepared, having no guide-book, we consulted our -_Paterson’s Roads_ to see if it gave any particulars of the place, and -this is what we discovered: “Crowland, a place of very remote antiquity, -particularly interesting to the antiquary on account of the ruins of its -once extensive and splendid abbey, and its singular triangular-shaped -bridge, is now reduced to the size of a large village that possesses -little more than the ruins of its former - -[Sidenote: _THE ISLE OF CROWLAND_] - -splendour. The chief existing remains of the abbey are the skeleton of -the nave of the conventual church, with parts of the south and north -aisles; the latter of which is covered over, pewed, and fitted up as a -parish church. The triangular bridge in the middle of the town may be -looked upon as one of the greatest curiosities in Britain, if not in -Europe; it is of stone, and consists of three pointed arches springing -from as many abutments that unite their groins in the centre.... -Crowland being so surrounded by fens is inaccessible, except from the -north and east, in which directions the road is formed by artificial -banks of earth, and from this singular situation it has been, not -inaptly, compared to Venice.” I have again quoted from this old and -famous road-book, which was as familiar to our forefathers as “Bradshaw” -is to us, because it shows the sort of combination of road-book and -guide that the pre-railway traveller was provided with, all England and -Wales being included in one thick volume. Paterson’s accounts of famous -spots and places of interest are not perhaps so learned or long as those -of the modern hand-book, but they are possibly sufficient, and brevity -is an advantage to the tourist who desires to arrive quickly at his -information. - -In olden days it would seem that the spot whereon Crowland now stands -was one of the many Fen islands, consisting of comparatively dry and -firm soil that rose above the general level of the moist lowlands, or, -to be more exact, a wilderness of shallow waters--a district described -by Smiles as “an inland sea in winter, and a noxious swamp in summer”; -but so slight is the rise of the land that to the superficial observer -it scarcely seems to rise at all. Here--on this “Isle of Crowland”--as -it was formerly called in company with other similar islands, such as -the better-known “Isle of Ely”--the old monks built their abbey, remote -and fengirt from the outer world, only to be approached at first by -boats, and, in long years after also, by a solitary raised causeway -frequently under water and nearly always unsafe and untravellable in -winter. The problem to me is how ever all the stone required for the -building was secured. Presumably most of it was brought down the Welland -from Stamford; but what a long and laborious task the carrying of it -must have been. Still, the problem sinks into insignificance like that -of Stonehenge, for all authorities on this mysterious monument of -antiquity agree that the nearest spot to Salisbury Plain from which the -igneous rocks that compose the inner circle could come, would be either -Cornwall or North Wales! An effective word-picture of the early -monastery is given in Kingsley’s _Hereward the Wake_ which I take the -liberty to quote, though he describes the building as being chiefly of -timber, but the first historic record declares that it was “firmly built -of stone.” Thus, then, Kingsley writes: “And they rowed away for -Crowland ... and they glided on until they came to the sacred isle, the -most holy sanctuary of St. Guthlac and his monks.... At last they came -to Crowland minster, a vast range of high-peaked buildings founded on -piles of oak and alder driven into the fen, itself built almost entirely -of timber from the Bruneswold; barns, granaries, stables, workshops, -strangers’ hall, fit for the boundless hospitality of Crowland; -infirmary, refectory, dormitory, library, abbot’s lodgings, cloisters; -with the great minster towering up, a steep pile, half wood, half stone, -with narrow round-headed windows, and leaden roofs; and above all the -great wooden tower, from which on high-days chimed out the melody of the -seven famous bells, which had not their like in English land.” So minute -is the detailed description of that which was such a long time off that -one is almost tempted to wonder how Kingsley knew all this. - -[Sidenote: _A TRIANGULAR BRIDGE_] - -Leaving our little inn we first inspected the exceedingly quaint -triangular bridge that stands in the main thoroughfare--a thoroughfare -without any traffic it appeared to us, nor did we see where any future -traffic was to come from. This structure is stated to be positively -unique. Apart from its uncommon form, it certainly has a curious -appearance to-day, as the roadway below is dry, and the “three-way -bridge,” as it is locally called, has much the meaningless look that a -ship would have stranded far inland. This quaint structure consists of -three high-pitched half arches, at equal distances from each other, that -meet at the top. The way over the bridge is both narrow and steep, so -that manifestly it could only have been intended for pedestrians. - -Much good ink has been spilt by antiquaries and archæologists anent the -peculiar form of the bridge, and different theories have been put -forward to solve this enigma in building: some authorities having -declared their belief that it was a mere freak of the monks indulged in -from pure eccentricity; others reason that it was intended to support a -high cross, but surely a bridge would hardly have been built as a -foundation for this? And it is so manifestly a bridge complete in -itself, though novel in design, nor does there appear to me to be room -for the base of an important cross on the apex of the arches where alone -it could come. It is verily an archæological _pons asinorum_. Personally -I find a difficulty in subscribing to either the freak or the cross -theory; indeed, a more reasonable solution of the puzzle presents itself -to me as one who does not look for out-of-the-way causes. It seems -possible, rather should I say highly probable, that when the bridge was -built, in the days before the drainage of the Fens, a stream may have -flowed past here, and it may have been joined by another Y fashion. To -cross these streams where they both met to the three points of dry -ground would entail a triangular bridge, and the monks were equal to the -occasion! The only fault I can find with this theory is that it is so -simple! Shortly after writing this, in looking over an old portfolio of -pictures, I chanced upon a rather crude, but fairly faithful, engraving -of this very bridge. The work was not dated, but I judged it to be of -the late seventeenth or of the early eighteenth century, a pure guess on -my part. However, it is interesting to note that this ancient engraving -showed two streams flowing under the bridge precisely as suggested. I -merely mention the fact, though it proves really nothing, for the -engraver or artist may easily have added the water, imagining that it -ought to be there. Here again the advantage of photography is apparent, -for the lens has no bias, and if it seldom lends itself to the -picturesque, at least it does not invent accessories. - -[Sidenote: _A STATUE ASTRAY_] - -On the parapet at the foot of the bridge is a mutilated and weather-worn -statue, having apparently a crown on its head and a globe in its hand. -An absurd local tradition declares this to be intended for Cromwell -holding a ball. Why it should be fathered on to the Protector is beyond -my understanding; it is more than probable that it existed centuries -before he was born. Looking sideways at the figure it is noticeably -thin, and was manifestly only intended to be seen from the front. One -may therefore, I think, reasonably conclude that it originally came from -a niche in the abbey, for it is quite out of place on the bridge, and -could never have properly belonged to it. Most probably, judging from -similar old sculptures, it was intended for our Lord, and had place in -the centre of the pediment over the west front of the abbey, a portion -of the building that has now disappeared. Some antiquaries, however, -maintain that it is intended for King Ethelbald, the founder of the -monastery; this would be a plausible enough suggestion but for the fact -that this king is already represented amongst the statues that still -adorn the abbey. - -The mouldings, ribs, and vaultings of the arches indicate the date of -the present bridge to be about the middle of the fourteenth century. It -is worthy of note how readily an archæologist may determine the -approximate date of an ancient building by its style, even, if needs be, -by a small portion of its carvings; but what will the archæologists of -centuries hence be able to make of our present jumble of all periods? a -mixture of past forms from which the meaning and true spirit have fled. -Indeed, a certain famous English architect once boasted, I have been -told, that he made such an excellent copy of an Early English building, -even to the working of the stones roughly, in reverent imitation of the -original, that he gave it as his opinion that, in the course of a -century or two, when the new building had become duly time-toned, -weather-stained, and the stone-work crumbled a little here and there, no -future antiquary would be able to distinguish it from a genuine Early -English structure, unless possibly by its better state of preservation. -Alas! the nineteenth century has no specially distinguishing style, save -that of huge hotels and railway stations! Our most successful -ecclesiastical edifices are but copies of various medieval examples. We -can copy better than we can create! A new architectural style worthy of -the century has yet to be invented, and it appears as though--in spite -of much striving after--the century will pass away without such an -achievement. - -Then we made our way to the ruined abbey in the reverent spirit of an -ancient pilgrim, although in the further spirit of this luxurious -century our pilgrimage was performed with ease on wheels, and not -laboriously on foot. The most picturesque and interesting part of this -fane of ancient devotion is the beautiful west front, glorious even in -ruin, with its elaborate decorations, its many statues standing, as -erst, each in its niche, its great window, now a mighty void, shaftless -and jambless, and its graceful pointed Gothic doorway below. An -illustration of this portion of the abbey is given with this chapter. -The other portions of the building are of much archæological interest, -but not so statelily picturesque, nor can any drawing in black and white -suggest the wonderful wealth of weather-tinting that the timeworn -masonry has assumed. The summer suns and winter storms of unremembered -years have left their magic traces upon the wonderful west front of this -age-hallowed shrine, tinging it with softest colouring varying with -every inch of surface! - -[Sidenote: _RESTORERS OLD AND NEW_] - -Within the ancient nave now open to the sky, where grows the lank, rank -grass under foot in place of the smooth inlaid pavement often trod by -sleek abbot, and meek or merry monk, we observed the base of a -Perpendicular pillar round which the earth had been excavated, -apparently to show the foundation, and we noticed that this was composed -of various old carved stones of an earlier period of architecture, -presumably when the abbey was undergoing a medieval restoration or -rebuilding; plainly proving, as is well known, that the builders of the -past did not hold their predecessors’ works so very sacred, and to a -certain extent the modern restorer would be justified in quoting this -fact in extenuation of his doings, or misdoings, “What is sauce for the -goose is sauce for the gander” surely? Only those medieval restorers -sinned so magnificently, and the modern restorer, as a rule, sins so -miserably! From the medieval reconstructor to the restorer of the -Churchwarden era is a vast gulf. It would be an archæological curiosity -and an object lesson in ecclesiastical construction if we could have -preserved for our study and edification a church showing all the varying -periods of architecture, from the crude Saxon and stern Norman to that -of to-day! - -Reluctantly we left Crowland’s old ruined abbey that stands alone in -crumbling, dusky majesty, as though solemnly musing over the chances and -changes of its chequered life’s long history. This remote and hoary -pile, surrounded by the wild waste of watery fens, impressed us with an -undefinable feeling of mystery and melancholy--a mystery that had to do -with the past, and a melancholy that had to do with the present. No -other ruin has impressed us quite in the same way, but then Crowland -Abbey has a striking individuality seen from near or afar; it is utterly -unlike any other spot, and from every point of view forms a most -effective picture. Time has fraught its ancient walls with meaning, and -the rare dower of antiquity, the bloom of centuries is gathered over -them all--a bloom that has beautified what man and age have left of the -former hallowed sanctuary. Now a solemn peacefulness broods incumbent -over Crowland’s solitary tower, broken arches, and decaying masonry. No -more, as in the days of old, at evensong when the silent stars come out, -does the belated fisherman stop his skiff awhile by the side of the -inland isle, to listen to the sweet chanting of the monks, mingling with -the organ’s - -[Illustration: CROWLAND ABBEY.] - -[Sidenote: _CROWLAND ABBEY_] - -solemn thunder-tones. The poetry and the romance of the ancient faith -and days have departed, and the prosaic present strikes a purely -pathetic key--of things that have been and are no more! The ancient -abbey - - in ruin stands lone in the solitude; - The wild birds sing above it, and the ivy clings around, - And under its poppies its old-time worshippers sleep sound: - Relic of days forgotten, dead form of an _ancient_ faith, - Haunting the light of the present, a vanished Past’s dim wraith! - - * * * * * - - And the winds wail up from the seaward, and sigh in the long grave grass - A message of weltering tides, and of things that were and must pass. - -Reluctantly, as I have said, we left this lonely Fenland fane, a legend -in stone: a dream of Gothic glory in its prime, and a thing of beauty in -decay; and beauty is a more precious possession than glory! Very -beautiful did the ancient ruin look as we took our farewell glance at -it, with the warm sun’s rays touching tenderly its gray-toned walls and -lightening up their century-gathered gloom, whilst the solemn shadows of -pillared recesses and deepset arches lent a mystic glamour to the pile, -as though it held some hidden secrets of the past there, not to be -revealed to modern mortals, all of which aroused our strongest -sympathies, or a feeling close akin thereto--for I know not for certain -whether mere inert matter can really arouse human sympathy, though I -think it can. - -This wild and wide Fenland was anciently renowned for its many and -wealthy monasteries. A medieval rhyme has been preserved to us that -relates the traditional reputations these religious establishments -respectively had. Of this rhyme there are two versions, one is as -follows:-- - - Ramsey, the bounteous of gold and of fee; - Crowland, as courteous as courteous may be; - Spalding the rich, and Peterborough the proud; - Sawtrey, by the way, that poore abbaye, - Gave more alms in one day - Than all they. - -The other version runs more fully thus:-- - - Ramsey, the rich of gold and of fee, - Thorney, the flower of many a fair tree, - Crowland, the courteous of their meat and drink, - Spalding, the gluttons, as all people do think, - Peterborough, the proud, as all men do say: - Sawtrey, by the way, that old abbey, - Gave more alms in one day than all they. - -From Crowland we decided to drive some nine and a half miles on to -Spalding, where we proposed to spend the night; or rather the map -decided the matter, for our choice of roads out of Crowland, unless we -went south, was limited to this one; it was a pure case of “Hobson’s -choice,” to Spalding we must go, and thither we went. Mounting the -dog-cart once more we were soon in the open country; our road, like that -of the morning, was level and winding, with the far-reaching fens all -around, that stretched away through greens, yellows, russets, and grays -to a hazy horizon of blue. A short distance on our way by the roadside -we observed a large notice-board, that claimed our - -[Sidenote: _A WAYSIDE RECORD_] - -attention from its size, so we pulled up the better to examine it, and -found this legend plainly painted thereon:-- - - 1000 Miles - in - 1000 Hours, - by Henry Girdlestone, - at the age of 56, - in the year 1844. - -As, nowadays, people mostly travel by rail, this record of a past -performance is wasting its information in the wilderness for want of -readers, so I have been tempted to repeat the account of Mr. Henry -Girdlestone’s feat here. - -Our road was an uneventful one; the scenery it provided was somewhat -monotonous, but there was a certain inexplicable fascination about its -monotony as there is in that of the sea. It had the peculiar quality of -being monotonous without being wearisome. As in our drive to Crowland, -what especially struck us in our drive therefrom was the sense of -silence, space, and solitude. Spread out around us were leagues upon -leagues of level land, like a petrified sea, that melted away -imperceptibly into a palpitating blueness in which all things became -blended, indistinct, or wholly lost. Leagues of grass lands and marshes, -splashed here and there with vivid colour, and enlivened ever and again -by the silvery gleam of still, or the sunlit sparkle of wind-stirred -water; its flatness accentuated, now and again, by a solitary uprising -poplar, or a lonely, lofty windmill--built high to catch every -wind--and these served to emphasise the general solitude: the -prevailing silence was made the more striking by the infrequent peevish -cry of some stray bird that seemed strangely loud upon the quiet air. - -The scenery could not be called picturesque, yet it possessed the rarer -quality of quaintness, and it therefore interested us. In a manner it -was beautiful on account of its colour, and the sky-scape overhead was -grand because so wide, whilst it flooded the vast breadth of unshaded -land with a wealth of light. After all, let mountain lovers say what -they will, a flat land has its charms; it may not be “sweetly pretty,” -but it is blessed with an abundance of light, and light begets -cheerfulness; and its cloud-scapes, sunrises, and sunsets, that compel -you to notice them, are a revelation in themselves. A Dutch artist once -told me, when I was pointing out to him what I considered the paintable -qualities of the South Downs, that he honestly considered hills and -mountains a fraud, as they hid so much of the sky, which, to him, -appeared infinitely more beautiful and changeful both in form and -colour. “There is a fashion in scenery,” said he; “mountain lands have -been fortunate in their poets and writers; some day a poet or great -writer may arise who will sing or describe for us the little-heeded -beauties of the lowlands, and the hills will go out of fashion. The -public simply admire what they are told to admire.” If Ruskin had only -been born in the lowlands of Lincolnshire, then might we have had some -chapters in his works enlarging upon their peculiar beauties! Truly -Tennyson was born in Lincolnshire, but he was born in the Wolds -surrounded by woods and hills. Even so, Tennyson has not done for the -Wolds what Scott has done for the Scotch Highlands; the scenery of the -Wolds has its special charms, but it is no tourist-haunted land, yet -none the less beautiful on that account, and selfishly I am thankful -that there are such spacious beauty spots still left to us in England -unknown to, and unregarded by, the cheap-tripper. Let us hope that no -popular guide-book will be written about certain districts to needlessly -call his attention to them. - -[Sidenote: _A NOVEL EXPERIENCE_] - -This corner of England that we were traversing has an unfamiliar aspect -to the average Englishman; the buildings and people therein truly are -English, intensely English, but, these apart, the country looks strange -and foreign. It is a novel experience to drive for miles along an -embanked road looking down upon all the landscape, just as it is equally -curious, on the other hand, to drive along a road below an embanked -river! Keen and fresh came the breezes to us from over the mighty fens, -for they were unrestrained even by a hedge; pleasantly refreshing and -scented were they with the cool odours of marsh flowers, plants, and -reeds. The fields being divided by dykes and ditches, in place of -hedges, the landscape gained in breadth, for the sweep of the eye was -not continually arrested by the bounding hedges that but too often cut -up the prospect of the English country-side, chess-board fashion. - -At one spot low down to the right of our way was a swampy bit of -ground, half land, half water, if anything more water than land; here -tall reeds were bending and tossing about before the wild wind, and the -pools of water were stirred by mimic waves, and in the heart of all this -was a notice-board inscribed “Trespassers will be prosecuted”! Somehow -this simple and familiar warning in such a position brought to mind the -comic side of life and aroused much merriment, for who in the wide world -would wish to trespass there? We were in such good humour with ourselves -and all things that we were easily amused: our superabundance of health -begot a mirthful spirit readily provoked and difficult to damp. I verily -believe that when trifles went wrong on the journey, which by the way -they very seldom did, then we were the merriest, as though to show that -nothing could depress us. I remember on a former tour that we got caught -in a heavy storm of rain when crossing an open moor; the storm came up -suddenly from behind and took us quite by surprise, so that we got -pretty well wet before we could get our mackintoshes out; shelter was -there none, and the result was that, after a couple of hours’ driving -along an exposed road, we arrived at a little country inn positively -drenched through to the skin, the water running off the dogcart in -streams, and all things damp and dripping, yet in spite of our sorry -plight we felt “as jolly as a sandboy,” and could not restrain our -laughter at the dismal picture we presented as we drove into the -stable-yard; indeed, we treated the matter as a huge joke, and I thought -to myself, “Now if only Charles Keene were here to sketch us arriving -thus, what an excellent subject we should make for a _Punch_ picture -with the legend below ‘The pleasures of a driving tour!’” So excellent -did the joke appear to us that we had changed our saturated clothing and -put on dry things, and had warmed ourselves before a roaring wood fire -which the kind-hearted landlady had lighted for us, and had further -refreshed ourselves with the best the house could provide, before our -merry spirits quieted down. So it took some time to quiet them down! - -[Sidenote: _A LEANING TOWER_] - -Now this digression has taken us to the village of Cowbit, a dreary, -forsaken-looking place, desolate enough, one would imagine, to disgust -even a recluse. Here we noticed the dilapidated church tower was leaning -very much on one side, owing doubtless to the uncertain foundation -afforded by the marshy soil; indeed, it leaned over to such an extent as -to suggest toppling down altogether before long, so much so that it gave -us the unpleasant feeling that it might untowardly collapse when we were -there. It may be that the tower will stand thus for years; all the same, -did I worship in that fane I feel sure I should ever be thinking rather -about the stability of the fabric than of the prayers or of the sermon! - -Leaving this forsaken spot--where we saw neither man, woman, nor child, -not even a stray dog or odd chicken about to lessen its forlorn look--a -short way ahead we discovered that our way was blocked by a broken-down -traction engine, a hideous black iron monster of large proportions, -that stood helplessly right in the very centre of the road, so that it -was extremely doubtful if there were sufficient room left for us to pass -by; and if we failed to do this and our wheels went over the edge of the -embankment we were on, which was fenceless on both sides, the dog-cart -and horses might very probably follow suit. Some men were busily -hammering and tinkering at the engine; they said that she had broken -down an hour ago, and they had not been able to get her to move since, -but fortunately there had been no traffic coming along, and we were the -first party to arrive on the scene. All of which was very entertaining -and informative, but not very helpful as to how we were to proceed. Did -they think we could possibly get by? Well, they did not know, they -hardly thought so; but they would measure the width of our carriage and -the width of the roadway left. This being duly done, it was discovered -that there was just room, but not even the proverbial inch to spare. -Thereupon we naturally concluded that the margin for safety was -insufficient! Here was a pleasant predicament to be in! We could not -well go back; on the other hand the men confessed that they had no idea -when they would be able “to get the thing to work again.” The steam was -up, but when turned on the iron monster snorted, creaked, and groaned, -but resolutely refused to budge. “Something has given way, and we be -trying to mend it” was the only consolation offered us, beyond the fact -that they had sent a man over to Spalding for help, but when he would -return they - -[Sidenote: _A DILEMMA_] - -did not know; “It were certainly bad luck that we should have been right -in the middle of the road when she gave out, but you see we never -expected anything of the kind.” It was an unfortunate position of -affairs; if we decided to attempt to drive by, and our horses shied or -swerved ever so little in the attempt, a serious accident was almost a -certainty; so, after considering the matter well, a happy, if -troublesome, way out of the difficulty occurred to us: this was to -unharness both horses and lead them past the obstructing engine, then to -wheel the dog-cart after as best we could. Just as we had decided to do -this, the monster gave another spasmodic snort or two and began to move -in a jerky fashion, only to break down again, then the men set to work -once more a-hammering. How long would this go on? we wondered. However, -the few yards that the engine had managed to move was to one side, which -gave us a little more room to pass, whereupon, acting under a sudden -impulse, we whipped the horses up, and taking tight hold of the reins -dashed safely by, but it was “a touch and go” affair; our horses did -swerve a trifle, and we just missed bringing our tour to a conclusion on -the spot, but “all’s well that ends well,” and “a miss is as good as a -mile!” - -After this little episode we had a peaceful progress on to Spalding -undisturbed by further adventure. The approach to this essentially -old-world-looking town from the Crowland direction alongside the river -Welland--which is here embanked and made to run straight, canal fashion, -and has shady trees and grassy margins on either side--is exceedingly -Dutch-like and very pleasant. Few English towns have so attractive an -approach; it gave us a favourable impression of the place at once--so -imperceptibly the country road became the town street, first the trees, -then the houses. Spalding is a place that seems more of a natural -growth, an integral part of the scenery, so in harmony is it therewith, -rather than a conglomeration of houses built merely for man’s -convenience. Such charmingly old-fashioned, prosperous, but delightfully -unprogressive towns are not to be met with every day, when the ambition -of most places appears to be more or less a second-hand copy of London; -and at a sacrifice of all individuality they strive after this -undesirable ideal. How refreshing is a little originality in this world, -that grows more sadly commonplace and colourless year by year! Alas! we -live in an age of civilised uniformity, an age that has given us -railways and ironclads in far-off Japan, and tramway lines and French -_tables d’hôte_ in the very heart of ancient Egypt! Soon the only ground -the unconventional traveller will have left to him will be the more -remote spots of rural England! It is far more primitive and picturesque -to-day than rural new America with its up-to-date villages lighted with -electricity, and stores provided with all the latest novelties of -Chicago or New York! Where will the next-century mortal find the rest -and repose of the past? - -Driving into Spalding we noticed the ancient hostelry of the “White -Hart” facing the market - -[Sidenote: “_HARPER YE HOST_”] - -square, a hostelry that was ancient when the railways still were young, -and on the lamp that projected over the centre of this old house we -further noticed the quaint legend “Harper ye Host,” a conceit that -pleased us much. “A host must surely be one of the right sort thus to -proclaim himself,” we reasoned, “we will place ourselves under his -care”; so without more ado we drove beneath the archway into the -courtyard, and confidently handed our horses over to the ready ostler’s -charge, and sought for ourselves entertainment and shelter beneath the -sign of the “White Hart.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - - Spalding--“Ye Olde White Horse Inne”--An ancient hall and quaint - garden--Epitaph-hunting--A signboard joke--Across the Fens--A - strange world--Storm and sunshine--An awkward - predicament--Brown--Birthplace of Hereward the Wake--A medieval - railway station!--Tombstone verses. - - -We determined that we would devote the next morning to leisurely -exploring Spalding, armed with sketch-book and camera, for the ancient -town promised, from the glance we had of it whilst driving in, to -provide plenty of picturesque and quaint material for both pencil and -lens. - -We had not to search long for a subject, for in less than five minutes -we came upon a tempting architectural bit in the shape of a past-time -inn, with a thatched roof, high gables, and dormer windows, whose -swinging signboard proclaimed it to be “Ye Olde White Horse Inne.” It -was a building full of a certain quiet character that was very -pleasing--a home-like and unpretentious structure whose picturesqueness -was the outcome of necessity, and all the more charming for its -unconsciousness. - -Then wandering by the waterside we chanced upon a beautiful and ancient -house called Ayscough Hall, gray-gabled, time-toned, and weather-worn, -with a great tranquil garden of the old-fashioned sort - -[Sidenote: _OLD GARDENS_] - -in the rear, rejoicing in the possession of massive yew hedges, clipped -and terraced in the formally decorative manner that so delighted the -hearts and eyes of our ancestors, who loved to walk and talk and flirt -between walls of living green. In olden days the architect often planned -the garden as well as the house; so, as at Haddon Hall, Montacute, and -elsewhere, we frequently find the stone terrace forming an architectural -feature in the grounds, and immediately beyond this Nature trimmed, -tamed, and domesticated with prim walks and trees fantastically cut into -strange shapes. And what delightful retreats and pleasant pictures these -old formal gardens make: perhaps it would be well if nowadays the -architect of the house were employed to design the grounds that it will -stand in; but alas! this is not a home-building age, so only rarely is -the idea feasible--for does not the modern man generally buy his -“desirable residence” ready-made as he does his furniture, fitting into -it as best he may? - -Upon inquiry we learnt that this charming old-world hall with its dreamy -garden, so eloquent of the past, had been purchased by the town for a -public park. Fortunate people of Spalding! And what a unique and -enjoyable little park it will make if it is only left alone and -preserved as it is; but if for a passing fad or fashion the landscape -gardener is ever let loose thereon, what havoc may be wrought under the -cuckoo-cry of improvement! Such old gardens are the growth of centuries; -money will not create them in less time, yet, sad to realise, they may -be destroyed in a few weeks or days! What the modern restorer is to an -ancient and beautiful church, so is the modern landscape gardener to the -quaintly formal old English garden. - -The house itself appeared to be deserted and shut up, so that -unfortunately we were unable to obtain a glance at its interior. Some -portions of the building looked very old, possibly as early as the -fifteenth century, especially a large stone-mullioned window, filled--we -judged from the exterior view--with some interesting specimens of -ancient heraldic glass, but the other portions were of later date, and -signs of nineteenth-century modernising were not wanting. We asked a man -we saw if he knew how old the oldest part of the hall was, and he -honestly replied that he did not; “but it be a goodish bit older nor I. -You sees they don’t register the birth of buildings as they does babies, -so it’s difficult to find out how old they be.” Then the man chuckled to -himself, “You sees I’se a bit of a wit in my way,” but it was just what -we did not see; nevertheless we put on a conventional smile just to -please him, whereupon, in a confidential whisper, he informed us where -we could get “as good a glass of ale as is to be had in all -Lincolnshire, if not better, and I don’t mind a-showing you the way -there and drinking your very good health.” It is rather damping to think -how many of our conversations with rural folk have come to a similar -ending. “Why,” we rejoined in feigned surprise, “you look like a -teetotaler; you surely would not be seen drinking beer in a -public-house.” The air of mute astonishment that pervaded his features -was a study. “Well, I’m blest!” - -[Sidenote: _A CHARACTER_] - -he exclaimed, more in a tone of sorrow than of anger, “I’ve never been -taken for that before”--and thereupon he turned round and walked hastily -away with as much dignity as he could assume. Could it be that we had -hurt his feelings by our unfounded imputation, or could he possibly -think that we had made such a base insinuation for the mean purpose of -saving our twopence? However, we did not feel inclined to call after -him, so the incident closed. One does meet with curious characters on -the road--a remark I believe that I have made before. Then we again -turned our diverted attention to the old house, which pleased us from -the indefinable look it had of having seen an eventful and historic -past: one generation had done this, another had done that, one had -added, another had pulled down; so at least we read the story in stone. - -Next we found our way by accident, not of set purpose, to the spacious -parish church, a much altered and enlarged edifice, unless our judgment -by appearances was at fault--a cathedral in miniature. Somehow, though -manifestly of considerable archæological interest, the fabric did not -appeal to us, but this may have been owing to our mood that day. The -interior is vast--but we do not worship mere vastness--and has the -peculiarity of possessing four aisles; two, instead of the usual one, on -each side. An enthusiastic antiquary, whom I afterwards met, declared to -me that Spalding church was one of the finest and most interesting in -the county, and jokingly remarked in a good-natured way that my not -finding it so proved that I was uninteresting. Well, I accept the -reproach, and cling to my own opinion! It is strange how one sometimes -takes a sudden dislike to a place or building as well as to a person, -for no reason that we can possibly assign to ourselves; and for my own -part, favourable or unfavourable, my first impression lasts. It is a -clear case of-- - - I do not like thee, Dr. Fell-- - The reason why I cannot tell: - But this I know, and know full well, - I do not like thee, Dr. Fell. - -Not being interested in the church, we wandered about the large and -grass-grown graveyard, and amidst the moss-encrusted and lichen-laden -tombstones, in search of any quaint epitaph that Time and man might have -spared, for I regret to say that the despoiling hand of religious -prudery is answerable for the deliberate destruction of sundry quaint -epitaphs. A flagrant case of this came under my notice on a previous -journey, when I learnt that the two concluding lines of a tombstone -inscription had been purposely erased as being profane. By fortunate -chance I was enabled, through a clergyman who had retained a copy of the -sinning lines, to rescue them from oblivion; though, to be perfectly -honest, I have to confess that the words of the obliterated lines were -given to me for the purpose of justifying their removal! However, -looking upon such things, as I ever endeavour to do, in the spirit of -the age that dictated them, the condemned lines appeared innocent enough -to me; but then, as a certain high church ecclesiastic once told me, in -his opinion, when curious old epitaphs were concerned, my charity was -“too wide, and covered too many sins.” Whether my charity be too wide or -not is a matter I do not care to discuss, but my readers may judge for -themselves, if they be so minded and care to take the trouble to refer -to a former work of mine, _Across England in a Dog-cart_, page 386. - -[Sidenote: _GRAVEYARD LITERATURE_] - -Our search in the churchyard at Spalding for any curious epitaphs was -unrewarded by any “finds”; we discovered nothing but dreary -commonplaces. Graveyard literature is becoming--has become, rather -should I say--very proper, very same, yet very sad. Somehow those quaint -old-time inscriptions appeal to me; when I read them I seem to -understand what manner of man lies sleeping below; they bring the dead -to life again, and rescue forgotten traits from total oblivion. It seems -to us now strange that our ancestors should have treated death in this -lighter strain, though perhaps not stranger than some of the coarse -jokes in carvings that the presumably devout monkish medieval sculptor -introduced into the churches of the period. Each age sees things from -its own standpoint, and I am inclined to think that we take both life -and death more seriously than our ancestors:-- - - Each century somewhat new - Is felt and thought of death--the problem strange - With newer knowledge seems to change, - It changes, as we change our point of view. - And in this age when over much is known, - When Science summons from the deep - Dim past the centuries that sleep, - When Thought is crowned for ruler, Thought alone, - We gaze at Death with saddest eyes. - -Soon, especially if man is to be allowed to help Time in the work of -obliteration, quaint and interesting epitaphs will only be discoverable -in books; perhaps better this than to be lost altogether, but I do not -like my epitaphs served thus; I prefer to trace them for myself direct -from the ancient tombstones, even though it entails a journey, time, and -trouble to do this, for then I know they are genuine. I have an uneasy -suspicion that the majority of clever and amusing epitaphs we find in -books never came from tombstones at all, but owe their existence solely -to the inventive faculties of various writers; I hope I am wrong, but my -hoping does not prove me so! As an example of what I mean, I was reading -a work the other day by a learned antiquary, in which I found quoted -quite seriously the following droll epitaph-- - - Underneath this ancient pew - Lieth the body of Jonathan Blue, - His name was Black, but that wouldn’t do, - -with the information that it existed in a church in Berkshire. Now this -really will not do, it is far too indefinite; I object to be sent -epitaph-hunting all over a whole county; it would surely be as easy to -give the name of the church as to state that it was somewhere “in -Berkshire,” which is suggestive of its being nowhere! Even when you know -the precise locality of the church wherein is a quaint epitaph, it is -not always easy to find the latter, as on one occasion I actually learnt -from the clerk that an inscription that I had come a long way specially -to see for myself and to copy, had been covered over and hidden by a -brand new organ! Matting you may move, even a harmonium, and I always do -on principle, as I once made an interesting discovery by so doing; but -an organ is a very different matter: not that I should have any scruples -under the circumstances in moving an organ, if I could! - -[Sidenote: _A JOKING SIGN_] - -From the church we strolled down the river-side, or as near to it as we -could, in search of sketchable bits--and shipping, for though some ten -miles inland (judging by our map), Spalding is a seaport, small, but -flourishing in its way; brigs and sloops, inconsiderable in size -according to modern commercial ideas, find their way thither, and these -are more profitable to the artist, if not to their owners, than huge -steamers and big iron vessels. Small sea-craft are always picturesque, -which is more than can be said of their larger brethren. On our way we -passed a public-house, its projecting sign had two men’s heads painted -thereon, with the title above, “The Loggerheads,” and below the legend, -“We be Loggerheads three,” a joke at the expense of the reader. It would -be interesting to learn the origin of this curious and uncommon sign. I -have consulted all the likely books in my library, but, though I find -allusions to it, I can discover no explanation thereof. - -It was late in the afternoon before we made a start from Spalding; -exploring, sketching, and photographing, to say nothing of -epitaph-hunting or chatting with local folk, take up time, so our -morning slipped quietly away before we knew it, though we had made an -early beginning. As the time remaining was short, after a glance at our -map, we determined to drive on to Bourn, a twelve-mile stage, and to -remain there the night. - -Since mid-day the sky had clouded over, whilst the barometer had dropped -considerably; the weather looked gray and gloomy, and the wind blew -gustily from the west. “You’ll have a storm,” prophesied the ostler, -“and it’s a wild, exposed road on to Bourn, right across the marshes, -and there’s no shelter on the way.” We smilingly thanked the ostler for -his information and his solicitude for our welfare, but all the same -proceeded on our stage, jokingly reminding him that we were composed of -“neither sugar nor salt.” So with this encouraging “set-off” we parted, -and soon found ourselves once more in the wide Fenland, with which our -road was on a level, neither above nor below, as generally prevails in -the district. Passing by a gray, stone-built, and picturesque old home, -some short distance off in the flat fields, and leaving behind the last -traces of Spalding in the shape of roadside villas and prim cottages, we -entered upon a lonesome stretch of country, dark and dank and dreary, -yet fascinating because so dreary, so foreign-looking, and so eerie! - -Overhead, without a break, stretched the louring, dun-coloured sky; the -low-lying landscape around, as though in sympathy therewith, was all of -dull greens and grays, varied by long wide dykes and sedgy pools of a -dismal leaden hue. The wild wind blew chilly and fitfully, and made a -melancholy sighing sort of sound as it swept over the rank - -[Illustration: A FENLAND HOME.] - -reeds and coarse grasses, whilst it bent into a great curve the solitary -tall poplar that alone stood out in relief against the stormy sky-- - - For leagues no other tree did mark - The level waste, the rounding gray. - -There was plenty of movement everywhere, for the strong breeze made -waves of the long lank grass, as it makes waves of the sea; but there -were no signs of life except for a few stray storm-loving seagulls that, -for reasons best known to themselves, were whirling about thus far -inland, uttering peevish cries the while, apparently as much out of -their element as a sailor of the old school ashore. - -[Sidenote: _THE FENS_] - -A strange, weird world this English Fenland seems to unfamiliar eyes, -especially when seen under a brooding sky; and there is a peculiar -quality of mystery, that baffles description and cannot be analysed, in -the deep blue-gray palpitating gloom that gathers over the Fenland -distances when they lie under the threatening shadow of some coming -storm. Under such conditions the scenery of the Fens is pronouncedly -striking, but even under ordinary circumstances a man can have but -little poetry in his soul who cannot admire its wild beauties, its vast -breadths of luxuriant greenery over which the eye can range unrestrained -for leagues upon leagues on every side, its space-expressing distances -and its mighty cloud-scapes, for the sky-scape is a feature in the -Fenland prospect not to be overlooked; in fact, I am inclined to think -that its sky scenery--if I may be allowed the term--is the finest and -most wonderful in the world. It is worth a long journey to the district -if only to behold one of its gorgeous sunsets, when you look upon a -moist atmosphere saturated with colour so that it becomes opalescent, -and the sinking sun seen through the vibrating air is magnified to twice -its real size as it sets in a world of melting rubies and molten gold: -from the western slopes of far-off California I have looked down upon -the sun dipping into the wide Pacific amidst a riot of colour, but -nothing like this! It is not always necessary to leave England in search -of the strange and beautiful; the more I travel abroad, the more I am -convinced of this! - -It almost seemed to us, as we drove along, that somehow we must be -travelling in a foreign land, so un-English and unfamiliar did the -prospect appear! I have long studied the scenery of Mars through the -telescope, have in the silent hours of the night wandered thus over the -mighty, water-intersected plains of that distant planet, and had only -the vegetation of the Fens been red instead of green, we might in -imagination well have fancied ourselves touring in Mars! Truly this may -be considered a rather too far-fetched phantasy, but as Bernard Barton, -the East Anglian poet, says-- - - There is a pleasure now and then, in giving - Full scope to Fancy and Imagination. - -Then suddenly, so suddenly as to be almost startling, one of those -scenic revelations and surprises that this singular land abounds in, -took place. Low down - -[Sidenote: _A TRANSFORMATION_] - -there came a long rift in the cheerless, gray, vapoury canopy above, -followed by a suspicion of warm light, after which slowly the round red -sun peeped forth embroidering the edges of the clouds around him with -fringes of fire, and sending forth throbbing trails of burning orange -everywhere over the sky; then the landscape below became reflective and -receptive, and was changed from grave to gay as though by magic, the -dull, leaden-hued waters of the stagnant dykes and dreary pools became -liquid gold all glowing with light and brightness, and the damp, dismal -swamp grasses were transformed into waving masses of translucent -yellow-green; the distance became a wonderfully pure transparent blue, -and colour, tender, rich, or glowing, was rampant everywhere: yet five -minutes had wrought this marvellous change from depressing gloominess to -cheerful gaiety! The English climate has its faults as well as its -virtues, but it cannot fairly be charged with monotony, nor does it ever -fail to interest the quiet observer. As we live in a land of such fine -and changeful sky-scapes, I wonder we do not study them a little more; -they are often as worthy of note as the scenery. Where would be the -beauty of most of Turner’s or Constable’s landscapes without their -skies? A well-known artist told me that a good sky was the making of a -picture, and that, as a matter of fact, he gave more time and study to -it than to any other part of his work. “I never miss,” said he, “when -out of doors making a sketch of a fine cloud effect, and I have found -these studies of the utmost value; you cannot invent clouds -successfully, whatever else you may do.” One day when I was looking at -a half-finished picture of his, and wondering why it had remained so -long in that condition, he exclaimed, in response to my inquiring -glance, “Oh! I’m waiting for a suitable sky!” - -The last four or five miles of our road into Bourn was a perfectly -straight stretch, its parallel lines lessening as they receded till lost -in a point on the horizon--a grand object lesson in perspective! A road -level and direct enough to delight the heart of a railway engineer, with -everything plainly revealed for miles ahead and no pleasant surprises -therefore possible. I am afraid I am a little fastidious in the matter -of roads; I like a winding one, and within reasonable limits the more it -winds the better I like it, so that at every fresh bend before me, I am -kept in a state of delightful expectancy as to what new and probably -wholly unexpected beauty will be presented to my eyes: thus I am enticed -on and on from early morning till the evening, never disappointed and -never satiated. - -On either side of our present road ran a wide dyke as usual by way of -fence, crossed by frequent bridges giving access to fields, footpaths, -and narrow by-roads. It appeared to us a very simple and easy matter for -a careless whip on a dark night to drive right into this dyke, which, -judging from the dark look of its water, was fairly deep; you need a -sober coachman for these open Fenland roads! Even a cyclist would be -wise to proceed with caution along them after sundown, or a sudden bath -in dirty water might be the result. Indeed, as - -[Sidenote: _AN AMUSING INCIDENT_] - -we drove on we observed that a poor cow had somehow managed to slip down -the steep bank into the dyke, and there she was swimming up and down it -apparently on the outlook for an easy spot to climb out, but her -struggles to gain a footing on the slippery earth were alas! in vain; -three men followed the unfortunate animal up and down, and at every -attempt she made to reach _terra firma_ they commenced prodding her -behind with long sticks and shouting violently, by way of encouragement, -we presumed; but prods and shouts were unavailing, the final result -always being that the cow slipped quietly down into the dyke again and -recommenced her swimming. Had we not felt sorry for the poor bewildered -creature we should have laughed outright, for there was something very -ludicrous about the whole proceeding. The men told us that they had been -“two mortal hours a-trying to get the daft beast out, but we bain’t no -forrader than when we begun. We shall have to go back home and get a -rope and tie it round her horns and haul her out.” Why they had not done -this long before when they found their other method of help was -unavailing I could not understand, nor could the men explain. How the -amusing episode ended I cannot say, as we felt we could not afford to -wait till the rope appeared. - -At Bourn we found comfortable quarters at the Angel; this little market -town--described by Kingsley as lying “between the forest and the -Fen”--though clean and neat, is more interesting historically than -picturesquely. Bourn claims to be the birthplace of that Saxon patriot -Hereward the Wake, who may well be termed the hero of the Lowlands. How -is it, I wonder, that the daring deeds of Highlanders of all nations -appeal so much more to most poetic and prose writers, and to the -multitude generally, than the equally valiant achievements of the -Lowlanders? Was not the long struggle of the Dutch for freedom as heroic -and as worthy of laudatory song as that of the Swiss mountaineers? - -The landlord of our inn pointed out to us the site of the castle of the -Wakes in a field not far from the market-place. “Some dungeons had been -discovered there many years ago,” we were informed, “but now there are -no remains of any masonry visible,” and we found it as the landlord -said. All that we observed on the spot were some grass-grown mounds, -manifestly artificial, and the traces of the moat. Close by is a large -pool of water, supplied by a never-failing spring that bubbles up from -below; this pool overflows into a wide stream “that goes right round the -town.” Kingsley describes the site as being “not on one of the hills -behind, but on the dead flat meadow, determined doubtless by the noble -fountain, bourn, or brunne, which rises among the earthworks, and gives -its name to the whole town. In the flat meadow bubbles up still the -great pool of limestone water, crystal clear, suddenly and at once; and -runs away, winter and summer, a stream large enough to turn many a mill, -and spread perpetual verdure through the flat champaign lands.” - -What struck us, however, as being the most interesting feature in -Bourn--which though a very ancient town has an aggravating air of -newness - -[Sidenote: _A HISTORIC MANSION_] - -generally about it, even our little inn was quite modern--was its old -railway station. I must confess, at the same time, that I do not -remember ever having admired a railway station before for its beauty. -But this is, or was, not a modern railway station but a genuine -sixteenth-century one! I am writing seriously, let me explain the -mystery. When the line was being constructed it passed close alongside -of an ancient and charmingly picturesque Elizabethan mansion, known as -the Old Red Hall, which for a long while was the residence of the Digby -family, who were implicated in the Gunpowder Plot: it was here, -according to tradition, that the Guy Fawkes conspiracy was originated in -1604. The intention was, I understand, in due course to pull this -ancient structure down and to erect a station on its site. But sundry -antiquaries, learning what was proposed to be done, arose in arms -against such a proceeding and prevailed; so for once I am glad to record -that the picturesque scored in the struggle with pure utilitarianism. A -rare victory! The old-time building, often painted by artists and -appearing in more than one Academy picture, was happily spared from -destruction and was converted into a very quaint, if slightly dark and -inconvenient railway station: its hall doing duty as a booking-office, -one of its mullion-windowed chambers being turned into a waiting-room, -another into a cloakroom, and so forth. Thus matters remained until a -year or so ago, when a brand new station, convenient and ugly, was -constructed a little farther along the line, and the old house, one of -the finest remaining Elizabethan red-brick mansions in the kingdom, -became the stationmaster’s home--happy stationmaster! So it was that -until quite recently Bourn boasted the unique possession of a medieval -railway station! - -Passing Bourn church on the way back to our inn we observed a notice -attached to the door, of a tax for Fen drainage and the maintenance of -the dykes, a shilling an acre being levied for this purpose “and so on -in rateable proportion for any less quantity.” This called to our mind -the ceaseless care that is needed to prevent these rich lands from -flooding and becoming mere unprofitable marshes again, and the amount of -the tax does not seem excessive for the security afforded thereby. On a -tombstone in the graveyard here, we came upon, for the third time this -journey, the often-quoted epitaph to a blacksmith, beginning:-- - - My sledge and hammer lie reclined, - My bellows too have lost their wind, - My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed, - And in the dust my vice is laid. - - * * * * * - - -This familiar inscription has been stated by guidebook compilers to be -found in this churchyard and that; the lines, however, had a common -origin, being first written by the poet Hayley for the epitaph of one -William Steel, a Sussex blacksmith, and cut on his tombstone in the -churchyard of Felpham near Bognor. The inscription at once became -popular, and was freely copied all over England, like the ubiquitous and -intensely irritating “Diseases sore - -[Sidenote: _ANCIENT EPITAPHS_] - -long time he bore, Physicians were in vain,” etc. In a similar manner, -though to a far less extent, the quaint epitaph that formerly existed in -a private chapel in Tiverton churchyard, to Edward Courtenay, the third -Earl of Devon, and his Countess, appears to have been copied with -variations. Writing early in the seventeenth century, Risdon, in his -_Survey of Devonshire_, gives this epitaph thus:-- - - Hoe! hoe! who lies here? - ’Tis I, the good Erle of Devonshire, - With Kate my wife to mee full dere, - Wee lyved togeather fyfty-fyve yere. - That wee spent we had, - That wee lefte wee loste, - That wee gave wee have. 1419. - -This appeared in old Doncaster church in the following form:-- - - Hoe! hoe! who is heare? - I Robin of Doncaster and Margaret my feare. - That I spent I had, - That I gave I have, - That I left I lost. A.D. 1579. - -A near relation to this may be found on a brass at Foulsham near Reepham -in Norfolk, that reads:-- - - Of all I had, this only now I have, - Nyne akers wh unto ye poore I gave, - Richard Fenn who died March ye 6. 1565. - -But now that I have got upon the attractive subject of epitaphs again, I -must control my pen or I shall fill up pages unawares: already I find I -have strayed far away from Lincolnshire. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - A pleasant road--Memories--Shortening of names--Health-drinking--A - miller and his mill--A rail-less town--Changed times and changed - ways--An Elizabethan church clock--A curious coincidence--Old - superstitions--Satire in carving--“The Monks of Old.” - - -From Bourn we decided to drive to Sleaford, an easy day’s stage of -eighteen miles, baiting half-way at Falkingham. Upon asking the ostler -about the road, it struck us as curious to hear him remark that it was a -hilly one; so accustomed had we become to the level roads of the Fens -that for the moment we had forgotten that Lincolnshire is a county of -heaths, hills, and waving woods as well as of fens, dykes, and sluggish -streams. - -The aspect of the country we passed through that morning had completely -changed from that of yesterday; it was pleasantly undulating, and even -the brake was brought into requisition once or twice, for the first time -since we left London. Hedges again resumed their sway, and we realised -their tangled beauties all the more for our recent absence from them; -sturdy oaks and rounded elms took the place of the silvery flickering -willows and of the tall thin poplars, and smooth-turfed meadows that of -the coarse-grassed marsh-lands. The general forms and outlines of the -country were more familiar, but it seemed a little wanting in colour -after the rich tints of the lowlands; by contrast it all appeared too -green: green fields, green trees, green crops, for these, with the -winding road, chiefly composed the prospect. Moreover, we missed the -constant and enlivening accompaniment of water that we had become so -accustomed to, with its soft, silvery gleaming under cloud and its -cheerful glittering under sun. Water is to the landscape what the eye is -to the human face; it gives it the charm of expression and vivacity. At -first, also, our visions seemed a little cramped after the wide and -unimpeded prospects of the Fens; and the landscape struck us as almost -commonplace compared with that we had so lately passed through, which -almost deserved the epithet of quaint, at least to non-Dutch eyes. There -was no special feature in the present scenery beyond its leafy -loveliness. Truly it might be called typically English, but there was -nothing to show that it belonged to any particular portion of -England--no distant peep of downs, or hills, or moors, that seems so -little, but which to the experienced traveller means so much, as by the -character and contour of distant hill, or moor, or down he can tell -fairly well whether he be in the north or south, the east or west, and -may even shrewdly guess the very county he is traversing. - -[Sidenote: _A PASTORAL LAND_] - -It was, however, a lovely country, full of pastoral peacefulness, -sunshine, and grateful sylvan shadiness, lovely yet lonely--a loneliness -that aroused within us a feeling akin to melancholy: it may have been -our mood that saw it so that day, and that the fault lay in ourselves -and not in the landscape. Does not the poet say, “Our sweetest songs are -those that tell of saddest thought”? So may not the sweetest scenery, in -certain minds, and under certain conditions, arouse a sentiment of -sadness? There is a peacefulness that is restful beyond words, -especially to the town-wearied brain; but there is also a peacefulness -so deep as to become actually oppressive. However, all the feelings of -loneliness and melancholy vanished, like the mist before the sun, at the -sight of an old-fashioned windmill painted a cheerful white and -picturesquely situated at the top of a knoll by the side of our road, -its great sails whirling round and round with a mighty sweep and a -swishing sound as they rushed through the air in their never-completed -journey. This busy mill gave just the touch of needful life to the -prospect; we hailed it as we would have hailed an old friend, and at -once our spirits rose to a gleesome point. What trifles may thus -suddenly change the current of thought and feeling! It may even be so -small a matter as the scent of a wild flower, or the sound of the wind -in the trees, recalling past days and far-away scenes. So this old mill -brought up before us a rush of pleasant memories, the poetry of many a -rural ramble, of chats with merry meal-covered millers, for millers I -have ever found to be the merriest of men, and never yet have I come -upon a crusty one. All those to whom I have talked, and they have not -been few, without exception appeared to take a rosy view of life, not -even grumbling with cause. I wish I knew the miller’s secret of -happiness! - -[Sidenote: _A DOUBTFUL PLEASURE_] - -It was whilst watching the hurtling sails of the creaking mill that it -occurred to us why the country seemed so dull that day; it was the -absence of movement, we had the road all to ourselves. There was no -flowing river or running stream, and the cattle in the fields were lazy -and placid, seemingly as immovable as those in pictures; not even -troubling to whisk their tails at real or imaginary flies. Even the -birds appeared too indolent to fly; at least they were strangely -invisible. An air of solemn repose pervaded the whole countryside until -that cheery windmill came into view. It was curious that at the moment -the only life in the landscape should be given to it by a building! for -the mind pictures a building as a substantial thing not given to any -movement. - -Shortly after this we reached the pretty and picturesquely situated -village of Aslackby--shortened to Asby by a native of whom we asked its -name--even the rustic has come into line with the late nineteenth -century, so far as not to waste breath or words. The straggling village -was situated in a wooded hollow a little below our road; its ancient -church and cottages, half drowned in foliage, formed a charming picture. -The church looked interesting, but we found the door carefully locked, -and not feeling just then our archæological and antiquarian zeal -sufficient to induce us to go a-clerk-hunting, a doubtful joy at the -best, we quietly, and, I fear, unregretfully, resumed our seats in the -dog-cart, for the soft sunshine and sweet air were grateful to our -senses, and it pleased us to be out in the open. - -Just beyond Aslackby a wayside inn ycleped “The Robin Hood” invited us -with the following lines on its sign-board, though unavailingly, to stop -and refresh ourselves there:-- - - Gentlemen if you think good, - Step in and drink with Robin Hood: - If Robin Hood abroad is gone, - Pray take a glass with Little John. - -Noting us stop to take down the inscription, and possibly mistaking our -motive, the familiar incident once more took place--a beery-looking -passer-by approached us and remarked that he could recommend the tap. We -thanked him for his kindness, and jokingly responded that we did not -happen to be thirsty just then, but we would bear in mind his -recommendation should we ever again be in the neighbourhood. “Not -thirsty on such a day as this,” he exclaimed with an air of surprise; -“why, I be as thirsty as a fish”; but we did not rise to the occasion, -and as we drove away the man glanced reproachfully after us, then he -disappeared within the building. Perhaps we might have parted with the -customary twopence, for the man was civil-mannered, but why should the -wanderer by road in England be so frequently expected to have his health -drunk by utter strangers? The number of twopences I have already -expended for this purpose since I first started my driving tours must be -considerable! - -Some way farther on our road we chanced upon still another ancient -wooden mill busily at work like the former one. It was a picturesque -mill of a primitive type that is fast disappearing from the land; the -whole structure being supported on a great central post that acts as a -pivot, and is bodily turned on this by a long projecting beam acting as -a lever, so that the sails can be made to face the wind from whichever -quarter it may come; but this arrangement, of course, needs constant -watchfulness. - -[Sidenote: _IN A WINDMILL_] - -We pulled up here in order to make a sketch of the old mill, that looked -almost too quaint and picturesque to be real, giving one a sort of -impression that it must have come out of some painting, an artist’s -ideal realised. The worthy miller watched our proceeding with manifest -interest from his doorway above, and when we had finished he asked us if -we would care to take a glance inside. We did care, and likewise were -not averse to have the opportunity of a chat so that we might gather his -view of the world and of things in general, for naturally everybody sees -the former from his own centre, and through his own glasses. We had to -mount a number of rickety steps that communicated with the creaking mill -above which oscillated unpleasantly, for the sails were spinning round -apace before the breeze, causing the ancient structure to tremble and -its timbers to groan like those of a ship in a gale; indeed, when we had -safely surmounted the flight of shaking steps we felt that we sadly -needed our “sea-legs” to stand at all, and the latter are not always -immediately at command when cruising on land. “She’s running a bit free -to-day,” exclaimed the miller, smiling and all gray-white with dusty -meal, “and she’s not so young as she were by a couple of centuries or -so, but she’s quite safe though she do rock and rattle a bit. But Lor’ -bless you, I likes to hear her talk; it’s company like, for it’s lonely -work up here by oneself all day at times.” It was not only that the -ancient mill moved and shook so, but the floor was uneven as well, nor -was there overmuch elbow-room to allow a margin for unsteadiness, and it -would have been awkward to have been caught by any of the whirring -wheels; moreover the noise was confusing and the light seemed dim for -the moment after the bright sunshine without. But we soon got used to -the new condition of things and our novel and unstable surroundings. - -“I wonder she has never been blown right over in a storm during all -those years,” I said, “for she is only supported on a single post, -though certainly it is a big one.” In truth the mill shook so much in -the comparatively steady breeze that it seemed to us a heavy storm would -easily have laid her low. Mills, like ships, are always “she’s,” I have -observed, though how a man-of-war can be a “she” has always puzzled me. -“Well, she may be only supported on one post, but that is of solid heart -of oak, as whole and strong to-day as when first put up; not worm-eaten -a bit. There’s an old saying you may have heard, ‘there’s nothing like -leather’; it ought to be, I thinks, by rights, ‘there’s nothing like -oak.’ She do rock though when it blows hard, but I’m used to it; it’s -her nature, and she’ll last - -[Sidenote: _A CHAT WITH A MILLER_] - -my life. Oh yes, she’s very old-fashioned and slow, but for all that she -can grind corn better nor your modern mills, in spite of what people -talk. We grinds the wheat and makes honest meal; the modern mills with -their rollers make simply flour, which is not half as wholesome or -nourishing. Wheat-meal and flour are not the same, though they both make -bread: wheat-meal possesses nourishing qualities that ordinary flour -does not.” So one drives about country and learns! - -The miller looked an oldish man, but his face and beard (I think he had -a beard, but my memory may be at fault) were white from dusty meal, and -may have made him appear older than he really was. Anyhow, we ventured -to ask him if he thought times had altered for the better or for the -worse since he was young. Like the rest of the world, merry miller -though he was, he complained of the severe competition that had cut down -profits to a minimum, whilst the work was harder. In “the good old days” -of milling, when he began the trade, the price for grinding corn used to -be 1s. a strike or 8s. a quarter for wheat, and 8d. a strike or 5s. 4d. -a quarter for barley; now the charge is 5s. 4d. a quarter for wheat, and -2s. 6d. a quarter for barley. “Moreover, nowadays, though we gets less -money for the work, we have to fetch the corn and take the meal back -again; whereas in past times the corn was carted to the mill, and taken -away when ground.” So that, we were given to understand, besides the -lowering of prices there was the cost of cartage to and fro to be taken -into consideration. It is the same familiar story of a harder struggle -to earn a living, entailing besides a lessened leisure. Some one has to -suffer for the benefit of cheap production, and the small man suffers -most. - -Bidding good-bye to our worthy miller, who, in spite of altered times, -had a contented look that a millionaire well might envy, we remounted -the dogcart and soon reached the sleepy, little, and erst market town of -Falkingham--a town unknown to Bradshaw, because it has been left out in -the cold by the railway, but none the less picturesque on that account! -Here the road widened out into a large triangle, the base being at the -end farthest away from us; this formed the old market-place, a pleasant -open space surrounded by quaint and ancient houses and shops. One of -these houses especially interested us, a substantial stone building with -mullioned windows, set slightly back from the roadway and approached -between two massive pillars surmounted by round stone balls. It was not -perhaps actually picturesque, but it had such a charming air of quiet -dignity, and looked so historical in a mild manner, as to make the -modern villa seem a trumpery affair. It was a house that struck you as -having been built originally for the owner to live in and to enjoy, in -contradistinction to which the “desirable residence” of to-day always -seems to me to be built to sell. The stones of this old house were -delightfully toned into a series of delicate grays, enlivened here and -there by splashes of gold and silver lichen. What a difference there is -between the wealth of colourful hues of a time-tinted country building -and the begrimed appearance of a smoke-stained London dwelling. Age adds -beauty to the one; it adds but a depressing gloom to the other. - -[Sidenote: _PRE-RAILWAY TRAVELLERS_] - -Right in front of us, at the top of the market-place, stood a fine -example of an old coaching inn--a long red-brick structure whose ruddy -front showed in pleasant contrast with the gray stone buildings around -of earlier date: a plain but comfortable-looking hostelry, its many -windows gleaming cheerfully in the sunshine, and having in the centre -under the eaves of its roof a reminder of the past in the shape of a -sun-dial with a legend upon it; but what that legend was we could not -make out, for time and weather had rendered it indistinct. In our mind’s -eye we pictured to ourselves the outside travellers by the arriving -coaches consulting it, and then pulling their cumbersome “verge” watches -out of their fobs to see if they were correct. Sun-dials, besides being -picturesque, were of real utility in the days when watches and clocks -could not always be relied upon to tell the right time. - -Of old, Falkingham was on the high turnpike road from London to Lincoln, -therefore the traffic passing through the little town in the coaching -age must have been considerable, and the place must have presented a -very different aspect then from the one of slumberous tranquillity it -now possesses. Our inn, “The Greyhound” to wit, I find duly recorded in -my copy of _Paterson_ as supplying post-horses. I well remember my -grandfather expatiating upon the pleasures of a driving tour in his -young days when he left home with his travelling carriage packed, but -without horses, as he posted from town to town and place to place, -without the shadow of anxiety about the “cattle,” or having any need to -consider whether this or that stage was too long. It was expensive -travelling doubtless, but delightfully luxurious and free from care, -except for the bogey of the highwayman; but every pleasure has its -shadow! The Greyhound has manifestly been but little altered since the -last coach pulled up there, beyond that the great arched entranceway in -the centre has been glazed and converted into a hall, which may or may -not be an improvement: personally, for tradition’s sake, I look -jealously upon any modifications in the economy of these ancient -coaching houses; but one cannot keep the hand of Time back just for the -sake of tradition or the picturesque. - -Having refreshed ourselves very satisfactorily here, our roast beef -being washed down with a foaming tankard of genuine home-brewed ale, we -set out to have a quiet look at the clean past-time town, which, as a -matter of fact, we could take in at a glance, for it was all gathered -round its large old market-square, though market-triangle would be a -more correct term. Falkingham seems never to have known the hand of the -modern builder, and has therefore happily preserved its charming -old-world look, thanks doubtless in a great measure, if not wholly, to -the fact of the railway having left it stranded high and dry out of the -traveller’s beat. - -Our stroll round the square did not take long: - -[Sidenote: _A RAIL-LESS TOWN_] - -the only inhabitants we saw were an old gaffer talking across a garden -wall to a woman who stood in her doorway listlessly listening to him; we -were much amused to hear the former suddenly exclaim, just as we passed -by, “Why, bless my soul, I’ve been over half an hour here; I must go now -and have a chat with old Mother Dash.” It suggested to us that his life -was mostly composed of gossiping, and that time was not such a priceless -commodity at Falkingham as in most places. Here at least the hurry and -rush, the stress and striving of the nineteenth century appear not to -have penetrated, and humanity rusts rather than wears away. Can this be -due to the mere absence of the railway, I wonder? Certainly where the -iron horse does not penetrate, life seems to be lived at a lower -pressure than elsewhere. A deep sense of repose hung over the whole -place, a peacefulness that could possibly be felt; for a town it was -unnaturally--painfully I might almost say--silent: in the heart of the -country we could not have found a greater tranquillity! - -Having “done” the town and having added a few more pencil notes to our -sketch-book, on glancing around we suddenly espied the church half -hidden away in a corner to the left of our inn that somehow we had -hitherto overlooked. Approaching the aged fane we noticed a great -clockface on the weather-worn and hoary tower with a solitary wooden -hand thereon pointing aimlessly down to six; it was then a few minutes -to one, for we had lunched early, having started in the morning -“betimes,” to once again employ Mr. Pepys’s favourite expression. For -when driving across country it is well to have a long day before one; -even then the whole day was sometimes too short! - -Affixed to the porch of the church we observed the following notice, -that plainly tells its own tale of changed times and changed ways, and -of an enlightened, up-to-date ecclesiasticism:-- - - Cyclists Welcomed - In Cycling Dress. - -Entering the building we heard a peculiar creaking noise, apparently -proceeding from the tower above, that was in singular contrast with the -otherwise profound stillness of the interior. This puzzled us, and, -discovering a circular stone stairway that led up the tower, we promptly -ascended it to solve the mystery. This eventually--after climbing over -one hundred steps (we counted them)--took us into a small chamber, where -we found the sexton winding up an ancient clock of curious design, an -interesting specimen of medieval handicraft. I sincerely trust that no -agent from South Kensington or other museum, or any emissary from -Wardour Street, will unearth this antique “time-teller,” or if unhappily -they do, I trust that they will not be permitted to possess it, even -though they promise a brand new clock in its place! I prefer to see such -curiosities in their rightful positions, where they ought to remain -their natural life undisturbed, and where alone they are in harmony with -their surroundings. Many an ancient - -[Sidenote: _AN ELIZABETHAN CLOCK_] - -helmet, that once hung over the recumbent effigy of its former knightly -owner in the quiet village church, has been basely filched away to add -to the collector’s store, where they may only be seen by the favoured -few, and why should this be? The queer old clock was being wound up, not -by a key, but by a sort of miniature windlass. The works were of wrought -iron, all hammered and cut by hand, for machinery manifestly had no part -in their construction; perhaps that is why they have lasted so long! -From our knowledge of such things, we concluded that this clock could -not have been of later date than Elizabeth’s time; how much earlier, if -any, it would be hard to say. Unless, however, we are greatly mistaken, -it has outlived three centuries, and has probably marked the hours all -those long years, more or less correctly, whilst the cunning hands that -designed and constructed it are forgotten dust. Here the inevitable -moral should follow, but I refrain. This reminds me that I once gave my -thirteen-year-old daughter an improving, well-intentioned book, and in -due course I asked her how she liked it: “Well, dada,” she replied, -quite innocently, “when you’ve skipped all the goody bits there’s -nothing left!” A brass plate attached to the clock informed us that - - W. Foster - Repaired this Clock - Anno Domini - 1816. - -We understood that, so far as the sexton knew, it had not been repaired -since that date. Then we called the sexton’s attention to the fact that -the face of the clock had but one hand, and that was loose and moved to -and fro in the wind as helplessly as a weather-vane: “Yes,” he replied -with a grin, “I had to pull the other hand off; it caught in the wind so -as to slow the clock, and when it blew hard sometimes it stopped her -going altogether. I left the other hand on, as being loose it could do -no harm”! This sounded a delightfully primitive way out of a mechanical -difficulty; quite a stroke of rural genius! At the same time it appeared -to us strangely inconsistent and illogical to have a clock going that -did not show the time. “Lor’ bless you, sir,” responded he, “the old -clock strikes the hours right enough, and that’s all the folk want to -know. Why, if the hands were going they’d never look up at ’em. Not -they.” What a lotus-eating land this, we thought, where people only care -to know the hours, and take no thought of the intervals! Just then the -sexton began to toll a loud bell vigorously. In reply to our query for -the reason of this, he explained that it was the custom there to ring -the bell every morning at eight o’clock, and again at one o’clock, “and -it’s one o’clock now, and so I’m ringing of it. I don’t rightly know how -old the custom be, but the bell be very useful, as it lets the people at -work in the fields around know the time. We calls this the dinner bell. -You see it carries farther than the sound of the clock striking.” - -We then ventured to admire the old tower, a fine specimen of -Perpendicular masonry, possessing some much-weathered, curious but -rather coarse gargoyles outside. The sexton also admired it: “It -certainly be a fine tower; there’s a wonderfully good view of the -country round from the top. I allus goes up there when the hounds be out -to see the run. I know no other tower in the district from which you can -see so far. Now, if them old builders had only,” etc., etc. I am afraid -the sexton and ourselves regarded the old tower from two very dissimilar -standpoints. - -[Sidenote: _OUT OF THE BEATEN TRACK_] - -Descending into the body of the church, we noticed a doorway in the -south wall, and caught a peep of some stone steps beyond, leading, we -were informed, to a chamber over the porch formerly used as a -schoolroom, “now we only keep rubbish in it, odd tiles, broken bits of -carvings, and the like. You can go up if you care to, but it be rare and -dusty.” We did care to go up. Indeed, in the fondness of our heart for -such things we even dared to hope that perchance we might, to use an -expressive term much favoured by antiquaries, come upon “a find” there. -Here, we reasoned, is a fine and ancient church, well out of the beaten -track of travel. The present interior suggested that it had once been -richly adorned; presumably it had suffered, more or less, the fate of -other ornate churches during the Commonwealth. Who can tell but that -some quaint relic of its former beauty may not be stowed away up there -amongst the rubbish? The very mention of “odd tiles” sounded -encouraging, only supposing that there happened to be some quaint -medieval ones amongst the number! So, full of pleasant anticipation, we -eagerly ascended the steep stone steps, worn both very concave and -slippery with the tread of generations departed. We reached a large -parvise, or priest’s chamber, provided with a fireplace; the uneven -floor was strewn with bits of broken tiles, worm-eaten wood, plaster, -bricks, etc. The chamber was exceedingly dusty and cobwebby, but we at -once enthusiastically began to search amongst the litter for anything of -interest, but, alas! discovered nothing noteworthy; the tiles were -modern. The sexton was right after all--it was full of rubbish! So, -disappointed and almost as white as a miller, we descended the slippery -steps. Then as the sexton--there was no clerk, he informed us--seemed in -a chatty mood, we asked him if he knew of any curious inscription in the -churchyard. “Well, I think I can show you one that will interest you,” -he replied, whereupon he led the way outside and we followed. Coming to -an old tombstone he remarked, “Now, I call this a funny one; it is to a -man and his wife who both died in the same year, and were both exactly -the same age to a day when they died.” Then he rubbed the ancient stone -over with his hand, that we might better read what was written thereon, -which I copied as follows:-- - - To - The Memory of - JOHN BLAND - Who Died March 25th, 1797, - Aged 75 Years, 6 Weeks, and 4 Days. - - * * * * * - - Also of - JANE, his Widow - Who Died May 11th, 1797, - Aged 75 Years, 6 Weeks, and 4 Days. - -[Sidenote: _A FORTUNATE COMBINATION_] - -Provided the inscription records facts, it certainly is a curious -coincidence; still quite a possible one. - -Returning to our inn, we ordered the horses to be “put to,” and whilst -this was being done, we had a chat with the landlord, from whom we -learnt that he both brewed his own ale and grew his own barley to brew -it with. It is the pleasant fate of some of these remote old coaching -hostelries in their old age to become half hotel and half farmhouse, and -a more fortunate combination for the present-day traveller there could -not be. By this arrangement the old buildings are preserved and cared -for in a manner that diminished custom would hardly permit were they to -remain purely as inns; nor does the providing suffer from the blending -of uses, the produce of the farm being at command, which means, or -should mean, fresh vegetables, milk, butter, and eggs. In the present -case it further meant the rare luxury of home-brewed ale from home-grown -grain, and a quart of such, does not Shakespeare say, “is a dish for a -king”? - -We drove on now through a pretty and well-wooded country, our road -winding in and out thereof in the most enticing manner: every now and -then we caught refreshing peeps of a far-away distance, faintly blue, -out from which came to us a fragrant breeze, cool, sweet, and soothing. -In driving across country it is not only the prospect that changes but -the air also, and, as the eye delights in the change of scene, so the -lungs rejoice in the change of climate. The landscape all around had a -delightfully fresh and smiling look; it was intensely pastoral and -peaceful, and over all there brooded a sense of deep contentment and -repose. Old time-mellowed farmsteads and quiet cottage homes were dotted -about, from which uprose circling films of blue-gray smoke, agreeably -suggestive of human occupancy. “How English it all looked,” we -exclaimed, and these five words fitly describe the scenery. In that -sentence pages of word-painting are condensed! - -As we proceeded above the woods to the left and the right of us rose two -tall tapering spires, belonging respectively--at least so we made out -from our map--to the hamlets of Walcot and Treckingham. These spires -reminded us what splendid churches some of the small Lincolnshire -villages possess; there they stand in remote country districts often -hastening to decay, with no one to admire them. The ancient architects -who - - Built the soaring spires - That sing their soul in stone, - -seem to have built these songs in vain: for what avails a poem that no -one prizes? The Lincolnshire rustic is made of stern stuff, he is -honest, hardy, civil, manly, independent (at least that is the opinion I -have formed of him), but he is not a bit poetical, and a good deal of a -Puritan: I fancy, if I have read him aright, he would as soon worship in -a barn as in a church; indeed, I think he would prefer to do so if he -had his own way, as being more homelike. A clergyman I met on the -journey and who confided in me said, “To get on in Lincolnshire, before -all things it is necessary to believe in game, and not to trouble too -much about - -[Sidenote: _STRANGE REVELATIONS_] - -the Catholic faith.” He said this in a joking manner truly, but I could -see that he jested in earnest: he further assured me as a positive fact -that both devil-worship and a belief in witchcraft existed in the -county. He said, “I could tell you many strange things of my rural -experiences,” and he did--how the devil is supposed to haunt the -churchyards in the shape of a toad, and how witchcraft is practised, -etc. “You may well look astonished,” he exclaimed, “at what I tell you, -but these things are so; they have come under my notice, and I speak -advisedly from personal knowledge.” - -Presently we reached the village of Osbournby; here the church looked -interesting, so we stopped in order to take a glance inside, and were -well rewarded for our trouble by discovering a number of very fine and -quaintly-carved medieval bench-ends in an excellent state of -preservation. Medieval carvings have generally a story to tell, though -being without words some people are forgetful of the fact, deeming them -merely ornamental features, and so miss the carver’s chief aim because -they do not look for it; sometimes, by way of relief, they have a joke -to make, now and then they are keenly sarcastic: but the stories--not -the jokes--mostly need time to elucidate, for they often mean more than -meets the eye at a hurried glance; moreover they have to be read in the -spirit of the age that produced them. One of the bench-end carvings at -Osbournby that is particularly noticeable represents a cunning-looking -fox standing up in a pulpit preaching to a silly-looking congregation -of geese, a favourite subject by the way with the monkish sculptors, and -a telling contemporary satire on the priesthood by those who ought to -know it best. It is remarkable that this peculiar subject should have -been so popular, for I have met with it frequently; there is a good -example of the same on one of the miserere seats in St. David’s -Cathedral. What does it signify? - -Still more curious does this strange satire seem when we remember that -in the dark ages such carvings were the poor man’s only literature, for -then even reading was a polite art confined to the learned few, and -spelling was in its infancy. One finds it difficult to conjecture why -the Church allowed such ridicule of its religious preaching to be thus -boldly proclaimed, so that even the unlettered many could hardly fail to -comprehend its meaning, for in this case the story meets the eye at once -and was manifestly intended to do so. - -If we may judge them solely by their carvings the monks of old, at a -certain period, appear to have been craftsmen clever beyond cavil, full -of quaint conceits, not over refined, often sarcastic, sometimes -severely so, but curiously broad in their selection of subjects for -illustration. Of course they carved religious subjects as in duty bound, -and with painstaking care, but these all look stiff and mechanical, -forced and not spontaneous, possibly because they had to work more or -less in a traditional groove, and consequently there was no scope for -originality; but in their less serious - -[Sidenote: _A MEDIEVAL LEECH_] - -moments, and these seemed many, when the mood inclined them they wrought -carvings that were imbued with life; and laughed, or grinned, or joked -in stone or wood to their heart’s content; then the whole soul of the -craftsman entered into his work--and the inanimate matter lived, -breathed, and struggled. His comicalities are simply delightful; he was -the medieval Leech and Keene! Truly not all the old monks took religion -seriously! but whatever their virtues or failings they were artists of -no mean merit. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - A civil tramp--Country hospitality--Sleaford--A Lincolnshire - saying--A sixteenth-century vicarage--Struck by lightning--“The - Queen of Villages”--A sculptured anachronism--Swineshead--A strange - legend--Local proverbs--Chat with a “commercial”--A mission of - destruction--The curfew--Lost our way--Out of the beaten track--A - grotesque figure and mysterious legend--Puzzling inscriptions--The - end of a long day. - - -Journeying leisurely on we presently arrived at the curiously entitled -village of Silk Willoughby; here again on asking the name of the place, -which we did before consulting our map, a native shortened it to Silkby. -It is a marked tendency of the age to contract the spelling and the -pronunciation of names to an irreducible minimum,--a tendency that I -have already remarked upon. Well, perhaps for everyday speech, Silk -Willoughby is rather overlong, and the more concise Silkby serves all -needful purposes. Still this pronouncing of names differently from what -they are spelt on the map is sometimes inconvenient to the stranger, as -the natives have become so accustomed to the abbreviated expression that -the full title of a place, given precisely as on the map, is -occasionally unfamiliar to them, and they will declare hopelessly that -they “never heard of no such - -[Sidenote: _PLACE NAMES_] - -place.” On the other hand, once when driving in Worcestershire we were -sadly puzzled when a tramp asked us if he were on the right road to -“Kiddy”; it eventually turned out that he wanted to get to -Kidderminster. I verily believe, tramp though he was, that he looked -upon us as ignoramuses in not recognising that curt appellation for the -town in question! He was a civil tramp though, for there are such beings -in the world, and we always make it a point to return civility with -civility, whether it be a ploughboy or a lord who is addressing us. -“Well now,” he exclaimed in genuine surprise as we parted, “to thinks -that you should not know that Kidderminster is called Kiddy. Why, I -thought as how everybody knew that.” In Sussex, too, once when driving -near Crowborough a man in a trap shouted to us to know if he were “right -for the Wells,” for the moment it did not occur to us that he meant -Tunbridge Wells, but that we discovered was what he did mean. - -In Silk Willoughby, by the roadside, we noticed some steps with the -stump of the shaft of the village cross on the top; on four sides of the -base of this were the carved symbols of the Evangelists, much worn but -still traceable. We found that these steps, as is frequently the case, -formed a rendezvous and a playing-place for the village children, a fact -that can hardly tend to the preservation of the carvings! - -As we had got down to make a sketch of the ruined cross we thought we -might as well walk across the road and have a look at the ancient -church. On reaching this the first thing that attracted our attention -was the following, “Iohn Oak, Churchwarden, 1690,” cut boldly straight -across the old oak door, though why John Oak’s name should be inscribed -in such a prominent position, and handed down to posterity thus I cannot -say. Possibly he presented the door to the church--though it looks older -than the date mentioned--and modestly inscribed his name thereon to -record his gift. - -Within we found the building in a state of picturesque but pathetic -decay. Right in the centre of the nave was a big wooden post reaching -straight up from the stone slab floor to support the open timber roof -above; all the windows, except one to the right of the chancel which -from its position was hidden from the general view, had lost their -stained glass; and a huge horizontal beam that stretched across the -chancel also blocked the top of the east window,--the unhappy result of -a previous restoration we were informed. On the floor we noticed an -incised slab inscribed to the memory of one of the Armyn family; this -bore the date of MCCCLXVIIII, and was decorated with a finely engraved -cross, and a shield charged--I believe that is the correct heraldic -term--with a coat-of-arms. Another old tombstone laid on the floor, -having an inscription the lettering of which was deeply cut, we should -have liked to decipher, for it looked of interest, but as the greater -part was covered by a pew this was impossible. - -[Sidenote: _PLEASANT CIVILITIES_] - -Whilst we were endeavouring, with but small success, to puzzle out some -Latin (or dog-Latin) verse on an ancient brass, the rector made his -appearance, and, learning that we were driving across country and -strangers in the land, forthwith invited us to the rectory for afternoon -tea. Such kindly attentions had become quite customary features of our -wanderings, so much so that we had ceased to wonder at them, and we -greatly regretted in this instance to be obliged to decline such -thoughtfully proffered hospitality, as we had no means of lengthening -out the day to embrace all our pleasures! Truly the lot of the driving -tourist is an enviable one, a very enviable one when it takes him into -the pleasant land of Lincolnshire: a delightful thing it is to -experience this old-time friendliness--a friendliness that makes the -wheels of life run so smoothly, and reveals the gracious and sunny side -of human nature. - -A mural tablet in the chancel rather amused us by the invitation -contained in the first two lines of a long inscription, - - Kind stranger stay a moment ere you go, - Attend and view this monumental show. - -Thus were we bidden to read through a tedious and wordy eulogy upon a -youth whose only distinction appeared to be that he died young,--there -is such a thing as consistency in epitaphs, the tomb of many a hero -takes up less space than this one! The famous Speaker Lenthall of the -Long Parliament directed that “no monument whatever should be placed -over him, save only a plain stone slab with the two words - - Vermis Sum.” - -But he was a great man and lives in history. Frank Osborne, the author -and moralist, and contemporary of Speaker Lenthall, also dictated the -epitaph on his simple tombstone at Netherworton in Oxfordshire, in which -he pertinently remarks: - - I envy not those graves which take up room - Merely with Jetts and Porphyry: since a tomb - Adds no desert. - -After all, simplicity and brevity of epitaph appeal more to the heart of -man than fulsome eulogy or “monumental show.” - -In the chancel wall, immediately to the left of the east window, is a -tall narrow niche. The rector said he did not know the original purpose -of this, unless it were for ornament. The niche was too tall for a -statue, and we imagined from its form that probably it was intended, of -old, to receive the processional cross--the pre-Reformation churches -being, I believe, provided with a recess or a locker for this purpose. A -specimen of the latter, with the ancient ornamented oak door still in -position, may be found in the church at Barnby in Suffolk. - -Then, bidding good-bye to the courteous and hospitable rector, we once -more resumed our pleasant pilgrimage, and, passing through an -eye-refreshing and peace-bestowing country of green meadows, waving -woods, and silvery streams, we reached the - -[Sidenote: _WEATHER SIGNS_] - -ancient town of Sleaford just as the sun was setting red in the west, a -fact, according to the well-known proverb--which however we have not -found to be perfectly reliable--that should ensure fine weather for the -morrow--“Red at night is a shepherd’s delight; red in the morning is a -shepherd’s warning.” Well, I am not a shepherd, but speaking from my -experience as a road traveller, who naturally studies the weather, I -have frequently noted that a red morning has been followed by a -gloriously fine and sunny day. When, however, the sky is a wan yellow at -sunrise, and especially if the wind be south-westerly, then you may -expect rain before evening with some degree of certainty; but of all -things to dogmatise about, the English weather is the most dangerous. - -As we entered Sleaford we noticed a monument to a local celebrity, the -designer of which we imagined had been inspired by the excellent example -of a Queen Eleanor’s Cross. The structure certainly adds interest to the -street in which it stands, and this is a great deal more than can be -said of most memorials of notables in the shape of statues, which, -perched high on pedestals, are generally prominent eyesores that a -long-suffering community has to put up with. Close to this monument was -a pump, below which a basin was inscribed, “Every good gift is from -above.” The quotation did not strike us as the most appropriate that -might be chosen, as the pump was erected for the purpose of obtaining -water from below. - -Sleaford, on the day we arrived, offered a great contrast to the -slumberous quiet of Falkingham, for it was the evening of the annual -sheep fair, and groups of agriculturists were scattered about engaged in -eager conversation, and flocks of sheep were being driven out of the -town, with much shouting, dog-barking, and commotion, and farmers in -gigs or on horseback starting back home added to the general -restlessness. Indeed, after the deep tranquillity of the lonely country -roads we had traversed that day, Sleaford seemed a place of noise and -bustle. Next morning, however, we found the streets quiet enough, as we -remarked to a stranger in the stable-yard. “Yes,” he said, “Sleaford is -quiet enough. It sleeps more or less all the year, but wakes up once for -the annual fair. You mayn’t have heard the saying, ‘Sleaford for sleep, -Boston for business, Horncastle for horses, Louth for learning.’” -“Perhaps,” responded we, mindful of yesterday, “as it is Horncastle for -horses, it should be Sleaford for sheep, not ‘sleep.’” The two words -sound very much alike. But our suggestion was scorned. - -Rambling about the town we noted the date of 1568 on a gable of the -half-timbered and creeperclad vicarage, that stood divided by a footpath -from the church. A noble structure the latter, with a most effectively -picturesque front owing to the fact that the aisles are lengthened so as -to be in level line with the tower; the pierced parapet extending across -this long front is adorned with bell-turrets, pinnacles, and minarets, -forming a varied outline against the sky. Whilst we were taking a -pencil - -[Sidenote: _A CATASTROPHE_] - -outline of this charming specimen of ancient architecture, a man in dark -tweeds approached us, who said he was an amateur photographer, and would -give us a photograph of the building if we liked. We thanked him very -much for his kindness, but he did not go home to fetch the said -photograph, as we expected, but stood watching us finish our sketch. -Then we made some random remark to the effect that it was a very fine -church,--we had nearly said “a very fine day,” from sheer custom, but -checked ourselves half-way. In conversation we always endeavour to keep -the weather back as a last resource; but old crusted habits are -difficult to conquer. “Yes,” he agreed, “it’s a fine church, but it was -finer before the tower was knocked down.” For a moment we imagined that -we were talking with an escaped lunatic; we had never heard of a church -tower being “knocked down” before! “What,” queried we, “did a traction -engine run into it, or how did it get knocked down?” The answer was -reassuring; we were not talking to a lunatic! “It was knocked down by -lightning when I was fifteen years younger than I am now. It happened -one Sunday morning during service. The storm came on very suddenly, and -I was sheltering in a doorway over yonder. Suddenly there was a blinding -flash and a great crack of thunder, and I saw the tower come crashing -down with a tremendous roar, followed by a cloud of dust or steam, I’m -not sure which. Then the people rushed out of church pell-mell--men -without their hats, all in the soaking rain, for it did pour down, and -women screaming. One woman shouted out that the end of the world had -come; it was the sound ‘of the last trump,’ and it was some time before -she became calm. I never saw anything like it.” Then he stopped for a -moment, and in a more thoughtful tone of voice proceeded, “Do you know -that catastrophe set me thinking a good deal. It struck me as very -strange that we should build churches for the worship of God, and that -God should so often destroy them by lightning. That morning the -public-houses escaped hurt, but the church was wrecked by fire from -heaven. It does seem strange to me.” And he became so engrossed in his -talk that he forgot all about the promised photograph, and we did not -like to remind him. “Why do you think the church was struck?” he asked -us as we parted. “Probably,” we replied, “because it was not protected -with a conductor, or if it were provided with one it was defective.” -“But that does not explain why Providence allowed it,” he retorted; but -we declined to be drawn into an argument. So we hastened back to our -hotel, and, as we had planned a long day’s journey, ordered the horses -to be “put to” at once. - -Our road out of Sleaford led us through a level pastoral land, pleasant -enough to look upon, though there was nothing on the way of particular -interest to engage our attention till we reached Heckington, a large -village known locally, we were told, by the proud title of “the Queen of -Villages.” It certainly is a pretty place, and it possesses a truly -magnificent church that seems, like so many others in Lincolnshire, - -[Sidenote: _AN ANACHRONISM_] - -strangely out of proportion to the requirements of the parish. This -church has the architectural quality, so rare in English churches, of -being all of one period. Like Salisbury Cathedral it has the merit of -unity of design. We noticed some fine gargoyles on the tower, and a few -statues still remain in the niches thereof. Within, the building hardly -comes up to the expectations raised by its splendid exterior. It looks -spacious and well proportioned, but cold and bare, possibly chiefly due -to the want of stained glass. We noticed the mutilated effigy of an -ecclesiastic in an arched recess of the north wall, and above, enclosed -within a glass case, was an ancient broken silver chalice, doubtless -exhumed from his tomb. But perhaps the greatest thing of archæological -interest here is the superb and elaborately carved Easter Sepulchre, the -finest we have seen in England. At the base of this are sculptured stone -figures representing the Roman guards watching the tomb; and these are -shown clad in medieval armour!--a curious instance of inconsistency, but -then there were no art critics in those days, and the medieval carver -and painter were a law unto themselves! Yet in spite of their oftentimes -glaring anachronisms, the works of the medieval artists, be they -sculptors or painters, were always effective and suggestive of life, and -never failed to be decorative. Modern art, as a rule, simply reverses -these conditions. It is above all things correct--more precise than -poetical; magnificent in technique, but wanting in spirit. - -After Heckington the country became more wooded, but still uneventful. -Crossing a wide dyke that stretched away monotonously straight for miles -on either hand, the roof-trees of the little town of Swineshead came -into sight peeping above a wealth of foliage. In spite of its -unattractive name Swineshead looked a charming place, and as we had -already driven eleven miles from Sleaford, we determined that we would -make our mid-day halt there, and drive on to Boston in the afternoon. - -At Swineshead we found a little inn with stabling attached, the landlord -whereof chanced to be standing at his door as we drove up, and after the -preliminary greetings he informed us that a hot dinner of roast fowl, -etc., would be ready in a few minutes. We were considerably, though -pleasantly, surprised at learning this, for Swineshead is a small, -primitive town, hardly indeed more than a large village, and our inn had -a simple, countrified look in keeping with the place, and a cold repast, -therefore, was all we had looked for, but the wanderer by road never -knows what surprises are in store for him. The few minutes, however, -turned out to be nearly twenty, and whilst waiting in a small parlour -for our meal to be served, we amused ourselves by glancing over some odd -numbers of old provincial papers that we found there. One may often -glean something of interest by studying the pages of local magazines and -papers, and we did so on this occasion. In a copy of the _Horncastle -News_, dated 9th June 1894, that had somehow been preserved from -destruction, our eyes fell upon this paragraph that we deemed worthy of -being copied into our notebook. “A strange legend is current in -Swineshead that, ‘If a corpse lies in a house on Sunday there will be -three within the week.’ This saying has been verified twice this year.” -Which statement, if true as it presumably is, I suppose, serves as an -example to show that superstitious sayings may come true at times. When -things are possible they may occur; if they never did occur it would be -still more wonderful. All the same it is a remarkable coincidence, -though of course nothing more, that this “strange legend” should have -“been verified twice” in one year. We were amused also by another -article in one of the papers that dogmatically settled the everlasting -Irish question by stating all that is required is “more pigs and fewer -priests.” In the same paper we came upon several proverbs, or folk-lore, -said to be much employed in Lincolnshire. Apropos of striving after the -impossible, we were told: “One might as well try and wash a negro -white,” or “Try to fill a cask with ale by pouring it in at the -bung-hole whilst it ran out at the tap”; we were further informed it was -“Like searching for gold at the end of a rainbow.” Then followed a -saying that house-hunters might consider with advantage, “Where the sun -does not come, the doctor does.” I have quoted these items chiefly as a -sample of the sort of entertainment that is to be found in country -papers, a study of which may sometimes while away, profitably or -otherwise, those odd five minutes one so often has to spend in country -inn parlours. - -[Sidenote: _COUNTRY SAYINGS_] - -At last the dinner was served, and an excellent little dinner it proved -to be. At this moment a stranger entered and joined us at our meal. A -very talkative individual he proved to be, and we soon discovered that -he was a commercial traveller who drove about the country. “Ah!” he -remarked, “you’ve to thank me for this dinner; they knew I was coming, -it’s my day, and they always have a nice little dinner ready for me. If -you had come another day I fancy you would not have fared so well.” Then -we took the opportunity of discovering how the world looked as seen -through the eyes of a commercial traveller. “Yes, I like the life, it’s -pleasant enough in the summer time driving from place to place. The work -is not too hard, and one lives well. But it’s the winter time I don’t -care for. It’s not too pleasant then driving in the country when a -bitter east wind is blowing, and hail or sleet are dashed against you. -The country is very well, and pretty enough in the summer, but I prefer -towns in the winter. You get wet driving in the open too at times; now I -don’t mind being wet and warm, but to be wet and cold is cruel; and mind -you, you have always to come up smiling to your customers. Yes, you may -well wonder at my coming to such an uncommercial-looking place as -Swineshead, but it’s in these little country towns nowadays that we do -our best trade in spite of appearances; you see they supply the rural -folk all around, for these people do not get their goods from the London -stores like most of those do who live in the towns. The parcel post -makes it hard for the provincial shopkeeper to get a living, it acts as -a huge country delivery for the stores and big shops in London: people -write up to town one day and get their goods sent down to their houses -the next.” Then our commercial suddenly remembered he had business to -attend to and took his leave, and we went out for a stroll. - -[Sidenote: _A RESTORATION BACKWARDS_] - -Wandering about we observed the steps and base of the shaft of an -ancient market cross by the roadside, for Swineshead was once a market -town, also another relic of a past civilisation in the shape of the -decayed stocks. Then we took a glance at the interior of the church and -found a party of ladies therein busily employed in decorating it for the -harvest festival; as we were leaving the vicar made his appearance and -kindly volunteered to show us over the building. When he first came -there, he informed us, he found the village school was held in a portion -of the nave partitioned off for that purpose, and that the children used -the graveyard as a playground when the weather was fine, and the -interior of the church when it was wet, romping and shouting about, and -indulging in the game of hide-and-seek amongst the pews! The pulpit then -was of the old “three-decker” type, and the rest of the church -furnishings in keeping therewith. This is all changed now, and the -church has been restored backwards to something more resembling its -primitive condition. Under the communion table we had pointed out to us -the original altar-slab with the five crosses thereon, which had been -used to pave the church, a fact the vicar discovered in 1870, in this -wise. Colonel Holingshead had been sent there in 1567 “to destroy all -superstitious articles,” and of his mission thus the Colonel reported: -“We came to Swineshead, here we found two altars, one was broken in -taking down, one we took entire and laid in on the pavement.” After -reading this the vicar made search for the latter and found it in the -flooring as described. So what one generation removes another restores; -one blackens, the other whitens; one has a predilection for ceremony, -another for simplicity: it is the everlasting swing of the pendulum -first to one side then to the other, there is even a fashion in religion -as in all things else, though we may not call or know it by that name. -The Puritan claimed that he destroyed beautiful things not because he -hated them, but of painful necessity because in churches he found that -they were associated with shameful imposture and debasing superstition. -To-day the modern Puritan does not appear to object to ornate fanes of -worship, he even expresses his admiration of decorative art, it is the -ritual and vestments he despises; for thus a famous American puritan -writes of Ely Cathedral: “The beauty of Ely is originality combined with -magnificence. The cathedral is not only glorious; it is also strange.... -Its elements of splendour unite to dazzle the vision and overwhelm the -soul.... When you are permitted to sit there, in the stillness, with no -sound of a human voice and no purl of ecclesiastical prattle to call you -back to earth, you must indeed be hard to impress if your thoughts are -not centred upon heaven. It is the little preacher in his ridiculous -vestments, it is man with his vanity and folly, that humiliates the -reverent pilgrim in such holy places as this, by his insistent contrast -of his own conventional littleness with all that is celestial in the -grandest architectural results of the inspiration of genius.” The -pointed remark, “no ecclesiastical prattle to call you back to earth,” -is noteworthy. - -[Sidenote: _A QUAINT LOCAL CUSTOM_] - -At Swineshead we learnt that the curfew is still tolled at eight o’clock -every evening for five minutes, and after a short interval this is -followed by another bell which tells the date of the month. A quaint -local custom, and may it long continue! As we were leaving the church -our attention was called to the date 1593, deeply cut on one of the -beams of the timber roof, presumably marking the date of its -construction, or more probably its restoration. - -On leaving Swineshead for Boston we were told to “take the first to the -left and then drive straight on, you cannot possibly miss your way. -You’ll see the stump right before you,”--“the stump” being the local and -undignified term by which the lofty tower of Boston’s famous church is -known. A tower that rises 272 feet boldly up into the air, and is -crowned at the top with an open octagonal lantern of stone--a landmark -and a sea-mark over leagues of flat Fenland and tumbling waters. This -tall tower rising thus stately out of the wide plain has a fine effect, -seen from far away it seems to be of a wonderful height, and, as an -ancient writer says, “it meets the travellers thereunto twenty miles -off, so that their eyes are there many hours before their feet.” This -was, of course, before the days of the railway, but it is still true of -the leisurely road wanderer. - -Though we were told to drive straight on, and that we could not possibly -miss our way, we managed very successfully to do the latter, and the -former we found difficult of accomplishment, as in due course we came to -the junction of two roads, one branching to the left, and the other to -the right, and how to drive “straight on” under those circumstances -would have puzzled the wisest man. At the point there was no sign-post, -nor was there a soul in sight; we consulted our map, but this did not -help us, for it mixed up the roads with the dykes in such a puzzling way -that we could not make out which was intended for which. We waited some -time in the hopes that some one might appear on the scene, but no one -did, so at last we selected the right-hand road as tending, if anything, -slightly more in the direction of Boston “stump” than the other, -nevertheless it proved to be the wrong one, and we presently found -ourselves in a maze of byroads complicated with dykes. We were by no -means driving “straight on,” according to instructions, though we kept -the famous “stump” in view and ahead of us, now slightly to the right -and now to the left; but in time we found that we were gradually getting -nearer to it, which was satisfactory,--and, after all, we reasoned to -ourselves, it does not matter greatly how we progress, so long as we do -progress and we reach our destination and an inn before nightfall. Our -horses are going fresh, the country is interesting and full of -character, and would even probably be pronounced beautiful by a -Dutchman! - -[Sidenote: _A MYSTERIOUS INSCRIPTION_] - -So by “indirect, crooked ways” we reached Frampton, an out-of-the-world -village, a spot where one might go in search of peace when - - weary of men’s voices and their tread, - Of clamouring bells and whirl of wheels that pass. - -It seemed a place so very remote from “the busy haunts of men.” It -impressed us with its restful calm. Here by the side of the road stood -its ancient and picturesque church,--we had seen enough churches that -day to last for a whole tour, but somehow this rural fane so charmed us -that we felt we could not pass it by without a glance; and it was well -we did not, for here we made one of the most interesting discoveries of -our journey. Strolling round the graveyard in search of any curious -epitaph we noticed the quaint carving of a grotesque head on a buttress -of the north wall of the building. Upon closer inspection we further -discovered a puzzling inscription beneath this, which we made out to be -as follows:-- - - ✠ Wot ye whi i stond - Here for i forswor mi fat ... - Ego Ricardus in - Angulo. - -We made out the inscription without difficulty, all but the last word of -the second line, which appears to begin “fat,” but the next letter or -letters are undecipherable. We hazarded a guess that the missing letter -might be “f” and that the word was intended for “faith,” but it might -equally well have ended with the letters “her” and so have read -“father.” At the time, however, we were inclined to the first rendering, -and concluded that the head above was meant to represent a monk who had -turned apostate, and, therefore, was placed there in the cold outside -the church, and made, like a naughty boy, to stand in the corner. - -This grotesque figure with the enigmatical inscription below greatly -interested us, so much indeed that we resolved, if by any means it were -possible, to obtain the correct interpretation thereof. But we found, -somewhat to our surprise, that the few likely people of whom we inquired -were not even aware of the existence of such a thing in their -neighbourhood. However, after much searching, we heard of a certain -learned Lincolnshire antiquary who had long and carefully studied the -strange figure and legend; so on our return home we ventured to write -and ask him if he could throw any light upon the subject. To our request -we received a most courteous reply, an extract from which I hereby give, -as it is of much interest, even if it does not actually determine the -meaning of the curious bit of sculpturing: “It evidently records some -_local_ matter or scandal. Looking at the date of the building, and the -history of the parish simultaneously, I find a _Richard_ Welby, eldest -son of Sir Richard Welby, lived then, and that for some unknown cause he -was disinherited by his father and the estate went to his next brother. -If he ‘forswor’ either ‘faith’ or ‘father,’ the disinheritance _may_ be -accounted for, and also its chronicle below this figure in a civilian -cap (it may be either civilian or monkish, but I incline to the former). -Of course this is only supposition founded upon dates and local history, -and may be utterly wrong.” - -[Sidenote: _A TOMBSTONE ENIGMA_] - -The curious carvings and inscriptions that one comes upon ever and again -when exploring rural England are a source of great interest to the -traveller of antiquarian tastes, and there are many such scattered over -the land of a most puzzling nature. Take the following tombstone enigma, -for instance, to be found in Christchurch graveyard in Hampshire. Who -will unravel the hidden import of this most mysterious legend? I have -tried long and hard to arrive at some probable solution thereof but all -in vain. - - We were not slayne bvt rays’d, - Rays’d not to life, - But to be bvried twice - By men of strife. - What rest covld the living have - When the dead had none. - Agree amongst yov, - Here we ten are one. - - H. Roger. died April 17. 1641. - - I. R. - -Then again in the church of Great Gidding--a village we passed a little -to the left of our road before we reached Stilton--is another carved -enigma consisting of the following five Latin words arranged in the form -of a square thus:-- - - S A T O R - A R E P O - T E N E T - O P E R A - R O T A S - -The meaning of this is not at all clear, to me at any rate. This puzzle -bears the date 1614. The following curious inscription, too, was pointed -out to me upon a flat, “broken and battered” tombstone that lies in the -churchyard of Upton near Slough: “Here lies the body of Sarah Bramstone -of Eton, spinster, who dared to be just in the reign of George the -Second. Obijt. Janry. 30, 1765, aetat 77.” One naturally asks who was -this Sarah Bramstone? These records in stone are hard to interpret. Even -old drinking vessels, that the wanderer in rural England occasionally -unearths, often possess significant inscriptions, as the following -example taken from a goblet of the Cromwellian period, I think, -sufficiently proves. This certainly suggests a Jacobean origin of our -national anthem:-- - - God save the King, I pray - God bless the King, I say; - God save the King. - Send him victorious, - Happy and glorious, - Soon to reign over us; - God save the King. - -A few more miles of level winding road through a wooded country brought -us in sight of the old historic town of Boston,--a name familiar in two -hemispheres. A jumble of red buildings, uneven-roofed, and grouped -together in artistic irregularity, - -[Sidenote: _A POETIC PROSPECT_] - -was presented to us; buildings quaint and commonplace, but all glorified -in colour by the golden rays of the setting sun, their warm tints being -enhanced by broad mysterious shadows of softest blue, mingled with which -was a haze of pearly-gray smoke--the very poetry of smoke, so film-like -and romantic it seemed. And over all there rose the tall tower of St. -Botolph’s stately fane, so etherealised by the moist light-laden -atmosphere that it looked as unsubstantial as the building of a dream, -whilst near at hand tapering masts, tipped with gold, and ruddy sails -told of the proximity of the sea. The ancient town had a strangely -medieval look, as though we had somehow driven backwards into another -century, the glamour of the scene took possession of us, and we began to -dream delicious dreams, but just then came wafted on the stilly air the -sound of a far-away railway whistle, soft and subdued by distance truly, -but for all that unmistakable. The charm of illusion was over; it was a -sudden descent from the poetic to the prosaic. Still, perhaps in the -picturesque past the belated traveller would not have fared so well, so -comfortably, or so cleanly in his hostelry as did we in our -nineteenth-century one, where we found welcome letters awaiting us from -home that reached us by the grace of the modern iron horse! Speed is a -blessing after all, though it is the parent of much ugliness! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - The Fenland capital--Mother and daughter towns--“Boston stump”--One - church built over another--The company at our inn--A desultory - ramble--An ancient prison--The Pilgrim Fathers--The banks of the - Witham--Hussey Tower--An English Arcadia--Kyme Castle--Benington--A - country of many churches--Wrangle--In search of a ghost--A remote - village--Gargoyles--The grotesque in art. - - -Boston, that proudly calls itself “the capital of Fenland,” struck us as -a quaint old town, prosperous and busy, but not restless, with somewhat -of a Dutch look about it, yet, notwithstanding, intensely English. A -dreamy place in spite of its prosperity, dreamy but not dull; quaint -perhaps rather than picturesque--a delightful, unspoilt old-world town, -with an indescribable flavour of the long-ago about it, a spot where the -poetry of a past civilisation lingers yet; a commercial town that is not -ugly! - -St. Botolph’s town, as our American cousins love to call it, is one of -the shrines of the “Old Country,” competing for first place with -Stratford-on-Avon in the heart of the New England pilgrim, for is not -storied Boston the mother of its modern namesake across the wide -Atlantic? However, we know that “a prophet hath no honour in his own -country,” so whilst numberless American travellers have expressed their -delight at this old Lincolnshire town, and Longfellow and other American -poets have sung its praises in verse, the average Englishman appears to -regard it hardly at all, and scarcely ever to visit it except under -compulsion, and has even sung its dispraises in doggerel thus:-- - - Boston! Boston! - Thou hast naught to boast on - But a grand sluice and a high steeple, - A proud, conceited, ignorant people, - And a coast where souls are lost on. - -[Sidenote: _FROM TWO POINTS OF VIEW_] - -But the charm of Boston, as indeed that of most places, depends upon -sentiment and seeing, whether you look upon it with poetic or prosaic -eyes. A famous English engineer once told me that he considered a modern -express locomotive a most beautiful thing, and it was so in his eyes! -“Unless a thing be strong it cannot be beautiful,” was his axiom. -Weakness, or even the idea of weakness, was an abomination to him, so -that the tumble-down cottage, with its uneven roof bent into graceful -curves that an artist so delights in, was simple ugliness to him. - -It was meet that here we should “take our ease” in an ancient hostelry, -and that we should have our breakfast served in a pleasant low-ceilinged -parlour, whose panelled walls had an aroma of other days and other ways -about them, and suggested to our imaginative minds many a bit of -unrecorded romance. With a romancer’s license we pictured that -old-fashioned chamber peopled by past-time travellers who had come by -coach or had posted by private chaise, and mingled with these was a -bluff ship captain of the wild North Sea, all making merry over their -glasses and jokes. The modern traveller in the modern hotel is alas! -less sociable, and takes himself over seriously, and seldom even smiles. -But happily there seems to be something about the old English inn that -thaws the formality and taciturnity out of strangers. I think this must -be due to the sense of homeliness and comfort that pervades it, with the -delightful absence of all pretence and show. - -From our inn we looked across the wide market square right on to the -splendid and spacious church with its tall and graceful tower, a -veritable triumph of the builder’s craft. It chanced to be market-day, -and so the large square was filled with stalls, and was chiefly in the -possession of picturesquely-clad country folk displaying their -goods,--fruits, flowers, vegetables, eggs, poultry, and the like, whilst -the townsfolk gathered round to make their purchases, the transactions -being carried on with much mutual bargaining and leisurely chattering; -and the hum of many blended voices came upwafted to us, not as a -disturbing noise, but with a slumberous sound as restful as the summer -droning of innumerable bees. The ear may be trained to listen with -pleasure, as well as the eye to discern with delight, and it is the -peace-suggesting country sounds, the clean, fresh air laden with sweet -odours from flower, field, and tree, as well as the vision, that cause a -rural ramble to be so rewarding and so enjoyable. There must surely be -something in the moist air of the Fenland that makes musical melody of -noises; for we noticed that even the clanging of bells, the shrill -whistling of locomotives, and the metallic rush of trains seemed -strangely and pleasantly mellowed there; moreover, the traffic on the -stony streets of Boston appeared subdued, and had none of that -nerve-irritating din that rises so often from the London thoroughfares. - -[Sidenote: _FROM AN INN WINDOW_] - -It was a morning of sunshine and shower, an April day that had lost -itself in September, and not readily shall I forget the shifting scene -below with its moving mosaic of colour, nor the effect of the constantly -changing light and shade on the stately church tower. Now it would be a -deep purple-gray, dark almost to blackness as seen against a mass of -white vapour, then suddenly it would be all lightened up to a pale -orange tint against a sombre rain-cloud, its tracery and sculpturings -outlined by the delicate shadows they cast, giving them a soft effect as -of stone embroidery. A wonderfully effective and beautiful structure is -this tower, and, in my opinion, after Salisbury’s soaring spire, the -most beautiful and graceful in England, which is saying much in a land -where so many fine examples of ecclesiastical architecture abound. This -splendid church of St. Botolph arose out of the piety and prosperity of -a past generation. History has it that it was built over a small Norman -church that formerly stood on the site, and that worship went on in the -earlier structure during the time of building, and not until the new -edifice was completed was the ancient one removed--a curious, and I -should imagine a unique fact, that may account for the great height and -size of the nave. - -It being market-day, we sought the bar of our hotel for a while, in -order to study any odd characters we might perchance find gathered -there, and we discovered a curious mixture of agricultural and town -folk, with a sprinkling of seafaring men. The talk was as varied as the -company. During the general hum of conversation we could not help -noticing how many expressions were used manifestly of nautical origin, -though they were employed apparently wholly by landsmen in concerns -having no connection with the sea or shipping. We jotted down some of -these as follows, just as they came to us:--“He’s been on the rocks so -lately”; “he’s in smooth water now”; “it’s all plain sailing”; “it’s not -all above board”; “he had to take in sail”; “now stow that away”; “it -took the wind out of his sails”; “any port in a storm, you know”--and -others of a like nature. A civil engineer with whom we got into -conversation here, and who we gleaned was employed on the Fen drainage, -expressed his unstinted admiration for the old Roman embankment that -still follows the contour of a goodly portion of the Lincolnshire coast, -and was designed and constructed as a bulwark against the encroachments -of the sea, a purpose it has admirably served. This embankment, he told -us, was in the main as strong and serviceable, in spite of ages of -neglect, as when first raised all those long and eventful centuries ago; -and furthermore, he stated as his honest opinion that, in spite of all -our boasted advantages and progress, we could not to-day construct such -enduring work. - -Wandering in a desultory fashion about the - -[Sidenote: _THE MAKING OF HISTORY_] - -rambling old town, we came across a quaint old half-timber building -known as Shodfriars Hall, that, with its gable-ends facing the street -and projecting upper stories, showed how picturesquely our ancestors -built. How pleasantly such an arrangement of gables breaks the skyline -and gives it an interest that is so sadly wanting in our modern towns! -Then we chanced upon the old town hall with its ancient and historic -prisons; these consist of iron cages ranged along one side of the gloomy -interior, cages somewhat resembling those that the lions and tigers are -accommodated with at the zoological gardens, but minus the light, -sunshine, and fresh air that the latter possess. Here in these small -cages, within the dark and dreary hall, some of the Pilgrim Fathers were -confined, and most uncomfortable they must have been; but they were men -with stout hearts and dauntless spirits--men who made history in spite -of circumstance! The sailing of the little ship _Mayflower_ from Boston, -in 1620, with the Pilgrim Fathers on board was at the time a seemingly -trivial event, yet it has left its mark in the annals of the world; and -in new America of to-day to trace your descent to one of that little and -humble band is to be more than lord, or duke, or king! Some there are -who have made light of the episode of the sailing of those few brave men -for an unknown world across the wide and stormy ocean solely because -they would be free:-- - - Thou who makest the tale thy mirth, - Consider that strip of Christian earth - On the desolate shore of a sailless sea - Full of terror and mystery, - Half-redeemed from the evil hold - Of the wood so dreary, and dark, and old, - Which drank with its lips of leaves the dew - When Time was young and the world was new, - And wove its shadows with sun and moon, - Ere the stones of Cheops were square and hewn-- - Think of the sea’s dread monotone, - Of the mournful wail from the pinewood blown, - Of the strange, vast splendours that lit the North, - Of the troubled throes of the quaking earth, - And the dismal tales the Indians told. - -Seated safely and comfortably in a cosy arm-chair, how easy it is to -sneer! - -Then wandering on we espied a charming specimen of old-world building in -the shape of an ancient grammar school, beautified with the bloom of -centuries, which was, we learnt by a Latin inscription thereon, built in -the year 1567. This interesting and picturesque structure is approached -from the road by a courtyard, the entrance to which is through a fine -old wrought-iron gateway. Verily Boston is a town of memories; its -buildings are histories, and oftentimes pictures! - -Not far away, on the opposite side of the road, stands a -comfortable-looking red-brick building of two stories in the so-called -Queen Anne style. It is an unpretentious but home-like structure, -noteworthy as being the birthplace of Jean Ingelow, the popular -Lincolnshire poetess and novelist. Then to our right the houses ceased, -and the slow-gliding and, let it be honestly confessed, muddy river -Witham took their place. Here and there the stream was crossed by -ferry-boats, to which you descend by - -[Illustration: A BIT OF BOSTON.] - -[Sidenote: _RIVERSIDE BOSTON_] - -wooden steps, and in which you are paddled over in that primitive but -picturesque old-fashioned manner at the cost of a penny. Here also, by -some timber landing-stages, were anchored sundry sea-beaten fishing -smacks that, with their red-tanned sails and sun-browned sailors on -board mending their nets, made a very effective picture, so effective -that we needs must spend a good hour sketching and photographing them -(an engraving of one of our sketches will be found herewith). Along the -banks of this river the artist may find ample material--“good stuff,” in -painter’s slang--for brush or pencil, and the amateur photographer a -most profitable hunting-ground. Even the old warehouses on the opposite -side of the river are paintable, being pleasing in outline and good in -colour--a fact proving that commercial structures need not of necessity -be ugly, though alas! they mostly are. Then rambling on in a -delightfully aimless fashion, at the same time keeping our eyes well -open for the picturesque, we chanced, in a field a little beyond the -outskirts of the town, upon an old ruined red-brick tower, standing -there alone in crumbling and pathetic solitude. We learnt that this was -called Hussey Tower, and that it was erected by Lord Hussey about 1500, -who was beheaded in the reign of Henry VIII. for being concerned in the -Lincolnshire rebellion. So one drives about country and learns or -re-learns history as the case may be. - -We bade a reluctant good-bye to old-world and storied Boston one bright, -breezy morning, and soon found ourselves once again in the open country, -with all Nature around us sunny and smiling. Boston was interesting, -but the country was beautiful. The landscape had a delightfully fresh -look after the frequent showers of the previous day; the moisture had -brought out the colour and scent of everything. The air, wind-swept and -rain-washed, was clear, and cool, and sweet, and simply to breathe it -was a pleasure. As we journeyed on we rejoiced in the genial sunshine -and the balmy breezes that tempered its warmth and gently rustled the -leaves of the trees by the way, making a soft, subdued musical melody -for us, not unlike the sound of a lazy summer sea toying with some sandy -shore--breezes that, as they passed by, caused rhythmic waves to follow -one another over the long grasses in the fields, and set the sails of -the windmills near at hand and far away a-whirling round and round at a -merry pace. - -Everywhere we glanced was movement, in things inanimate as well as -living; the birds, too, were in a lively mood, and much in welcome -evidence (what would the country be without birds? those cheery -companions of the lonely wanderer!). Even the fat rooks gave vent to -their feelings of satisfaction by contented if clamorous cawing as they -sailed by us in merry company overhead, for, be it noted, rooks can caw -contentedly and discontentedly, and the two caws are very different. -Rooks are knowing birds too, and they appear to possess a considerable -amount of what we term instinct. We all know the old saying that rats -desert an unseaworthy ship. Whether this be true or not I cannot tell, -but I believe that rooks desert an unsafe tree. I lived - -[Sidenote: _THE WAYS OF ROOKS_] - -near a rookery once, and studied their ways and character. There were -several nests in one big elm tree, a sturdy-looking tree, and apparently -a favourite with the rooks. One year, for a purpose I could not divine, -all the nests in this tree were deserted, and fresh ones built in -another elm near by. Within a few months after its desertion by the -rooks the former tree was blown down in an exceptionally heavy gale, -though, till the gale came, it had shown no signs of weakness. Other big -trees in the same wood were laid low at the same time, but not one of -those that the rooks inhabited was damaged even in branch. - -The weather was simply perfect, the sky overhead was as blue as a June -sea; it was a joy to be in the country on such a day, when earth seemed -a veritable Paradise, and pain and death a bad dream. There is a virtue -at times in the art of forgetting! for, when the world looks so fair, -one desires to be immortal! “Around God’s throne,” writes Olive -Schreiner, “there may be choirs and companies of angels, cherubim and -seraphim rising tier above tier, but not for one of them all does the -soul cry aloud. Only, perhaps, for a little human woman full of sin that -it once loved.” So there may be golden cities in Paradise paved with -priceless gems, yet not for these does my soul hunger, but for the -restful green fields and the pastoral peacefulness of our English -Arcadia, with its musical melody of wandering streams and sense of -untold repose. Did not Mr. Andrew Carnegie, the American millionaire, -who once drove through the heart of England from Brighton to Inverness, -on arriving at the latter town, send a telegram to a friend, saying, “We -arrived at the end of _Paradise_ this evening”? There is something very -lovable about the English landscape; where grander scenes excite your -admiration, it wins your affections, and will not let them go again, it -nestles so near your heart. I have beheld the finest scenery the earth -has to show, oftentimes with almost awe-struck admiration, but only the -peace-bestowing English scenery have I ever felt to love! - -About two miles on our way, and a little to the right of our road, we -observed Kyme’s ancient tower uprising amidst surrounding foliage; this -picturesque relic of past days gave a special interest and character to -the prospect with its flavour of old-world romance. The solitary tower -is all that remains of the once stately abode of the Kymes; it is now -incorporated with a homely farmstead, and tells its own story of fallen -fortunes. - -Driving on we soon reached a wide dyke, which we crossed on an ancient -bridge; here a lonely wayside inn proclaimed itself on its sign with the -comprehensive title of “The Angler’s, Cyclist’s, and Traveller’s Rest.” -The dyke struck us, even on that bright sunshiny day, as being a dark -and dreary stretch of water of a cheerless leaden hue, embanked and -treeless. But the sullen waters of the dyke only acted as a foil to -enhance the bright beauty of the sun-suffused landscape all around, as -the shadow gives value to the light, and too much beauty is apt to cloy. -A picture may be too pretty. Said an art - -[Sidenote: _THE USE OF UGLINESS!_] - -critic once to Turner, “That’s a fine painting of yours, but why have -you got that ugly bit of building in the corner?” “Oh!” replied Turner, -“that’s to give value to the rest of the composition by way of contrast; -I made it ugly on purpose!” and Turner was right. Who enjoys the country -so much as the dweller in the unbeautiful smoke-stained streets of our -huge modern towns? - -Shortly after this we reached the little village of Benington, which -boasted a large church having a fine old tower, a tower, however, that -ended abruptly without any architectural finish; presumably the ambition -of the early builders was greater than their means. Nowadays we have -improved upon the old ways--we build and complete without the means, -then we set to work to beg for the money, though the begging is not -always successful, as the following characteristic letter of Mr. Ruskin -shows, which he wrote in reply to a circular asking him to subscribe to -help to pay off some of the debt on a certain iron church:-- - - BRANTWOOD, CONISTON, LANCASHIRE, - _19th May 1886_. - - SIR--I am scornfully amused at your appeal to me, of all people in - the world the precisely least likely to give you a farthing! My - first word to all men and boys who care to hear me is--Don’t get - into debt. Starve and go to heaven, but don’t borrow.... Don’t buy - things you can’t pay for! And of all manner of debtors, pious - people building churches they can’t pay for are the most detestable - nonsense to me. Can’t you preach and pray behind the hedges, or in - a sandpit, or in a coalhole first? And of all manner of churches - thus idiotically built, iron churches are the damnablest to me.... - Ever, nevertheless, and in all this saying, your faithful servant, - - JOHN RUSKIN. - - - -Dear me, and when I think of it, how often am I not asked to subscribe -to help to pay off debts on churches, mostly, if not all, built by -contract, and adorned with bright brass fittings from Birmingham! - -The ancient church at Benington, time-worn and gray, looked interesting, -and the interior would probably have repaid inspection, but the day was -so gloriously fine that our love of the open air and cheerful sunshine -quite overpowered our antiquarian tastes that sunny morning. Moreover, -we did not set out to see everything on our way unless inclined so to -do; ours was purely a pleasure tour, the mood of the moment was alone -our guide. By the side of the churchyard we noticed a square space -enclosed by a wall; we imagined that this must have been an old -cattle-pound, but when we passed by it was full of all kinds of rubbish, -as though it were the village dustbin. - -Our road now wound through a very pleasant country, past busy windmills, -sleepy farmsteads, and pretty cottages, till we came to the hamlet of -Leake, where we observed another very fine church, of a size apparently -out of all proportion to the needs of the parish. It may often be noted -in Lincolnshire and the eastern counties generally how fine many of the -remote country churches are, and how often, alas! such fine -architectural monuments are in bad repair for want of sufficient funds -to properly maintain them, the surrounding population being purely -agricultural and poor; it is difficult to imagine that the population -could ever have been much greater, though it may have been wealthier. -The question arises, How came these grand and large churches to be -built, without any probability of their having a congregation at all -commensurate with their size? - -[Sidenote: _A MATTER OF SENTIMENT_] - -The country became now more open, and our road wound in and out of the -level meadows like the letter S, or rather like a succession of such -letters, thereby almost doubling the distance from point to point taken -in a straight line. We could only presume that the modern road followed -the uncertain route of the original bridle-path, which doubtless wound -in and out in this provokingly tortuous manner to avoid bad ground and -marshy spots. Were Lincolnshire a county in one of the United States, I -“guess” that this road would long ago have been made unpicturesquely -straight and convenient,--the practical American considers it a wicked -waste of energy to go two miles in place of one. His idea of road-making -resembles that of the ancient Romans in so far as the idea of both is to -take the nearest line between two places. “That’s the best road,” -exclaimed a prominent Yankee engineer, “that goes the most direct -between two places; beauty is a matter of seeing and sentiment, and to -me a straight line is a beautiful thing, because it best fulfils its -purpose.” So speaks the engineer. Both Nature and the artist, as a rule, -abhor straight lines. - -The next village on our road was Wrangle; since we had left Boston we -had hardly been out of sight of a village or a church, but though the -villages were numerous they were small. Here at Wrangle again we found a -tiny collection of houses, out of which rose another fine and beautiful -church, the stones of which had taken upon themselves a lovely soft gray -with age. I think there is no country in the world where Time tones and -tints the stones of buildings so pleasantly as it does in England. The -people in this part of Lincolnshire should be good, if an ample supply -of fine churches makes for goodness. Still one can never be certain of -anything in this uncertain world, for does not the poet declare that-- - - Wherever God erects a house of prayer, - The Devil always builds a chapel there: - And ’twill be found upon examination, - The latter has the largest congregation. - -We had been informed by a Lincolnshire antiquary, whom by chance we had -become acquainted with during the journey, that the rectory at Wrangle -was haunted by a ghost in the shape of a green lady, and that this ghost -had upon one occasion left behind her a memento of one of her nocturnal -visitations, in the shape of a peculiar ring--surely a singular, if not -a very irregular thing, for a spirit to do. Moreover, the enthusiastic -and good-natured antiquary most kindly gave us his card to be used as an -introduction to the rector, who he said would gladly give us all -particulars. The story interested us, and the opportunity that fortune -had placed in our way of paying a visit to a haunted house was too -attractive to be missed. So, bearing this story in mind, and finding -ourselves in Wrangle, we forthwith drove straight up to the rectory, an -old-fashioned - -[Sidenote: _A DISAPPOINTMENT_] - -building that had an ancient look, though perhaps not exactly one’s -ideal of a haunted house--still it would do. Having introduced ourselves -to the rector, and having explained the purport of our visit, just when -our expectations were raised to the utmost pitch, we received a dire -disappointment, for the rector, with a smile, informed us that he had -only recently come there and, so far, he had never seen the ghost, or -been troubled by it in any way. He had a dim sort of a recollection that -he had heard something about it from some one, and he would be glad to -learn further particulars. He did not even know which the haunted room -was, or whether it was the whole house that was supposed to be haunted -and not a particular chamber. “I am afraid,” he said, “your introduction -must have been intended for my predecessor, who possibly was well posted -up in the matter.” Certainly our introduction was of a very informal -nature, our antiquarian friend had simply written on the back of his -card, “Call on the rector of Wrangle, make use of my card, and he will -tell you all about the ghost.” Truly we felt just a trifle disappointed. -We had been on the trail of a ghost so often, yet had never been able to -run one to earth, and again it had eluded us! Possibly the rector -divined our feelings, for he cheerily exclaimed, “Well, I am sorry I -cannot show you what you want, but I can show you a very interesting -church.” Now we had not come to Wrangle to see a church, but a haunted -house, and a material ring left by an immaterial spirit, and we felt -somehow, if unreasonably, aggrieved at not finding these. - -The church was truly interesting, though I fear we were hardly in the -mood to properly appreciate it. The rector pointed out to us in the east -window some old stained glass that had been reset in fragments there, -which he declared to be the finest old stained glass in Lincolnshire; -then he led us to the south porch, where he pointed out to us the quaint -and beautiful external carvings round the Early English south doorway, -which we observed was curiously trefoiled and decorated with dog-tooth -mouldings. It is a specimen of carving that any church might be proud to -possess; here, little seen and possibly never admired except by chance -comers like ourselves, it is wasting its beauty in the wilderness, for -the doorway is simply the entrance to the graveyard and appears not to -be much, if at all used, the congregation entering the church by the -north porch. On the north wall we observed a fine, not to say -ostentatious, altar-tomb to Sir John Read and his lady dated 1626. This -takes up, profitably or unprofitably, a good deal of room. Below on a -verse we read the following tribute to the underlying dead:-- - - Whom love did linke and nought but death did dessever, - Well may they be conioind and ly together, - Like turtle doves they livd Chaste pure in mind, - Fewe, O, too few such couples we shall find. - -You have to get used to the archaic spelling of some of these old -tombstone inscriptions, but this one is comparatively clear. Our -ancestors evidently did not set much score on spelling, for on a -stately seventeenth-century monument I have actually noticed the same -word spelt in three different ways. Above Sir John Read’s fine -altar-tomb is suspended a helmet with a crest coloured proper, only the -helmet is not a genuine one, being of plaster! and the plaster has got -cracked, and therefore the sham is revealed to the least observant; so -the whole thing looks ridiculous! Possibly, however, this was merely -intended for a temporary funeral helmet, and would have been removed in -due course but had been forgotten. - -[Sidenote: _CURIOUS GARGOYLES_] - -In the pavement we noticed a slab containing an interesting brass dated -1503, to “Iohn Reed marchant of ye stapell of Calys, and Margaret his -wyfe.” Their eight sons and five daughters are also shown upon it. Round -this slab run portions of an inscription in old English. It is -unfortunate that this is incomplete, for it appears to be quaint. - -On leaving the church we observed with pleasure that the ancient and -curious gargoyles that project from its roof still serve the purpose for -which they were originally constructed, and have not been improved away, -or suffered the common indignity of being converted into rain-water -heads. Who invented the gargoyle, I wonder? A monk, I’ll wager, if I -have read past ecclesiastical architecture aright. And all lovers of the -quaintly decorative are under great obligations to the unknown monk, for -gargoyles offered an irresistible opportunity for the medieval craftsman -to outwardly express his inmost fancies and the artistic spirit that -consumed his soul, and must somehow be visibly revealed. He was jocular -at times, even to the verge of profanity. Possibly because gargoyles -were outside the sacred edifice, he felt more at liberty to do as he -would, so he created wonderful monsters, grinning good-natured-looking -demons in place of saints; demons that seemed verily to exist and -breathe and struggle in stone; his subtle art contrived to make even the -hideous delightful and to be desired. So great was his genius, so -cunning his chisel that when I look upon his handiwork, oftentimes I -gaze with astonished admiration at his rare skill and inventive -faculties, and I sadly wonder whether we shall ever look upon his like -again. His art was the outcome of love. Our modern art seems of unhappy -necessity imbued with the commercial spirit of the age. Men now paint -and sculpture to live, the medieval art craftsman lived to work; the one -labours to live, the other loved to labour. The highest art, the -worthiest work, cannot be produced for gold, it comes alone from love, -love that is unembarrassed with the thought of having to provide the -necessaries of life. Where anxiety steps in, art suffers, then -withers--and dies! Some years ago I was showing a now popular artist an -old picture by Francesco Francia on panel that I possess, and asked him -how it was, apart from the almost painful truthfulness of the drawing, -that the colours had remained so fresh and pure in tint, after all the -years it had existed, whilst so many modern pictures lose so much of -their first brilliancy in comparatively so short a time. He replied, -after examining the picture, that it had been painted, then smoothed -down, and re-painted many times, each after an interval to allow the -pigments to dry hard, and that it had taken years in place of months to -complete. “Now were I to paint like that I should simply starve, and -possibly be called a fool for my pains--and man must live, you know, to -say nothing of rent, rates, and taxes. When I began life I was young and -enthusiastic, and, as you know, painted in a garret for love and -possible fame which came too tardily” (I have a painting the artist did -in those happy early days, pronounced by competent critics to be worthy -of a great master); “but love did not butter my bread nor provide me -with a decent home, so at last I was compelled to paint for popularity -and profit. Now I possess a fine studio and fashionable patrons, whose -portraits I paint without pleasure but I live at ease--yet sometimes I -sigh for those old times when things were otherwise.” - -[Sidenote: _AN ARTIST’S TALE_] - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - Wind-blown trees--Marshlands--September weather--Wainfleet--An - ancient school--The scent of the sea--The rehabilitation of the - old-fashioned ghost--A Lincolnshire mystery--A vain search--Too - much alike--Delightfully indefinite--Halton Holgate--In quest of a - haunted house. - - -Leaving Wrangle, the country to our right became still more open; for -the rest of our way we followed the changeful line of the sea-coast at a -distance of about a mile or more inland. The wind, coming unrestrained -from the seaward over the flat marsh-like meadow lands, bore to us the -unmistakable flavour of the “briny,” its bracing and refreshing salt -breath, cool and tonic-laden, was very grateful to our lungs after the -soft, soothing country airs that we had been so long accustomed to. The -trees here, what few trees there existed that is, were stunted, -tortured, and wind-blown to one side; but strangely enough, not as is -usually the case, bent inward from the sea but towards it, plainly -proving that the strong gales and prevailing winds in this quarter are -from the land side, thus reversing the general order of things on our -coasts. - -Another notable feature of our road--in marked contrast with the early -portion of our stage out from Boston--was the fact that for the next -nine miles or - -[Sidenote: _A LONELY COUNTRY_] - -so on to our night’s destination at Wainfleet we passed no villages and -saw no churches. It was a lonely stretch of road; for company we had, -besides the stunted trees, only the wide earth and open sky; but such -loneliness has its charms to the vigorous mind, it was all so suggestive -of space and freedom, begetful of broad thinking and expanded views. To -look upon Nature thus is to make one realise the littleness of the minor -worries of life. The mind is too apt to get cramped at times by cramped -surroundings, the vision impresses the brain more than most people are -aware. The wild, far-reaching marshlands to our right had a peculiarly -plaintive look. Across them the mighty gleams of golden sunlight swept -in utter silence, succeeded by vast purple-gray shadows blown out into -the eternity of blue beyond: movement of mighty masses but no sound, yet -one is so accustomed in this world to associate movement with sound that -the ear waits for the latter as something that should follow though it -comes not. The prospect was to a certain extent desolate, yet not -dreary; the golden green of the long autumn grasses tossing in the wind, -the many bright-hued marsh-flowers made the wild waste look almost gay, -so splashed with colour was it over all! The vast level landscape -stretching away and away to the vague far-off horizon that seemed to -fade there into a mystic nothingness--neither earth, nor sea, nor -sky--excited within us a sentiment of vastness that words are inadequate -to convey, a sentiment very real yet impossible wholly to analyse. One -cannot describe the indescribable, and of such moods of the mind one -feels the truth of the poet’s dictum that “What’s worth the saying can’t -be said.” - -Nature here wore an unfamiliar aspect to us; the wide marshland was -beautiful, but beautiful with a strange and novel beauty. Now and then -were infrequent sign-posts, old and leaning, each with one solitary arm -pointing eastward, laconically inscribed “To the Sea,” not to any house -or hamlet be it noticed. They might as well have been inscribed, it -seemed to us in our philosophy, “To the World’s end!” Here the black -sleek rooks and restless white-winged gulls appeared to possess a common -meeting ground; the rooks for a wonder were quiet, being silently busy, -presumably intent after worms; not so the gulls, for ever and again some -of them would rise and whirl round and round, restlessly uttering -peevish cries the while. Neither the cry of gull nor caw of rook are -musical; in truth, they are grating and harsh, yet they are suggestive -of the open air, and are, therefore, pleasing to the ear of the -town-dweller, and lull him to rest in spite of their discordance with a -sense of deep refreshment. - -Shakespeare sings of “the uncertain glory of an April day.” He might, -even with greater truth, have written September in place of April; for -in the former month the weather is just as changeful, and the skies are -finer with more vigorous cloud-scapes; then, too, the fields and foliage -“have put their glory on,” and at times under a sudden sun-burst, -especially in the clear air that comes after rain, the many-tinted woods -become a miracle of colour such that the painter with the richest -palette cannot realise. We were reminded of “the uncertain glory of a -_September_ day” by a sudden, wholly unexpected, and unwelcome change -that had taken place in the weather. In front of us were gradually -gathering great banks of sombre clouds that might mean rain; the wind as -suddenly had lost its gentleness and blew wild and fitfully, but still -the sun was shining brightly all around, converting the winding -water-ways and reed-encircled pools of the marshlands into glowing gold. -The strong effect of the sunlight on the landscape contrasting with the -low-toned gray sky ahead was most striking. But the outlook suggested to -us that it would be wiser to hasten on than to loiter about admiring the -prospect, for it was a shelterless region. So we sped along to the merry -music of the jingling harness, and the measured clatter of our horses’ -hoofs on the hard roadway, rounding the many corners with a warning note -from the horn, and a pleasant swing of the dog-cart that showed the pace -we were going. - -[Sidenote: _WILD WEATHER_] - - A low, gray sky, a freshing wind, - A cold scent of the misty sea - Before, the barren dunes; behind, - The level meadows far and free. - -The approach to Wainfleet was very pretty; just before the town a -welcome wood came into sight, then a stream of clear running water -crossed by a foot-bridge, next a tall windmill which we passed close by, -so close that we could hear the swish, swish, swish of its great sails -as they went hurtling round and round in mighty sweeps; at that moment -the rain came down, and, though we reached our inn directly afterwards -we managed to get pretty wet outwardly during the few minutes’ interval. -However, the good-hearted landlady greeted her dripping guests with a -ready smile, and ushered us into a tiny, cosy sitting-room, wherein she -soon had a wood fire blazing a cheery and ruddy welcome, “just to warm -us up a bit.” Thoughtful and kindly landlady, may you prosper and live -long to welcome hosts of other travellers! Then “to keep out the cold” -(we had no fear of cold, but no matter), a hot cup of tea with _cream_, -rich country cream and buttered toast, made its unexpected but not -unwelcome appearance, so though our hostel was small and primitive in -keeping with the town, we felt that we might have fared much worse in -far more pretentious quarters. Looking round our chamber we observed -that the door opened with a latch instead of a handle, a trifle that -somehow pleased us, one so seldom comes upon that kind of fastening -nowadays, even in remote country places. - -Soon the storm cleared away, and the sun shone forth quite cheerily -again, and though now low in the yellowing western sky, still it shone -brilliantly enough to entice us out of doors. We discovered Wainfleet to -be a sleepy little market-town, and a decayed seaport--a town with some -quaint buildings of past days, not exactly a picturesque place but -certainly an interesting one. Wainfleet is a spot where the hand of Time -seems not only to be stayed but put back long years; it should be dear -to the heart of an antiquary, for it looks so genuinely ancient, so far -removed from the modern world and all its rush, bustle, and advantages! -It is a spot that might be called intolerably dull, or intensely -restful, according to the mind and mood of man. We deemed it the latter, -but then we only stopped there a few waking hours (one cannot count the -time one sleeps); had we remained longer perhaps we might have thought -differently! - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT COLLEGE_] - -First we made our way to the market square, which, by the way, we had -all to ourselves, except for a sleeping dog. In the centre of the square -stands the tall and weather-stained shaft of an ancient cross, elevated -on a basement of four steps. The top of the shaft is now surmounted by a -stone ball in place of the cross of old. This is capped by a -well-designed weather-vane; so this ancient structure, raised by -religious enthusiasm, and partially destroyed by religious -reforming--deforming, some people will have it--zeal, now serves a -useful and picturesque purpose, and could hardly be objected to by the -sternest Puritan. - -Then, wandering about, we espied a fine old brick building of two -stories, the front being flanked by octagonal towers, a building not -unlike Eton College Chapel on a smaller scale. This proved to be -Magdalen School, founded in the fifteenth century by the famous William -de Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, 1459, who was born in the town and -who also founded Magdalen College, Oxford, which little history we -picked up accidentally that evening in an odd copy of a Lincolnshire -Directory we discovered at our hotel. We did not hunt it up of set -purpose. I mention this, not wishing to be considered didactic. The -building, after all the years bygone, still serves its ancient purpose, -more fortunate than many other foundations in this respect whose funds -have been diverted to different aims from those originally intended, -sometimes perhaps of necessity, but other times, and not seldom, I fear, -without such compulsory or sufficient cause. We were told that the top -story of this very interesting bit of old-time architecture was the -school, and the ground floor the master’s house, a curious arrangement. -“Just you ring the bell at the door,” exclaimed our informant, “and I’m -sure the master will show you over; it’s a funny old place within.” But -we did not like to intrude; moreover, it was getting late and the -gloaming was gathering around. - -Resuming our wanderings we found ourselves eventually by the side of the -narrow river Steeping, up which the small ships of yore used to make -their way to the then flourishing port of Wainfleet, or Waynflete as the -ancient geographers quaintly had it. There we rested that warm September -evening watching, in a dreamy mood, the tranquil gliding and gleaming of -the peaceful river, listening to the soothing, liquid gurgling of its -quiet flowing water. There was something very poetic about the spot that -caused us to weave romances for ourselves, a change from reading them -ready-made in novels! So we rested and romanced - - While the stars came out and the night wind - Brought up the stream - Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea. - -We had so far been disappointed in our search - -[Sidenote: _THE LAW ON GHOSTS!_] - -after a haunted house this journey, but, nothing daunted, the following -morning we set forth on the same errand, having heard that there was “a -real haunted house” at Halton Holgate, a village situated about eight -miles from Wainfleet. Haunted houses are strangely coming into note and -repute again; I really thought their day was over for ever, but it seems -not so. The good old-fashioned ghost that roams about corridors, and -stalks in ancient chambers till cock-crowing time; the ghost of our -ancestors and the early numbers of the Christmas illustrated papers; the -ghost that groans in a ghastly manner, and makes weird “unearthly” -noises in the middle of the night, appears once more much in -evidence,--I had nearly said “had come to life again”! He is even -written about seriously and complainingly to the papers! In a long -letter to the _Standard_ that appeared therein on 22nd April 1896 under -the heading of “A Haunted House,” the writer gravely laments his lot in -having unwittingly taken a lease of a house from which he and his family -were driven, solely on account of the ghostly manifestations that took -place there! The letter, which I afterwards learnt was written in -absolutely good faith and was no hoax, commences: “In the nineteenth -century ghosts are obsolete, but they are costing me two hundred pounds -a year. I have written to my lawyer, but am told by him that the English -law does not recognise ghosts!” The reading of this caused me to open my -eyes in wonderment, the assertions were simply astonishing. Still the -law seemed sensible; if any man were allowed to throw up an -inconvenient lease on the plea of ghosts where should we be? The writer -of the letter, it appears, was an officer in the English army. “Some -time ago,” he proceeds, “I left India on furlough, and, being near the -end of my service, looked out for a house that should be our home for a -few years.... I may say that I am not physically nervous. I have been -under fire repeatedly, have been badly wounded in action, and have been -complimented on my coolness when bullets were flying about. I was not -then afraid of ghosts as far as I knew. I had often been in places where -my revolver had to be ready to my hand.... As winter drew on and the -nights began to lengthen, strange noises began to be heard.... The -governess used to complain of a tall lady, with black heavy eyebrows, -who used to come as if to strangle her as she lay in bed. She also -described some footsteps, which had passed along the corridor by her -door, of some one apparently intoxicated. But in fact no one had left -their rooms, and no one had been intoxicated. One night the housemaid, -according to her account, was terrified by a tall lady with heavy dark -eyebrows, who entered the room and bent over her bed. Another night we -had driven into the town to a concert. It was nearly midnight when we -returned. Our old Scotch housekeeper, who admitted us, a woman of iron -nerves, was trembling with terror. Shortly before our arrival a horrible -shriek had rung through the house. To all our questions she only -replied, “It was nothing earthly.” The nurse, who was awake with a -child with whooping-cough, heard the cry, and says it was simply -horrible. One night, lying awake, I distinctly saw the handle of my -bedroom door turned, and the door pushed open. I seized my revolver, and -ran to the door. The lamp in the long corridor was burning brightly, no -one was there, and no one could have got away. Now I can honestly say -there is nothing against the house but ghosts. It is a roomy, nice, dry -house. There are no ghosts. Are there not?” This is truly astonishing -reading considering, as I have already stated, that I know the -communication was made in perfectly good faith. A brave soldier to be -driven out of a very comfortable and suitable home by a ghost--for thus -the story ended! - -[Sidenote: _EXTRAORDINARY HAPPENINGS_] - -For curiosity I cut out this letter and pasted it in my Commonplace -Book. The subject had almost slipped my memory, when, just before -starting on our present tour, I read in the _Standard_ of 30th August -1897 of another haunted house in Lincolnshire. The account was long and -circumstantial; having perused it carefully I took note of all -particulars, determining to visit the house, if possible, and to see if -by any means one could elucidate the mystery. As it may interest my -readers, I venture here to quote the article _in extenso_; the more am I -induced to do this as it happened we did manage to inspect the house at -our leisure, and had besides a long conversation with Mrs. Wilson, who -claims to have actually seen the ghost! But I am getting previous. It -will be noted that the account is of some length, and that the story -was not dismissed by the editor of the _Standard_ in a mere paragraph. -This then it is:-- - - From Halton Holgate, a village near Spilsby, Lincolnshire, comes a - story which is causing some sensation among the country folk in the - neighbourhood. For some time rumours of human bones having been - discovered under a brick floor of a farm, near the village, of - strange tappings having been heard, and of a ghost having been - seen, have been afloat, and it was with the intention of trying to - sift the mystery that a Lincoln reporter has just visited the - scene. The farmstead where the sounds are said to have been heard, - and the ghost seen, stands some distance back from the high road, - and is occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and their servant man. On - being interviewed Mrs. Wilson was at first reluctant to make any - statement, but eventually she narrated the following story:-- - - “We came here on Lady-day. The first night or so we heard very - strange noises about midnight, as though some one was knocking at - the doors and walls. Once it seemed as though some one was moving - all the things about in a hurry downstairs. Another time the noise - was like a heavy picture falling from the wall; but in the morning - I found everything as right as it was the night before. The servant - man left, saying he dared not stop, and we had to get another. Then - about six weeks ago, I saw ‘something.’ Before getting into bed, my - husband having retired before me, I thought I would go downstairs - and see if the cow was all right, as it was about to calve. I did - so, and when at the foot of the stairs, just as I was about to go - up again, I saw an old man standing at the top and looking at me. - He was standing as though he was very round-shouldered. How I got - past I cannot say, but as soon as I did so I darted into the - bedroom and slammed the door. Then I went to get some water from - the dressing-table, but ‘feeling’ that some one was behind me I - turned round sharply, and there again stood the same old man. He - quickly vanished, but I am quite certain I saw him. I have also - seen him several times since, though not quite so distinctly.” - - Mrs. Wilson conducted her interviewer to the sitting-room where - the figure appeared. The floor in one corner was very uneven, and a - day or two ago Mrs. Wilson took up the bricks, with the intention - of relaying them. When she had taken them up she perceived a - disagreeable smell. Her suspicions being aroused, she called her - husband, and the two commenced a minute examination. With a stick - three or four bones were soon turned over, together with a gold - ring and several pieces of old black silk. All these had evidently - been buried in quicklime, the bones and silk having obviously been - burned therewith. The search after this was not further prosecuted, - but a quantity of sand introduced and the floor levelled again. Dr. - Gay, to whom the bones were submitted, stated that they were - undoubtedly human, but he believed them to be nearly one hundred - years old. - -[Sidenote: _A GHOST MYSTERY_] - -Now it happened, whilst we were at Boston, that we purchased a copy of -the _Standard_ of 13th September 1897. On glancing over this our eyes -caught sight of the following further and later particulars of this -haunted dwelling, now exalted into “The Lincolnshire Ghost Mystery.” The -account brought up to date ran thus:-- - - A Lincoln Correspondent writes: “Despite all efforts, the - Lincolnshire ghost mystery still remains unravelled. That the - noises nightly heard cannot be ascribed to rats has been amply - demonstrated, and other suggestions when acted upon likewise fail - to elucidate the matter. All over the country the affair has - excited the greatest interest, and two London gentlemen have - written asking for permission to stay a night in the house. Other - letters have been received from ‘clairvoyants’ asking for pieces of - the silk or one of the bones discovered under the floor, whilst a - London clergyman has written advising Mrs. Wilson to bury the bones - in consecrated ground, then, he says, ‘the ghostly visitor will - trouble you no longer.’ The owner of the house in question--a - farmstead at Halton Holgate, near Spilsby--has tried to throw - discredit on the whole affair, but such efforts have failed, and it - now transpires that the house was known to be haunted fully thirty - years ago.” - -The mystery had quite a promising look; and, coming across this second -account of it just as we were approaching the neighbourhood of the scene -of ghostly doings, raised our curiosity still more, and increased our -determination not to miss this rare opportunity of inspecting a -genuine(?) haunted house. See it somehow we must! Now it occurred to us -that, as Halton Holgate was within easy distance of Wainfleet, our -landlord would surely know something about the story and the people, and -that he might enlighten us about sundry details. So in the morning, -before starting, we interviewed him in his snug bar, and having shown -him the cuttings from the _Standard_ that we had brought with us, -awaited his comments. “Oh yes,” he began, “I’ve heard the story, but do -not put much account on it myself, nor do I believe any one else about -here does. I think the London papers put more store on it than we do. -They say noises have been heard in the house at night. Well, you see, -sir, the house stands on the top of a hill, and is very exposed to the -wind. I’ve been told that there is a small trap-door in the roof at the -top of the staircase, which is, or was, quite loose, and at the foot of -the staircase is the front door, and they say that when the wind blows -at all strong it gets under the door and lifts the trap up and down, and -this accounts for the noises, perhaps there may be rats as well. I fancy -the noises frightened the woman when she first went into the house, and -she imagined the rest. At least that’s my view of the matter from all -I’ve heard.” Manifestly the landlord was unbelieving; truly we too were -sceptical, but even so, we thought the landlord’s explanation of the -nightly noises rather weak, notwithstanding his further remark that he -thought the woman was very nervous, and the house being in a lonely -situation made her the more so when she was left in it by herself at -times, as she frequently was on their first coming there. “But that -hardly accounts for her _seeing_ the ghost,” we exclaimed. “Oh! well, I -just put that down to nerves; I expect she got frightened when she went -there at first, and, as I’ve said, imagined the rest. I don’t believe in -ghosts seen by other people.” “And what about the human bones?” we -queried. “Well, as to the bones, they say as how when the house was -built some soil was taken from the churchyard to fill up the -foundations, and that fact would account for the finding of them.” - -[Sidenote: _INQUIRIES_] - -It certainly seemed to us that the landlord’s theory and explanations -rather added to the mystery than helped to clear it up in any way; his -reasonings were hardly convincing. We noted one thing in the landlord’s -arguments that appeared to us almost as improbable as the ghost story, -namely, the way he so readily accounted for the existence of human bones -under the floor by the removal of soil from the churchyard, the latter -we afterwards discovered being about a mile away from the place; and -even allowing such a thing to be permitted at the time of the building -of the house--perhaps, by rough guess, some fifty years ago--such a -proceeding was most unlikely, as soil could be had close at hand for the -digging. - -We felt that now we must wait till we got to Halton Holgate for further -details. We had an introduction to the rector of the parish there, and -we looked forward to hearing his view’s on the matter, for surely he of -all people, we reasoned, would be in a position to help us to unravel -the mystery. Matters were getting interesting; at last it seemed, after -long years of search, that we should be able to run a real “haunted” -house to earth; and we determined, if by any means we could arrange to -do so, that we would spend a night therein. It would be a novel -experience; indeed we felt quite mildly excited at the prospect. Failing -this, it would be something if we could converse with a person who -declared that she had seen an actual ghost, and who would describe to us -what it was like, how it behaved itself, and so forth! We had come -across plenty of people in the world, from time to time, who declared to -us that they once knew somebody who said that they had seen a ghost, but -we could never discover the actual party; for some cause or another he -or she was never get-at-able, and I prefer my facts--or fiction--first -hand. Stories, like wine, have a wonderful way of improving with age; -indeed I think that most stories improve far more rapidly than wine. I -once traced a curious three-year-old story back home to the place of its -birth, and the original teller did not even recognise his offspring in -its altered and improved garb! Tradition is like ivy; give it time and -it will completely disguise the original structure. - -[Sidenote: _A TALL WINDMILL_] - -The weather being fine and having finished our interview with our -landlord, we started off without further delay, anxious to have as much -time as possible before us for our day’s explorations. The country still -continued level, the road winding in and out thereof, as though -determined to cover twice as much ground as needful in getting from -place to place. Just beyond Wainfleet we passed, close to our way, the -tallest windmill I think I have ever seen; it looked more like a -lighthouse with sails attached than a proper windmill; it was presumably -so built to obtain all the breezes possible, as in a flat country the -foliage of the growing trees around is apt to deprive a mill of much of -its motive power. In fact an Essex miller once told me that owing to the -growth of the trees around his mill since it was first built, he could -hardly ever work it in the summer time on account of the foliage robbing -him of so much wind. Then as we drove on we caught a peep of low wooded -hills ahead, showing an uneven outline, faintly blue, with touches of -orange here and there where the sun’s rays rested on the golden autumn -leafage, now lighting up one spot, now another. We were delighted to -observe that our road led apparently in the direction of these hills, -for they gave promise of pleasant wanderings. - -Farther on we reached a pretty little village, with its church -picturesquely crowning a knoll. Here we pulled up for a moment to ask -the name of the place from a man at work by the roadside. “This be -I-r-b-y,” he responded, spelling not pronouncing the name, somewhat to -our surprise; so we asked him why he did so. “Well, sir, you see there -be another village not far off called Orby, only it begins with a ‘O’ -and ours begins with a ‘I,’ and the names do sound so alike when you -speaks them, that we generally spells them to strangers to make sure. -Often folk comes here who wants to go to Orby, and often folk who wants -to come here gets directed to Orby. One of the names ought to be -changed, it would save a lot of trouble and loss of temper.” Then we -asked him how far it was to Halton Holgate, and he said he thought it -was about three miles, but he was not quite sure, not being a good judge -of distances; “it might be more or it might be less,” which was rather -vague. Indeed we noticed generally in Lincolnshire how hard it was to -obtain a precise reply to any query as to distance. Here is a sample of -a few of the delightfully indefinite answers made to us from time to -time when seeking information on this point. “Oh! not very far.” “Some -goodish bit on yet.” “Just a little farther on.” “A longish way off.” “A -few miles more.” To the last reply a further query as to how many miles -only brought the inconclusive response, “Oh! not many.” - -In due time we bade good-bye to the level country, for our road now led -us up quite a respectable hill and through a rock cutting that was -spanned at one point by a rustic bridge. It was a treat to see the great -gray strong rocks after our long wandering in Fenland. The character of -the - -[Illustration: AN OLD-TIME FARMSTEAD.] - -scenery was entirely changed, we had touched the fringe of the Wold -region, the highlands of Lincolnshire--“Wide, wild, and open to the -air.” At the top of the hill we arrived at a scattered little village, -and this proved to be Halton Holgate. The church stood on one side of -the road, the rectory on the other; to the latter we at once made our -way, trusting to learn something authoritative about the haunted house -from the rector, and hoping that perhaps we might obtain an introduction -to the tenant through him. Unfortunately the rector was out, and not -expected back till the evening. This was disappointing. The only thing -to do now was to find our way to the house, and trust to our usual good -fortune to obtain admission and an interview with the farmer’s wife. - -[Sidenote: _QUESTIONING A NATIVE_] - -We accosted the first native we met. Of him we boldly asked our way to -the “haunted house,” for we did not even know the name of it. But our -query was sufficient, evidently the humble homestead had become famous, -and had well established its reputation. We were directed to a footpath -which we were told to follow across some fields, “it will take you right -there.” Then we ventured to ask the native if he had heard much about -the ghost. He replied laconically, “Rather.” Did he believe in it? -“Rather” again. We were not gaining much by our queries, the native did -not appear to be of a communicative nature, and our attempts to draw him -out were not very successful. To a further question if many people came -to see the house, we received the same reply. Manifestly for some -reason the native was disinclined to discuss the subject. This rather -perplexed us, for on such matters the country folk, as a rule, love to -talk and enlarge. As he left us, however, he made the somewhat -enigmatical remark, “I wish as how we’d got a ghost at our house.” Was -he envious of his neighbour’s fame? we wondered, or what did he mean? -Could he possibly deem that a ghost was a profitable appendage to a -house on the show principle, insomuch as it brought many people to see -it? Or were his remarks intended to be sarcastic? - -Having proceeded some way along the footpath we met a clergyman coming -along. We at once jumped to the conclusion that he must be the rector, -so we forthwith addressed him as such; but he smilingly replied, “No, -I’m the Catholic priest,” and a very pleasant-looking priest he was, not -to say jovial. We felt we must have our little joke with him, so -exclaimed, “Well, never mind, you’ll do just as well. We’re -ghost-hunting. We’ve heard that there’s a genuine haunted house -hereabouts, an accredited article, not a fraud. We first read about it -in the _Standard_, and have come to inspect it. Now, can you give us any -information on the point? Have you by any chance been called in to lay -the ghost with candle, bell, and book? But perhaps it is a Protestant -ghost beyond Catholic control?” Just when we should have been serious we -felt in a bantering mood. Why, I hardly know, but smile on the world and -it smiles back at you. Now the priest had smiled on us, and we -retaliated. Had he been austere, probably we should have been grave. -Just then this ghost-hunting expedition struck us as being intensely -comical. The priest smiled again, we smiled our best in reply. We -intuitively felt that his smile was a smile of unbelief--in the ghost, I -mean. “Well, I’m afraid,” he replied, “the worthy body is of a romantic -temperament. I understand that the bones are not human bones after all, -but belonged to a deceased pig. You know in the off-season gigantic -gooseberries, sea-serpents, and ghosts flourish in the papers. You -cannot possibly miss the house. When you come to the end of the next -field, you will see it straight before you,” and so we parted. Somehow -the priest’s remarks damped our ardour; either he did not or would not -take the ghost seriously! - -[Sidenote: _GHOST-HUNTING_] - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - In a haunted house--A strange story--A ghost described!--An offer - declined--Market-day in a market-town--A picturesque crowd--Tombs - of ancient warriors--An old tradition--Popular errors--A chat by - the way--The modern Puritan--A forgotten battle-ground--At the sign - of the “Bull.” - - -Reaching the next field we saw the house before us, a small, plain, -box-like structure of brick, roofed with slate, and having a tiny -neglected garden in front divided from the farm lands by a low wall. An -unpretentious, commonplace house it was, of the early Victorian small -villa type, looking woefully out of place in the pleasant green country, -like a tiny town villa that had gone astray and felt uncomfortable in -its unsuitable surroundings. At least we had expected to find an -old-fashioned and perhaps picturesque farmstead, weathered and gray, -with casement windows and ivy-clad walls. Nothing could well have been -farther from our ideal of a haunted dwelling than what we beheld; no -high-spirited or proper-minded ghost, we felt, would have anything to do -with such a place, and presuming that he existed, he at once fell in our -estimation--we despised him! I frankly own that this was not the proper -spirit in which to commence our investigations--we ought to have kept an -open mind, free from prejudice. Who were we that we should judge what -was a suitable house for a ghost to haunt? But it did look so prosaic, -and looks count for so much in this world! The flat front of the house -was pierced with five sash windows, three on the top story and two on -the ground floor below, with the doorway between,--the sort of house -that a child first draws. - -[Sidenote: _A SUCCESSFUL SEARCH_] - -We did not enter the little garden, nor approach the regulation front -door, for both had the appearance of being seldom used, but, wandering -around, we came upon a side entrance facing some farm outbuildings. We -ventured to knock at the door here, which was opened by the farmer’s -wife herself, as it proved; the door led directly into the kitchen, -where we observed the farmer seated by the fireplace, apparently -awaiting his mid-day dinner. We at once apologised for our intrusion, -and asked if it were the haunted house that we had read accounts of in -the London papers, and, if so, might we be allowed just to take a glance -at the haunted room? “This is the haunted house,” replied the farmer -with emphasis, “and you can see over it with pleasure if you like; the -wifie will show you over.” So far fortune favoured us. The “wifie” at -the time was busily occupied in peeling potatoes “for the men’s meal,” -she explained, “but when I’ve done I’ll be very glad to show you over -and tell you anything.” Thereupon she politely offered us a chair to -rest on whilst she completed her culinary operations. “I must get the -potatoes in the pot first,” she excused herself, “or they won’t be done -in time.” “Pray don’t hurry,” we replied; “it’s only too kind of you to -show us the house at all.” - -Then we opened a conversation with the farmer; he looked an honest, -hard-working man; his face was sunburnt, and his hands showed signs of -toil. I should say that there was no romance about him, nor suspicion of -any such thing. The day was warm, and he was sitting at ease in his -shirt sleeves. “I suppose you get a number of people here to see the -place?” we remarked by way of breaking the ice. “Yes, that we do; lots -of folk come to see the house and hear about the ghost. We’ve had people -come specially all the way from London since it’s got into the papers; -two newspaper writers came down not long ago and made a lot of notes; -they be coming down again to sleep in the house one night. We gets a -quantity of letters too from folk asking to see the house. Have I ever -seen the ghost? No, I cannot rightly say as how I have, but I’ve heard -him often. There’s strange noises and bangings going on at nights, just -like the moving about of heavy furniture on the floors, and knockings on -the walls; the noises used to keep me awake at first, but now I’ve got -used to them and they don’t trouble me. Sometimes, though, I wakes up -when the noises are louder than usual, or my wife wakes me up when she -gets nervous listening to them, but I only says, ‘The ghost is lively -to-night,’ and go to sleep again. I’ve got used to him, you see, but he -upsets the missus a lot. You see she’s seen the ghost several times, and -I only hear him.” The wife meanwhile was intent on her work and made no -remark. “This is all very strange and interesting,” we exclaimed; “and -so the house is really haunted?” Now it was the wife’s turn. “I should -rather think so,” she broke in, “and you’d think so too if you only -slept a night here, or tried to, for you’d not get much sleep unless you -are used to noises, I can tell you: they’re awful at times. I daren’t be -in the house alone after sundown, I’m that afraid.” “And you’ve actually -seen the ghost?” I broke in. “Yes, that I have, three or four times -quite plainly, and several times not quite so plainly; he quite -terrifies me, and one never knows when to expect him.” “Ah! that’s an -unfortunate way ghosts have,” we remarked sympathetically, “but -good-mannered ones are never troublesome in the daytime: that’s one -blessing.” - -[Sidenote: _A NOISY GHOST_] - -Eventually the busy housewife finished her task, and the peeled potatoes -were safely put in the pot to boil. At this juncture she turned to us -and said she was free for a time and would be very pleased to show us -over the house and give us any information we wished, which was very -kind of her. We then slipped a certain coin of the realm into the hands -of her husband as a slight return for the courtesy shown to us. He -declared that there was no necessity for us to do this, as they did not -wish to make any profit out of their misfortunes, and as he pocketed the -coin with thanks said they were only too pleased to show the house to -any respectable person. The farmer certainly had an honest, frank face. -His wife, we noticed, had a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, but she -said she did not sleep well, which might account for this. She appeared -nervous and did not look straight at us, but this might have been -manner. First she led the way to a narrow passage, in the front of the -house, that contained the staircase. On either side of this passage was -a door, each leading into a separate sitting-room, both of which rooms -were bare, being entirely void of furniture. Then she told her own -story, which I repeat here from memory, aided by a few hasty notes I -made at the time. “Ever since we came to this house we have been -disturbed by strange noises at nights. They commenced on the very first -night we slept here, just after we had gone to bed. It sounded for all -the world as though some one were in the house moving things about, and -every now and then there was a bang as though some heavy weight had -fallen. We got up and looked about, but there was no one in the place, -and everything was just as we left it. At first we thought the wind must -have blown the doors to, for it was a stormy night, and my husband said -he thought perhaps there were rats in the house. This went on for some -weeks, and we could not account for it, but we never thought of the -house being haunted. We were puzzled but not alarmed. Then one night, -when my husband had gone to bed before me (I had sat up late for some -reason), and I was just going up that staircase, I distinctly saw a -little, bent old man with a wrinkled face standing on the top and -looking steadily down at me. For the moment I wondered who he could be, -never dreaming he was a ghost, so I rushed upstairs to him and he -vanished. Then I shook and trembled all over, for I felt I had seen an -apparition. When I got into the bedroom I shut the door, and on looking -round saw the ghost again quite plainly for a moment, and then he -vanished as before. Since then I’ve seen him about the house in several -places.” - -[Sidenote: _A CURIOUS HISTORY_] - -Next she showed us into the empty sitting-room to the left of the -staircase; the floor of this was paved with bricks. “It was from this -room,” she continued, “that the noises seemed to come mostly, just as -though some one were knocking a lot of things about in it. This struck -us as singular, so one day we carefully examined the room and discovered -in that corner that the flooring was very uneven, and then we noticed -besides that the bricks there were stained as though some dark substance -had been spilled over them. It at once struck me that some one might -have been murdered and buried there, and it was the ghost of the -murdered man I had seen. So we took up the bricks and dug down in the -earth below, and found some bones, a gold ring, and some pieces of silk. -You can see where the bricks were taken up and relaid. I’m positive it -was a ghost I saw. The noises still continue, though I’ve not seen the -ghost since we dug up the bones.” After this, there being nothing more -to be seen or told, we returned to the kitchen. Here we again -interviewed the farmer, and found out from him that the town of Spilsby, -with a good inn, was only a mile away. Thereupon I decided to myself -that we would drive on to Spilsby, secure accommodation there for wife -and horses for the night, and that I would come back alone and sleep in -the haunted room, if I could arrange matters. With the carriage rugs, -the carriage lamp and candles, some creature comforts from the inn, and -a plentiful supply of tobacco, it appeared to me that I could manage to -pass the night pretty comfortably; and if the ghost looked in--well, I -would approach him in a friendly spirit and, he being agreeable, we -might spend quite a festive evening together! If the ghost did not -favour me, at least I might hear the noises--it would be something to -hear a ghost! Thereupon I mentioned my views to the farmer; he made no -objection to the arrangement, simply suggesting that I should consult -the “missus” as to details; but alas! she did not approve. “You know,” -she said, addressing her husband, “the gentleman might take all the -trouble to come and be disappointed; the ghost might be quiet that very -night; he was quiet one night, you remember. Besides, we promised the -two gentlemen from the London paper that they should come first, and we -cannot break our word.” Appeals from this decision were in vain; the -wife would not hear of our sleeping the night there on any terms, all -forms of persuasion were in vain. Manifestly our presence in the haunted -chamber for the night was not desired by the wife. As entreaties were -useless there was nothing for it but to depart, which we did after again -thanking them for the courtesies already shown; it was not for us to -resent the refusal. “Every Englishman’s house is his castle” according -to English law, and if a ghost breaks the rule--well, “the law does not -recognise ghosts.” So, with a sense of disappointment amounting almost -to disillusion, we departed. I feel quite hopeless now of ever seeing a -ghost, and have become weary of merely reading about his doings in -papers and magazines. I must say that ghosts, both old and new, appear -to behave in a most inconsiderate manner; they go where they are not -wanted and worry people who positively dislike them and strongly object -to their presence, whilst those who would really take an interest in -them they leave “severely alone!” - -[Sidenote: _MARKET-DAY AT SPILSBY_] - -Arriving at Spilsby we found it to be market-day there, and the clean -and neat little town (chiefly composed of old and pleasantly grouped -buildings) looked quite gay and picturesque with its motley crowds of -farmers and their wives, together with a goodly scattering of country -folk. The womankind favoured bright-hued dresses and red shawls, that -made a moving confusion of colour suggestive of a scene abroad--indeed, -the town that bright sunny day had quite a foreign appearance, and had -it not been for the very English names and words on the shops and walls -around, we might easily have persuaded ourselves that we were abroad. To -add to the picturesqueness of the prospect, out of the thronged -market-place rose the tall tapering medieval cross of stone; the shaft -of this was ancient, and only the cross on the top was modern, and even -the latter was becoming mellowed by time into harmony with the rest. The -whole scene composed most happily, and it struck us that it would make -an excellent motive for a painting with the title, “Market-day in an old -English town.” Will any artist reader, in search of a fresh subject and -new ground, take the hint, I wonder? - -Not far from the inn we noticed a bronze statue, set as usual upon a -stone pedestal of the prevailing type, reminding us of the numerous -statues of a like kind that help so successfully to disfigure our London -streets. I must say that this statue had a very latter-day look, little -in accord with the unpretentious old-world buildings that surrounded it. -Bronze under the English climate assumes a dismal, dirty, -greeny-browny-gray--a most depressing colour. At the foot of the statue -was an anchor. Who was this man, and what great wrong had he done, we -wondered, to be memorialised thus? So we went to see, and on the -pedestal we read-- - - SIR JOHN FRANKLIN - Discoverer of the North West Passage - Born at Spilsby - April 1786. - Died in the Arctic Regions - June 1847. - -After this we visited the church, here let me honestly confess, not for -the sake of worship or curiosity, but for a moment’s restful quiet. The -inn was uncomfortably crowded, a farmers’ “Ordinary” was being held -there. The roadways of the town were thronged; there were stalls erected -in the market square from which noisy vendors gave forth torrents of -eloquence upon the virtues of the goods they had to sell,--especially -eloquent and strong of voice was a certain seller of spectacles, but he -was hard pressed in these respects by the agent of some - -[Sidenote: _IN SEARCH OF QUIET_] - -wonderful medicine that cured all diseases. The country folk gathered -round them, and others listened with apparent interest to their appeals, -but so far as we could observe purchased nothing. Spilsby on a -market-day was undoubtedly picturesque, with a picturesqueness that -pleased our artistic eye, but the ear was not gratified; for once we -felt that deafness would have been a blessing! We sought for peace and -rest within the church and found it; not a soul was there, and the -stillness seemed to us, just then, profound. It is well to keep our -churches open on week days for prayer and meditation, but the -worshippers, where are they engaged till the next Sunday? To the -majority of people in the world religion is an affair of Sundays. Whilst -travelling in the Western States some years ago, I suggested meekly to -an American, who was showing me over his flourishing few-year-old city -(it is bigger and older now) with manifest pride at its rapid commercial -prosperity, that it seemed to me a rather wicked place. “Waal now,” he -said, “I’ll just grant you we’re pretty bad on week days, but I guess -we’re mighty good on Sundays; that’s so. Now you needn’t look aghast, -you Britishers are not much better than the rest of the world. I was a -sea captain formerly, and on one voyage I hailed one of your passing -ships China bound. ‘What’s your cargo, John?’ shouts I. ‘Missionaries -and idols,’ replies he. ‘Honest John!’ I shouted back.” This reminds me -of a curious incident that came under my notice in London not so very -long ago. I had an old English bracket clock that I took myself to a -wholesale firm of clock-makers to be repaired. Whilst in the shop I -noticed a peculiar piece of mechanism, the purpose of which puzzled me, -so I sought for information. “Oh!” replied one of the firm, “that’s a -special order for a temple in China; it is to work an idol and make him -move.” This is an absolute fact. Presumably that clock-maker was an -excellent Christian in his own estimation. I do not know whether there -was anything in my look that he considered called for an explanation, -but he added, “Business is business, you know; you’d be astonished what -funny orders we sometimes have in our trade. Only the other day a firm -sounded us if we would undertake to make some imitation ‘genuine’ -Elizabethan clocks; they sent us one to copy. But we replied declining, -merely stating that we had so far conducted our business honestly, and -intended always to do so.” So, according to the ethics of our informant, -it is not dishonest to make clock-work intended to secretly make an idol -move, but it is dishonest to make imitation medieval clocks! Such are -the refinements of modern commerce! - -Now, after this over-long digression, to return to the interior of -Spilsby church, here we discovered a number of very interesting and some -curious monuments to the Willoughby family, in a side chapel railed off -from the nave. On one of the altar-tombs is the recumbent effigy of -John, the first Baron Willoughby, and Joan, his wife. The baron is -represented in full armour, with shield and sword - -[Sidenote: _CROSS-LEGGED EFFIGIES_] - -and crossed legs; his lady is shown with a tightly-fitting gown and -loosely-robed mantle over. This baron fought at Crecy and died three -years afterwards. On another tomb is a fine alabaster effigy of John the -second Baron, who took part in the battle of Poictiers; he is also -represented in full armour, with his head resting on a helmet, and -diminutive figures of monks support, or adorn, this tomb. There are also -other fine tombs to older warriors, but of less interest; one huge -monument has a very curious carved statue of a wild man on it, the -meaning of which is not very apparent. It used to be an accepted -tradition that when an ancient warrior was shown in effigy with his legs -crossed, he had been a Crusader, but Dr. Cox, the eminent archæologist -and antiquary, declares that this does not follow. “It is a popular -error,” he says, “to suppose that cross-legged effigies are certain -proofs that those they represented were Crusaders. In proof of this many -well-known Crusaders were not represented as cross-legged, and the habit -of crossing the legs was common long after the Crusades had terminated.” -I am sorry to find that such a poetical tradition has no foundation in -fact, and must therefore share the fate of so many other picturesque -fictions that one would fondly cling to if one could. Sometimes I wish -that learned antiquaries, for the sake of old-world romance, would keep -their doubts to themselves. Romance is not religion; one takes a legend -with a grain of salt, but there is always the bare possibility that it -may be true, unless shown otherwise. It is just this that charms. Why -needlessly undo it? - -Now, after Dr. Cox’s dictum, whenever I see a cross-legged effigy of a -mailed warrior, I am perplexed to know why he is so shown. Will learned -antiquaries kindly explain? It is rather provoking to the inquiring mind -to say it does not mean one thing, and yet not define what else it -means. From what I know of the medieval sculptor he ever had a purpose -in his work, it was always significant. Dr. Cox likewise declares -“Whitewash on stones was not an abomination of the Reformation, but was -commonly used long before that period.” I am glad to know this for the -reputation of the Reformation. - -At Spilsby we consulted our map, and after much discussion about our -next stage, whether it should be to Alford or Horncastle, we eventually -decided to drive over the Wolds to the latter town and rest there for -the night. It turned out a hilly drive, as we expected; indeed, in this -respect, the road would have done credit to Cumberland. On the way we -had ample evidence that Lincolnshire was not all “as flat as a pancake,” -as many people wrongly imagine. - -For a mile or so out of Spilsby our road was fairly level, then it began -to climb in earnest till we reached the top of the “windy Wolds.” High -up in the world as we were here, so our horizon was high also, and, -looking back, we had a magnificent panorama presented to us. Away below -stretched the far-reaching Fenland, spread out like a mighty - -[Sidenote: _ON THE WOLDS_] - -living map, with its countless fruitful fields, green meadows, -many-tinted woods touched with autumnal gold, winding waterways, deep -dykes, white roads, and frequent railways, space-diminished into tiny -threads, its mansions, villages, towns, and ancient churches. -Conspicuous amongst the last was the tall and stately tower of Boston’s -famous “stump,” faintly showing, needle-like, in the dim, dreamy -distance, and marking where the blue land met the bluer sea, for from -our elevated standpoint the far-off horizon of the land, seen through -the wide space of air, looked as though it had all been washed over with -a gigantic brush dipped in deepest indigo. It was a wonderful prospect, -a vision of vastness, stretching away from mystery to mystery. The eye -could not see, nor the mind comprehend it all at once, and where it -faded away into a poetic uncertainty the imagination had full play. It -is ever in the far-off that the land of romance lies, the land one never -reaches, and that is always dim and dreamy--the near at hand is plainly -revealed and commonplace! Of course much depends on the eye of the -beholder, but the vague and remote to conjure with have a certain charm -and undoubted fascination for most minds. It was of such a prospect as -this, it might even have been this very one, that Tennyson pictures in -verse-- - - Calm and deep peace on this high wold, - - * * * * * - - Calm and still light on yon great plain - That sweeps with all its autumn bowers, - And crowded farms and lessening towers, - To mingle with the bounding main. - -For we were now nearing the birthplace and early home of the great -Victorian poet, and he was fond of wandering all the country round, and -might well have noted this wonderful view. No poet or painter could pass -it by unregarded! - -On this spreading upland the light sweet air, coming fresh and free over -leagues of land and leagues of sea, met us with its invigorating breath. -After the heavy, drowsy air of the Fens it was not only exhilarating but -exciting, and we felt impelled to do something, to exert ourselves in -some manner--this was no lotus-eating land--so for want of a better -object we left the dogcart and started forth on a brisk walk. One would -imagine that all the energy of the county would be centred in the Wold -region, and that the dwellers in the Fens would be slothful and -unenergetic in comparison. Yet the very reverse is the case. The -Wolds--townless and rail-less--are given over to slumberous quietude and -primitive agriculture, its inhabitants lead an uneventful life free from -all ambition, its churches are poor and small whilst the churches of the -Fens in notable contrast are mostly fine and large, its hamlets and -villages remain hamlets and villages and do not grow gradually into -towns: it is a bit of genuine Old England where old customs remain and -simple needs suffice. A land with - - Little about it stirring save a brook! - A sleepy land, where under the same wheel - The same old rut would deepen year by year. - -On the other hand, the Fenland inhabitants appear to be “full of go” -with their growing villages, prosperous towns, flourishing ports, -railways, and waterways. It was energy that converted the wild watery -waste of the Fens into a land smiling with crops; it is energy that -keeps it so. - -[Sidenote: _A GLORIOUS UPLAND_] - -As we progressed we lost sight of the Fens, and soon found ourselves in -the midst of circling hills that bounded our prospect all around--hills -that dipped gently down to shady, wooded valleys, and rose above them to -bare, grassy, or fir-fringed summits, bathed in soft sunshine. Along the -sloping sides of this glorious upland we could trace the narrow white -country roads winding far away and wandering up and down till lost in -the growing grayness of the misty distance--just like the roads of -Devonshire. Indeed, in parts, the country we passed through distinctly -reminded us of Devonshire; it was as far removed from the popular -conception of Lincolnshire scenery as a Dutch landscape is from a -Derbyshire one. Indeed, a cyclist whom we met that evening at Horncastle -declared indignantly to us that he considered Lincolnshire “a fraud”; he -had been induced to tour therein under the impression that the roads -were “all beautifully level and good going.” He had just ridden over the -Wolds that day, he explained, hence his disparaging remarks--and he was -very angry! - -Journeying on we presently reached the lonely, picturesque, and -prettily-named village of Mavis Enderby. Its ancient church, a field’s -space away from the road, looked interesting with its hoary walls, gray -stone churchyard cross, and little sun-dial. In the porch we noted a -holy-water stoup supported on four small clustered pillars; the interior -of the building we did not see, for the door was locked and we felt too -lazy to go and hunt for the key. The top of the cross is adorned with a -carving of the Crucifixion on one side, and of the Virgin Mary holding -the infant Saviour on the other. The shaft for about half its extent -upwards is manifestly ancient, the rest, including of course the -sculpturings, is as manifestly modern, though not of yesterday, for the -latter portion already shows slight signs of weathering, and has become -time-mellowed and lichen-clad. The figures at the top are effectively -but roughly carved in faithful imitation of medieval work of the same -class. So faithful in fact and spirit indeed is the copy that there is -no small danger of antiquaries in the years to come being deceived, and -pronouncing the cross to be a rare and well-preserved specimen of -fifteenth-century work. Apropos of this carefully studied copying of -ancient work it may not be uninteresting to quote here from a letter of -Lord Grimthorpe upon the restoration of St. Albans Abbey which he -carried out. “It took no small trouble to get them (new stones inserted -in the work) worked as roughly as the old ones, so as to make the work -homogeneous, and to bewilder antiquaries who pretend to be able to -distinguish new work from old; which indeed architects generally make -very easy for them.” - -As we were about leaving we observed an intelligent-looking man -leisurely walking on the road, the only living person we had seen in the -village by - -[Sidenote: _A MODERN PURITAN_] - -the way; we asked him if he knew anything about the cross,--who restored -it, and when? We were not prepared for the outburst that followed this -innocent query. “That popish thing,” he exclaimed savagely and -contemptuously, “we want another Cromwell, that’s about what’s the -matter, and the sooner he comes the better. I’m a Protestant, and my -forefathers were Protestants afore me. Now it’s bad enough to have -popery inside a church, as has crept in of late years,--lights, incense, -vestments, banners, processions; but to boldly bring their cursed popery -outside, well----” and he could find no words strong enough to express -his detestation of such proceedings, but he looked unutterable things. -“I just feel as how I’d like to swear,” he exclaimed, “only it’s -wicked.” We sympathised with him, and tried to calm his injured -feelings. We prided ourselves on our successful diplomacy; we said, -“Now, if Cromwell were only here he would soon have that cross down.” -This in no way compromised us, but it served somewhat to soothe the -stranger’s anger. “Ay! that’s true,” responded he, and regardless of -grammar went on, “mighty quick too, he’d mighty soon clear the country -of all the popish nonsense. Why, in my young days, we used to have -parsons, now we’ve got priests.” He then paused to light his pipe, at -which he drew furiously--our question never got answered after all, but, -under the circumstances, we thought perhaps it would be well not to -repeat it, we did not want a religious declamation--we were -pleasure-touring! The lighting of the pipe broke the thread of the -discourse for the moment, and it seemed to us a good opportunity to -depart on our way. - -The fire of Puritanism, or whatever other name that erst powerful “ism” -goes under now, is not extinguished in the land but smoulders; will it -ever break out into a destroying flame again? It may; history sometimes -repeats itself! The swing of the pendulum just now appears in favour of -ritualism, strongly so, it seems to me; who can tell that it may not -swing back again? I once asked a New England Puritan of the pure old -Cromwellian stock--a refined man, a lover of art and literature--how it -was that Puritanism, in days past at any rate, was such a deadly enemy -to art? He replied, “It was so, simply of painful necessity. Freedom, -religious freedom, is more than art. Priestly tyranny had enslaved art, -bribed it into its service, and art had to pay the penalty. Nowadays art -has shaken herself free, practically free from her ancient masters, and -Puritanism and art are friends. And the Puritan lion may lie down with -the art lamb and not hurt him.” Which is a comforting thought should the -pendulum suddenly swing back again. It seems just now highly improbable, -but the improbable occasionally comes to pass. How highly improbable, -nay impossible, it would have seemed, say a century or so ago, that -incense, vestments, lighted candles on the “altar,” would find place in -the Church of England service, to say nothing of holy water being used, -and “the Angelus bell being rung at the consecration of the elements, -and the elevation of the Host,” as I read in the _Standard_ of 29th -October 1890, was done at the dedication festival of the Church of St. -Mary, in Clumber Park, Worksop! Truly might Cromwell exclaim, were he to -come to life again and see these things, “The times are changed!” - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT FIGHT_] - -Farther on we drove over Winceby Hill, one of the highest points of the -Wolds, and the scene of an early encounter between the forces of the -King and those of the Parliament; an encounter that is said to have -brought Cromwell into prominent notice, of which conflict we shall come -upon some relics at Horncastle anon, as well as a curious tradition -connected therewith. - -Leaving Winceby Hill our road began to descend; the country in front of -us, as it were, dropped down, and, far away below, we caught sight of -the red-roofed houses of Horncastle, with its gray church beyond, and -busy windmills around. It was a long descent, affording us a glorious, -far-extending view ahead over a well-wooded, watered, and undulating -country flooded with warm sunshine. It looked like a veritable land of -promise. - -Down we drove till at the foot of our long descent we found ourselves in -Horncastle, a quaint old town which has earned for itself more than a -local reputation on account of its yearly horse fair,--the largest and -most important, we were told, in the kingdom. We rejoiced that we had -not arrived the day of the fair; fair-days and market-days are best -avoided by the quiet-loving traveller. We had crossed a spur of the -Wolds and had touched the fringe of a charming stretch of country -agreeably diversified by heaths and fir forests to the west, where the -soil is light and sandy, in great contrast to that of the Fens and of -the chalk Wolds. Horncastle, I have said, is a quaint old town; it -struck us as a pleasant one as well, picturesque in parts, especially by -the side of the little river Bain that winds through it, and gives it -rather a Dutch-like look. The chief portion of the town is built on a -horn-shaped extent of land formed by the river. There was also a castle -there of which some slight ruins remain, hence the name Horncastle, a -bit of information I gleaned from a local paper. Consulting our old and -well-used copy of _Paterson_ we noticed that the Bull Inn here was given -as the coaching and posting house, so we drove up to that old-time -hostelry confidently, for it generally holds good in country places that -the hotel mentioned in _Paterson_ as the best is still the best. The -Bull too was a good old-fashioned title, suggestive of the olden days -and other ways; and within its hospitable walls we found comfortable -quarters and a most courteous landlord, who also, we discovered, during -a chat with him over our evening pipe, was like ourselves a confirmed -traveller by road. “There’s nothing like it for enjoyment and health,” -exclaimed he; “I never felt so well as when I was on the road.” -Sentiments in which we were one! Soundly we slept that night beneath the -sign of the Bull. The fresh air of the Wolds acted like a powerful -narcotic. Our long and interesting day’s drive had a pleasant ending! - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - Six hilly miles--A vision for a pilgrim--The scenery of the - Wolds--Poets’ dreams _versus_ realities--Tennyson’s - brook--Somersby--An out-of-the-world spot--Tennyson-land--A - historic home--A unique relic of the past--An ancient moated - grange--Traditions. - - -The next morning after breakfast we consulted our map as to the day’s -doings and wanderings. We found that we were only some six miles or so -away from Somersby, Tennyson’s birthplace,--six hilly ones they proved -to be, but this is a detail. After due consideration we decided that -being so comfortable and so much at home in our present quarters we -would “take our ease” thereat for still another night and devote the day -to exploring Tennyson-land, that is to say, the haunts of his youth. We -made out by our map that we could drive to Somersby one way, see -something of the country around and beyond, and return by another route, -a fact that would give additional interest to our explorations. It would -be a delightful little expedition, the morning was fine and sunny, our -aneroid was steady at “Fair,” the country before us was a _terra -incognita_, interesting because of its associations apart from the -possible beauty and certain freshness of its scenery. - -On leaving Horncastle our road at once commenced to climb the Wolds, -and as we rose the country around widened out. At the crest of the first -hill we rested a while to enjoy the prospect; looking back, our eyes -ranged over miles and miles of changeful greenery with the wide -over-arching sky above, a sky of a blue that would have done credit to -Italy. On the far-off horizon we could just discern the faint outlines -of Lincoln’s lordly minster, regnant on the hill above the city, a -vision that doubtless would have caused the pious medieval pilgrim to go -down on his knees,--I write “pious” though I am by no means sure that -all medieval pilgrims deserved that epithet. It was in those days a -cheap, comparatively safe, if uncomfortable way of travelling, the poor -man then had only to assume the garb and manners of a pilgrim to travel -and see novel sights and even foreign countries free of expense for -board or food, and he might be as lazy as he liked, provided he did not -mind a little leisurely walking and going through certain religious -observances. The modern tramp was born too late! - -As we drove on we had before us a sea of hills, round and green close at -hand, fading away by subtle degrees to gray, and from gray to tenderest -blue, where in the dim distance the land seemed almost to melt into the -sky. Then our road dipped down gradually into a well-wooded country, a -glorious country of leafy woods--most charming at Holbeck with its -little lakes, an ideal spot on a hot summer’s day; and from the woods -rose great grassy slopes down which the sunshine glinted in long lines -of yellow light, the golden warmth of the sunlit earth being enhanced -by cool shadows of pearly-gray cast by the undulations of the land as -well as by cottage, hedge, and tree. The Wolds were very fair to look -upon that perfect September day. - -[Sidenote: _THE BEAUTY OF THE WOLDS_] - -The sun-bright air flooded the landscape with its light; an air so clear -and pure and sweet, so balmy yet so bracing, it made us exultant and our -journey a joy! Sunshine and fresh air, the fresh air of the Wolds, the -Downs, the moors, and the mountains, are as inspiriting as champagne, -and the finest cure in the world for pessimism! Whenever I feel inclined -that way I go a-driving across country and forget all about it! So we -drove on in a delightful day-dream, rejoicing that fate had led us into -the Lincolnshire highlands. The unassuming beauty of the Wolds gladdened -our hearts, there is a soothing simplicity about it that grander scenes -fail to convey; it is in no way wonderful, it is much better--it is -satisfying! It too is general, it boasts no presiding peak, no special -points of scenic importance that compel you to see them with an -irritating pretentiousness: it is not even romantic, it is merely -benign. It breathes the atmosphere of peace and homeliness, it does not -cry aloud to be admired--and surely there is a virtue in repose as well -as in assertiveness? And of the two, in this restless age, repose seems -to me the more excellent! - -What a wonder it is that the guide-book compilers have not discovered -Lincolnshire--and what a blessing! As a novelist once said to me, “I -grant you Lincolnshire has its charms, but there is nothing to catch -hold of in it.” Well, I am glad that such is the case--one cannot -always be in the admiring or heroic mood, there is surely a virtue in -scenery that simply smiles at you and lulls you to rest. Here is a -charming and healthful holiday ground untrodden, and I can only -selfishly say that I trust it may long remain so. The beauty of the -Wolds awaits its discoverer and interpreter. Tennyson’s descriptions of -Lincolnshire, unlike those of Scott, are too vague to be popular. He is -never individual; you cannot even trace his Locksley Hall, nor his -Moated Grange. In the _Life of Lord Tennyson_ his son writes, “The -localities of my father’s subject-poems are wholly imaginary.” Tennyson -also remarked to Professor Knight, “There are some curious creatures who -go about fishing for the people and searching for the places which they -fancy must have given rise to my poems. They don’t understand or believe -that I have any imagination of my own to create the people or places.” -For this reason, however much the public may admire Tennyson’s poetry, -his poems have failed to make it enthusiastic over Lincolnshire, or to -bring the tripper into the land. The tourist desires to inspect actual -places and spots, he would like to see the real Locksley Hall, the -Moated Grange, and so forth--and they are not to be found, for they are -poets’ dreams! - -The first hamlet we came to was curiously called Ashby Puerorum, as we -afterwards discovered, on account of its having been assigned to the -maintenance of the choir boys belonging to Lincoln Cathedral. The little -old church stands lonely on - -[Sidenote: _THE VIRTUE OF POVERTY_] - -an eminence from which we enjoyed a fine prospect over open wold and -sheltered dale. Fortunately, owing doubtless to the want of means, the -majority of the churches in the Wolds have not been restored but merely -repaired--a distinction with a vast difference. Said a passer-by, at -another hamlet farther on our way, “I’m afraid you’ll find our church -very old-fashioned inside, we’re too poor to restore it properly.” For -once I can exclaim, “Oh blessed poverty!” - -Much good ink has been spilt on the vexed question of restoration, so -many sins have been committed in its name, that the word has become -hateful to antiquaries and archæologists. There is a charm quite -incommunicable in words about an ancient fane whose walls are beautified -by the bloom of ages, and are hallowed by the oft-repeated prayers of -bygone generations of worshippers--generations who have added to its -history in stone as the years rolled by. Time has given every such -edifice a character of its own, just as it gives each human face its -special character. It has imparted an individuality to it; past -associations are gathered there, and a past atmosphere seems to be -enclosed within. Whilst without, the summer suns and winter storms and -frosts of unremembered years have left their mark, all of which give an -ancient church a pathetic look, and a poetic charm to be felt rather -than defined,--a charm that comes alone of age and old associations, and -that therefore no new building, however architecturally perfect but with -its history to make, can possibly possess. - -Too often, alas! the restorer, when let loose upon an ancient church, -restores it so perfectly that he destroys nearly all past history (as -well, were it possible, might an aged man’s lined and thoughtful face be -“restored” to the sweet, though meaningless, simplicity of a baby’s). He -scrapes the walls most carefully down and makes them outwardly look like -new; he possibly restores the fabric backwards to the one period he -inclines to, obliterating as far as may be all the storied work of -intermediate generations, just in order, forsooth, to make the building -all of one style. And upon the unhappy result the grieved antiquary -gazes sadly, for its general aspect is no longer ancient, it looks like -new, its interest is gone. Sir James Picton has laid down the dictum -that the true principle of restoration is this: “Where an unsightly -excrescence has been introduced, remove it; where a stone is decayed -replace it; where the walls are covered with whitewash, clean them down. -If tracery be broken, match it with new of similar character; but spare -the antique surface. Do not touch the evidence which time has recorded -of the days gone by.” In the last sentence lies the very essence of true -restoration. A well-known architect once told me that he was -commissioned by a great man to design him a little country house wherein -he might retire and rusticate away from the trammels of State. “When you -design it,” said the nobleman to the architect, “be sure you write the -word ‘cottage’ large upon your paper.” So I would suggest to the -architect-restorer that whenever he is about to restore an ancient -building to write the sentence “Do not touch the evidence which time -has recorded of the days gone by” largely in his mind. Within the church -of Ashby Puerorum we observed an interesting early sixteenth-century -brass to Richard Littlebury, his wife, and quiverful of ten children. -Also in the pavement under the communion table a fine incised marble -slab to a priest, who is shown in Eucharistic vestments. - -[Sidenote: “_TENNYSON’S BROOK_”] - -Then our road dipped down into a Devonshire-like lane, deep in shade, -with high hedgerows on either side, and branching trees overhead, -through the rustling foliage of which the softened sunshine shone in a -subdued golden-green, delightfully grateful and refreshing to the eye. -At the foot of the dip we crossed a little “babbling brook” on a little -one-arched bridge,--a brook that flows past the foot of Somersby rectory -garden, about half a mile away, and is locally known as “Tennyson’s -brook.” One cannot but believe that this is the exception to the rule, -and supplied the poet with the subject of his well-known poem. In this -belief the stream had a special charm for us; of itself, though pleasant -enough to look upon, it is insignificant, but the magic art of a great -poet has made it as famous as many a mighty river, such is the power of -the pen; a power that promises to rule the world, and dictate even to -dictators! We halted here a little while and watched the tiny -clear-watered stream flowing on brightly blue, sparkling and rippling in -the light, and here and there, beneath the grassy banks and bramble -bushes, showing a lovely translucent tawny tint, and again a tremulous -yellow where it glided over its sandy shallows with many musical -murmurings. - -Along the road we had come Tennyson in his youth must often have roamed -and tarried, for he was in love with the eldest daughter of Mr. Henry -Sellwood of Horncastle; and Dame Rumour has it that he composed many of -his early poems during those wanderings to and fro between Somersby and -that town. The pleasant stretch of country that the road traverses has -apparently little, if at all, changed since that time; so, much as it -looked to us, must it have looked to the poet, with its leafy woods, its -green meadows, its golden cornfields sloping to the sun, with the -bounding wolds around, that beautify whilst limiting the prospect. - -So driving on we came at last to old-world Somersby, a tiny hamlet that -has never heard the sound of the railway whistle, nor known the hand of -the modern builder, a spot that might be a hundred miles from anywhere, -and seems successfully to avoid the outer world, whilst in turn the -outer world as carefully avoids it! Most happy Somersby! We had found -Arcadia at last! In this remote nook Time itself seems to be napping, -very tenderly has it dealt with the poet’s birthplace and the scenes of -his boyhood around. Here it is always yesterday. A peace that is not of -our time broods incumbent over it, a tranquillity that has been handed -down unimpaired from ages past lingers lovingly around. - -On one side of the little-travelled road and a trifle back therefrom -stands the rambling rectory, with its home-like, yellow-washed walls, -and ridged and red-tiled roof; on the other stands the ancient church -hoary with age; while just beyond the rectory is a quaint old manor -house, or grange, formerly moated and now half buried in trees--and this -is Somersby. A spot worthy of being the birthplace of a great poet, “a -haunt of ancient peace.” - -[Sidenote: _MILES FROM ANYWHERE_] - -Approaching the rectory we knocked at the door, or it may be we rang a -bell, I am not now sure which, and begged permission to be allowed to -sketch or photograph the house, which was freely granted. Emboldened by -the readiness to accede to our request we further gave a broad hint of -what a great pleasure it would give us just to take a glance within as -being the birthplace and early home of so famous a man; this favour was -also most courteously granted. It must be well for the present dwellers -in the now historic rectory that Somersby is miles from anywhere, and -that anywhere in the shape of the nearest town is not a tourist-haunted -one, or else they would have small respite from callers asking--I had -almost written demanding--to see the place. To such an extent did -Carlyle, even in his lifetime, find this tourist trespass that we are -told “the genial author of _Sartor Resartus_ actually paid a labourer in -the parish £5 per annum to take admiring visitors to another farm and -pretend that it was Craigenputtock!” - -Entering Somersby rectory we were shown the quaint Gothic dining-room, -designed and built by the poet’s father, that somewhat resembled the -interior of a tiny church. A charming chamber, in spite of its -ecclesiastical look, for it had the stamp of individuality about it. The -oak mantelpiece here was carved by Tennyson’s father; in this there are -eleven niches, with a figure of an apostle in each--seven niches over -the centre of the fireplace and two on either side. By some error in the -design, we were informed, the reverend craftsman had forgotten to -provide a niche for the other apostle--surely a strange mistake for a -clergyman to make! - -In this quiet rectory, right away in the heart of the remote Wolds, -Tennyson was born in 1809, whilst still the eventful nineteenth century -was young. Under the red roof-trees at the top of the house is situated -the attic, “that room--the apple of my heart’s delight,” as the poet -called it. The rectory and garden have happily remained practically -unchanged, in all the changeful times that have passed, since those days -when the future poet-laureate sang his “matin song” there. At last the -hour came when the family had to leave the old home. Tennyson appears to -have felt the parting greatly, for he says-- - - We leave the well-beloved place - Where first we gazed upon the sky: - The roofs that heard our earliest cry, - Will shelter one of stranger race. - -But such partings are inevitable in this world; in a restless age that -prefers to rent rather than own its own home, even the plaintiveness of -such partings appeals but to the few. The modern mind rather loves -change than regrets it; the word “home” means not all it used to do in -the days ago! - -In the illustration of Somersby rectory, as seen from the garden, given -herewith, the room in which - -[Illustration: SOMERSBY RECTORY: THE BIRTHPLACE OF TENNYSON.] - -[Sidenote: _AT SOMERSBY_] - -the poet was born is distinguished by the creeper-grown iron balcony. To -the right of the building is shown the gabled exterior of the Gothic -dining-room with the sunlight flickering over it, and the curious little -statues in the niches thereof, the carved shields built into the wall, -the grotesque heads graven on either side of the traceried windows, and -lastly, and most noticeably, the quaint gargoyles projecting boldly -forth. This addition of Dr. Tennyson to the rectory at once gives it a -welcome character, and lifts it out of the commonplace; without such -addition the house would be pleasant enough to look upon in a homely -way, but featureless. Like human beings, buildings are improved by a -little character; there is plenty of insipidity in the world in flesh -and blood as well as in bricks, or stones, and mortar. - -The old bird-haunted garden behind the rectory--especially beloved by -blackbirds and thrushes--with its old-fashioned flower-beds, its -summer-house, dark copper beeches, and sunny lawn sloping to the south, -remains much as when the Tennyson family were there, and a rustic gate, -just as of old, leads to the meadows and _the_ brook that “runs babbling -to the plain.” For the sake of posterity it would be well if this -storied rectory, together with the little garden, could be preserved in -its original and picturesque simplicity for ever. Any day may be too -late! In the historic perspective of the centuries to come, Tennyson -will doubtless rank as the greatest poet of a great age--perchance as -one of the immortals, for some fames cannot die! and who can tell with -the growing glamour of time whether Somersby rectory, if preserved -whilst yet there is the opportunity, may not come to be a place of -pilgrimage even as is Stratford-on-Avon? The latter spot Americans love -to call “Shakespeare’s town,” as they delight to term England “the old -home”; will it ever be that Somersby will be called “Tennyson’s -village”? The best memorial of the great Victorian poet would be to -religiously preserve his birthplace intact as it now is, and was in the -poet’s youth; better, far better to do this little to his memory than to -erect statues in squares or streets, or place stained-glass windows in -cathedrals or churches--these can be produced any day! but his -birthplace, overgrown with memories and with the glamour of old -associations clinging to it, if by any chance this be lost to us it can -never be replaced, neither prayers nor money could do it. Gold cannot -purchase memories! - -The church of Somersby is small but it is picturesque (in my eyes at any -rate), and has the charm of unpretentiousness; you may admire a grand -cathedral, but a humble fane like this you may love, which is better. -The Christian religion was born of humbleness! The infant Saviour in the -lowly manger is ever greater than His servant, a lordly bishop in a -palace! So a simple, earnest service in such an unadorned church appeals -to me infinitely more, brings the reality of true religion nearer to my -heart, than the most elaborate ritual in the most magnificent cathedral -(which merely appeals to the senses), as though God could only be -approached through a pompous ceremonial with the aid of priestly -intercession, all of which - - Seems to remove the Lord so far away; - The “Father” was so near in Jesus’ day. - -Ceremonial belongs properly to paganism, not to Christianity! - -[Sidenote: _A TIME-WORN TOWER_] - -The ancient tower of Somersby church is squat and square, it boasts no -uprising spire pointing to the sky. The soft sandstone of which it is -built has crumbled away in places, and has been patched here and there -with red bricks and redder tiles. Its weather-worn walls are now -moss-encrusted and lichen-laden; tiny weeds and grasses--bird or wind -sown--find a home in many a crevice of the time-rent masonry. The tower -is a study of colour, its rugged surface shows plainly the stress and -stains of countless winter storms. Yellow and gray stones, green grasses -and vegetation, ruddy bricks and broken tiles, form a blending of tints -that go to make a harmonious whole, mellowed as they are by the magic -hand of Time. The tower stands there silently eloquent of the past, -beautiful with a beauty it had not at first, and that is the dower of -ages; it looks so pathetic in its patched and crumbling state, yet in -spite of all it is strong still. Generations will come and wither away -faster than its stones will crumble down. - -The most permanent feature of the English landscape is its ancient -churches. Kingdoms have waxed and waned, new empires and mighty -republics across the seas have been founded, since they first arose, -and still they stand in their old places, watching over the slumbering -dead around. But I am rhapsodising, and nowadays this is a literary sin. -I acknowledge my transgression and will endeavour to atone for it by -merely being descriptive for the future. - -On the gable of the porch of Somersby church is an old-fashioned -sun-dial--useful on sunny days to reproach laggard worshippers. This -bears the not very original motto, “Time passeth.” A better motto we -noted inscribed on an old Fenland country garden sun-dial as follows, -and which struck us as fresh:-- - - A clock the time may wrongly tell, - I never, if the sun shine well. - -Within the porch is a well-preserved holy-water stoup. - -The interior of the church unfortunately shows signs of restoration, in -a mild form truly, but still unwelcome as robbing the fabric of some of -its ancient character. Surely of all churches in the wild Wolds this one -might have been simply maintained. Possibly the poet’s wide renown has -been the cause of its undoing; well may Byron sing of “the fatal gift of -fame.” The church looks not now the same as when Dr. Tennyson preached, -and his son, who was to make the family name familiar throughout the -world, worshipped there. The obtrusive red-tiled pavement “that rushes -at you,” to employ an expressive artist’s term; the over-neat seats--of -varnished pine, if I remember aright--are clean and decent, but they -hardly harmonise with the simple - -[Sidenote: “_NEW WINE IN OLD BOTTLES_”] - -rustic fane. Better far, considering the associations it has acquired, -to have preserved the church as Tennyson knew it. Besides these signs of -“new wine in old bottles,” architecturally speaking, we noticed an -intruding harmonium; but this does not matter so much as it is movable, -and the eye knowing this can conveniently ignore it, no harm has been -permanently done, it is not structural. The instrument is inscribed-- - - To the glory of God - and in memory of - ALFRED LORD TENNYSON - September 1895. - -One cannot but feel that nothing new or mean should have been allowed to -find a place here; all the old church needed was to be repaired, that -might have been, possibly was, a painful necessity. To do more was to do -harm. In his _In Memoriam_ Tennyson refers to “the cold baptismal font” -(where, according to the Somersby register, the poet was christened on -8th August 1809); this happily remains unchanged--a simple font of -shaped stone that well accords with the time-hallowed structure within -and the weather-worn walls without. That this has not been improved away -is a fact to be thankful for; we might have had some “superior carved -art” marble production in its place put there “To the glory of God, and -in memory of,” etc., the usual excuse for such innovations. - -In the graveyard of Somersby, close to the porch stands a genuine -medieval churchyard cross in perfect condition, save for the inevitable -weathering of centuries--a sight to delight the heart of an antiquary. A -beautifully designed cross it is, in the Perpendicular style, most -gracefully proportioned, consisting of a tall octagonal shaft tapering -upwards from its base. On the top of the shaft, under an angular canopy, -is the figure of the Virgin Mary crowned on one side and a -representation of the crucifixion on the other. This cross is, I -believe, unique in England, inasmuch as it was neither destroyed by the -Puritans nor has it been restored. It only shows that then, as now, -Somersby must have been remote and out of the world, or how otherwise -can we account for this “superstitious thing” escaping their eagle eyes, -even so its escape is a marvel considering that Lincolnshire was one of -the strongholds of Puritanism. The peculiar preservation of this one -cross in all England, under the circumstances, would almost suggest some -unrecorded cause, it is a minor historical mystery! The tomb of Dr. -Tennyson is in the churchyard here. “Our father’s dust is left alone,” -pathetically exclaims the poet as he bade a reluctant farewell to the -home and scenes of his childhood to wander - - In lands where not a memory strays, - Nor landmark breathes of other days, - But all is new unhallow’d ground. - -We now turned to inspect the ancient and erst moated grange that stands -just beyond the rectory, the gardens of the two houses indeed adjoin. -This charming and quaint old home was naturally well known to Tennyson, -and within its time-honoured walls he and his brothers, we learn, used -to indulge their boyish pranks. It is reputed to have been designed by -Sir J. Vanbrugh; a substantial, imposing-looking building it is of -brick, and suggests a massiveness not often obtained in that material. -The parapet that runs along the top is embattled, a great doorway finds -a place in the centre of the front facing the road, the windows are -heavy and round topped, and at each corner of the house is a square -little tower that slightly projects. Though it does not wholly answer to -either description, it used to be believed by many people to be the -original of “The Moated Grange,” and by others that of “Locksley Hall.” -Now that we know that the poet himself has declared such fond -suppositions to be fallacies, the matter is settled for ever. - -[Sidenote: _SOMERSBY GRANGE_] - -Seen from the roadway, and across the bit of wild garden, as we saw it -then, Somersby Grange, with no sign of life about it, not even smoke -from chimney, nor stray bird on roof, nor bark of dog; its sombre mass -standing darkly forth, gloomy in the shade cast down by overhanging -trees of twisted branches and heavy foliage, its weather-stained walls -gray and green with age; seen thus, the old grange impressed us greatly, -it seemed the very ideal of a haunted house, it positively called for a -family ghost. There was, as the Scotch say, an eerie look about it; the -gray, grim walls told of past days, and suggested forgotten episodes, an -air of olden romance clings thereto, mingled with something of the -uncanny. It was a picture and a poem in one--these first, then a -building! - -Now it fortunately so happened that the night before at Horncastle we -had met a Lincolnshire clergyman who took much interest in our journey, -past and to come; and, thoughtful-minded, hearing that we proposed to -explore Tennyson’s country, and knowing that we were total strangers in -the land, most kindly offered us introductions to the owners of one or -two interesting houses on our way. Somersby Grange, we found, was one of -these houses, therefore when we saw the house we felt how fortune -favoured us. So, armed with our introduction we boldly made our way to -the front door and were made welcome, the lady of the house herself -good-naturedly volunteering to show us over. Somehow it seemed on our -tour, as I believe I have remarked of a former one, that whenever we met -a stranger there we found a friend, and oftentimes, as in this instance, -a most kind friend too. This making of friends on the way is one of the -special delights of desultory travel by road. - -Within, Somersby Grange had quite a cheerful aspect that wholly belied -its exterior gloom,--a cheerfulness that we almost resented, for with it -all mystery vanished, and the air of romance seemed to fade away. The -front door opened directly into a well-lighted panelled hall with a -groined ceiling above. The interior was not so interesting as we -expected--but then we expected so much. The most notable objects here -were the cellars, of which there are a number all below the ground -level, so naturally dark and dismal; these tradition asserts to have -formerly been dungeons. Some of them have - -[Sidenote: _DUNGEONS OR CELLARS_] - -small arched recesses in the wall, in which, we understood, food for -prisoners was supposed to be placed. They certainly would have made -desirable dungeons, according to medieval ideas. And we were further -informed that certain antiquaries who had inspected the cellars -expressed their belief that they had been built for dungeons; possibly -the antiquaries in question were right. I always have a great respect -for the dictum of learned men, but in this instance, in spite of the -unknown authorities, and much as I dislike to differ from -well-established tradition, I still strongly incline to the opinion that -these underground places were simply intended for cellars. “Dungeons” -sounds more romantic truly, but why should such a house be provided with -dungeons? Besides, granted they were dungeons, then the difficult -question arises, “Where were the cellars?” For such a house, though it -might not need dungeons, would certainly require cellars, and bearing in -mind its date, a generous allowance thereof! - -We were told also that there is a tradition, handed down with the house, -according to which there is a long secret subterranean passage leading -from one of these cellars to some spot without; but I have heard so many -similar stories before of so many other places, that with respect to all -such mysterious passages I can only say, “Seeing’s believing.” The -Grange is a substantial building; its walls being three feet thick make -it delightfully cool in summer and as delightfully warm in winter. The -dweller in the modern villa, mis-termed “desirable” by its owner, knows -nothing of the luxury of such thick walls, nor the saving in coal bills -entailed thereby. Somersby Grange is a house to entice the modern -speculative builder into, and having done so to point out to him the -solid substance thereof as an example of the liberal use of material -over and above that nicely calculated as the minimum required to outlast -a ground lease. Then possibly the speculative builder would justly reply -that to build houses like that to sell would mean the bankruptcy court. -These old houses were built for homes, not for one generation, but for -many. I am afraid that the changed conditions of life, owing mainly to -the cheap communication and rapid transit provided by railways, have -caused home building to become almost a lost art. Why, instead of a -family living for generations in one place, it is a matter of surprise -if they stay more therein than a few years; three appears to be a very -general and favourite term! - -The interior of Somersby Grange, I have to confess, disappointed us -after the promise of its romantic exterior. We failed to discover any -old-time tradition connected therewith, no picturesque elopement, no -hiding-place for fugitives, no horrible murder--no ghost. Indeed the old -home seems to have led quite a respectable and uneventful existence--it -is like a novel without a plot! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - A decayed fane--Birds in church--An old manorial hall--Curious - creations of the carver’s brain--The grotesque _in excelsis_--The - old formal garden--Sketching from memory--The beauty of the - Wolds--Lovely Lincolnshire!--Advice heeded!--A great character--A - headless horseman--Extremes meet--“All’s well that ends well.” - - -From Somersby we drove to Bag Enderby. What is the meaning of the -curious and distinguishing prefix “bag” it is difficult to divine; it -cannot be from “bog,” for the hamlet is in the hills and there are no -bogs about, nor are there likely to have been any even in the -prehistoric times. It might perhaps, but doubtfully, be derived from the -Anglo-Saxon “boc,” a beech, but this is merely unprofitable guessing. -The old church here is very picturesque, externally at any rate, but -somewhat dilapidated when we were there, and in want of repair. Like -that of Somersby its tower is scarred and weather-worn and picturesque -with the picturesqueness of strong decay; by this I mean that though the -face of the soft sandstone of which it is built has crumbled away in -places so as to give it a pathetic look of untold age, still the decay -is merely on the surface, and the softer portions of the stone-work -having suffered, the strongest and most enduring remain. The weathering -is such as to cause a look rather than a reality of weakness, the walls -are massive enough to stand for ages yet, the old builders were -fortunately lavish of material; they built for time, if not eternity! - -Within, the church shows such unmistakable signs of a regular -restoration during the Churchwarden era and of having been untouched -since, that it is very interesting as an object lesson of that period of -ecclesiastical art,--so few churches being now left to us in this state. -Here we noticed the long out-of-date high-backed pews, with a large -square family one in the midst, presumably the squire’s. The woodwork of -some of these pews was worm-eaten, and the cushions thereof mostly -moth-holed. The pulpit is a two-decker affair of plain panelled deal, -such as in a few more years one may expect to find only in a museum--if -there. - -We noticed on looking up that where the roof joined the tower, or rather -failed to join it, we could clearly see the sky, and so on wet days the -rain must have free entry to the nave; fortunately there are no pews -immediately below! Still in spite of all, or shall I say because of all -this, the poor old church appealed to us. It was so charmingly innocent -of any attempt at “art” decoration, it happily boasted no pavement of -garish tiles suggestive of the modern villa, no Birmingham bright -brass-work, no crudely coloured stained-glass windows to offend the eye. -Take the pews and pulpit away and it would at once have been -delightfully picturesque, and even pews and pulpit sinned artistically -and architecturally solely in form, for Time had carefully toned them -down to a - -[Sidenote: _THE CHURCHWARDEN ERA_] - -perfectly harmless if not an actually pleasing tint. At any rate there -was no irritating pretence at misunderstood art; no imitation--a long -way off--of medievalism; no false note. The churchwarden was no artist; -but then he did not pretend to be one, so far I respect him; and he has -wrought infinitely less harm in our churches than the professional -restorer, so far I positively bless him! for he did not, of set purpose, -destroy old work to show how much better he could do it another way! -Truly he was over-fond of whitewashing walls, but this did not destroy -them, nor the ancient chiselling thereon. He was not enthusiastic about -stained glass, perhaps because it was expensive, and so he preferred -plain leaded lights through which one can see the blue sky, green trees, -and sunlit country; and certainly, though for other reasons, I prefer, -infinitely prefer, plain leaded lights to stained glass--unless the -stained glass be very good indeed, much better than ever was obtainable -in the churchwarden period. In fine, I consider that the old -art-ignorant, much-abused churchwarden has done, comparatively, but -small lasting harm to our old churches; his whitewash, that has often -preserved interesting frescoes, can be easily removed without hurt, his -pews and pulpits can almost as readily be removed. But the havoc a -“clever” and proudly opinionated restorer is oftentimes allowed to do -with impunity is beyond recall. However it may be I would much rather -have the interior of Bag Enderby church, primitive as it is, with its -ancient stone pavement in which the ancient brasses were set, than that -of Somersby church with its prim and proper seats, and modern tiled -floor, both of which remind me painfully of a recently erected suburban -church raised by contract and at the lowest tender “To the glory of -God!” - -We found a lady in the church; who she was, or why she was there, I -cannot tell. We judged that possibly she was the rector’s wife or his -daughter; but this was pure conjecture, for we did not even know if the -rector were married. Moreover, who she was, or why there, concerned us -not. I am glad we met her, for she was most courteous in giving us all -the information it was in her power to impart. Truly, we had become -quite accustomed to such courtesies from utter strangers, but custom did -not diminish their pleasantness. By way of introduction she remarked -that “the church sadly needed some repairing.” We agreed, whether -uttered purposely or by accident, we were delighted to hear the -expression “repairing” employed instead of “restoring.” “We’re afraid,” -continued she, “that some day the roof may fall down upon us during -service.” We ventured to hope that it would fall down some other time. -We tried to be sympathetic, and endeavoured to look properly concerned -when we learnt that there were “bats in the belfry,” and that “birds -make themselves quite at home in the nave, Sundays as well as -week-days.” We were shocked to hear such bad behaviour of the -Lincolnshire birds; but, as we remarked, “birds will be birds all the -world over.” - -Observing an ancient brass let into the pavement in the centre of the -church, with an inscription - -[Sidenote: _AN ANCIENT BRASS_] - -thereon that looked interesting, we began to examine it; but the -lettering was somewhat indistinct from wear, besides being in those -puzzling straight up-and-down lines so much favoured in the fifteenth -century, and we found considerable difficulty in deciphering it in its -entirety, a difficulty enhanced by the dim light at the moment. The -strange lady was unable to help us here, but promised, if we would give -her our name and address, that she would send us a rubbing of the brass. -The kindness of strangers never seemed to fail us, for on our return -home we duly found a letter awaiting us with a careful rubbing of the -brass enclosed therein. Provided with this, all at our leisure, we read -the inscription thus:--_Orate p’ aīa Albini d’Enderby qui fecit fieri -istam ecclesiam cum campanile qui obiit in Vigilia s[=c]i Mathie [=ap]o -Āº D[=n]i MCCCCVII._, which we roughly did into English: “Pray for the -soul of Albinus of Enderby, who caused to be made this church, with -bell-tower, who died in the vigil of St. Mathius the apostle, 1407.” - -The ancient font here is decorated with some curious devices carved in -shields; the chief of these we made out--rightly or wrongly, for I -should not like to be considered authoritative on the point--to be the -Virgin holding the dead Christ; a man, possibly David, playing on a -harp; a hart with a tree (query “the tree of life”) growing out of his -back, which tree the hart is licking with his tongue; a cross surrounded -by a crown of thorns, and others. This font was raised above the -pavement by a stone slab, a slab that, I regret to add, as is all too -plainly manifest, once formed a notable tombstone, for it is finely -incised with a figure and inscription, in great part now covered over by -the font! This fine slab, originally oblong in shape, has at some time -been deliberately broken in half in order to make it into a square, and -further than this, the four corners of the square thus constructed have -their ends chiselled away so as to form an octagonal base, more for the -saving of space and convenience than ornament, we imagined. This -plundering the dead in such a barefaced fashion, even when done for -religious purposes, is not a pleasant thing to contemplate. - -In one of the windows of the church is preserved a fragment of ancient -stained glass that possibly possesses a history, as it represents the -armorial bearings of Crowland Abbey, namely, three knives and three -scourges, and may have come from there. Amongst the tombs we noticed a -mural monument in the chancel to Andrew Gendney, Esquire, who is -represented in armour, with his wife and children. This monument, -bearing date of 1591, still shows traces of its original colouring -though over three centuries old. - -Near the church stands a fine elm tree with a long low projecting branch -close to the ground. This branch, we were told, was long enough to seat -all the inhabitants of the parish, which shows how extraordinarily long -the branch is, or how few the inhabitants of this remote hamlet are--we -understood the latter was the case. - -We next drove to “the old manorial hall” of Harrington, our road being -bordered by fine old branching oaks and leafy elms, the shade of which -was very grateful; for though September, the sun shone down in a manner -worthy of the dog-days. Reaching our destination, and armed with our -introduction, we at once made our way to the rectory. Here we readily -obtained the keys both of the church and the Hall, and were provided, -moreover, with a servant to act as guide. - -Externally Harrington Hall is a bright, sunny-looking, red-brick -building, mostly of the Jacobean period, but much modernised, even to -the extent of sash-windows. Over the entrance is a stone slab let into -the brick-work, and carved with a coat-of-arms. By the side of this is a -sun-dial, with the date 1681 engraved thereon. On either side of the -doorway are mounting-blocks with steps, very convenient for -horse-riders, so much so that I often wonder why they have so generally -disappeared. - -[Sidenote: _A DESERTED HALL_] - -The old house was tenantless and empty, and wore a sadly forsaken look. -In one respect it was the very reverse of Somersby Grange, for while as -cheerful in outward appearance as the latter was sombre, within the -deserted hall was gloomy and ghost-like, with dismal, if large, -bed-chambers leading one into the other in an uncomfortable sort of way, -and huge cupboards like little windowless rooms, and rambling -passages--a house that had manifestly been altered from time to time -with much confusion to its geography. “A sense of mystery” hung over -all, and suggested to us that the place must be haunted. But here again, -though the very house for a ghost to disport himself in, or to be the -home of a weird legend, it was unblest with either as far as we could -make out. A promise of romance there was to the eye, but no fulfilment! - -One old chamber, called “the oak room,” interested us greatly on account -of its exceedingly curious carvings. This chamber was panelled from -floor to ceiling. For about three-quarters of the height upwards the -panelling was adorned with “linen-pattern” work; above this, round the -top of the room, forming a sort of frieze, ran a series of most -grotesque carvings, the continuity of the frieze being only broken just -above the fireplace, which space was given over to the heraldic pride of -various coats-of-arms. Each panel that went to form the frieze had some -separate, quaint, or grotesque subject carved thereon; some of the -designs, indeed, were so outrageous as to suggest the work of a -craftsman fresh from Bedlam! There is a quaintness that overruns its -bounds and becomes mere eccentricity. - -The grotesque creations of the old monks, though highly improbable and -undesirable beings, still looked as though they might have actually -lived, and struggled, and breathed. The grotesque creations of the -carver of the panels in this room failed in this respect. One could -hardly, in the most romantically poetic mood, have given the latter -credit for ever existing in this or any other planet where things might -be ordered differently; they are all, or nearly all, distinctly -impossible. On one of these panels is shown a creature with the head and -neck of a swan, the body of a fish (from which body proceed scaled wings -of the prehistoric reptile kind), - -[Sidenote: _ECCENTRICITIES IN CARVING_] - -and a spreading feathered tail, somewhat like a peacock’s; the creature -had one human foot and one claw!--a very nightmare in carving, and a bad -nightmare to boot! Another nondescript animal, leaning to a dragon, was -provided with two heads, one in the usual place, and one in the tail -with a big eye, each head regarding the other wonderingly. Another -creature looked for all the world like a gigantic mouse with a long -curling tail, but his head was that of a man. Space will not allow me to -enumerate all these strange carvings in detail. It was the very room, -after a late and heavy supper such as they had in the olden times, to -make a fêted guest dream bad dreams. - -The gardens at Harrington Hall, though modest in extent, make delightful -wandering, with their ample walks and old-fashioned flower-beds, formal -and colourful, the colours being enhanced by a background of ivy-covered -wall and deep-green yew hedge. But what charmed us most here was a -raised terrace with a very wide walk on the top. From this we could look -down on the gardens on one hand and over the park-like meadows on the -other, the terrace doing duty as a boundary wall as well as a raised -promenade--an excellent idea. Why, I wonder, do we not plan such -terraces nowadays? they form such delightful promenades and are so -picturesque besides, with a picturesqueness that recalls many an -old-world love story and historical episode. What would the gardens of -Haddon Hall be without the famous terrace, so beloved by artists, and so -often painted and photographed? With the coming of the landscape -gardener, alas! the restful past-time garden of our ancestors went out -of fashion, and with it the old garden architecture also. Formerly the -artificialness of the garden was acknowledged. The garden is still an -artificial production--Nature more or less tamed--but instead of -glorying in the fact we try to disguise it. The architect’s work now -stops at the house, so we find no longer in our gardens the quaint -sun-dial, the stone terrace, the built summer-house--a real house, -though tiny, and structurally decorative--the recessed and roomy -seat-ways that Marcus Stone so delights to paint, the fountains, and the -like; yet what pleasant and picturesque features they all are! Now we -have the uncomfortable rustic seat and ugly rustic summer-house of wood, -generally deal, and varnished, because they look more rural! Still there -are some people who think the old way best! - -The small church at Harrington is apparently a modern building, -containing, however, in strange contrast to its new-looking walls, a -series of ancient and very interesting tombs. I say the church is -apparently modern, for I have seen ancient churches so thoroughly -restored as to seem only just finished. But the restorer, or rebuilder, -here deserves a word of praise for the careful manner in which the -monuments of armoured warriors and others, ages ago dust and ashes, have -been cared for. These monuments are to the Harrington and Coppledike -families, and range from the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries, -supplying a good example of almost every style of sepulchral memorial to -the dead, beginning with the stone effigy, in full armour, of Sir Iohn -de Harrington, who is represented with his legs crossed; then passing -through incised slabs and brasses to the more elaborate altar-tomb; and -from this to the mural monument, where the figures are shown as -kneeling, not recumbent; and lastly, to the period when the sculptured -figures disappear altogether, and the portraits of the underlying dead -give place to mere lettering setting forth the many virtues of the -departed worthies. - -[Sidenote: _A VAIN SEARCH_] - -Harrington Hall is another of the places that people, in a vain search -after the original of Locksley Hall, have imagined might have stood for -the poet’s picture, presumably because of its proximity to Somersby, -for, as far as the building goes, it affords no clue that “one can catch -hold of.” It is an old hall, and there the likeness appears to begin and -end! In spite of Tennyson’s disclaimer, I cannot but feel that, though -no particular spot suggested Locksley Hall to him, it is quite possible, -if not probable, that he may, consciously or unconsciously, have taken a -bit from one place, and a bit from another, and have pieced them -together so as to form a whole--a vague whole truly, but still a -tangible whole. - -To show how unknowingly such a thing may be done, I may mention that I -once remember painting a mountain-and-river-scape that I fondly imagined -I had evolved from my own brain. As I was at work on this an artist -friend (with whom I had often painted in North Wales, our favourite -sketching ground) chanced to look in for a smoke and a chat. “Hullo!” -exclaimed he, “what have you got there? Why, it’s Moel Siabod and the -Llugwy, though I don’t know the exact point of view.” For the moment I -deemed he was joking, as was his wont; but on looking again at the -canvas with fresh eyes I saw that, quite unwittingly, I had repeated the -general outline of that mountain, with even some details of the -landscape of the valley below--not by any means an accurate -representation of the scene, but sufficiently like to show how much I -was unconsciously indebted to the original for my composition. I have -still the painting by me, and on showing it to a friend well acquainted -with the district, and after so far enlightening him as to say it was a -Welsh view, he declared he knew the very spot I had painted it from! So -powerful oftentimes are impressions; for it was solely a forgotten -impression I had painted! - -Now, it happened that later on our journey we mentioned to a stranger -(with whom we gossiped, as we always do with interesting strangers we -come across, if they will) the fact that so struck us about Harrington -Church, its looking so new, whilst the tombs inside were so old. He -exclaimed in reply, “Well, you see the old church was pulled down and -entirely rebuilt. It was a pity, but it had to be. Its foundations had -given way so that the building was slowly sinking into the ground.” This -remark brought to our mind one of the few possible clues of subject -detail, as showing some distinct local colouring, for in “Locksley Hall -Sixty Years After,” we read:-- - -[Sidenote: _COINCIDENCES_] - - Yonder in that chapel, slowly sinking now into the ground, - Lies the warrior, my forefather, with his feet upon the hound. - - Cross’d! for once he sail’d the sea to crush the Moslem in his pride; - Dead the warrior, dead his glory, dead the cause in which he died. - -There truly in Harrington Church is the warrior with his legs crossed, -and Harrington is within an easy ramble of Somersby, so doubtless the -old church, then possibly “sinking into the ground,” with its tombs and -ancient hall, were well known to Tennyson in his youth, and doubtless -were lastingly impressed upon his romantic mind. It is just the spot -that would impress any one of a poetic temperament even now, but more so -then than now, when the church was in pathetic decay, broken down with -the burden of centuries! It will not escape notice that Tennyson clings -to the old tradition that a cross-legged effigy necessarily represents a -crusader. Perhaps it is too much to expect a poet to do otherwise, in -spite of the dictum of Dr. Cox (before mentioned) and that of other -learned authorities who can find it in their hard hearts to destroy a -pleasant bit of picturesque and purely harmless fiction. - -From Harrington we returned to Horncastle by a roundabout route, passing -through South Ormsby and Tetford, a route that led us through the heart -of the wild Wolds, and gave us a good insight into its varied and -characteristic scenery. A very enjoyable drive it proved, down dale and -over hill, past many-tinted woods, gorgeous in their autumn colouring, -through sleepy hamlets, and across one little ford, with a foot-bridge -at the side for pedestrians, with the rounded hills bounding our -prospect on every hand. Now the hills would be a wonderful purple-gray -in cloud shadow, anon a brilliant golden green as the great gleams of -sunshine raked their sloping sides, lighting them up with a warm glory -that hardly seemed of this world, so ethereal did they make the solid -landscape look. - -There is a charm of form, and there is also a charm of colour, less -seldom looked for or understood; but when one can have the two at their -best combined, as in this instance, then the beauty of a scene is a -thing to be remembered, to make a mental painting of, to be recalled -with a sense of refreshment on a dreary winter’s day when the dark fog -hangs thick and heavy like a pall over smoky London. P. G. Hamerton, -who, if a poor painter, was an excellent critic, and a clever writer -upon art (for, like Ruskin, he had a message to give), remarks, “In the -Highlands of Scotland we have mountains, but no architecture; in -Lincolnshire architecture, but no mountains.” Well, I feel inclined to -retort, Lincolnshire _has_ the architecture--and the Wolds. Truly, the -Wolds are not mountains, but picturesquely they will do as a background -to architecture even better than mountains. Mountains resent being -turned into a mere background to architecture; they are too big, too -important, far too assertive; the Wolds are dreamy and distant,--so the -very thing. - -Many years ago, when they were less known, and little thought of or -admired, I spoke of the Norfolk Broads as a land of beauty, worthy of -the - -[Sidenote: _PICTURESQUE LINCOLNSHIRE_] - -attention of tourists and artists. I was smiled at for my pains. Now the -painter revels in the Broads, and the tourist has discovered them. -To-day I say that Lincolnshire is a land of lovely landscapes, and that -its scenery is most paintable and picturesque to those who have eyes to -see, and this I have endeavoured to show in some of my sketches. Still I -expect to be smiled at for the assertion. “Whoever heard of Lincolnshire -being picturesque?” I can fancy people saying. The very remark was made -to me when I proclaimed the beauty of the Broads. I bide my time, and -wonder when artists will discover Lincolnshire. To be honest, however, I -have heard of one artist who has discovered it, but he is very reticent -about his “find.” Wise man he! If a landscape painter feels he is -getting “groovy,” and I fear a good many are, let him come to -Lincolnshire! Some centres in the county truly are better for his -purpose than others, but I will not particularise. I dread even the -remote chance of bringing down the cheap tripper. Once I innocently -wrote, and in enthusiastic terms, of the charms of a certain beauty-spot -that I thought was strangely overlooked and neglected. Well, I have -cause to repent my rashness, and accept the well-intentioned hint thrown -out to me by the _Saturday Review_ some few years ago, thus: “Let Mr. -Hissey ponder, and in his topography particularise less in the future. -Our appeal, we know, places him in an awkward dilemma; but he can still -go on the road and write his impressions without luring the speculative -builder, etc. ... if he deals delicately with his favourite -beauty-spots, and forbears now and then to give local habitation and -name.” Most excellent advice! That I have followed it to some extent is, -I think, shown by the later remarks of the same critic, who writes of a -more recent work of mine: “We are relieved to note that Mr. Hissey does -not wax eloquent concerning one of the most beautiful and unspoilt towns -in Sussex. He passes through it with commendable reticence.” It is a -pleasant experience for a critic and an author to be of one mind; for an -author to profit by a critic’s criticisms! - -Returning, in due course, to our comfortable quarters at Horncastle, on -dismounting from our dog-cart there we noticed an old man standing -expectantly in the yard. He was oddly dressed in that shabby-genteel -manner that reminded us very much of the out-at-elbows nobleman of the -melodrama stage, for in spite of his dress his bearing impressed us; it -was dignified. He at once came up to us and exclaimed, “I’ve got -something to show you, that I’m sure you would like to see.” I am afraid -that we were just a little heated and tired with our long drive and -day’s explorations; moreover, we were looking eagerly forward to a -refreshing cup of afternoon tea, so that we rather abruptly rejected the -advances made; but the stranger looked so disappointed that we at once -repented our brusqueness, and said we should be pleased to see what he -had to show us. Whereupon he beamed again, and pulling an envelope out -of his pocket he extracted therefrom a piece of paper, which he handed -to us for our inspection, with a smile. On this we read-- - -[Sidenote: _A MAN OF MANY ACCOMPLISHMENTS_] - - Marie Corelli, - with best wishes. - September 12th, 1897. - Horncastle. - -“There now,” he exclaimed, “Miss Corelli, the famous novelist, wrote -that for me the other day when she was in Horncastle. I thought you -would like to see her handwriting. I’ve lots of interesting things I -could show you at my house if you like. I’ve got letters from other -great people. I’ve got Robert Burns’s--Bobbie Burns I calls -him--snuffbox, for which I have been offered £200 and refused it. I’m a -poet, too, and have composed a lot of original poems. I can sing a song -with any man. I’m a ventriloquist also, and have given entertainments -lasting two hours. I’m the oldest cricketer in England; but I won’t -detain you longer now. I could go on for an hour or more all about -myself, but I daresay you are tired with driving. Here is my name and -address,” handing us at the same time a rather dirty card. “Now, if you -would allow me, I should be pleased to show you round our town at any -time, and point out all the interesting things therein, for it is a very -interesting old place.” - -Manifestly we had come upon a character, curious above the general run -of characters; the man interested us, we felt glad to have met him, and -thereupon arranged that he should show us over the town in half an -hour’s time. So he departed with a smile promising to meet us in the -hotel yard in half an hour. Then we sought the ostler and asked him -about the stranger. We were informed that he was a Mr. Baker, who kept a -small sweetmeat-shop in the place, and was a great antiquary. “He always -goes after strangers who come here. I expect he saw you come in -yesterday; he’s been hanging about the yard all the afternoon expecting -you back. He’s a regular character.” So we had concluded; still, -antiquarianism and selling sweetmeats did seem an odd mixture! - -It so happened that a day or two after this, chance threw us -unexpectedly in the company of the famous novelist, who was staying at -the same hotel in a Lincolnshire village that we stopped at, and during -the course of a conversation about many things, we told her the amusing -incident of our being shown her autograph at Horncastle. It appeared -that out of pure good-nature Miss Marie Corelli had given Mr. Baker her -signature, as he had boldly come to her and asked for it! Possibly had -he not been such a manifest character he would not have obtained it so -readily, for the autograph-hunter has become a nuisance in the land! -Somehow it has always been our fate when taking our driving expeditions -to become acquainted with at least one or more notable persons. This -tour proved no exception to the rule. - -We found Mr. Baker duly awaiting us at the time and place mentioned. -First he took us to the church, wherein he pointed out to us thirteen -scytheheads hanging on the north wall, three of which were mounted at -the end of poles so as to make rough but effective spears; these, he -told us, were relics of - -[Sidenote: _A WORTHY KNIGHT_] - -the battle of Winceby Hill, and it was with these primitive but at the -period formidable weapons that the Lincolnshire rustics were armed who -helped materially to overthrow the King’s forces. The rusting relics of -the never-returning past interested us, and as we looked upon them the -centuries gone seemed somehow to narrow down to years; the mind is -beyond time and space! Then our guide pointed out to us the tomb of Sir -Ingram Hopton, who was slain at the fight, having previously unseated -Cromwell during the struggle. His epitaph, inscribed upon a mural -tablet, runs as follows:-- - - Here Lyeth ye worthy - And Honorable Kt. Sr Ingram - Hopton who paid his debt - To Nature and Duty to his King - And Country in the Attempt - Of seising ye Arch-Rebel - In the Bloody skirmish near - Winceby: Octr ye 6th. A.D. - 1643. - -“There is a tradition,” said Mr. Baker, “that Sir Hopton was killed by -having his head struck off at a blow, whereupon his horse rushed away -with his headless body, and did not stop till he came to the knight’s -front door at Horncastle. But I cannot answer for the truth of the -story, so you can form your own conclusions in the matter,” which we -did. Now our self-appointed guide led us to one of the side aisles, and -began to lift the matting up from the pavement, in search of a tombstone -he wished to show us, but for some inexplicable reason he could not -readily find it. “It can’t surely have run away?” we exclaimed, amused -at the perplexity of the searcher; “tombstones don’t often do that.” But -the light was rapidly fading; already it was too dim to read -inscriptions on the dusky flooring, darkened further by the shadows of -the pews, so we left the tomb unseen. If I remember aright it was to the -memory of Tennyson’s parents-in-law. - -Mr. Baker then invited us to his house, an invitation we accepted; we -were taken there by what appeared to be a very roundabout way, in order, -we imagined, that our guide might point out to us one or two things of -interest. First we were shown the square red-brick house near the church -which was formerly the home of Mr. Sellwood, whose eldest daughter -Tennyson married. Except for this second-hand kind of fame the house is -not notable in any way; it is of a comfortable old-fashioned type, -without any architectural pretensions whatever--a type that possesses -the negative virtue of neither attracting nor offending the eye. As Mr. -Baker was a very old man (he told us he was born on 1st November 1814), -we ventured to ask him if by any chance he remembered seeing Tennyson as -a youth when living at Somersby. He told us that when he was a boy he -distinctly remembered Tennyson as a young man. “We did not think much of -him then; he used to go rambling miles away from home without his hat; -we used to think him a little strange. I have been told as how when he -was a boy he was a bit wild like, and would get on a mule and make him -go by rattling a tin box, with marbles in it, right over the animal’s -ears. He used to be very fond of going into the fields all alone, and -lying on his back on the grass smoking a pipe. He was very reserved, and -did not talk to people much; and that’s about all I know or have heard -about him. You see, sir, ‘a prophet hath no honour in his own country,’ -that’s Scripture, so it must be true.” We nodded assent. - -[Sidenote: _IN STRANGE QUARTERS_] - -Then Mr. Baker showed us Sir Ingram Hopton’s old home in the main -street, and going down a narrow lane pointed out some bits of rough and -ruined masonry, now built into walls and cottages; these crumbling bits -of masonry, we were told, formed portions of the old castle. I must, -however, confess that when castles come to this state of decay, they -fail to arouse my sympathies, for their history in stone is over, and -all their picturesqueness gone. After this we came to Mr. Baker’s little -sweetmeat-shop, situated in a by-street; we were ushered through the -shop into a tiny and somewhat stuffy sitting-room. Here we were bidden -to take a chair, and imagine ourselves at home; we did the former, the -latter was beyond our power, the surroundings were so unfamiliar! Then -Mr. Baker produced a parcel of letters written direct to him from sundry -more or less notable people; three of these, we observed, to our -surprise, were stamped at the top with the well-known name of an English -royal palace. They were all addressed to “Dear Mr. Baker,” and bore the -signature below of a royal personage! As we looked round the tiny humble -parlour at the back of the sweetmeat-shop immediately after glancing at -the letters, a certain sense of the incongruity of things struck us -forcibly. Then we were handed another letter from the famous cricketer, -Mr. W. G. Grace, complimenting Mr. Baker on his old round-arm bowling! -“Maybe you would hardly think it,” remarked our host, “to look at me -now, a gray old man, but I was a great cricketer once. Why, I bowled out -at the very first ball the late Roger Iddison, when he was captain of -the All-England Eleven.” We felt inclined just then to say that we could -believe anything! So we accepted the statement as a matter of course -that the French (which one we were not told) Ambassador had been to see -Mr. Baker. After this we were allowed to gaze upon and even handle his -treasure of treasures, namely, the snuff-box of “Bobbie Burns, the great -Scotch poet,” in the shape of a small horn with a silver lid. This, we -were assured, had once belonged to Burns. It may have done; anyway, on -the lid is inscribed “R. B., 1768,” and it looks that age. - -Mr. Baker informed us that though he kept only a very small and -unpretending sweet-shop, his mother’s ancestors were titled, “but really -the deed makes the nobleman and I make excellent sweets. I send them -everywhere,” he said; “you must try them,” whereupon he presented us -with a tin box full of his “Noted Bull’s-Eyes.” Let me here state that -the bull’s-eyes proved to be most excellent. I make this statement on -the best authority, having given them to my children, and children -should be the best judges of such luxuries, and they pronounced - -[Sidenote: _PARDONABLE IGNORANCE_] - -them “most delicious.” Then Mr. Baker insisted upon singing to us an old -English song; he would have added some ventriloquism, but we said that -we really could not trespass upon his valuable time and hospitality any -longer, so we took our departure, and sought the ease of our inn. We -have come upon a goodly number of characters during our many driving -tours, but I do not think that we have ever come upon a greater one than -Mr. Baker; long may he live yet! That I had never heard of him before I -arrived in Horncastle seemed genuinely to surprise him! Well, I had not, -“there are so many famous people in the world,” as I explained in -excuse, “nowadays you cannot really know of them all!” “That’s quite -true, sir,” replied he, and we parted the best of friends. I am sure I -was forgiven for my ignorance, for a little later that evening a parcel -came for me to my hotel, and I found it to contain a quantity of -gingerbread, “With Mr. Baker’s compliments!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - A friend in a strange land--Horse sold in a church--A sport of the - past--Racing the moon!--Facts for the curious--The Champions of - England--Scrivelsby Court--Brush magic--Coronation cups--A unique - privilege--A blundering inscription--A headless body--Nine miles of - beauty--Wragby--At Lincoln--Guides and guide-books--An awkward - predicament. - - -That evening, whilst looking over our day’s sketches and notes in our -cosy parlour at the Bull, we had a pleasant surprise. “A gentleman to -see you,” said the be-ribboned waitress, whereupon in walked the -antiquarian clergyman whose acquaintance we had made the day before, and -who had so kindly given us introductions to the owners of Somersby -Grange and Harrington Old Hall. “I’ve just looked in,” exclaimed he, “to -hear how you have fared and enjoyed your little exploration--and for a -chat,” and we bade him a hearty welcome. It was in truth very pleasant -to find such good friends in strangers in a strange land! - -A very delightful evening we spent together; our friend was a mine of -information, a treasury of memories--apparently an inexhaustible mine -and treasury--to say nothing of his store of old folk-lore. As he -talked, I smoked the pipe of perfect peace--and listened, and took -copious notes, most of which, - -[Sidenote: _A HORSE-DEALING STORY_] - -it proved afterwards, owing to the hurry in jotting them down, I could -not make much of! One story amongst the number, however, I managed to -take down in a readable form. This relates to an incident that took -place last century at one of the great Horncastle horse fairs, a story -that we were assured was “absolutely authentic.” I grant, for an -authentic story, that the date is rather vague, but the exact one was -given us, only I cannot make out my figures beyond 17--, but this is a -detail; however, the vicar’s name is stated, which may afford a clue as -to about the year. I transcribe the story from my notebook verbatim, -just as we took it down:--Horse sold in Horncastle Church. Two dealers -at the great horse fair in 17--tried to sell a horse to the vicar, Dr. -Pennington. At their breakfast one Sunday morning the two dealers made a -bet of a bottle of wine, one against the other, that he would sell his -horse to the vicar first. Both attended divine service, each going in -separately and unknown to the other. One sat by the door, intending to -catch the vicar as he came out; the other sat close under the pulpit. As -the vicar descended from the pulpit after a learned discourse, the -dealer under the pulpit whispered, “Your reverence, I’m leaving early -to-morrow morning, you’d better secure that mare.” The vicar whispered -reply, “I’ll have her.” There is perhaps not very much in the story, but -as we were assured by our clergyman friend that it was true, it may be -repeated as showing the free and easy manners of the period, when at -sundry times rural weddings and christenings had to be put off from one -day to another, because the parson was going out hunting! Yet somehow -those old parsons managed to get beloved by their parishioners. They did -not preach at them too hard, nor bother the rustic heads over-much about -saints’-days, fasts, and feasts, and not at all about vestments, lights -on the altar, or incense. - -Bull-baiting, we learnt, used to be a favourite sport in Horncastle, and -until a few years ago the ring existed in the paved square to which the -unfortunate bull was attached. My informant knew an old woman who was -lifted on the shoulder of her father to see the last bull baited in -1812. He also related to us a story of a famous local event, “the racing -the moon from Lincoln to Horncastle,” a distance of twenty-one miles; -how that one day a man made a bet that he would leave Lincoln on -horseback as the moon rose there, and arrive in Horncastle before it -rose in that town, which apparently impossible feat may be explained -thus--Lincoln being situated on a hill, any one there could see the moon -rise over the low horizon some considerable time before it could be seen -rising at Horncastle, the latter place being situated in a hollow and -surrounded by heights. It appeared the man raced the moon, and lost by -only two minutes, which exact time he was delayed by a closed -toll-gate--and a very provoking way of losing a bet, we thought! Amongst -other minor things we were informed that the town cricket-field is still -called the “wong,” that being the Anglo-Saxon for field; also that just -outside Horncastle the spot on which the - -[Sidenote: _THE PICTURESQUE CARED FOR_] - -May Day games were held is still known as Maypole Hill. One old and -rather picturesque hostel in the town, the “King’s Head” to wit, is -leased, we learnt, on condition that it shall be preserved just as it -is, which includes a thatched roof. I would that all landlords were as -careful of the picturesque! - -Respecting some curious old leaden coffins that had been recently -unearthed whilst digging foundations in the outskirts of Horncastle, of -which the date was uncertain, though the orientation of the coffins -pointed to the probability of Christian burial, we were assured that if -the lead were pure they would doubtless be of post-Roman date; but, on -the other hand, if the lead contained an admixture of tin, they were -almost certain to be Roman. A fact for the curious in such things to -make note of; according to which, however, it seemed to us, it would be -needful to have ancient lead analysed in order to pronounce upon its -date. I am glad to say that my antiquarianism has not reached this -scientific point, for it turns an interesting study into a costly toil. - -Before leaving, our antiquarian friend said we must on no account miss -seeing Scrivelsby Court, the home of the Dymokes, the hereditary Grand -Champions of England, and lineal descendants of the Marmions. The duty -of the Grand Champion is, we understood, to be present at the coronation -on horseback, clad in a full suit of armour, gauntlet in hand, ready to -challenge the sovereign’s claims against all comers. After this the -Champion is handed a new gold goblet filled with wine, which he has to -quaff, retaining the cup which is of considerable value. “The house is -only two miles and a half from here; you must go there, and be sure and -see the gold coronation cups. I’ll give you a letter of introduction,” -exclaimed our good friend, and thereupon he called for pen and ink and -paper, and wrote it out at once. Having written and handed us this, he -further remarked: “You’ll drive into the park through an arched gateway -with a lion on the top; the lion has his foot raised when the family are -at home, and down when they are away. But now it’s getting late, and I -really must be off.” So our good-natured and entertaining companion, -with a hearty hand-shake, departed. Verily we did not fail for friends -on the road! - -Early next morning we set out to drive to Scrivelsby Court; we could not -afford to wait till the afternoon to make our unexpected call--the day -was too temptingly fine for that; and moreover we had planned to be in -Lincoln that evening, where we expected to find letters from -home--Lincoln being one of our “ports of call” for correspondence and -parcels. It was a very pleasant and pretty drive from Horncastle to -Scrivelsby, the latter half of the way being wholly along a leafy and -deep-hedged lane green in shade, and having here and there a thatched -cottage to add to its picturesqueness--a bird-beloved lane of the true -Devonian type. - -Presently we arrived at the stone-arched gateway that gives admission to -Scrivelsby Park; here above the Gothic arch we noticed the carved -aggressive-looking lion of which we had been told, with a crown - -[Sidenote: _A “LION-GUARDED GATE”_] - -on his rugged head, his paw raised and tail curled, keeping silent watch -and ward around, as he has done for centuries past. The gateway at once -brought to mind one of the few descriptive lines in “Locksley Hall Sixty -Years After”-- - - Here is Locksley Hall, my grandson, here the lion-guarded gate. - -We had, fortunately, brought our copy of Tennyson with us into -Lincolnshire, so that we were enabled to refer to it from time to time. -Driving under the gateway, and along the smooth winding road across the -park, we soon came in sight of the house, the greater part of which is -unfortunately comparatively modern, and in the Tudor style, the old -mansion having been burnt down in 1765, but happily the ancient moat -still remains, and this with the time-toned outbuildings makes a -pleasant enough picture. Driving under another arched gateway we entered -the courtyard, with an old sun-dial in the centre; before us here we -noted a charming little oriel window over the entrance porch. Again we -were reminded of certain lines in the same poem that seemed to fit in -perfectly with the scene:-- - - Here we met, our latest meeting--Amy--sixty years ago-- - - * * * * * - - Just above the gateway tower. - -and, - - From that casement where the trailer mantles all the mouldering bricks-- - - * * * * * - - While I shelter’d in this archway from a day of driving showers-- - Peept the winsome face of Edith. - -Now, first at Scrivelsby we have “the lion-guarded gate”; then the -second arched gateway we drove through may well be Tennyson’s “gateway -tower”; further still the “casement where the trailer mantles all the -mouldering bricks” might be the oriel window above the porch, as it is a -prominent feature from the archway. Though I may be wholly wrong, I -cannot help fancying that Scrivelsby has lent bits towards the building -up of Locksley Hall. Perhaps I may have looked for resemblances--and so -have found them; for it is astonishing how often we find what we look -for. “Trifles,” to the would-be-discoverer, are “confirmation strong as -proofs of holy writ.” Some short time ago I was calling on an artist -friend, and I observed hanging on the wall of his studio a charming -picture representing an ancient home, with great ivy-clad gables, -bell-turrets, massive stacks of clustering chimneys, mullioned windows, -and all that goes to make a building a poem. “What an ideal place,” I -promptly exclaimed; “do tell me where it is; I must see the original; -it’s simply a romance.” My friend’s reply was somewhat puzzling. “Well, -it’s in six different counties, so you can’t see it all at once!” -“Whatever do you mean?” I retorted. “Well,” he responded, “it’s a -composition, if you will know--a bit from one old place, and a bit from -another; the bell-turret is from an old Lancashire hall, that curious -chimney-stack is from a Worcestershire manor-house, that quaint window I -sketched in a Cotswold village, and so forth. I can’t locate the house, -or give it a distinguishing name, you see.” Now this incident - -[Illustration: SCRIVELSBY: THE HOME OF THE CHAMPIONS OF ENGLAND.] - -is an actual fact; if, therefore, an artist could create an old home -thus, why not a poet? The poet’s task would be by far the easier, for he -can so easily generalise; the painter must particularise, the latter -could not leave a “lion-guarded gate” to be imagined, he must draw it. -Both poet and painter may romance, but the painter has not nearly such a -free hand as the poet! - -[Sidenote: _SCRIVELSBY COURT_] - -Pulling up at the front door of Scrivelsby Court we sent in our letter -of introduction, hardly, however, expecting to be admitted at that early -hour; still our usual good fortune prevailed, for not only were we -admitted, but the lady of the house herself volunteered to show us over. -We observed a few suits of armour in the hall, and some heralds’ -trumpets hung from the walls thereof with faded silken banners attached, -but much of interest was destroyed by the fire of the last century, -including the fine and famous old panelling carved with various -coats-of-arms. A number of the coronation cups were brought out for our -inspection; the majority of these were simply adorned with the initials -of the different kings, below which was the royal coat-of-arms. -Curiously enough the cup of George IV. was the most artistic by far--I -might safely say the only artistic one. On this, in place of the royal -arms in the centre, we have a figure of the Champion embossed there. He -is represented in a spirited manner mounted on a prancing charger, -holding his lance ready poised in one hand; and on the ground in front -of him lies his gauntlet as a challenge to all comers. The whole design -is enclosed in a raised wreath of laurel leaves. And a very creditable -bit of decorative work it is; wonderfully so considering the time--a -fact that seems to prove we have always the artist with us, though -certain periods do not encourage him to assert himself. Like the poet, -the artist is born, not made; and he may be born out of due season in an -inartistic age. On being asked to lift one of these cups we were -astonished at its weight; so little accustomed is one to handle gold in -the mass that the heaviness of the metal is not at the moment realised. - -The hereditary Grand Championship of England is a privilege that goes -with the manor of Scrivelsby, and was instituted by the Conqueror; and -this brings to mind another peculiar privilege appertaining to the -family of “the fearless De Courcys,” granted as an acknowledgment of -valiant deeds done on the battlefield. The representatives of this -ancient family are entitled to the unique right of standing in the royal -presence with head covered, and when George IV. visited Ireland in 1821 -the then representative of the De Courcys claimed his privilege and -stood before the king “bonneted”:-- - - So they gave this graceful honour - To the bold De Courcy’s race-- - That they ever should dare their helms to wear - Before the king’s own face. - And the sons of that line of heroes - To this day their right assume; - For when every head is unbonneted, - They walk in cap and plume! - -In the restored church of Scrivelsby most of the king’s Champions rest -in peace beneath their stately altar-tombs and ancient brasses. The tomb -here of Sir Robert Dymoke, who died in 1545, and who successively -performed the duties of Champion at the coronations of Richard III., -Henry VII., and Henry VIII., is interesting to antiquaries on account of -a curious blunder in the inscription, he being termed thereon “knight -baronet” instead of “knight banneret,” as is proper--Sir Robert Dymoke, -for his services, being entitled to carry the banner of the higher order -of knighthood in place of the pennon of the ordinary knight. This -strange blunder has sadly perplexed many learned antiquaries, and many -theories have been suggested in explanation thereof. The simplest and -most probable explanation appears to me to be the quite excusable -ignorance of the engraver. It has been thought by some that the error is -due to a careless restoration, but I hardly think this to be the case, -as I imagine the inscription is the original one, unaltered. The sins of -the restorer are great enough surely without adding to them -problematically! - -[Sidenote: _A GRUESOME DISCOVERY_] - -Our good clerical and antiquarian friend at Horncastle had told us -overnight that some years ago, whilst making alterations in the flooring -of Scrivelsby church, a body was found in a coffin with a lump of clay -in the place where the head should be. This was the remains of the -Dymoke who fought against the king at the battle of Stamford, or as it -was popularly called, “Loose-Coat Field.” This Dymoke was taken prisoner -there, and afterwards beheaded, and his traitor-head was exposed on the -tower gateway of London Bridge. According to Drayton (_Polyolbion_, -xxii.) the men of the defeated army in this encounter - - Cut off their country’s coats to haste their speed away - Which “Loose-Coat Field” is called e’en to this day. - -Leaving storied and picturesque Scrivelsby with regret, we retraced our -road to Horncastle, and got on the old Lincoln turnpike highway there; a -splendid wide coaching road running for some miles along the top of an -elevated stretch of ground, from which we obtained glorious prospects -over a country of rolling hills (the Wolds) to our right, and over a -fine expanse of well-wooded land to our left, a sea of waving greenery -stretching away till lost in misty blue. I trust that our -coach-travelling ancestors--to whom was granted the privilege of seeing -their own country when they made a journey--enjoyed the scenery on the -way as much as we did that morning; if so their enjoyment must have been -great. But the love of scenery is of recent birth. I sadly fear that our -ancestors, from all accounts, thought far more of the comforts of their -inns than of the beauties of the landscape they passed through; as for -mountains they simply looked upon them as ugly obstructions to easy and -speedy travel, and heartily hated them accordingly! - -It was one of those fine, fresh, breezy days that make it a delight -simply to be out of doors; the atmosphere was life-giving. The sky above -was compounded of about equal parts of deep, pure blue and of great -white rounded clouds, that as they sailed along caused a ceaseless play -of sunshine and shadow over all the spreading landscape. “Well,” -exclaimed my wife, “and this is Lincolnshire; I don’t wish for a -pleasanter country to travel in!” “Nor I,” was my response. - -[Sidenote: _A DECAYED MARKET-TOWN_] - -The first place we came to was Wragby, some nine miles from -Horncastle--nine miles of beauty, if uneventful ones. It was a restful, -refreshing stage, without anything special to do or to inspect on the -way. We had seen so much of late that we rejoiced for a change in a -day-dreamy progress with nothing to disturb our quiet enjoyment of the -greenful gladness of the smiling country-side. Wragby is a little -decayed market-town, clean and wind-swept; a slumberous spot that seems -simply to exist because it has existed. The only moving thing in it when -we arrived, as far as we could see, were the great sails of one tall -windmill that stood just where the houses ceased and the fields began, -and even these sails revolved in a lazy, leisurely fashion, as though -hurry were a thing unknown in the place. We did not catch a glimpse of -the miller, perhaps because he was asleep whilst the wind worked for -him! We did not see a soul in the streets or deserted market-square, but -possibly it was the local dinner-hour. So still all things seemed; the -clatter and rumbling of our dogcart sounded so loudly in the quiet -street, that we felt as though we ought almost to apologise to the -inhabitants for disturbing their ancient tranquillity. One can hardly -realise what perfect quietude means till one has experienced it in some -somnolent rural town at dinner-hour. Such places possess a stillness -greater than that of the country where the birds sing, the leaves of -the trees rustle in the wind, and the stream gurgles on its way--all in -the minor key truly, still noticeable--to which may be added the sounds -that proceed, and carry far, from the many farmsteads, the lowing of -cattle, the bleating of sheep, the bark of dog, the call of shepherd, -the rattle of the mowing or reaping machine. No, for perfect quietness -(or deadly dulness, if you will) commend me to some old, dreamy, decayed -market-town at mid-day! - -Wragby is not a picturesque place, not by any stretch of the -imagination; nor, in the usual acceptance of the term, is it in any -possible way interesting. Yet it interested us, in a mild manner, on -account of its homely naturalness, its mellow look, and the -indescribable old-world air that brooded over all. It seemed to belong -to another day, as though in driving into it we had driven into a past -century as well. There was a sense of remoteness about the spot, both of -time and space, that appealed strongly to our feelings. A mere matter of -sentiment all this, a purely poetic illusion that we gladly gave way to -for the time; it is a good thing to be able to romance, now and then, in -this most unromantic age! - -We drove under the archway of the drowsy and weather-beaten old inn that -faced us here, a plain structure enough, but it appealed to us as a -relic of the old coaching days. The stable-yard was deserted, erstwhile -so busy; for Wragby was an important posting place in the pre-railway -age, being the half-way house between Lincoln and Louth, as well as -between Lincoln and Horncastle; for at this spot those two highways -meet. - -Having aroused some one and stabled our horses, we entered the ancient -hostelry, and were shown into a front sitting-room, where, doubtless, in -the days gone by, our forefathers feasted and made merry. The saddest -feature of this later age is the decay of joyousness in life; we travel -luxuriously certainly, but seriously, as we seem to do all else. Our -sitting-room had a look as though it had seen better times, the carpet, -curtains, and paper were worn and sun-faded, but the room was clean and -sweet, and the sunshine streaming in made it more cheerful, to me at any -rate, than certain sumptuously furnished drawing-rooms I know well, -where the inspiriting sunshine is carefully excluded by blinds, lest it -should fade the too expensive upholstering. Yet there is nothing so -decorative or so truly beautiful in a room; it is only the poor, if -expensive, modern material that fades shabbily. Good old stuff, a Turkey -or Persian carpet, old Oriental hangings, tone and improve rather by -light, their colours are simply softened down. - -[Sidenote: _HUNGRY TRAVELLERS_] - -“What can we have to eat?” we inquired. “Have you any cold meat?” No, -but they could perhaps get us a chop, or we could have some ham and -eggs, or bread and cheese. We were hungry, very hungry in fact, for -driving across country on a breezy, bracing day is a wonderful -appetiser; so, neglecting the counter attractions of bacon and eggs--the -standard dish of a homely country inn when other things fail--we elected -to have the certain bread and cheese rather than wait for the doubtful -chop; besides, sometimes chops are tough, and oftentimes they are fried, -and not grilled as they should be. Presently a coarse but spotless cloth -was laid upon the table, napkins were provided, and some wild flowers in -an ugly vase made a welcome decoration--the flowers, not the vase! Even -the vase had its lowly use, it enhanced the delicate beauty of the -flowers by contrast. After all we had no cause to regret our frugal -fare, for we enjoyed some delicious home-baked bread with a sweet -flavour and a deliciously crisp crust, quite a different article from -the insipid production of the London baker, and far more to be desired, -an excellent cheese, not made abroad, and some home-brewed ale, -nut-brown and foaming, which we quaffed with much satisfaction out of a -two-handled tankard. It was truly a simple repast, but then everything -of its kind was as good as it could be, and our bill came to only two -shillings--one shilling each! - -Leaving Wragby we entered upon another very pleasant but uneventful -stretch of country; it was a reposeful afternoon, the wind had dropped, -and all nature was in a tranquil mood; in sympathy with her so were we. -In fact during the whole of the afternoon’s drive we neither sketched -nor photographed, nor descended once from the dogcart to see this or -that; we were content to behold the country from our comfortable seat in -a lazy sort of way; and there is a virtue in laziness sometimes. The -quiet, pastoral landscape had a drowsy aspect that was most -peace-bestowing. We drove leisurely on, - -[Sidenote: _A LAZY LAND_] - -satisfied simply to admire the extended and varied picture gallery that -nature presented to us free. - -Except the striking prospect of Lincoln that we had towards the end of -our dreamy stage, I can only now recall of it a confused memory of green -and golden fields; of shady woods, beautiful with the many tints of -autumn; of hedgerowed lanes, that in a less lazy mood we should -certainly have explored; of picturesque old cottages and rambling -time-toned farmsteads, the very picture of contentment; of silvery -gliding streams, and a vague blue distance bounding all. - -Passing through the long-streeted village of Langworth, a name derived, -I take it, from the Anglo-Saxon “lang” long, and “worth” a street or -place, so that it is suitably called,--the fine view of Lincoln Minster -and city aforementioned was suddenly presented to us, a view not readily -to be forgotten! There before us stood the ancient minster with its -three stately towers crowning the steep hill that rises so finely and -abruptly out of the clustering city below; the triple-towered fane -dominating the whole in a truly medieval fashion. No feudal castle ever -looked more masterful, or more lordly asserted its supremacy over the -dwellings of the people. What a change from the early days when the -Church, poor and persecuted like its Master, conquered the world by -humility! That day we beheld the Church triumphant. There is no -suggestion of poverty or humility about this majestic minster, but there -is a plentiful suggestion of dignity and Christian (?) pride. The -position of Lincoln Cathedral in stateliness is unrivalled in England, -with the possible exception of that of Durham which in a like manner -stands imperial upon its rocky height above the smoky city; but Durham -is dark and sombre, whilst Lincoln is bright and clean and beautiful. It -may perhaps, though doubtfully, be conceded that Durham has the more -romantic situation, and Lincoln the more picturesque--if one can -distinguish so. - -Lincoln may roughly be divided into two distinct portions, the more -ancient and picturesque part being situated on the hill, and clustering -immediately around the cathedral; the other and more modern, very modern -mostly, with its railways and tram-lined streets, being situated on the -level-lying land below; the descent from the former to the latter is by -one of the steepest streets--it is called “the Steep” locally, if I -remember aright--I verily believe in all England; indeed, it seemed to -us, it could not well be much steeper without being perpendicular! In -the quaint and ancient part, with its many reminders of the long ago in -the shape of time-worn medieval buildings--from ruined castle, fortified -gateway, gray and gabled home--we found a comfortable and quiet inn, -such as befits a cathedral city; an inn standing almost under the shadow -of the stately pile, that rose upwards close by, a solemn shapely mass -of pearly-gray against the sunlit sky. - -Having secured quarters for the night, the first thing we did was, -naturally, to start forth and see the cathedral. Pray do not be alarmed, -kind reader, I have neither the intention nor the desire to weary - -[Sidenote: _GUIDES AND GUIDE-BOOKS_] - -you with a long detailed description of the sacred edifice. For this I -will refer you to the guide-books, of which there are many; of their -quality or utility I cannot speak, for we did not consult one ourselves, -preferring to see the cathedral in our own way, and to form our own -opinions, and to admire what most impressed us, not what the handbook -compilers assert is the most to be admired. Of course by doing this it -is quite possible that we may have missed some things of minor note, but -nothing, I think, of real importance. Personally I have always found the -constant consulting of a guide-book not only to be disturbing but -preventive of my gaining an individual impression of a place, for one is -but too apt to be influenced to a greater or lesser extent by the -opinion of others, often expressed in a most irritatingly dogmatic -manner. Some people are so annoyingly certain about the most uncertain -things in this world! Moreover, once upon a time, as the fabled stories -of childhood begin, I placed implicit faith in guide-books, but as I -grew older and knew more, my faith in them, sad to relate, grew feebler, -and this because I found that in certain things I knew well about, they -were not by any means correct, indeed, often very inexact. After which -experience I now feel less inclined than perhaps I should be to trust -them in matters of which I am ignorant or not well informed. I may also -add that, according to my experience, the personal guide is even less -reliable than the printed one; only you are enabled to cross-question -the former, and so indirectly estimate the value of the information -imparted--for a tip; the latter you cannot. - -Once I got into rare trouble over a local guide-book. Armed with the -precious production I had gone over a very ancient and interesting old -church, only to find the little work sadly at fault in many particulars. -Whereupon I shut it up and placed it carefully out of harm’s way in my -pocket, at which point the clerk appeared upon the scene. He was an aged -man and talkative, to a certain extent intelligent, and he managed to -interest me, so I pulled out the guide-book and began confidentially to -expatiate to him upon its numerous failings; luckless me, I raised a -very hornets’ nest! It turned out that the clerk was the author of the -work in question, and very proud he was of his production too. He had -lived in the place all his life, “man and boy,” he indignantly informed -me, and thought he ought to know more about the church than an utter -stranger. Why, the book had been the work of his life, and was it likely -that I, who confessed to having only come there the day before, should -know better about “his” church than he did? Which was no answer to my -comments, nor was the request, almost a demand, to let him have the -guide-book at the price I had given for it. He would not condescend to -discuss the points in dispute, though he kindly confessed I might know a -little about “_h_architecture and _h_antiquities, but you know,” he -loftily exclaimed, with the self-satisfied air of a man having special -knowledge, “you know the old saying ‘a little learning is a dangerous -thing,’” and with this parting shaft he walked away. Poor old man, and -if he only knew how sorry we felt that we had so innocently hurt his - -[Sidenote: _AN AMUSING INCIDENT_] - -feelings! This was a lesson to us never again to run down a work of any -kind before strangers, for one of them may be its author! An amusing -incident of a somewhat similar nature came under my notice at a -dinner-party. The host was a picture-lover and purchaser, not perhaps a -very discriminating one, but this is a matter aside; however, he bought -pictures and entertained artists, and his dining-room was hung round -with numerous paintings, some good, some indifferent. I believe the -personality of the artist often unconsciously influenced the host in his -purchases; if he liked the man he was biassed in favour of his work. At -one of his pleasant little parties, a lady innocently remarked, _sotto -voce_, to the gentleman who had taken her down to dinner, possibly more -to make conversation than anything else, “Do you see that picture over -there? I cannot imagine how Mr. Dash could have bought it; don’t you -think it a regular daub? I ask you as I understand you are an artist.” -It was an unfortunate speech, as the reply showed, for the gentleman -exclaimed, with an amused smile, be it confessed, “Madam, it’s bound to -be a daub, for I painted it!” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - “A precious piece of architecture”--Guests at an inn--A pleasant - city--Unexpected kindness--A medieval lavatory--An honest - lawyer!--The cost of obliging a stranger--Branston--A lost - cyclist--In search of a husband!--Dunston Pillar--An architectural - puzzle--A Lincolnshire spa--Exploring--An ancient chrismatory. - - -Lincoln Cathedral is surely, both within and without, one of the most -interesting and beautiful in England; its superb central tower is the -finest specimen of medieval building of its kind I have so far seen. -Were I inclined to be dogmatic, regardless of the possibilities of what -I have not beheld, I should proclaim it to be the most beautiful in the -world, perfect, as it appears to me to be, in proportion and decoration, -besides being so dignified. It is in just this rare, but delightful, -quality of dignity that the modern architect somehow so lamentably -fails; he may be grand by virtue of mass, he may be picturesque by -accident, but dignity he seldom achieves! The chapter house here, with -its bold flying buttresses outside and grand groined roof within, is a -notable bit of eye-pleasing architecture--but I declared I had no -intention of wearying my readers with a detailed description of this -cathedral, and already I find myself beginning to do so; and - -[Sidenote: _RUSKIN ON LINCOLN_] - -truly Lincoln Cathedral, above all others, should be seen, not -described. Perhaps it may not be out of place here to quote some of -Ruskin’s remarks on Lincoln and its cathedral, contained in a letter -written by the famous art critic to a local celebrity at the time of the -opening of the Lincoln School of Art. I quote this the more gladly as, -owing to the nature of the communication, it may not be generally known, -and all that Ruskin has to say should be worth preserving. Thus then he -wrote: “I have always held, and am prepared against all comers to -maintain, that the cathedral of Lincoln is out and out the most precious -piece of architecture in the British Islands, and, roughly speaking, -worth any two other cathedrals we have got. Secondly, that the town of -Lincoln is a lovely old English town, and I hope the mayor and -common-councilmen won’t let any of it (not so much as a house corner) be -pulled down to build an institution, or a market, or a penitentiary, or -a gunpowder and dynamite mill, or a college, or a gaol, or a barracks, -or any other modern luxury.” This is true Ruskinian; and fortified by -such an expression of such an authority, I feel after all inclined for -once to be dogmatic and declare that Lincoln, taking it as a whole, is -the loveliest cathedral in the land. Shielded behind Ruskin’s great -authority I venture this bold opinion; other cathedrals may be admired, -Lincoln can not only be admired, it may also be loved. It is not always -one finds grandeur thus combined with lovableness! - -Within the cathedral we noticed several tweed-clad tourists amongst the -crowd “doing” the building; these were the first regulation tourists we -had come upon during our drive, which circumstance brought to our mind -the fact, possibly not realised by the many, that our cathedrals have -become more like vast museums than places of worship devoted to God. I -have attended a cathedral service on a week-day, and have made one of a -congregation of five--all told; which seems, to me, a great waste of -clerical and choirical energy. I afterwards asked the verger if they did -not generally have more people at that particular service, and he -replied meaningly, “When the weather is wet we sometimes have fewer.” -And I could not help wondering whether it might not be possible, on -certain occasions, when the elements were especially unpropitious, that -the vergers had the elaborate service and superb singing all to -themselves! Which is magnificent! When the service in question we -attended was over, the tourists, who had been waiting outside, trooped -in hurriedly and in numbers more than I could conveniently or perhaps -possibly count. I venture to say that in our cathedrals, during the -year, the people who come merely for sight-seeing vastly outnumber those -who come purely for worship. - -Over the ancient fane, and its immediate surroundings, there seems to -brood the hush of centuries, a hush heightened rather than broken, when -we were there, by the cooing of innumerable pigeons that love to linger -about the hoary pile, and give a pleasant touch of life to the steadfast -masonry. Leaving the cathedral and the city on the hill - -[Sidenote: _A SHARP CONTRAST_] - -(“Above Hill” it is locally called to distinguish it from the city -“Below Hill”), we descended to the more modern part. This time we -appeared not to tread back the long centuries, but to walk suddenly out -of the picturesque past into the very prosaic present, as represented by -Lincoln’s busy High Street. There we found tram-cars running and -jingling along; eager crowds on the pavement; plate-glass-fronted shops, -quite “up to date”; and a large railway station asserted its -nineteenth-century ugliness,--moreover, right across this thronged -thoroughfare was a level railway crossing of the London main line, and -when the gates of this were shut, as they were from time to time, crowds -of pedestrians and a mass of vehicles collected on either side. I have -never seen before a level crossing of an important main line situated in -the centre of a busy city High Street. I was under the impression that -such things were only allowed in America. I was mistaken. An American -gentleman, to whom I spoke of the nuisance of a certain level “railroad” -crossing in Chicago, maintained that such a thing could be found in an -English city. I stoutly maintained the contrary; he would not be -convinced, neither would I. Lincoln proves me wrong. I apologise, in -case by any remote chance these lines may catch the eye of that Chicago -citizen, whose name I have forgotten. - -Of most places there is generally one best view, a view that is -distinctly superior to all others; but of Lincoln this cannot be said. -The ancient city, with its towered cathedral standing sovereign on its -hill, looks well from almost everywhere; each view has its special -character and charm, and no one can be said to be better than another. -As we returned to our inn and looked up the High Street, the prospect -presented to us of the cathedral raised high over the red-roofed houses, -gabled walls, and gray bits of medieval masonry peeping out here and -there, with just a touch of mystery superadded by the blue film of smoke -that floated veil-like over the lower city, was most poetic; gold and -gray showed the sentinel towers as they stood in sunshine or shadow, -softly outlined against the darkening sky. Another most effective view -of Lincoln is from “the pool,” where the river widens out; here the -foreground is changed from houses to reflective water with sleepy -shipping thereon, shipping of the homely kind that navigates inland -waters. But from almost every point “below hill,” where the cathedral -can be seen as a whole--there is a picture such as the true artist -loves; not sensational at all, but simply beautiful and benevolent, -which is more to my mind. Lincoln as a picture charms, it does not -astonish; it is supremely effective without being in the least -theatrical or unreal; unlike the architectural scenery of Italy--if I -may be allowed the term--it does not suggest the painting of a -drop-scene, nor the background of an opera! - -Lincoln “above hill” is not only one of the most pleasant cities in -England, it is also one of the most picturesque; it is beautiful close -at hand, it is beautiful beheld at a distance. - -In the evening we had evidence of having come back to modern -civilisation as represented by a _table d’hôte_, a luxury that we had -missed, without regret, at the homely old-fashioned hostelries wherein -we had been so comfortably entertained hitherto on the way. It was a -simple _table d’hôte_, however, with more of the name than the reality -about it, nevertheless it was “served at separate tables” in true -British insular fashion. Though the tables were separate we had one -allotted to us with a stranger, and, according to the “custom of the -country,” commenced our meal in mutual silence, neither speaking a word -to the other, both being equally to blame in this respect. At an -American hotel, under similar circumstances, such unsociability would be -considered unmannered--and it would be impossible. - -[Sidenote: _INN_ VERSUS _HOTEL_] - -Accustomed so long to the friendliness of the old-fashioned inn, we -could not stand the freezing formality of the hotel--it depressed us. So -we endeavoured, with the usual commonplaces about the weather and so -forth, to break the oppressive silence, only to be answered in gruff -monosyllables. This was not promising; even though we might be -addressing a man of importance in fact, or solely in his own estimation, -surely it would do him no harm to make a show of civility to a stranger -that fate had brought him in close contact with at an inn. Truly, he -might be a lord or a commercial traveller, we could not tell, nor did it -matter to us; we merely wished to be sociable. By tact at last we -prevailed. There is no armour against tact and a pleasant manner that -costs nothing, and over an after-dinner cigar--one of the stranger’s -cigars, by the way, which he pressed upon us as being “so much better -than what you buy at hotels”--we actually became such friends that he -gave us his card, and, learning that we were on a driving tour, actually -added a most pressing invitation for us to come and stay with him at his -place in the country, “horses and all.” I mention this incident exactly -as it occurred. No moral follows, though I could get one in nicely; but -I refrain. - -Not only is the view of Lincoln’s cathedral-crowned city very fine from -all around, a proper distance being granted, but the prospects from many -points within the elevated portion of the city are also exceedingly -lovely, and equally rewarding in their way, commanding, as they do, vast -stretches of greenful landscape, varied by spreading woods, and -enlivened by the silvery gleam of winding river, not to forget the -picturesque trail of white steam from the speeding trains that give a -wonderful feeling of life and movement to the view,--a view bounded to -the west and south by the faint blue, long, undulating lines of the -distant Wolds. - -Open to all “the four winds,” or more, of heaven, Lincoln “above hill” -can never be “stuffy,” as many medieval cities are. When we were there -the weather was warm and oppressively close in the city “below hill,” -and a gentleman driving in from the country declared that it was “the -hottest day of the year,” still in the streets around the cathedral we -found a refreshing, if balmy, breeze. Some ancient towns have the -pleasing quality of picturesqueness, but the air in them during the -summer-time seems to stagnate. I prefer my picturesqueness, as at -Lincoln, air-flushed! Lincoln, too, is clean and sweet. Some ancient -cities, though undoubtedly romantic, unhappily possess neither of these -virtues. Dirt and evil smells, in my eyes, take a great deal away from -the glamour of the beautiful. I can never get enthusiastic over dirt. -Even age does not hallow dirt to me. - -[Sidenote: _A QUAINT OLD HOME_] - -As we resumed our journey, a short distance from our hotel we noticed a -quaint old stone-built house with a pleasant garden in front, a garden -divided from the highroad by an iron gateway. The old house looked such -a picture that we pulled up to admire it through the open iron-work, -which, whilst making a most protective fence, also permitted the -passer-by to behold the beauties it enclosed. Most Englishmen prefer the -greater privacy afforded by a high wall or a tall oak-board fence. I am -selfish enough to do so too, though, from the traveller’s point of view, -it is very refreshing to eye and mind to be able to get such -beauty-peeps beyond the dusty roads. - -Observing a lady here plucking flowers in the pleasant garden, we -ventured boldly to open the gates, and, with our best bow, begged -permission to take a photograph of the picturesque old building. Our -request was readily granted, and with a smile. In fact, during the whole -of our tour it seemed to us that we had only to ask a favour to have it -granted with a smile--all of which was very pleasant. On the road it -verily seemed as though life were all sunshine, and everybody an -impersonation of good nature. I know people have gone a-driving across -country and found things otherwise; but the world is as we see and make -it! They may have frowned on it, and that is a fatal thing to do. - -Having taken our photograph, and having expressed our thanks in our best -manner to the lady for her kindness, we were about to rejoin the -dog-cart, when the lady said, “You seem interested in old places. If you -care to step inside I think I can show you something you might like to -see.” We most gladly accepted the kind and wholly unexpected invitation; -it was what, just then, we desired above everything, but never ventured -to hope for. Again it was forcibly brought to our mind what a profitable -possession is a gracious bearing to the traveller. - -Entering the house, let into the wall on one side of the hall, we had -pointed out to us a carved stone lavatory of medieval date. At first -glance this looked very much like some old altar, but running the whole -length of the top we observed a sort of trench; along this in times -past, we were told, water used to flow continuously. We could not help -fancying that probably this once belonged to a monastery (a similar kind -of lavatory may still be seen in the cloisters of Gloucester Cathedral). -On the opposite side of the hall we caught sight of a genuine old -grandfather’s clock with the following motto inscribed thereon, which -was fresh to us, and so I quote it:-- - - Good Times - Bad Times - All Times - Pass On. - -[Sidenote: _EPITAPHS ON LAWYERS_] - -Before leaving Lincoln I would call attention to a rather quaint epitaph -to be found in the churchyard of St. Mary’s-le-Wyford, which runs as -follows:-- - - Here lies one, believe it if you can, - Who though an attorney, was an honest man. - -This reminds me of a frequently quoted epitaph of a similar nature that -a friend of mine assured me he copied many years ago in a Norfolk -churchyard when on a walking tour. Unfortunately he was not sure of the -name of the churchyard, being a very careless man as to details; but I -have his word that he did not get it out of a book, so I venture to give -it here:-- - - Here lies an honest lawyer, - And that’s STRANGE. - - * * * * * - - He never lied before. - -The praise in these epitaphs is reversed in another, that sounds rather -like an ill-natured version of the preceding; and as I copied it out of -a local magazine I came across on the road, let us hope in charity it is -not true:-- - - Here lies lawyer Dash; - First he lied on one side, - Then he lied on the other, - Now he lies on his back. - -Just out of Lincoln, when we had escaped the streets and had entered -upon a country road, we found a stiff hill before us. From the top of -this, looking back, was another fine and comprehensive view of the -cathedral and city--a view that almost deserved the much-abused term of -romantic. Ever mindful of the welfare of our horses, who gave us so -much pleasure, we dismounted to ease their load. Trudging up the hill we -overtook a good-natured-looking man laden with parcels. After exchanging -civilities upon the never-failing topic of the weather with him, we -incidentally remarked that it was rather a stiff pull up for a hot day. -“That it is,” responded the stranger, as he stopped to take breath. “We -call it Steep Hill. The worst of Lincolnshire is the hills.” We noticed -that he spoke quite in earnest, and there was the hill before us much in -evidence to give point to his complaint. His remark struck us as a -curious comment to those who declare that all Lincolnshire is “as flat -as a pancake.” - -Then he asked us where we were going, and we told him. “Ah!” said he, -“you’ll pass through Branston, one of the prettiest villages in England, -and I say this without prejudice, being a Lincolnshire man.” Now, as -Branston is a Lincolnshire village, we did not exactly see the sequence, -but said nothing. - -Presently, when we had reached the top of the hill and were about to -remount the dog-cart, the stranger exclaimed, “If you see my wife on the -way, she’s coming to meet me. Would you mind telling her I’m hurrying on -as fast as I can with the good things for dinner?” We replied that we -should be most happy to oblige him, but as we had not the pleasure of -knowing his wife, it would be rather difficult for us to do as he -wished. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “there will be no difficulty in the matter. -You can’t mistake her, she’s over fifteen stone!” So, as we proceeded, -we kept an outlook for any one answering that description, and in a -mile - -[Sidenote: _AN INNOCENT BLUNDER_] - -or so surely enough we met a very stout party walking along. We at once -pulled up and gave her the message. Not readily shall I forget the angry -flush that came over that good woman’s face. “I daresay,” shouted she -back, “you think it a grand thing to drive about and insult unprotected -ladies. A pretty way of amusing yourselves, and I suppose you think -yourself a gentleman--a gentleman, indeed? Well, you’re not one, so -there! I haven’t got a husband, thank God!...” and so forth in -superabundance. We hurriedly drove on to escape the torrent of abuse. -Manifestly we had made a mistake, and had addressed the wrong party! We -did not think it worth while to attempt an explanation, even could we -have got a word in, as she probably would not have believed us, and we -might have made matters worse. For the moment we wished we had not been -so obliging to a stranger. Shortly after this incident we met another -stout party on the way; she might have been fifteen stone, more or less, -but with our recent experience we did not venture to address her. We -might have made another mistake--with the consequences! - -Branston we found to be all that it had been represented to us. A very -pretty village indeed it was, composed chiefly of stone-built cottages, -pleasantly weather-tinted, many having picturesque porches, and nearly -all possessing little flower gardens in front, gay with colour and sweet -of odour. The church, too, was aged and gray, and we noticed in the -walls some “long-and-short” work showing rude but lasting Saxon masonry -and proving that a church was there before the Conquest. A bit of -history told in stone. The hoary fane suggested an interesting interior, -but we found the doors to be carefully locked, and we felt in no humour -to go a-clerk-hunting; the day was too temptingly fine to waste any of -it in that tiresome sport. Just beyond the village we observed a -walled-in park, the gateway piers of which were surmounted by two very -grotesque figures. - -Branston would have done credit to Devonshire, that county of -picturesque villages; it was of the kind that ladies love to term -“sweetly pretty.” Were Branston only in Devonshire, near some tourist -centres that there abound, I venture to say it would be much painted, -photographed, and written about in a laudatory manner, and possibly also -have its praises sung of by poets; but being only in Lincolnshire, out -of the traveller’s beat, its charms are reserved for the favoured few -whom chance may bring that way. - -Then driving on through a lovely, lonely country, with fine views to our -left, over a well-wooded land that faded away into a mystery of low blue -hills, we came in time to four cross-roads, where we found a lady all -alone standing beside her tricycle looking hot, tired, and dusty. We saw -no guide-post here, just where one would have been most acceptably -useful, for we felt doubtful as to our way, our map not being so clear -as we could wish--a provoking feature about maps in general, and the one -we had in particular; so, doffing our cap most politely, we asked the -lady if she would kindly direct us. “Now how can I possibly direct -you,” replied she, “when I don’t know the way myself?” We apologised for -troubling her, explaining that we had no idea that she was in the same -predicament as ourselves, and to propitiate her we offered her the loan -of our useless map! We thought the act looked polite, and that perhaps -she could understand it better than we could. The offer was a strategic -blunder. We realised this as soon as it was made. “If you’ve got a map,” -exclaimed she, “why don’t you consult it?” Under the circumstances our -retort was not very clear. So we wisely said nothing, but quietly -consulted between ourselves which road we should take at a venture. “I -think straight ahead looks the most travelled and direct,” I said. “The -one to the left looks much the prettiest,” remarked my wife; “let us -take it, we are in no hurry to get anywhere, and we shall eventually -arrive somewhere--we always do. Put the stupid map away, and let us -drive along the pretty road and chance where it leads.” So the -picturesque prevailed. Perhaps I may here incidentally state that when -we set out from Lincoln, Woodhall Spa was our proposed destination for -the night. - -[Sidenote: _A LOST HUSBAND!_] - -As we were leaving the spot the cyclist manifestly relented towards us, -and exclaimed, perhaps as a sort of explanation of her brusqueness, and -perhaps in hope that we might be of service to her after all, “I’m out -on a tour with my husband and have lost him! He rode ahead of me to find -the way, and that was a good hour ago, and I’ve been waiting here for -him ever since. I’m tired and hungry--and he’s got the lunch with him! -If you meet a man on a tricycle with a gray tweed suit on, that’s my -husband; would you mind telling him I’m here, and ask him to hurry up?” -We felt a good deal amused at this request; first we had been asked only -that morning by a husband to give a message to his wife, who was unknown -to us, and got into rare trouble over the matter; now we were asked by a -wife to give a message to her husband, who was equally unknown to -us,--should we get into further trouble if we did, we wondered? However, -strangely enough, often on our tours have we performed the service of -messenger; sometimes we have taken letters and delivered them on the -way; once we conveyed the official correspondence from a lonely -lighthouse; and once we were sent after a clergyman to take the duties -of another clergyman at service. So we have been of use on the road! - -Presently our road dipped down and led us to a picturesque village in a -hollow, whose name I now forget, but whose pleasantness lingers in my -memory. Driving on we noticed on the summit of the spreading uplands to -our right, a tall pillar standing alone, a very prominent object in the -view, though a long way off. We inquired of a man passing by what it -was. “That? oh, that’s Dunston Pillar,” he replied; “you can see it for -miles around in almost every direction. It used to be a lighthouse.” -“What, a lighthouse so far inland?” we exclaimed. “Yes, that’s just what -it was. It used to have a huge lantern on the top in the old days, which -was always kept lighted at night to guide belated travellers over -Lincoln Heath, a rare wild spot - -[Sidenote: _AN INLAND LIGHTHOUSE_] - -in times gone by, I’ve heard say not much better than a trackless waste. -So you see a lighthouse could be useful inland as well as by the sea.” -We saw! On referring again to my copy of _Patersons Roads_ I find the -following: “Dunston Pillar is a plain quadrangular stone shaft, of a -pyramidal shape, that rises to the height of about 100 feet. It was -erected when the roads were intricate, and the heath was an extensive -waste, and was then of great utility; but as the lands have since been -enclosed, and other improvements made, it can now only be considered as -a monument of the public spirit of the individual by whom it was -constructed.” - -Then after a few more miles we reached Metheringham, an -out-of-the-world, forsaken-looking little town; so out-of-the-world that -I do not find it even mentioned in my _Paterson_, and why, or how, it -existed at all was a puzzle to us. In times past it was shut away from -the world more than now by the wild extensive Lincolnshire Heath on one -side, and a narrow, though long, stretch of roadless fenland on the -other, so was not very get-at-able. - -In the centre of the sleepy old town, midway in the street, stand the -remains of its ancient market-cross: these consist of an upright shaft -rising from some worn and weathered steps; the place of the cross on the -top is now occupied by an ugly petroleum lamp. Even a stern Puritan -might have been satisfied with this arrangement, there is nothing in the -least superstitious about it, it is convenient but not beautiful. I only -wonder that, as the ruined cross stands so handily at the junction of -three roads, it has not been further utilised as a finger-post as well -as a lamp-post! I can only put down the omission to do this to an -oversight,--a wasted opportunity to add to the disfigurement of the -country-side! - -We baited the horses at a little inn here, and, whilst they were -resting, took a stroll round the place to see if we could find anything -of interest, but failed. So we took a glance inside the church, and -there we discovered an astonishing specimen of architectural -incongruity. The Gothic arches, we observed, were supported by purely -classical pillars. How this came about we could not say positively, but -we put it down to our old enemy the restorer. We should imagine that it -was done at the time that the classical revival was rampant in England, -when Wren was in his glory, and only want of money saved many a Gothic -building from being altered to taste. Fashions in architecture come and -go as do fashions in dress. - -Leaving Metheringham, a good-going road that took us through a very -pleasant country brought us quickly to the hard-featured village of -Martin, composed of brick-built cottages that came close up to the -roadway, without as much as a bit of garden in front to soften their -uncomeliness, as though land in this wild remote district were as -precious as in London, so that every possible inch of it needs must be -built on! In the street, as we passed down, we caught a sight of a brick -“steeple-house”--I use the term meaningly and of set purpose--quite in -keeping with its unprepossessing surroundings. - -[Illustration: STIXWOLD FERRY.] - -I may be wrong, but I do not think a place of worship could well be made -uglier--not even if corrugated iron were employed in the endeavour, and -much unsightliness can be wrought that way! - -[Sidenote: _CAUGHT IN A STORM_] - -At Martin we descended to a narrow stretch of fen, here almost treeless -and hedgeless, and wholly wanting the wild, weird beauty of the wider -Fenland with its magic of colour, and mystery of distance. Across this -monotonous flat, our road led us “as straight as an arrow” for three or -four miles, at a rough guess. Half-way over, where there was no possible -shelter, it suddenly began to rain, then it poured in torrents and the -wind began to blow--well, I am of opinion that you can get as wet on an -exposed fenland as anywhere! After all we were not sorry that the road -was so straight, we could the sooner get over it. - -Leaving the dreary fens without regret, we reached the embanked and -slothful river Witham at a spot marked “Ferry” on our map, but where we -fortunately found an iron swing-bridge. It was an ugly affair, whereas a -ferry would most possibly have been picturesque, like that of Stixwold a -little higher up the same river, which I sketched next day, and is -herewith engraved, but it was raining hard, and to ferry across, though -doubtless a more romantic proceeding, would have meant more -discomfiture, so we were glad of the bridge, nor did we begrudge the -sixpence toll demanded for the use thereof. Another mile or so of good -road brought us to Woodhall Spa, where we arrived dripping and jolly, to -find a warm welcome at our hotel. I know not how it is, but when one -arrives by road one seems always ensured of a hearty welcome. - -Woodhall Spa is about as unlike the usual run of fashionable -watering-places as one can well imagine. It is a charming health resort, -but it happily boasts of nothing to attract the purely pleasure-seeking -crowd, and on account of the absence of these attractions it appealed to -us. The country around also is equally unlike the popular conception of -Lincolnshire as it well could be; it is not tame, and it is not flat, -except to the west. Woodhall Spa is situated on a dry sandy soil where -fir trees flourish, and stretching away to the east of it are wild -moors, purple in season with heather, and aglow with golden gorse. It is -a land of health, apart from the virtues of its waters, supposed or -real. The air we found to be deliciously fragrant and bracing; I do not -think that there is a purer or a more exhilarating air to be found in -all England, or out of it for that matter. There are no large cities, -manufacturing or otherwise, within many a long mile of the district over -which the wind blows unimpeded, fresh, and invigorating from every -quarter, though sheltered to a certain extent from the east winds by the -Wolds beyond Horncastle. So unexpectedly pleased were we with the place; -with our comfortable hotel where we felt quite at home away from home; -so friendly and interesting did we find the company one and all -chance-gathered there (included amongst which was a distinguished -novelist; besides a poet not unknown to fame), that we elected to stay -at Woodhall Spa for a week though we had only at first intended to stop -there the night! - -[Sidenote: _A LINCOLNSHIRE SPA_] - -The spa, we learnt, was discovered by accident whilst boring for coal. -The water is strong in iodine, and tastes uncommonly like sea-water, it -is naturally, therefore, very disagreeable to drink; one or two invalids -we met, however, “swore by it.” Gout and rheumatism appear to be the -special diseases for which the waters are taken; though one party we met -declared the waters “tasted so horrible” that he infinitely preferred -the rheumatism! But perhaps he was only a slight sufferer. Nearly every -other invalid we spoke to declared that the waters had done them much -good; one gentleman who walked very well, and looked very well, informed -us that when he came there he was almost a cripple and could hardly walk -at all, “and now look at me,” exclaimed he, “I’m a walking testimony to -the efficacy of the waters.” Nobody, however, appeared to give the -wonderful vitalising air any credit for their cures or even aiding -thereto, yet I am by no means sure that this may not have had a great -deal to do with them; an air so dry and bracing, yet withal so soothing, -laden as it is with the soft and healing scents of the pine-woods. Good -too for over-wrought nerves, I should imagine. Simply to ramble in the -pine-woods, and over the moors at and about Woodhall, and there to -breathe the splendidly pure and light sweet air was a delight to me; it -was like inhaling nectar! When I go to a health resort, I go to breathe -the air, not to drink the waters! - -Whilst lazing at Woodhall Spa--and there is a great virtue in doing -nothing successfully at times--our good-natured Horncastle friend found -us out, and kindly placed himself at our disposal for a whole day, which -he suggested we should employ in exploring the country round about; so -we arranged to drive with him where he would, and accordingly one -morning fared forth in his company for a “regular antiquarian day” as he -quaintly put it. - -Leaving Woodhall we soon came to a bit of open moorland, with a tall -ruined tower standing solitary on the highest point thereof, a prominent -and picturesque feature in the prospect. This is a portion of a stately -hunting-box erected by the Lord-Treasurer Cromwell towards the end of -the fifteenth century, who also built the grand Tattershall Castle, -which we shall see in due course. This ruined hunting-box is locally -known as “the Tower on the Moor,” perhaps some day this may suggest a -title to a novelist. The interesting country around is, I believe, -virgin ground to the romancer, a ground that, it seems to me, would well -repay exploiting,--possibly, however, from a hint a famous novelist gave -me, it may by this time have been exploited! - -Then by a pleasant lane we came to a lonely farmstead called High Rigge. -Here we pulled up for a few minutes to inspect a very fine and quite -perfect “celt” of smooth-polished greenstone that had lately been -ploughed up on one of the farm fields, and was carefully preserved in -the house, and I hope it will remain there and not be conveyed away to -enrich a private collection, as so many other relics of the past have -been, and thereby lost to the public. It would be a good thing if in -each county capital there were a local museum established where such -local finds could be preserved and inspected. I feel that each county -has a right to the possession of its own antiquarian treasures; such -museums too would add greatly to the pleasure and the interest of the -tourist and traveller. County people would doubtless take a pride in and -contribute to them, so that they would soon become centres of -attraction. - -[Sidenote: _A RUINED ORATORY_] - -From High Rigge we proceeded along a narrow country lane--with gates to -open here and there on the way--to a picturesque and interesting old -moated house known as Poolham Hall, now doing duty as a farmstead. The -house, with the wide moat around, makes a very pleasing picture, but all -the interest is external, within is nothing that calls for comment. The -moat encircles not only the farm buildings but an ample garden; indeed, -the amount of ground it encloses, we were told, was close upon two -acres, which shows that Poolham Hall was at one time a place of -considerable importance. In the garden stand the crumbling ruins of an -ancient oratory, roofless, and ivy-grown, and fast hastening to further -decay. Our friend asked where a certain tomb slab was that he remembered -seeing there some years back, but it had disappeared no one knew -whither; presumably it was the memorial of some important personage -buried in the oratory,--the master of the manor with small doubt; -however, it has apparently perished, so hard is it in this world for -even “the proud and mighty” to ensure their last resting-place from -oblivion or desecration. But better this surely than the fate of certain -great Egyptian kings, lordly despots in their day, whose mummified -bodies have been exposed to the vulgar gaze, and knocked down at auction -in London to the highest bidder! But what matters it? it will all be the -same in a million years hence more or less--when this planet with others -“may roll round the sun with the dust of a vanished race!” Here in the -moat we were told was found a very curious object in decorative -earthenware, which proved to be a chrismatory, presumed to have belonged -to the oratory; the vessel is provided with two wells for the oil and -salt as used in the Roman Catholic Baptismal rite, so our learned guide -informed us. This ancient and very curious chrismatory is now carefully -preserved in Langton church by Horncastle, and, with permission of the -rector, may be seen there by the curious. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - A long discourse--The origin of a coat-of-arms--An English serf--A - witch-stone--Lincolnshire folk-lore--A collar for lunatics--St. - Mary’s thistle--A notable robbery--An architectural - gem--Coningsby--Tattershall church and castle--Lowland and - upland--“Beckingham-behind-the-Times”--Old Lincolnshire folk. - - -From Poolham Hall we drove on through a lovely country, remote from -railways, and pervaded by a peaceful, mellow, homelike look; bound for -the out-of-the-world hamlet of Wispington. On the way our antiquarian -friend began a long discourse; I write long advisedly because it lasted -for nearly, if not quite, four miles, and how much longer it would have -lasted I cannot say, for on arriving at a junction of roads, we broke -the thread of the discourse by inquiring which road we should take. -“Why, bless my soul,” exclaimed he, “we’ve driven two miles out of our -way, I quite forgot all about where we were going! This comes of our -very interesting conversation.” We thought “_our_ very interesting -conversation” was an excellent conceit, considering that we had been -merely patient listeners all the time: however, we jokingly remarked -that the talk was worth the added miles, and after all we arrived at -Wispington with the best of the day still before us; there we drove up -to the rectory and fortunately found the rector, an enthusiastic -antiquary like our companion, at home. - -First, we were taken to see the church, a modern one decorated within -with carvings in Caen stone representing the animals and birds of the -Old Testament done by a former incumbent, and containing some tombstone -slabs and brasses preserved from the ancient church it had supplanted. -In the pavement of the vestry we had pointed out to us an ancient -incised slab (broken) to the memory of John Hetsete, a priest; this was -dated 1394. The slab is of much interest as showing the priest in -vestments holding a chalice in gloved hands, tightly buttoned. I cannot -remember ever having come upon a priest represented thus with gloved -hands. I am not sufficient of an antiquary to say whether this feature -is unique, it certainly is very uncommon. - -A brass, now on the south wall of the church near the porch, is -inscribed to the memory of Robert Tyrwhitt; here on a shield is shown -the coat-of-arms of the family “three pewits d’or proper on a field -gules,” if that be the correct heraldic way of putting it. To this -coat-of-arms belongs a little history. We were informed that one of the -ancestors of the family after a gallant fight in battle with the Scots -(name and date unremembered) fell on the field seriously wounded. After -long search, he was found by his relations, hidden from view in a bed of -reeds, their attention having been attracted to the spot by three pewits -hovering over it, uttering plaintive cries the while. From this -circumstance, the family adopted three pewits as their coat-of-arms, -likewise taking the name of Tyrwhitt, the latter being supposed to -represent the cry of that bird. Thereupon--in the spirit of inquiry that -ever besets us--we wanted to know what the name of the family was before -that eventful occasion, but could obtain no information on the point. -One really should not be so exacting about pretty traditions; it is an -artistic sin for the commission of which I now, too late, repent. - -[Sidenote: _ANTIQUARIAN TREASURES_] - -Then we returned to the rectory, where the rector most kindly showed us -some of his valued antiquarian treasures. One of these consisted of an -old parchment document written in Latin, and very beautifully written -too, the lettering being as black and as clear as when first done long -changeful centuries ago, for the deed bears the date of 1282. The -document, which was presumably drafted in the Abbey of Bardney, and was -signed in the chapter house thereof, gives particulars of the sale of a -serf with his family. A circumstance that throws a startling sidelight -on the condition of England at the time. Curiously enough, in a further -document, the same serf appears as rector of a neighbouring parish, and -even purchases land there in 1285. The true inwardness of all this it -would be interesting to discover. - -Then the rector brought out a “witch-stone” from his treasure store to -show us; this he found hanging on a cottage door and serving as a charm -against all evil. It is merely a small flint with a hole in the centre, -through which hole was strung a piece of cord to hang it up with. A -“witch-stone” hung up on, or over, the entrance door of a house is -supposed to protect the inhabitants from all harm; in the same way do -not some enlightened people nail a horse-shoe over their door “for good -luck”? To ensure this “good-luck” I understand you must find a -horse-shoe “accidentally on the road” without looking for it; to procure -a “witch-stone” you must in like manner come upon a stone (of any kind) -with a hole through the centre when you are not thinking about any such -thing. - -Then our host related to us a curious story that had been told to him as -true history. According to this, a certain Lincolnshire miser died (I -withhold, name, date, and place), and was duly placed in his coffin -overnight; but then a strange thing happened, next morning the body had -disappeared and its place was taken up with stones; it being presumed -that the Devil had made off with his body and had placed the stones in -the coffin in exchange. But one would have imagined that it was the -man’s spirit not his body that his Satanic Majesty desired--but there I -am always over-critical and too exacting about details. By the way this -reminds me we were told, that the Lincolnshire folk never call the Devil -openly by that familiar designation, but speak of him in an undertone, -as either “Samuel,” “Old Lad,” or “Bargus.” - -Then we gleaned some particulars of old Lincolnshire folk-lore. Here, -for example, is an infallible charm to get power over the Devil, I mean -“Samuel.” - -[Sidenote: _CHARMS_] - -On St. Mark’s Eve, precisely at twelve o’clock, hold two pewter platters -one over the other, take these to where bracken grows, hold the platters -under the plants for the seeds to drop in, then you will find that the -seeds will go right through the top platter and be caught in the one -below; upon this “Samuel” will appear riding on a pig and tell you -anything you want to know. Here is another charm. Kill a hedge-hog and -smear two thorn-sticks with his blood, place these in a hedge-bottom and -leave them there for fourteen days, if not moved meanwhile you will have -your wish. I give these two charms as a fair sample of others, and I -think they will well suffice! - -Leaving Wispington, we came in about half a mile to a spot where four -roads meet, a burial-place for suicides in times past, and reputed to be -the centre of Lincolnshire. Then driving on we reached Horsington. In -the register of burials here is a notice of “Bridget Hall buried in her -own garden A.D. 16.” She lived at Hail Farm near by, our friend told us, -and directed in her will that she should be buried in her own garden, -and that her body should be laid north and south, as she considered it -“too Popish to be buried east and west in a churchyard!” Some years ago -the then occupier of that farm, we further learnt, on digging a drain in -the same garden came upon a skeleton lying north and south; presumably -that of Bridget Hall. - -In the vestry of the church here, according to our informant, used to be -preserved in a box a strange relic of other days and ways, in the shape -of a brass collar by which poor unfortunate lunatics were chained to a -wall. Where the collar has gone no one seems to know or care; however, -it has disappeared, to the grief of antiquaries. “Though I cannot show -you the collar, I can still show you something curious and interesting,” -said our friend. Whereupon he went into the churchyard, and after some -searching plucked a thistle; this did not seem anything wonderful to us, -not being botanists, but he pointed out to us that it was peculiarly -marked with unusual gray lines all over. This, we were informed, is -called the “Holy Thistle,” or “Mary’s Thistle,” and it used to be grown -by the monks at Kirkstead Abbey a few miles away, and even until a few -years ago specimens thereof might have been found in the fields that now -surround the abbey ruins, but the farmers had rooted them all up. Arthur -Thistlewood of the Cato Street conspiracy was born here at Horsington, -we learnt, his real name being Burnet. The birthplace of still another -famous man had we come across! - -Next we drove on to Halstead Hall, an ancient building set back some way -from the road, showing signs of its former importance, but now, like so -many other ancient halls, converted into a pleasant farmstead. The hall -was moated, but the moat has been drained dry; the house is famous -locally for a daring and a remarkable robbery committed there in -1829,--an event that still affords subject for the country folk to talk -and enlarge about, at least we heard a good deal about it. The house, we -understood, - -[Sidenote: _AN “ANTIQUARIAN DAY”_] - -was broken into by a band of robbers who tied up the men-servants in a -stable, first gagging them; and then locked up the family and the maids -in a store-room. After this they sat down in the hall and feasted; the -repast over, they leisurely collected all the silver plate and money -they could find, and quietly departed. Three of the band were afterwards -captured and hanged at Lincoln; one of them, a certain Timothy Brammer, -when on the scaffold, kicked off his shoes, as he declared, to falsify -the prophecy of his friends that “he would die in his shoes”; the doing -of this appeared to afford him a grim sort of satisfaction. Then by the -hamlet of Stixwold we returned to Woodhall Spa after a very interesting -“antiquarian day.” - -We left Woodhall Spa regretfully, and upon mounting our dogcart to -resume our tour the genial landlord of the Royal Hotel and most of the -guests thereof, whose acquaintance we had made during our too short -stay, came to the door to bid us goodbye and a prosperous journey,--yet -we had only arrived there a few days before, perfect strangers in the -land! Truly we had paid our modest bill, notwithstanding which we left -in debt to the landlord for all his kindness to us, for which no charge -was made! - -It was a cloudy day; the barometer was falling; the wind blew wild and -warm from the west. “You’ll have rain, and plenty of it,” prophesied one -of the party; “better stay on till to-morrow.” The temptation was great, -but if we dallied thus on the way at every pleasant spot we should -hardly get home before the winter, so we hardened our hearts and drove -away. The rain did not actually come down, but we noticed great banks of -threatening gray storm-clouds in serried ranks gathered on the low -horizon that foreboded ill, with an advance guard of vast detached -masses of aqueous vapours, wind-woven into fantastic forms. The -sky-scape at any rate was interesting. “It looks stormy,” exclaimed we, -to a man, in response to a polite “Good-morning” he bade us as we passed -him by. “It do look so,” replied he, “but we won’t get any wet worth -speaking of whilst this wind keeps up.” This was reassuring. We have -generally found country folk more reliable about the immediate future of -the weather than the falling or rising of the barometer, for local -conditions are often an important factor in the case and modify the -barometer’s forecast. - -About a mile on our way we noticed the slight remains of the once famous -and wealthy Cistercian Abbey of Kirkstead. These consist simply of a -tall fragment of the transept and some walling, standing alone in the -midst of a wide grass field. Beyond this, in an adjoining meadow, we -espied a most beautiful little Early English chapel, perfectly pure in -style. This was enclosed in a neglected-looking graveyard, the rusty -gates of which were carefully locked, so that we were, perforce, obliged -to climb over them to inspect the building, which was also carefully -locked up, and, I regret to add, very fast going to irretrievable decay -for the want of a little timely repair. Why, I wonder, is such a rare -architectural gem as this allowed to go thus the way of all uncared-for -things? Is there not a “Society for the Preservation of Ancient -Buildings” of interest? Can it do nothing to preserve for us this relic -of former days? - -[Sidenote: _A CHANTRY CHAPEL_] - -At first sight it appears curious to find such a beautiful chapel in -such close proximity to a lordly abbey; manifestly, however, the -building was a chantry chapel, presumably for the benefit of the soul of -the second Lord of Tattershall, as his armoured effigy is still within -the desolated chapel, which was, doubtless, erected near to the abbey -for the convenience and certainty of priestly service. - -As we drove on, shortly the tall tower of Tattershall Castle stood forth -ahead of us, showing darkly gray against the stormy sky, a striking -object in the level landscape, powerfully asserting itself on the near -horizon, some three or four miles by winding road away, though possibly -a good mile less “as the crow flies.” Soon we came to the little river -Bain, which we crossed on a rather creaky wooden bridge--the scenery -about the river here is very pretty and most paintable--and found -ourselves in Coningsby, a remote Lincolnshire village, whose name, -however, has become well known from its having provided Lord -Beaconsfield with the title for his famous novel. Coningsby possesses a -fine old church, with a somewhat disappointing interior. We noticed in -the porch here a large holy-water stoup, opening both internally and -externally; above the porch is a parvise chamber of the usual type. -Within the church, at the top of a pillar of the north aisle, is a -carving of a “scold” gagged, just one of those subjects that delighted -the humour of the medieval sculptor to portray. - -Then another mile brought us to Tattershall, a small hamlet dominated -and dwarfed by its truly magnificent church (more like a cathedral than -a village fane, and of a size out of all proportion to the present, -possibly also the past, needs of the parish) and by its stately old -castle, towering high above all around. The church we found open, but -desolate within, it being given over to workmen for much-needed repairs; -the pavement in places, we noticed, was fouled by birds and wet with -recent rain that had come in through holes in the roof. It was a -pathetic sight to behold the grand old church in its faded magnificence, -bare, cold, and colourless, robbed long ago of its glorious -stained-glass windows, that once made it the pride of the whole -countryside. Strange it seems that these splendid windows, that had -miraculously escaped the Puritan crusade, should have been allowed to be -carted away only the last century (in 1757) to enrich another church! -Truly the Puritans were not the only spoilers. Here in the north -transept is preserved a series of exceedingly fine and very interesting, -though mutilated and damaged, brasses, removed from their rightful place -in the chancel pavement some years ago, and now huddled together in a -meaningless way. One of these is of Lord-Treasurer Cromwell, the builder -of Tattershall church and castle. Another very fine brass is that of a -provost with a richly-adorned cope. These brasses will well repay -careful study. - -Of Tattershall, besides some insignificant and - -[Sidenote: _TATTERSHALL TOWER_] - -much-ruined outbuildings, only the stately tower keep remains. A truly -magnificent specimen of medieval brick building, rectangular in shape -and embattled on the top; it is flanked on each angle by four octagonal -smaller towers. These were formerly provided with high-pitched roofs, of -which only one is now extant, though I find from an old engraving, after -a drawing by T. Allom, in my possession, that there were three of these -roofs existing in 1830. Round the top of the building runs a projecting -gallery supported by very bold and massive stone machicolations; these -give a special character to the structure, and enhance its effective -picturesqueness. - -For a castle keep the open Gothic windows seem strangely inconsistent. -From this fact one can hardly imagine that it was intended for serious -defence, yet, on the other hand, there are plain traces of the double -moats that once surrounded the place, and were presumably supplied by -water from the river Bain, which suggest a considerable amount of -precaution against attack. It may be that the moats formed part of a -former stronghold, and were simply retained because they were there. The -castle is built of small and very hard brick, said by tradition to have -been imported from Flanders. Externally the structure, except for its -time-toned look, sundry weather scars, and loss of its three -turret-tops, is much the same as when the ancient builders left it; -within it is a mere shell, floorless and roofless. In the walls are some -fine and well-preserved carved stone mantelpieces, some of which are -adorned with heraldic devices, and a representation of a full purse, -symbolic, we imagined, of the post of Lord-Treasurer held by the owner. -Over one fireplace we noticed an inscription in Norman-French, _Nay le -Droit_, which, rightly or wrongly, we translated into “Have I not the -right?” - -We ascended to the top of the keep, and beyond to the top of one of the -flanking turrets, by a spiral staircase of innumerable steps that is -happily complete and is contained within one of the angle towers. This -staircase is provided with a handrail ingeniously recessed in the side -wall. A Lincolnshire antiquary we afterwards met assured me that this is -the earliest handrail to a staircase known. I merely repeat what I have -been told on apparently good authority, but I must confess I should have -imagined that this convenience was of more ancient origin; however, in -this matter my antiquarian knowledge does not carry me far enough. From -the topmost tower we had a truly magnificent panorama presented to us; -we looked down upon a wide green world, enlivened by the gray gleam of -winding water-ways, and encircled by a horizon darkly, intensely blue. -Our visions ranged over vast leagues of flat Fenland and wild wold. On -one hand we could just trace the distance-dwarfed outlines of Lincoln’s -lordly minster, on the other the faint form of Boston’s famous “stump.” - -Before leaving Tattershall we made a sketch of the glorious old tower -that uprises so grandly from the level land around, which sketch is -engraved with this chapter, and will give a better idea of the - -[Illustration: TATTERSHALL TOWER.] - -stately pile than pages of printed description possibly could. It is a -truly splendid specimen of medieval brick-work, and until I saw it I -considered Layer Marney tower in Essex the finest example of brick -building of the kind in England, Hurstmonceaux Castle in Sussex coming -next; but now I have no hesitation whatever in giving the first place to -Tattershall tower. - -[Sidenote: _IN FENLAND AGAIN_] - -After finishing our sketch we once more resumed our pleasant pilgrimage, -and soon found ourselves traversing a wide and wild Fenland district, -over which the west wind blew fresh and strong. In a mile or so we -crossed the river Witham, here running painfully straight between its -embanked sides, more like a mighty dyke or canal than anything else, as -though it were not to be trusted to flow as it would; but this is, more -or less, the nature of nearly all the Fenland streams. Then we had a -long stretch of level road, good for cycling, which faithfully followed -for miles the side of a great “drain” (unhappy term), the road not being -more than four feet above the water. So we came to Billinghay, a sleepy, -remote, medieval-looking town, or large village, set well away from the -busy world in the heart of the Fens; it gave us a feeling that it might -be a hundred miles withdrawn from modern civilisation. A more -dreamy--dreary, if you will--spot it would be hard to find in crowded -England, and for this reason, though hardly to be termed picturesque, it -fascinated us. It had such a quaint, old-world air, suggestive of untold -rest--a peacefulness that is hardly of to-day. - -Passing through another stretch of level Fenland, wide and free, we -reached the pretty village of Anwick, where, as we drove through, we -noticed a charming thatched cottage with big dormer windows in the roof, -and walls so ivy-grown that we could not tell whether they were of -stone, or flint, or brick,--a picture by the way. Here also we noticed -three curious round buildings, each with a conical roof of thatch, from -the apex of which rose a circular chimney. One of these did duty as a -blacksmith’s shop. After Anwick the country gradually lost its fen-like -character, hedges took the place of dykes as fences, the streams were no -longer embanked, the land became mildly undulating, and suddenly we -found ourselves back again in “sleepy Sleaford.” Here the gray-haired -waiter recognised and welcomed us. While chatting with him as he laid -our evening meal, he told us that he had come to the inn for a day, and -had stayed on there for fifty years! - -We left Sleaford early the next morning bound for Beckingham, and beyond -to either Newark or Grantham. We went to Beckingham, as our antiquarian -friend we had met at Horncastle had told us that the old hall there was -full of the most beautiful and interesting art treasures, including some -priceless tapestry. “I will write to the rector of the village,” said he -in the kindness of his heart; “he is a friend of mine, and I will tell -him you are coming, and ask him to show you over the hall; you must not -miss it. And if you go home through Grantham, as I expect you will, you -really must see Staunton Hall near there; it is a house with a history. -I will give you a letter of introduction to the owner in case you may be -able to use it.” And this he did thereupon! Such was an example of the -many kindnesses _pressed_ upon us in the course of our tour. And to be a -little previous, I may here state that on arriving at Beckingham, the -genial rector there would not hear of our proceeding farther that day, -but good-naturedly insisted upon our staying with him for the night as -his guests, stabling our horses besides! Could kindness to utter -strangers much farther go? “You’re heartily welcome,” said the rector -smiling, and most hospitably did he entertain us. But, as I have already -remarked, I am a little previous. - -[Sidenote: _LINCOLNSHIRE UPLANDS_] - -Shortly after leaving Sleaford we entered upon a wild, open country, -hilly and sparsely populated, a country that reminded us forcibly of the -Cotswolds, and one as different as possible from the level lowlands we -had traversed the previous day. Once more it was brought to our minds -that Lincolnshire is a land of hills as well as of fens! We were upon a -glorious stretch of uplands that rose and fell around us in mighty -sweeps, chequered by great fields, and enlivened here and there by -comfortable-looking stone-built farmsteads, each with its rambling -colony of outbuildings and corn-ricks gathered around. These, with a -stray cottage or two for farm-labourers, saved the prospect from being -desolate. Here water seems as scarce as it is over-abundant in the Fens! -Indeed, we were afterwards told that sometimes in dry summers water in -the district is a rarer article than beer! This may be a slight -exaggeration, though one gentleman who had a house in the neighbourhood -assured us, that owing to his having to fetch all the water used in his -establishment, he reckoned that in the year water was a dearer commodity -to him than ale! - -It was a grand drive we had over those bracing uplands, and we were -sorry when this portion of our stage came to an end, and we found -ourselves descending from them through a deep rocky cutting, overhung -with shady trees, into the very charming village of Leadenham, that -struck us as being clean, neat, and picturesque, a dreamy spot yet not -dull. The houses there are well built of stone, and most of them have -pleasant gardens, and all of them look cheerful. In the church we -noticed some rather curious stained glass, but nothing else of special -interest. - -Beyond Leadenham we entered upon a rich, level, and purely agricultural -country, the most notable feature of which was the large size of the -fields. A short drive brought us to Brant Broughton, another very -charming village, with an old church remarkable for the beauty and -richness of its interior decorations. In the porch of this we were -attracted by some curious lettering that we could make nothing of, -except two dates 1630 and 1636. The church is glorious with gilt and -colour, stained glass, and carvings; it looks all very Catholic and -artistic, and should please those who like an ornate place of worship. -Not only is the church beautiful here, but the churchyard is well kept. -These two things should ever go together, but, alas! such is the rare -exception. - -[Sidenote: _A DISAPPOINTMENT_] - -Then we had an uneventful drive on to Beckingham, where, as already -related, we received a hearty welcome. But the hall which we had been -sent here to see was bare! This was a disappointment as we had been led -to expect so much of it. The house itself was plain and of no -architectural merit whatever, not worth crossing even a road to see. The -rector informed us that the property was left by the late squire to the -second son of his eldest son, failing him to the second son of his -second son; and there has never been a second son to either of them. The -last squire but one was, according to report, somewhat of a character, -for on winter evenings he used to go the round of the village at eight -o’clock and act the part of the Curfew, calling out to the cottagers as -he went by that it was time to go to bed and put the fires out! What the -cottagers thought of this proceeding we did not learn. - -The church of Beckingham is of no special interest, though, like most -ancient churches, it possesses some curious features, and contains a -quaint old Elizabethan clock in the tower, still keeping, more or less, -faithful time. In 1810, the then rector, we were told, used to pay his -workmen’s wages on a Sunday morning, and the village shops were kept -open on that day. Amongst the Entry of Marriages here, the following is -perhaps worthy of a passing note:--“Under the Directory for the Public -Worship of God, 1645, Robert Parker and Anne Vicars were married on the -24th of May 1647, according to the Directory.” Amongst the Entry of -Burials we made a note of the following:--“Thomas Parker was buried in -his mother’s garden, April 15, 1681.” It seems to have been not a very -uncommon thing at the period for persons to be buried in gardens, burial -in a churchyard being considered by some as flavouring too much of -Popery! This was the second record of such an interment we had come upon -within a week. Beckingham, we learnt, was five miles from a railway; it -looked a thousand to us, though when we came to think of it we had to -confess that we had never been so far from a railway in our lives, -except when on the mid-Atlantic! It used to be called -“Beckingham-behind-the-Times,” the rector said. Well, it does not look -as though it were much ahead of them now! It is a primitive place, -without the virtue of being picturesque. - -Next morning our kind host with thoughtful intent took us out to call on -some of his oldest parishioners, the youngest of whom was eighty-two, in -case we might gather something of interest from their conversation. One -old man we visited was eighty-nine, and his wife was eighty-five. His -father and grandfather had lived and died in Beckingham, he told us, and -though close upon ninety he still managed to do all the work on a garden -of over an acre. He had only travelled in a train once, and that was to -London; he had only smoked once, and then he smoked five ounces of -tobacco right - -[Sidenote: _CHATS WITH ANCIENT FOLK_] - -off, and his tongue was sore for weeks afterwards; he could see no -pleasure in smoking. When he was a young man he used generally to walk -to Lincoln and back on Sundays, a distance of twenty-nine miles, besides -doing his regular work as a farm-labourer on week-days, for which he was -paid the exorbitant wage of from 7s. to 9s. a week, out of which he -actually managed to pay rent for a cottage and brought up a family of -twelve children. “My hours of toil were from six o’clock in the morning -till six o’clock in the evening, and I had to start from my home at five -and got back at seven.” We thought the expression “my hours of toil” -much to the point; but he did not appear to consider that his life had -been a particularly hard one, indeed he remarked that he could not -understand the present generation--“they can neither work nor walk,” and -he praised God that he could still work! - -Then we visited a Mrs. Sarah Watson, who said she was born in 1805. When -she was a girl she saw a man hanging on a gibbet at Harby in -Lincolnshire, which stood on the spot where he committed a murder. She -used to go out to the gibbet with friends to watch which of the -murderer’s bones would fall off next! “Ah! them were the good old days,” -she exclaimed, “life were exciting then. Now I cannot walk; but I’m fond -of reading. I’ve read the Bible through from the first page to the last, -all save the hard names, and I’ve begun it afresh but have not got -through it again yet. I’ve read _Pilgrims Progress_; that _is_ an -interesting book, I did enjoy it.” There was something very pathetic in -our talks with these poor and patient old folk, and I could moralise -here were I inclined that way, but I prefer to leave my readers to do -this for themselves. I give the text and spare the sermon! - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - A cross-country road--A famous hill--Another medieval inn--“The - Drunken Sermon”--Bottesford--Staunton Hall--Old family deeds--A - chained library--Woolsthorpe manor-house--A great inventor!--Melton - Mowbray--Oakham--A quaint old manorial custom--Rockingham - Castle--Kirby. - - -From “Beckingham-behind-the-Times” we drove on to the old historic town -of Grantham, a town that still retains much of its ancient -picturesqueness though it is certainly not slothful, but rather -pleasantly progressive. Our road led us through a very pretty country, -but the way was rather hard to find as the turnings were many, the -guide-posts few, and some of the few illegible. As we drove on, the -distance showed clearly defined and darkly blue, we could plainly see -the spire of Claypole church on the horizon, rising sharply into the air -over wood and field; now there is a local saying at Beckingham that -“when you cannot see Claypole church spire, it is sure to be fine,” if -the converse of this meant rain we ought to have had it, for besides the -barometer was low and falling, and the sky cloudy, so the road being -good, though narrow, we sped along with what haste we could. - -At Fenton, the first hamlet we came to, we pulled up a few minutes in -spite of the threatening weather, to inspect a picturesque and -interesting old manor-house, a little off the wayside, a house somewhat -modernised, and apparently turned into a farmstead. Just above one of -the windows of this was a stone inscribed “1507--R. L.,” and in front of -it separated by a little garden, which erst doubtless formed a -courtyard, stood a gray old Jacobean gateway, with a coat-of-arms boldly -engraved on the top. Just beyond this time-toned manor-house was the -ancient church, worn and gray; the hoary church and old-time home with -its quaint gateway made a very effective picture; a genuine bit of old -England. Manifestly the country about here is not one given to change, -it all bears a mellow, peaceful look that comes of contented abiding, -and is so soothing to the eye, wearied with the ugliness of modern -towns, and the architectural eyesores of the modern builder. - -Then proceeding in due course, we passed through Stubton, a little -hamlet in no special way noteworthy, with its churchyard by the -roadside, a goodly portion of the latter being taken up with a -yew-enclosed tomb. We needs must carry our dignity down to the -grave--but how of the humble dead who lie beneath their grass-grown -graves un-monumented? - - Forget not Earth, thy disappointed Dead! - Forget not Earth, thy disinherited! - Forget not the forgotten! keep a strain - Of divine sorrow in sweet undertone - For all the dead who lived and died in vain! - Imperial Future when in countless train - The generations lead thee to thy throne, - Forget not the forgotten and unknown! - -[Sidenote: _LINCOLNSHIRE HILLS_] - -In another mile or two we reached the charming village of Brandon -situated in a wooded valley, backed by a long line of church-dotted -hills; a line of hills stretching far away to the right and left that -form the backbone of Lincolnshire, and are known locally by the curious -title of “the Cliff.” From this pleasant rural spot an excellent going -road brought us to another pretty village with a grand and very -interesting-looking church, in the quiet God’s acre of which was a -quaint sun-dial raised on the top of a tall stone pillar; the church -doors were carefully locked, so we did not see inside. As at Fenton, so -here, close by the church, stands an old manor-hall, a pleasant bit of -past-century building. - -Soon after this we struck upon the old Great North Road and began to -mount the long and stiff Gonerby Hill, famous in the old coaching days -as the worst “pitch” on the road between London and Edinburgh. It is a -striking fact that the worst hill on the old main high-road, close upon -four hundred miles in length, should be in Lincolnshire, a county -supposed to be so flat! It may be remembered that Scott, who frequently -travelled this road, makes mention of this hill in _The Heart of -Midlothian_. Jeanie Deans, on leaving the Saracen’s Head at Newark, -bound for Grantham, was assured, “It was all plain road, except a high -mountain called Gunnerby Hill about three miles from Grantham, which was -her stage for the night. ‘I’m glad to hear there’s a hill,’ said Jeanie, -‘for baith my sight and my very feet are weary o’ sic tracts o’ level -ground--it looks a’ the way between this and York as if a’ the land had -been trenched and levelled, whilk is very wearisome to my Scotch -een....’ ‘As for the matter of that, young woman,’ said mine host, ‘an -you be so fond o’ hill, I carena an thou couldst carry Gunnerby away -with thee in thy lap, for it’s a murder to post-horses.’” - -From the top of Gonerby Hill or Gunnerby (according to the old maps) we -had a long run down into Grantham, where we sought “shelter and a -night’s lodging” beneath the sign of the “Angel,” one of the few -medieval hostelries left to us; at the moment I can only call to memory -six others in England, but there may be more. - -A most interesting old building is the Angel at Grantham, with its -weather-worn and time-stained front of stone facing the street and -giving it quite a special character; nor do you come upon so aged and -historic an hostelry every day. At the end of the drip mouldings on -either side of the central archway that gives access to the building, -are sculptured heads representing those of Edward III. and Philippa his -Queen; at least so we were told, we had no other means of knowing whom -the heads were intended for. One has to take many things on faith in -this world! Over the archway projects a fine oriel window ornamented -with carvings, the window being supported on a corbel composed of an -angel with outspread wings. It was in this very building--according to -our landlord who had naturally studied the history of his old -house--that King John held his Court on 23rd February 1213 (a fairly -long time to date back to); and Richard III. signed the death-warrant of -the Duke of Buckingham on 19th October 1483, in a room still called the -“King’s Chamber.” We found that we had this very chamber allotted to us -as our bedroom--a room that surely should be haunted, if ever a room -were; but we slept soundly there, and if any ghost did appear he did not -disturb us; anyway we were far too sleepy, after our long drive in the -open air, to trouble about such trifles as ghosts! I verily believe if -one had appeared that we should simply have turned lazily over, and have -told him angrily not to bother us! A driving tour begets iron nerves and -dreamless slumbers. - -[Sidenote: _A STORIED HOSTELRY_] - -Here in this ancient and storied hostelry we latter-day travellers were -made exceedingly comfortable; we were even provided with the wholly -unexpected, and, be it confessed, undesired, luxury of the electric -light--which indeed appeared far too anachronistic for its surroundings. -So comfortable were we made, that, remembering our letter of -introduction, and finding that Staunton Hall was some nine miles away, -we determined to drive there and back on the morrow, and stay on at the -“Angel” over another day, though we required no excuse to do so. - -During the evening, whilst making sundry small purchases at a shop, we -overheard one of a party of purchasers ask another if he had heard the -drunken sermon? The question sounded to us like a bit of local scandal, -and though we much dislike all scandal, still in this case curiosity got -the better of our dislikes, and when his customers had gone, we -ventured to ask the shopman what the scandal was. “Bless you, sir,” -replied he, “there’s no scandal at all; we’re far too good in Grantham -to have any scandals.” We were delighted to hear this, and thereupon -thought what a delightful place Grantham must be to live in! It was -explained to us that, according to an ancient will of a certain Michael -Solomon, the tenant of the “Angel” has to pay a sum of two guineas every -year to the vicar, in return for which the vicar has to preach a sermon -against drunkenness, which he does annually on the first Sunday after -the mayor’s election. And this sermon is known locally as the “drunken -sermon.” I only devoutly wish that all scandals were so readily -explained away, for then the world would be a much pleasanter place to -live in! - -Early next morning we set off for Staunton Hall. Soon after getting free -of the town we had a fine, though distant, view of Belvoir Castle, -rising prominently and picturesquely out of the woods to our left, with -the misty hills of Leicestershire forming an effective background. -Passing on through a pleasant stretch of country we reached the pretty -village of Bottesford, where we forded a little river, hence doubtless -the name. Here we observed the steps and base of the shaft of a -market-cross. The church chanced to be open, so we took a glance inside -and found there a number of grand monuments to the Lords of Belvoir. A -portion of the inscription on the magnificent tomb of the sixth Earl of -Rutland we copied as showing the strange faith in sorcery held at the -period even in the highest ranks of society, and this is it: “In 1608, -he married ye Lady Cecilia Hungerford by whom he had two sonnes both -[=w]ch died in their infancy by wicked practise and sorcerye.” -Monumental inscriptions are oftentimes curious reading, and frequently -throw interesting sidelights on the superstitions and manners of bygone -days. - -[Sidenote: _THE KEY OF STAUNTON TOWER_] - -There was nothing further noteworthy on our way till we reached Staunton -Hall, an ancient home set away in a tree-shaded park, and here our -letter of introduction ensured us a welcome; not only did the lady of -the house very kindly offer to show us over it herself, but also most -courteously granted us the highly appreciated privilege of inspecting -several of the old family documents, some of which were of exceeding -interest. Amongst the treasures preserved here is the gold key of the -Staunton tower and the Royal apartments at Belvoir Castle. During the -Parliamentary wars, it appears Colonel Staunton, of Staunton Hall, held -and defended Belvoir Castle for the King. As a recognition for this act, -the head of the Staunton family are privileged to go to Belvoir Castle -when any member of the Royal family is about to visit there, and to -present to such member the gold key which nominally gives access to the -Royal apartments. - -We noticed, as we drove up, over the entrance doorway the date 1573, -inscribed below a coat-of-arms, but this, we were told, only relates to -the doorway which was a later addition to the building; the year of the -erection of the hall being actually a little earlier, namely in 1554, -as shown cut in a stone let into one of the chimney stacks. The great -and original heavy oak door is still _in situ_; indented and in places -pierced with shots and bullets that were fired at it during the siege of -the house by the Parliamentary forces; during which attack the house was -bravely defended by the wife of Colonel Staunton, who, just before it -was captured, made her escape with her children. On the door over these -records of that struggle is cut the date thereof, 1642. The ancient and -historic door is preserved by an inner one of oak attached thereto. - -Amongst the very interesting family documents is a deed in old Latin, -temp. 1323, relating to the bearing of the Cross in the Holy Land on -behalf of William de Staunton, to which is attached a translation; this -latter we copied, and it runs as follows-- - - To all people about to see or hear this letter, I, William de - Staunton give greeting. Know ye that in consideration of high - esteem and for the safety of my own soul, and those of my ancestors - and successors have made free Hugo Travers, the son of Simon of - Alurington in which place he assumed the Cross for me, and have - quit claimed for myself and my heirs for ever, himself and his - possessions from all terrene service and exaction, and have yielded - him with all his possessions or property to the Lord and the Church - of St. Mary of Staunton, whereby I desire and grant that he and his - property may remain free for ever under the protection of the Lord - and St. Mary, and the restored church of Staunton. Witness hereof, - Witto, priest of Kidvington, Radulpho de St. Paul. Walter de Hou. - -And many others, the date following. Which document is food for thought, -and seems to show how easily, according to the Church of those days, -the - -[Sidenote: _HISTORIC DEEDS_] - -soul of a rich man, his ancestors, and descendants could be saved by -vicarious deed. - -Then we were shown a signed authority from Charles I. for “Colonell” -Staunton to raise a regiment of 1200 foot in the king’s service. The -next document taken in due chronological order ran thus:-- - - - CHARLES R. - - Our express will and pleasure therefor is that you presently uppon - the receipt of this our orders draw all your Regiment out of our - Garrison of Newark and with them to march into Tuxford and go - forward under the order of Lt. Generall Villiers. This you are - punctually to obey, and for your so doing this shall be your - warrant. - - Given at our Court at Welbeck this 16 of August 1645. To our trusty - and welbeloved - Colonell Staunton at Newark - By his Majesty’s Commands - E. W. W. Wather. - - -For the time, the spelling of this is exceptionally correct. Then we -were shown another document signed by Oliver Cromwell, that explains -itself sufficiently. - - June 1646. A Licence to Mrs. Ann Staunton, or whom she should - appoint, to look into and oversee the repairs of the Manor House of - Staunton in the County of Nottingham, late belonging to Colonel - Staunton, a Delinquent to the Parliament Service, and there to - remain during such time as the said house shall be repairing. - - Oliver Cromwell. - - - -There were other interesting documents we inspected, but alas! space -forbids my giving any more here. - -On our way back to Grantham we pulled up at the little village of -Sedgebrook, attracted by the fine and interesting-looking church there, -and also in search of any quaint epitaph. We found the rector, -manifestly an ardent antiquary, in the church, which was being lovingly -repaired under his skilled supervision. He did not know of any -noteworthy epitaph in the churchyard, but he could give us one he copied -at Shipley in Derbyshire, if we cared to have it. We did, and here it -is:-- - - God saw good as I lopped off wood - I fell from the top of a tree, - I met with a check that broke my neck - And so God lopped off me. - -Sedgebrook church is very interesting, I could easily enlarge upon it to -the extent of a whole chapter did the exigencies of space permit. Here -is the Markham chapel in which the “Upright Judge,” Chief Justice -Markham of the King’s Bench, 1462, is buried, or is supposed to be; his -tomb has been destroyed. There is a hazy local tradition that only his -effigy is buried here and not his body; also the same tradition has it -that the judge, on being deprived of his office by the king, took -sanctuary in the church and was fed there by his daughter, whose incised -slab representing her head resting on a pillow now finds a place on the -wall of the chapel. “Now,” said the rector, “some clever people come -here and when they see that, they at once take the pillow for a -head-dress, and one gentleman even went so far as to call attention to -it in a publication as a unique example of a head-dress of the period!” -Of course the slab was intended to be laid flat on the floor, when the -effect of the pillow, a little out of drawing by the way, would have -been more natural. After this, we hastened back again to our comfortable -medieval hostelry at Grantham, well satisfied with our day’s wanderings. - -[Sidenote: _A CHAINED LIBRARY_] - -Early next morning, before starting on the road, we paid a visit to the -grand parish church of the town, whose splendid tower is one of the -finest in the kingdom, besides being one of the earliest, ranking, -according to some architectural authorities, second only to that of -Salisbury Cathedral. But what interested us most in this glorious old -church, with its broad aisles and general feeling of spaciousness, was -its library of chained books of rare medieval works; this is contained -in a large parvise chamber over the south porch. The books are curiously -placed on their shelves with their backs to the wall, their titles being -written on their front pages. We noticed that many of the works suffered -from iron-mould owing to the chain fastenings and damp. - -We left Grantham in a mist that inclined to rain; what the country we -passed through at first was like I cannot say, but half seen through the -veil of mist, the hills around loomed vague and vast, poetically -mysterious; even the near fields and hedgerows were only dimly -discernible, and the trees by the roadside dripped with moisture that -was almost as wetting as an honest rain, but it in no way damped our -spirits. We enjoyed the mist, it left so much to our imagination, and it -allowed us to picture the scenery much as we wished it to be; thus the -possibly commonplace assumed, in our eyes, the romantic. So, driving on -through a land half real, half the creation of our fancy, we reached -Great Ponton, a tiny hamlet with an ancient church, solemn with the -duskiness of centuries. Close to the hoary fane stood, pathetic in -neglect, a quaint, old-time, stone-built home with “stepped gables,” -whose weather-worn aged-toned walls were broken by mullioned window’s -rounded at the top, and without transoms. A home of the past, full of -character. Without, the stone gateway pillars still stand, gray and -desolate, that used to give access to the mansion; the space between -them now being barred merely by broken hurdles, and in the fore-court -grasses and nettles flourished exceedingly. The building somehow -involuntarily called to our mind Hood’s famous poem of “The Haunted -House.” - -Then passing through a pleasant country of woods, we suddenly found -ourselves in the old-fashioned village of Colsterworth, where at the -“White Lion” we baited our horses and refreshed ourselves; after which -we set out on foot across the fields to find Woolsthorpe Manor-house -where Sir Isaac Newton was born, which we made out from our map to be -about a mile and a half distant, though it took us a good two miles to -get there all through asking our way; for we got directed to the “Sir -Isaac Newton” public-house instead of to his birthplace! At last, -however, we found the modest old manor-house, a small but pleasant -enough looking home, whose stone walls are ivy-draped, but, though -substantially built, the place has no particular - -[Sidenote: _SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S BIRTHPLACE_] - -architectural merit; in front of it is an orchard, just as in the days -of old, and it was in this orchard that Newton saw the historic apple -fall. We should imagine that the house and surroundings generally, -except possibly the ugly cart-shed at the back, are but little altered -since the famous philosopher’s time. We at once set to work to make a -sketch of the old house, reproduced herewith; in doing this we observed, -just over the doorway, where one often finds a coat-of-arms, a stone -carved with the representation of two “cross-bones” in a shield, and -below this gruesome device we read the following inscription:-- - - In this Manor House - Sir Isaac Newton Knt - Was born 25th December - A.D. 1642. - -After finishing our sketch, we ventured to knock at the front door and -politely asked if it would be possible for a perfect stranger just to -take a glance at the room in which Newton was born. A pleasant-faced -woman opened it, presumably the lady of the house, and with a smile she -said, “Certainly, if it would interest you to see it.” We replied, with -many thanks for the unexpected courtesy, that it would very much -interest us to see it, whereupon we were taken upstairs to a comfortable -old-fashioned chamber, in no way remarkable for size or quaintness, -unless a fireplace in the corner can be considered the latter. The -position of this room is shown by the upper front mullioned window to -the left of the house in the picture, the window to the side being -built up. In a corner of this chamber is a small marble tablet let into -the wall and inscribed:-- - - Sir Isaac Newton (Son of Isaac Newton - Lord of the Manor of Woolsthorpe) was born - in this room December 25th 1642. - - Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night - God said, “Let Newton be” and all was light. - POPE. - -Then we were taken to see Newton’s tiny study, situated upstairs and on -the same floor. Here is hung a drawing of the very tree from which -Newton saw the apple fall. It is a curious-looking old gnarled tree, and -I have taken the artist’s license of introducing it in the foreground of -my sketch, in place of a very ordinary tree of the same kind that really -was growing on that spot. I seldom take such liberties, but in this -exceptional case I thought a likeness of the famous old tree might be of -interest, and, accompanied by an explanation, allowable. Though the -original tree is dead, a graft, we were informed, was made from it, -which is growing now in the orchard in the very spot that the old one -grew; strangely enough it greatly resembles its historic predecessor. - -Then we made our way back to Colsterworth, crossing the river Witham by -a foot-bridge, the road traversing it by a ford. The bottom of the -stream, we noticed, was paved with flat stones, so that the carts in -driving through should not sink in the mud, an arrangement that I do not -remember to have noted elsewhere. Before returning to our - -[Illustration: WOOLSTHORPE MANOR-HOUSE: THE BIRTHPLACE OF SIR ISAAC -NEWTON.] - -[Sidenote: _A HAPPY CONCEIT_] - -hotel we took a look at the church, as it was on our road, and the door -happened to be open. We descended into the building down two or three -steps, from which we concluded, rightly as we discovered, that it was -dedicated to John the Baptist. As the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, the famous -Cornish vicar, says, “Every church dedicated to John the Baptizer is -thus arranged. We go down into them, as those about to be baptized of -John went down into the water.” The church is well worth inspection; but -what chiefly interested us in it was a stone sun-dial let into the north -wall with the following inscription below:--“Newton, aged nine years, -cut with his penknife this dial.” Above, one of the corbels is carved -with the likeness of Sir Isaac Newton, a delightful conceit that pleased -us greatly. An old body we spoke to in the church amused us not a little -by exclaiming, “Yes, he were a wonderful man Sir Isaac to invent -gravitation!” “Ah!” we replied, “however did the world get on before he -invented it?” But our satire fell harmless. “Oh, very well,” she -responded; “it b’aint no good of to nobody as far as I can see.” And -with this we took our departure, and returned to our inn. - -After a hurried glance at our map before starting, we decided to drive -across country to Melton Mowbray, and to stop there the night. On -inquiring about the way we were informed that we could not miss it, as -it was well “sign-posted,” a fresh expression to us. Just as we started -the rain came down. Lincolnshire had greeted our coming with sunny -smiles, and now she bade us good-bye in tears,--that was the poetical -way of looking at the unpromising state of the weather! Of the road on -to Melton Mowbray I cannot say much, as it rained the whole way -persistently. In spite of this the country struck us as being distinctly -pretty in parts, especially at one spot where we dipped down through -woods to a ford over a shallow but fairly wide river, across which was a -very Welsh-like bridge for pedestrians. On a fine day this would have -been an ideal spot to make a sketch or to take a photograph of. Even -seen through the rain its picturesqueness impressed itself so on us that -during the evening we made a very fair memory-sketch of the quiet nook. - -It rained all that night at Melton Mowbray, at least the ostler said it -did, and we took his word for it, as we were fast asleep. Anyhow it was -raining in the morning when we awoke; and though we waited till eleven -o’clock before resuming our journey, the weather had not the grace to -improve, so we set forth in the rain bound for Oakham on our way to -Uppingham. As we drove on the weather improved. Now and again the sun -struggled out for a time, and the cloud-scapes above and the strong play -of light and shade on the hilly landscape below were very effective. The -country was wild and beautiful, with a beauty of hill and dale, of wood, -and hedgerowed lane that called Devonshire to remembrance. The only -place we passed through on the way of any importance was the straggling -and very pretty village of Langham. Shortly after this we found -ourselves in Oakham, - -[Sidenote: _A CURIOUS TOLL_] - -which struck us as a clean, neat little town with thatched and -slab-roofed houses in its streets, and a charming old butter-cross set -away in a quiet corner, with a sun-dial on the top and the ancient -stocks below. Near to the butter-cross stands the banqueting-hall of -Oakham Castle, all that now remains of that stronghold. Within, the -walls of this hall are hung round with a number of gigantic horse-shoes, -some gilt, and nearly all with the names of titled people painted on -them. On inquiring the wherefore of this, we were told that the custom -of the Lord of the Manor anciently exerted to show his authority, and -still maintained, is to claim a horse-shoe from every peer who passes -through the town for the first time. Instead of real horse-shoes, in -every instance but one, large imitation shoes to hang up have been -purposely made. The one real horse-shoe is that of Lord Willoughby -d’Eresby, dated 1840. The oldest shoe is that of Queen Elizabeth. -Certainly the custom is a curious one, and it would be interesting to -trace its origin. - -From Oakham we had a delightful drive of six miles on to Uppingham. The -weather had cleared up, and the sun was shining quite cheerfully again. -There was a freshness and a fragrance in the air that was very grateful -to us. Our road was level at first, then we had a stiffish climb up to -Manton-on-the-Hill, a forsaken-looking village of stone-built houses set -on a height and grouped around an ancient church that looked so -pathetically old. Most of the houses there were gray with age and -picturesque besides, with porches, mullioned windows, and moulded -gables, one of the latter being surmounted by a quaint sun-dial. We just -took a glance at the interior of the crumbling church which was -interesting; but an old woman we discovered there sweeping the floors -interested us even more, for humanity, _when characteristic_, is ever -better worth study than mere inert matter. She concluded her long life’s -story by saying that she was seventy-two, and cleaned the church and -blew the organ, as it was a little help towards living, her husband -being paralysed, “and he’s only seventy-seven.” Just as though it were a -reproach to him his being helpless at that early age! - -A “give and take” road with more takes than gives, it seemed to us, -brought us to Uppingham, where we found a comfortable hotel. Here, while -the daylight lasted, we took a stroll round the town, and admired the -new school buildings in the course of erection. Then we went into one or -two shops to make a few purchases. At the first of these we remarked to -the shopman, “You’ve got a fine school here.” His reply rather took us -aback. “Yes, we have,” said he. “It’s all school here now and no town; -we’re as school-ridden as Spain is priest-ridden,” and he spoke like a -man who was sorely vexed in his soul about something; but he would not -condescend to any explanations, so we left him and went to a stationer’s -shop for some trifle. Here we saw a photograph of a fine ruined mansion -that attracted us from its manifest former importance, so we inquired -where it was. “Oh, that’s Kirby,” we were told; “it’s near Rockingham, -and some seven miles from here. It’s well worth seeing. It was once -nearly purchased for a residence for George III. It’s a grand old place -all falling to ruin, as you see.” Upon this we purchased the photograph, -and determined to visit Kirby the next day, as we found we could take it -on our way by a slight detour. - -[Sidenote: _A CHARMING VILLAGE_] - -It was a grand drive over a wild open country to Rockingham, a charming -village nestled at the foot of a wooded hill, which was crowned by a -modernised feudal castle known locally as “the Windsor Castle of the -Midlands.” Here, with our usual good-fortune, we were permitted to see -the gardens and the interior of the castle. We entered the courtyard -through a great arched gateway, guarded on either hand by two massive -round towers built in the Edwardian age, and as strong and substantial -now as then. First we strolled round the old garden enclosed by a high -stone wall. Alongside of this wall runs a broad terrace, from which -elevated position looking down we had a glorious and space-expressing -prospect over the wild Welland valley, bounded to the north by the -wilderness of Lincolnshire hills showing green, gray, and faintly blue. - -The interior of the castle is interesting. This, with the treasures -stored therein, would need pages of description to do them justice. On -the roofbeam of the entrance-hall we noticed the following motto -painted:--“This Howse Shall Be Preserved And Never Will Decaye Wheare -The Almightie God Is Honored And Served Daye By Daye, 1579.” Here is an -iron treasure-chest that once belonged to King John. In the old -Elizabethan gallery are a number of interesting paintings by Van Dyke, -Sir Joshua Reynolds, and other famous artists. Here also was pointed out -to us a portrait supposed by some authorities to represent Queen -Elizabeth when an infant, but it is of doubtful authenticity. Want of -space unfortunately prevents my giving further particulars of this old -historic pile set in its romantic park, rich in wood and charmingly -varied by rugged hill and deep dale. - -We had a stiff climb out of Rockingham when we reached high ground, and -turning to our left gradually descended to a well-wooded valley. In the -heart of this we espied the ruined mansion of Kirby, situated low in a -wild and desolate-looking park, and some half mile or so from the public -road. Driving under the time-grayed gateway here, we had presented to us -a vision of picturesque and pathetic decay. The vast mass of ruins -attests the former grandeur of the place. When we were there cows were -feeding in its grass-grown courtyards, portions of the structure were -roofless, and the mullioned windows glazeless, birds wandered in and out -of its deserted chambers, and weeds found lodgment in the crevices of -its weather-beaten walls. It was a scene of desolation. But what struck -us amongst the decay of roof, floor, panel, and window was the enduring -quality of the stone-work. The masonry appeared little injured by mere -age or weathering, it being damaged chiefly by the tumbling down of -roofs and floors; the fine carvings on the stones being almost as sharp -as when first chiselled centuries now ago. It would be interesting to -learn where this splendid stone was quarried; it is manifestly -magnificent building material. Architects might do worse than study this -question. There is no doubt as to the designer of this stately mansion, -for John Thorpe’s plans of it are preserved in the Soane Museum, -endorsed in his handwriting, “Kirby, whereof I layd the first stone, -1570.” - -[Sidenote: _A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE PROVERB_] - -We were now in Northamptonshire that, according to the proverb, has - - More spires and more squires - More bells and more wells - -than any other county. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - A well-preserved relic--An old English home--Authorities - differ--Rooms on the top of a church tower--A medieval-looking - town--A Saxon tower--Bedford--Bunyan’s birthplace--Luton--The end - of the journey. - - -Leaving Kirby we soon reached the very pretty village of Deene, on -passing through which we noticed a picturesque creeper-covered little -hostel with the sign of “The Sea-horse,” though it was so far inland. -Then our road led us round Deene Park, shady with branching beeches and -leafy elms, just giving us a glance of the interesting old Tudor mansion -peeping through the woods, and so by the side of a little lake to -another picturesque village called Great Weldon, some of the houses -wherein are quaintly built and worthy of study. A stone district seems -to breed good architecture, even in cottages. After this we had an open -stretch of country on to Geddington where we found, to our delight, a -Queen Eleanor Cross, little damaged, either by the hand of man, or time. -It was a pleasure to come unexpectedly upon this well-preserved relic of -the vanished long ago. - -Shortly after this our road brought us to Boughton Park, a fine demesne -with a large and rather ugly mansion set therein. What interested - -[Sidenote: _A GRAND HOBBY_] - -us here was the arrangement of wide avenues of elms, extending from the -house in every direction, rising and falling with the varying -undulations of the ground. The effect, though formal, is fine in the -sense that it gives a feeling of great expanse by leading the eye far -away into the distant country on all sides. It is magnificent, but it is -too apparently artificial to be commended; a formal garden is all very -well, and very charming; a garden is confessedly Nature tamed, to a -greater or less extent, but one does not desire a whole country-side -tamed! These stately avenues, we learnt afterwards, were planted by the -second Duke of Montague, from which grand hobby he justly earned the -title of “the planter Duke.” Soon after this we entered the busy and -thriving town of Kettering, where we fortunately discovered a very -comfortable hotel with a most obliging landlord. - -We resumed our journey early the next morning; we left our hotel and -worthy landlord with regret, and the busy town with pleasure; and glad -we were to get into the quiet country again. We had a rather hilly road -at first, with charming woodland prospects opening out ever and again; -in about two miles we reached the small hamlet of Barton Seagrave,--here -we noticed more avenues of elms radiating from the ancient church, -possibly part of the scheme of “the planter Duke.” Then driving on we -came to the large village of Burton Latimer, where to the left of our -road we espied a lovely old English home of many gables, great chimney -stacks and mullioned windows, with a gray-green slabstone roof broken -above by dormers. On one chimney was a sun-dial, and on one gable we -noticed a very quaint weather-vane, whilst in the forecourt stood an -ancient pigeon-cote. A charming home of past days, that with its -old-fashioned gardens looked as though it had stepped out of some -picture, an artist’s ideal realised. You do not frequently set your eyes -upon such a delightful actuality in this commonplace age! - -The next village on our way was Finedon, a straggling place; here by the -roadside we noticed a monument gray with years, and without any -inscription that we could find. So we asked a man the meaning of it; he -replied that it was erected by a gentleman whose horse had fallen dead -on the spot after being driven hard by his master to catch the -mail-coach. Another man who was listening to the conversation declared -positively that our informant was all wrong, and that it was put up as a -memorial of somebody who was drowned at sea. So hard is it to arrive at -facts in this world! Then the first man got in a rage with the second -man and called him bad names, and said he knew “nought about it,” and as -the argument was already heated and promised to be prolonged, we -politely thanked both parties for their trustworthy information and -departed. As we drove away each man shouted after us that he was right; -and we shouted back pleasantly we were quite sure of it! - -The next point of interest on our way was the long-named little town of -Irthlingborough, with its ancient market-cross and fine old church. The - -[Sidenote: _AN ARCHITECTURAL PUZZLE_] - -church tower, detached from the main building, is surmounted by a tall -and quaint octagonal structure that gives it a strangely -unecclesiastical appearance, and a very original one too. Well, -originality that escapes eccentricity is pleasing. Our church towers and -spires, however architecturally good in themselves, too often lack -individuality, in that they resemble one another over much; even a -beautiful form by too frequent repetition may become monotonous. For a -wonder we found the clerk in the church; he told us that the tower had -been rebuilt, as we could see, but it was, externally, an exact -reproduction of the old one. The interior was not quite the same, as -there was a stone staircase up the tower, whilst in the old one you had -to get up by ladders. The octagonal structure at the top, now mere -enclosed space, used to consist, we were told, of three stories, with a -room in each provided with a fireplace, but what the use of these rooms -was, the clerk did not know. The fireplaces showed that they were -intended to be lived in, yet dwelling-rooms right on the top of a tall -church tower seemed singular; at any rate the chambers must have had a -plentiful supply of fresh air! We wondered if they could have been -intended for a priest’s home. But whatever their purpose, dwelling rooms -in such a position are surely unique. - -A little farther on we crossed the silvery winding river Nene by a gray -and ancient bridge, and had before us, set pleasantly on the top of a -hill the picturesque old town of Higham Ferrers looking quite romantic -with its old-time irregular-roofed houses, and grand church spire, -strongly silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Higham Ferrers struck -us as a most interesting little town, with its fine old fane, around -which are clustered gray crumbling buildings of the medieval age, in the -shape of a bede-house, a school, a vicarage, and a Decorated stone -cross; all in the Gothic style, with many traceried windows, and -supporting buttresses to the walls. We owe this effective group of -buildings to the good Archbishop Chicheley, who was born in the town, -and when he became great and famous raised them in honour of his -birthplace. He also erected a college here, of which only a great -archway remains, and some decayed walls with broken mullioned windows; -this faces the main street of the town, and when we were there simply -enclosed a dirty farmyard. Within, the church is most interesting, and -possesses some exceedingly fine old brasses, many of the fifteenth -century; amongst the number a brass to a priest is noteworthy, as are -also the royal arms of England sculptured in relief, on the side panels -of a very beautiful altar-tomb placed under a stone canopy, suggesting -the possibility of its having been prepared for royalty, though probably -never used; the place where the recumbent effigy should be is now taken -up by a brass that manifestly was intended for the floor. There are also -some quaint medieval tiles before the altar, ornamented with curiously -figured animals in yellow on a red ground. Altogether the interior of -this splendid and ancient church affords a mine of good things for the -antiquary or ecclesiologist. - -[Sidenote: _SAXON MASONRY_] - -Leaving Higham Ferrers we had a pleasant drive, mostly downhill, to the -hamlet of Bletsoe, where we came in sight again of the slow-gliding -Ouse, the valley of which we followed on to Bedford. Some short way -beyond Bletsoe we passed through Clapham, unlike its ugly London -namesake, a pretty rural village by the river-side. Here we noticed the -striking-looking Saxon tower of the church, more like a castle keep than -an ecclesiastical structure. It forms quite a feature in the landscape, -and asserts itself by its peculiarity. - -On arriving at Bedford it began to rain, and it was raining again in the -morning; but about mid-day the steady downpour changed to intermittent -showers. So, early in the afternoon, we started off for a twenty-mile -drive on to Luton, which we did in one stage. In a little over a mile we -found ourselves passing through a very pretty village, and on inquiring -the name thereof discovered it to be Elstow, the birthplace of John -Bunyan, a spot that does not seem to have changed much to the eye since -that event, for, if the expression be allowed, it looks still “genuinely -Old English.” - -After Elstow we had a fine open country before us, bounded ahead by a -low range of wooded hills, hills that showed softly blue under the -shadow of a passing cloud, a golden green in the transient gleams of -sunshine, and were sometimes lost altogether or half hidden by the mist -of a trailing shower. Then driving on in due course we reached the hills -and had a stiff climb up them, followed by a long and glorious run down -through fragrant-scented pine-woods with open spaces here and there -given over to a little forest of waving bracken, green, red, and yellow, -in all the loveliness of their autumn tints. At the foot of the descent -we found a charming little hamlet set in woods, past which a clear -stream purled peacefully; crossing this stream we had another climb -succeeded by a level winding elm-bound road, with an uneventful -landscape on either hand, of flat fields stretching far away to a misty -horizon. Now the rounded chalk hills loomed up finely in front of us, -the clouds stooping to their low summits, so that it was hard to tell -where the land ended and the sky began; and in the fast-fading light a -sense of mystery and the majesty of space pervaded the prospect. Our -road eventually led us along the sides of these hills and into the -gathering gloom, then we dropped down into the cheerful lamp-lighted -streets of busy Luton. From Luton we drove through picturesque Harpenden -to historic St. Albans, with its much-restored abbey, and from St. -Albans by Elstree and Edgeware we made our way back to London again. And -so ended our most enjoyable wanderings on the pleasant old roads. Ours -was purely a pleasure jaunt. We set forth on it determined, come what -would, to enjoy ourselves, and we succeeded! Now, kind reader, the time -has come when I must, perforce, bid you farewell. - - Of all the words the English tongue can tell - The hardest one to utter is “Farewell.” - But the fond hope that we may meet again - Relieves that word of more than half its pain. - - - - -APPENDIX - -ITINERARY OF JOURNEY - - - Day’s Total - Stages Distance - in Miles. in Miles. -London to Stevenage 31 31 -Stevenage to St. Neots 25 56 -St. Neots to Huntingdon 11 } -Huntingdon to St. Ives and back 10 } 21 77 -Huntingdon to Stamford } - _through Stilton_ } 25½ 102½ -Stamford to Spalding } - _over the Fens and by Crowland_ } 25½ 128 -Spalding to Bourn 12 140 -Bourn to Sleaford 18 158 -Sleaford to Boston } - _by Swineshead and Frampton_ } 25 183 -Boston to Wainfleet } - _across the Marshes_ } 18 201 -Wainfleet to Horncastle } - _by Spilsby and over the Wolds_ } 20 221 -Round about Tennyson-land 20 241 -Horncastle to Scrivelsby and back 5 } -Horncastle to Lincoln 21 } 26 267 -Lincoln to Woodhall Spa } - _over Lincoln Heath_ } 18 285 -Round about Woodhall Spa 18 303 -Woodhall Spa to Sleaford } - _by Tattershall Castle_ } 18 321 -Sleaford to Beckingham } - _over “the Cliff”_ } 15 336 -Beckingham to Grantham 15 351 -Grantham to Staunton Hall } - and back by Bottesford } 18 369 -Grantham to Melton Mowbray } - _by Colsterworth_ } 21 390 -Melton Mowbray to Uppingham } - _through Oakham_ } 16 406 -Uppingham to Kettering } - _by Rockingham and Kirby_} 22 428 -Kettering to Bedford } - _through Higham Ferrers_ } 25 453 -Bedford to Luton 20 473 -Luton to London } - _through St. Albans_ } 28 501 - -[Illustration: - -ROUTE BETWEEN -LONDON & LINCOLNSHIRE. -] - -[Illustration: - -OVER FEN AND WOLD -IN LINCOLNSHIRE. -] - - - - -INDEX - - -Abbeys, Cathedrals, and Churches-- - Ashby Puerorum, 312-315 - Bag Enderby, 329-334 - Bardney Abbey, 397 - Barton Seagrave, 437 - Beckingham, 411, 412 - Benington, 259, 260 - Biggleswade, 59 - Boston, 251 - Bottesford, 420, 421 - Bourn, 202 - Brampton, 82 - Branston, 383, 384 - Buckden, 76-79 - Clapham, 441 - Claypole, 415 - Colsterworth, 428, 429 - Coningsby, 403 - Cowbit, 181 - Crowland Abbey, 151, 163, 164, 172-176 - Falkingham, 215-220 - Fenton, 416 - Frampton, 243, 244 - Grantham, 425 - Great Gidding, 245, 246 - Great Ponton, 426 - Harrington, 338-341 - Heckington, 235 - Higham Ferrers, 440 - Horncastle, 346-348 - Horsington, 399, 400 - Irthlingborough, 438, 439 - Kirkstead Abbey, 402 - Kirkstead Chapel, 402 - Leadenham, 410, 411 - Lincoln Minster, 367, 368, 372-374 - Mavis Enderby, 303, 304 - Metheringham, 388 - Osbournby, 223-225 - St. Leonard’s Priory, 152, 153 - Scrivelsby, 360 - Silk Willoughby, 228-230 - Sleaford, 233, 234 - Somersby, 320-324 - Spalding, 189-193 - Spilsby, 297-299 - Swineshead, 239-241 - Tattershall, 404 - Welwyn, 28, 29 - Wispington, 395-397 - Wrangle, 264, 265 - -Alconbury Hill, 103, 104 - -Anwick, 408 - -Aslackby, 207, 208 - -Astwick, 55-58 - - -Bag Enderby, 329-334 - -Baldock, 47-52 - -Barholm, 155 - -Barnet, 13-17, 21 - -“Barnett Wells,” 17, 18 - -Barton Seagrave, 437 - -Beckingham, 408, 409, 411-415 - -Bedford, 441 - -Benington, 259, 260 - -Biggleswade, 58-60 - -Birthplaces of Notable People-- - Bunyan, John, 441 - Cromwell, Oliver, 97, 98 - Franklin, Sir John, 296 - Ingelow, Jean, 254 - Newton, Sir Isaac, 426-428 - Pepys, Samuel, 80-82 - Tennyson, Lord, 316-320 - Thistlewood, Arthur, 400 - Young, Dr., 29 - -Bletsoe, 441 - -Boston, 246-255, 301 - -Bottesford, 420, 421 - -Boughton Park, 436, 437 - -Bourn, 198-204 - -Brampton, 80, 82 - -Brandon, 417 - -Branston, 383, 384 - -Brant Broughton, 410 - -Buckden, 75 - -Burleigh Park, 131-133, 135 - -Burton Latimer, 437 - - -Castles and Towers-- - Belvoir, 420 - Hussey Tower, 255 - Kyme Tower, 258 - Oakham, 431 - Rockingham, 433, 434 - Stamford, 149, 150 - Tattershall, 392, 407 - “Tower on the Moor,” Woodhall, 392 - -Clapham, 441 - -Colsterworth, 426, 428, 429 - -Coningsby, 403 - -Cowbit, 181 - -Crowland, 163-176 - - -Deene, 436 - -Deeping St. James, 156, 157 - -Dunston Pillar, 386, 387 - - -Eaton Socon, 69 - -Edgeware, 442 - -Elstow, 441 - -Elstree, 442 - - -Falkingham, 213-221 - -Fenton, 415 - -Finedon, 438 - -Frampton, 243, 244 - - -Geddington, 436 - -Girtford, 65 - -Godmanchester, 94, 95 - -Gonerby Hill, 417, 418 - -Grantham, 83, 418-420, 425 - -Graveley, 38, 39 - -Great Ponton, 426 - -Great Weldon, 436 - - -Hadley, 22, 23 - -Halstead Hall, 400, 401 - -Halton Holgate, 275, 278-280, 285 - -Harpenden, 442 - -Harrington Hall, 334-339 - -Hatfield, 23-27 - -Heckington, 234, 235 - -Hemingford Grey, 92-94 - -Higham Ferrers, 439-441 - -High Rigge, 392, 393 - -Hinchinbrook, 83 - -Holbeck, 310 - -Horncastle, 307, 308, 344-355, 362 - -Horsington, 399 - -Huntingdon, 83-86, 95-100 - - -Irby, 284 - -Irthlingborough, 438, 439 - - -Kenulph’s Stone, 159 - -Kettering, 437 - -Kirby, 434-436 - -Knight’s Mill, 92 - - -Langham, 430 - -Langworth, 367 - -Leadenham, 410 - -Lincoln, 368-381 - -Lincoln Heath, 386, 387 - -Little Stukeley, 101, 102 - -Luton, 441, 442 - - -Market Deeping, 155, 156 - -Martin, 388, 389 - -Mavis Enderby, 303-305 - -Melton Mowbray, 429, 430 - -Metheringham, 387, 388 - - -Norman Cross, 119 - - -Oakham, 430, 431 - -Osbournby, 223-225 - - -Peakirk, 158 - -Poolham Hall, 393-395 - - -Rivers-- - Ivel, 60 - Nene, 119, 129-131, 439 - Ouse, 68, 69, 74, 86, 87, 91-95, 441 - Steeping, 274 - Welland, 150, 159, 161, 183 - Witham, 389, 407, 428 - -Rockingham, 433, 434 - - -St. Albans, 442 - -St. Guthlak’s Cross, 159 - -St. Ives, 87-91 - -St. Neots, 69-73 - -Scrivelsby Court, 356-360 - -Silk Willoughby, 226-230 - -Sleaford, 231-234, 408 - -Somersby, 309, 315-329 - -Somersby Grange, 324-328 - -Somersby Rectory, 316-320 - -South Ormsby, 341 - -Spalding, 183-194 - -Spilsby, 293-300 - -Stamford, 83, 119, 133-151 - -Staunton Hall, 409, 420-424 - -Stevenage, 31-36 - -Stilton, 39, 107-117 - -Stixwold, 401 - -Stixwold Ferry, 389 - -Stubton, 416 - -Swineshead, 236-241 - - -Tallington, 155 - -Tattershall, 404 - -Tempsford, 66-68 - -Tetford, 341 - -Treckingham, 222 - - -Uffington, 154 - -Uppingham, 430-433 - - -Wainfleet, 271-275 - -Walcot, 222 - -Wansford, 129-131 - -Water Newton, 119-128 - -Welwyn, 27-30 - -Whetstone, 12 - -Winceby Hill, 307, 347 - -Wispington, 395-399 - -Wolds, the, 300-307, 310-342, 362 - -Woodhall Spa, 389-392, 401 - -Woolsthorpe Manor-House, 426-428 - -Wothorpe, 139, 140 - -Wragby, 363-367 - -Wrangle, 261-265 - - - THE END - - - _Printed by_ R. & R. 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font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Over Fen and Wold, by James John Hissey</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Over Fen and Wold</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James John Hissey</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 23, 2021 [eBook #65900]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER FEN AND WOLD ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" -height="550" alt="[Image of -the book's cover unavailable.]" /></a> -</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border: 2px black solid;margin:auto auto;max-width:50%; -padding:1%;"> -<tr><td> -<p class="c"><a href="#CONTENTS">Contents.</a><br /> -<a href="#APPENDIX">Appendix.</a><br /> -<a href="#INDEX">Index.</a></p> -<p class="c"><a href="#ILLUSTRATIONS">List of Illustrations</a><br /> <span class="nonvis">(In certain versions of this etext [in certain browsers] -clicking on the image will bring up a larger version.)</span></p> - -<p class="c">(etext transcriber's note)</p></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c">OVER FEN AND WOLD</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/colophon.png" width="150" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_001" style="width: 356px;"> -<a href="images/i_frontispiece.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" width="356" height="581" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY MANOR-HOUSE.</p></div> -</div> - -<h1 class="eng"> -<img src="images/fenwold.png" -width="450" -alt="Over Fen and Wold" /></h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -JAMES JOHN HISSEY<br /> -<br /><small> -AUTHOR OF ‘A DRIVE THROUGH ENGLAND,’ ‘ON THE BOX SEAT,’<br /> -‘THROUGH TEN ENGLISH COUNTIES,’ ‘ON SOUTHERN ENGLISH ROADS,’ ETC.<br /> -</small> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Healthy, free, the world before me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The long brown road before me leading wherever I choose.<br /></span> -<span class="i18"><span class="smcap">Whitman.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"> -WITH FOURTEEN FULL PAGE (AND SOME SMALLER) ILLUSTRATIONS<br /> -BY THE AUTHOR<br /> -<br /> -AND A MAP OF THE ROUTE<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">London</span><br /> -<span class="redd">MACMILLAN AND CO., <span class="smcap">Limited</span></span><br /> -NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -1898<br /> -<br /> -<i>All rights reserved</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">DEDICATED<br /> -<br /> -TO THE MOST CHERISHED MEMORY OF<br /> -<br /> -MY ONE-YEAR-OLD SON<br /> -<br /> -WILLIAM AVERELL HISSEY<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Darling, if Jesus rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then thou in God’s sweet strength hast risen as well;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When o’er thy brow the solemn darkness fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i6">It was but one moment of repose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Thy love is mine—my deathless love to thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May God’s love guard us till all death is o’er,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till thine eyes meet my sorrowing eyes once more,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then guard us still, through all eternity!<br /></span> - -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_002"> -<a href="images/i_vii.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_vii.jpg" width="313" height="218" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A HOME OF TO-DAY.</p></div></div> - -<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> following pages contain the chronicle of a leisurely and most -enjoyable driving tour through a portion of Eastern England little -esteemed and almost wholly, if not quite, neglected by the average -tourist, for Lincolnshire is generally deemed to be a flat land, mostly -consisting of Fens, and with but small, or no scenic attractions. We, -however, found Lincolnshire to be a country of hills as well as of Fens, -and we were charmed with the scenery thereof, which is none the less -beautiful because neither famed nor fashionable. Some day it may become -both. Lincolnshire scenery awaits dis<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span>covery! Hitherto the -pleasure-traveller has not found it out, but that is his loss!</p> - -<p>We set forth on our tour, like the renowned Dr. Syntax, “in search of -the picturesque,” combined with holiday relaxation, and in neither -respect did we suffer disappointment. Our tour was an unqualified -success. A more delightfully independent, a more restful, or a more -remunerative way of seeing the country than by driving through it, -without haste or any precisely arranged plan, it is difficult to -conceive, ensuring, as such an expedition does, perfect freedom, and a -happy escape from the many minor worries of ordinary travel—the only -thing absolutely needful for the driving tourist to do being to find an -inn for the night.</p> - -<p>Writing of the joys of road-travel in the pre-railway days George Eliot -says, “You have not the best of it in all things, O youngsters! The -elderly man has his enviable memories, and not the least of them is the -memory of a long journey on the outside of a stage-coach.” The railway -is most excellent for speed, “but the slow old-fashioned way of getting -from one end of the country to the other is the better thing to have in -the memory. The happy outside coach-passenger, seated on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span> box from -the dawn to the gloaming, gathered enough stories of English life, -enough aspects of earth and sky, to make episodes for a modern Odyssey.” -And so did we seated in our own dog-cart, more to be envied even than -the summer-time coach-passenger, for we had full command over our -conveyance, so that we could stop on the way, loiter, or make haste, as -the mood inclined.</p> - -<p>Sir Edwin Arnold says, “This world we live in is becoming sadly -monotonous, as it shrinks year by year to smaller and smaller apparent -dimensions under the rapid movement provided by limited passenger trains -and swift ocean steamships.” Well, by driving one enlarges the apparent -size of the world, for, as John Burrough puts it, “When you get into a -railway carriage you want a continent, but the man in his carriage -requires only a county.” Very true, moreover the man who steams round -the world may see less than the man who merely drives round about an -English county: the former is simply conveyed, the latter travels—a -distinction with a vast difference!</p> - -<p>In conclusion, I have only to express the hope that the illustrations -herewith, engraved on wood from my sketches by Mr. George Pearson (to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> -whom I tender my thanks for the pains he has taken in their -reproduction), may lend an added interest to this unvarnished record of -a most delightful and health-giving holiday.</p> - -<p class="r"> -J. J. HISSEY.<br /> -</p> - -<p>1898. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_003" style="width: 324px;"> -<a href="images/i_xi.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_xi.jpg" width="324" height="241" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>SOMERSBY CHURCH AND CROSS.</p></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></th></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">The planning of our tour—Ready for the road—The start—One -of Dick Turpin’s haunts—Barnet—A curious inn -sign—In the coaching days—Travellers, new and old—A -forgotten Spa—An ancient map</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Memorial of a great battle—An ancient fire-cresset—Free -feasting!—Country quiet—Travellers’ Tales—Hatfield—An -Elizabethan architect—An author’s tomb—Day-dreaming—Mysterious -roadside monuments—Great North Road -<i>versus</i> Great Northern Railway—Stevenage—Chats by -the way—Field life—Nature as a painter—Changed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span>times</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A gipsy encampment—A puzzling matter—Farming and -farmers, past and present—An ancient market-town—A -picturesque bit of old-world architecture—Gleaners—Time’s -changes—A house in two counties—A wayside -inn—The commercial value of the picturesque</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_41">41</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Biggleswade—“Instituted” or “intruded”!—A poetical will—The -river Ivel—A day to be remembered—The art -of seeing—Misquotations—The striving after beauty—Stories -in stone—An ancient muniment chest—An angler’s -haunt—The town bridge—The pronunciation of names—St. -Neots</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_58">58</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">The charm of small towns—The Ouse—A pleasant land—Buckden -Palace—A joke in stone—The birthplace of -Samuel Pepys—Buried treasure—Huntingdon—An old-time -interior—A famous coaching inn—St. Ives—A -church steeple blown down!—A quaint and ancient bridge—A -riverside ramble—Cowper’s country—Two narrow -escapes</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_73">73</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Cromwell’s birthplace—Records of the past—Early photographs—A -breezy day—Home-brewed ale—Americans on -English scenery—Alconbury Hill—The plains of Cambridgeshire—The -silence of Nature—Stilton—A decayed -coaching town—A medieval hostelry—A big sign-board—Old-world -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span>traditions—Miles from anywhere</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_97">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Norman Cross—A Norman-French inscription—A re-headed -statue—The friendliness of the road—The art of being -delightful—The turnpike roads in their glory—Bits for -the curious—A story of the stocks—“Wansford in England”—Romance -and reality—The glamour of art—“The -finest street between London and Edinburgh”—Ancient -“Callises”—A historic inn—Windows that have tales to -tell</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A picturesque ruin—Round about Stamford—Browne’s “Callis”—A -chat with an antiquary—A quaint interior—“Bull-running”—A -relic of a destroyed college—An old Carmelite -gateway—A freak of Nature—Where Charles I. -last slept as a free man—A storied ceiling—A gleaner’s -bell—St. Leonard’s Priory—Tennyson’s county—In time -of vexation—A flood—Hiding-holes—Lost!—Memorials -of the past</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_139">139</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A land of dykes—Fenland rivers—Crowland Abbey—A unique -triangular bridge—Antiquaries differ—A mysterious statue—A -medieval rhyme—A wayside inscription—The -scenery of the Fens—Light-hearted travellers—Cowbit—A -desolate spot—An adventure on the road—A Dutch-like -town</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_161">161</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Spalding—“Ye Olde White Horse Inne”—An ancient hall -and quaint garden—Epitaph-hunting—A signboard joke—Across -the Fens—A strange world—Storm and sunshine—An -awkward predicament—Bourn—Birthplace of -Hereward the Wake—A medieval railway station!—Tombstone -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiv" id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span>verses</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_186">186</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A pleasant road—Memories—Shortening of names—Health-drinking—A -Miller and his mill—A rail-less town—Changed -times and changed ways—An Elizabethan church -clock—A curious coincidence—Old superstitions—Satire -in carving—“The Monks of Old”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_204">204</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A civil tramp—Country hospitality—Sleaford—A Lincolnshire -saying—A sixteenth-century vicarage—Struck by lightning—“The -Queen of Villages”—A sculptured anachronism—Swineshead—A -strange legend—Local proverbs—Chat -with a “commercial”—A mission of destruction—The -curfew—Lost our way—Out of the beaten track—A grotesque -figure and mysterious legend—Puzzling inscriptions—The -end of a long day</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_226">226</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">The Fenland capital—Mother and daughter towns—“Boston -stump”—One church built over another—The company -at our inn—A desultory ramble—An ancient prison—The -Pilgrim Fathers—The banks of the Witham—Hussey -Tower—An English Arcadia—Kyme Castle—Benington—A -country of many churches—Wrangle—In search of a -ghost—A remote village—Gargoyles—The grotesque in -art</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_248">248</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Wind-blown trees—Marshlands—September weather—Wainfleet—An -ancient school—The scent of the sea—The -rehabilitation of the old-fashioned ghost—A Lincolnshire -mystery—A vain search—Too much alike—Delightfully -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xv" id="page_xv">{xv}</a></span>indefinite—Halton Holgate—In quest of a haunted house</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_268">268</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">In a haunted house—A strange story—A ghost described!—An -offer declined—Market-day in a market-town—A picturesque -crowd—Tombs of ancient warriors—An old -tradition—Popular errors—A chat by the way—The -modern Puritan—A forgotten battle-ground—At the sign -of the “Bull”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_288">288</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">Six hilly miles—A vision for a pilgrim—The scenery of the -Wolds—Poets’ dreams <i>versus</i> realities—Tennyson’s brook—Somersby—An -out-of-the-world spot—Tennyson-land—A -historic home—A unique relic of the past—An ancient -moated grange—Traditions</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_309">309</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A decayed fane—Birds in church—An old manorial hall—Curious -creations of the carver’s brain—The grotesque <i>in -excelsis</i>—The old formal garden—Sketching from memory—The -beauty of the Wolds—Lovely Lincolnshire!—Advice -heeded!—A great character—A headless horseman—Extremes -meet—“All’s well that ends well”</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_329">329</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A friend in a strange land—Horse sold in a church—A sport -of the past—Racing the moon!—Facts for the curious—The -Champions of England—Scrivelsby Court—Brush -magic—Coronation cups—A unique privilege—A blundering -inscription—A headless body—Nine miles of beauty—Wragby—At -Lincoln—Guides and guide-books—An -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvi" id="page_xvi">{xvi}</a></span>awkward predicament</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_352">352</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">“A precious piece of architecture”—Guest at an inn—A -pleasant city—Unexpected kindness—A medieval lavatory—An -honest lawyer!—The cost of obliging a stranger—Branston—A -lost cyclist—In search of a husband!—Dunston -Pillar—An architectural puzzle—A Lincolnshire -spa—Exploring—An ancient chrismatory</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_372">372</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A long discourse—The origin of a coat-of-arms—An English -serf—A witch-stone—Lincolnshire folk-lore—A collar for -lunatics—St. Mary’s thistle—A notable robbery—An -architectural gem—Coningsby—Tattershall church and -castle—Lowland and upland—“Beckingham-behind-the-Times”—Old -Lincolnshire folk</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_395">395</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A cross-country road—A famous hill—Another medieval inn—“The -Drunken Sermon”—Bottesford—Staunton Hall—Old -family deeds—A chained library—Woolsthorpe -manor-house—A great inventor!—Melton Mowbray—Oakham—A -quaint old manorial custom—Rockingham -Castle—Kirby</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_415">415</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd">A well-preserved relic—An old English home—Authorities -differ—Rooms on the top of a Church tower—A medieval-looking -town—A Saxon tower—Bedford—Bunyan’s birthplace—Luton—The -end of the journey</td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_436">436</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd"><span class="smcap"><a href="#APPENDIX">Appendix</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_443">443</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="pdd"><span class="smcap"><a href="#INDEX">Index</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_445">445</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvii" id="page_xvii">{xvii}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="ILLUSTRATIONS" id="ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_001">A Seventeenth-Century Manor-house</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#ill_001"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_002">A Home of To-day</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_vii"><i>Page</i> vii</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_003">Somersby Church and Cross</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_xi"><span class="ditto">“</span>xi</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_004">Old Brass Cromwell Clock</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1"><i>To face page</i> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_005">St. Ives Bridge</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1"><i>Page</i> 1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_006">A Wayside Inn</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66"><i>To face page</i> 66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_007">An Old Coaching Inn: Courtyard of the George, Huntingdon</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span> 84</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_008">A Medieval Hostelry: The Bell, Stilton</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_110"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>110</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_009">A Quiet Country Road</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_154"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>154</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_010">Crowland Abbey</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>174</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_011">A Fenland Home</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_194"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>194</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_012">A Bit of Boston</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_255"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>255</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_013">An Old-Time Farmstead</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_284"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>284</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_014">Somersby Rectory</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_318"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>318</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_015">Scrivelsby Court</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_358"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>358</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_016">Stixwold Ferry</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_389"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>389</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_017">Tattershall Tower</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_406"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>406</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_018">Woolsthorpe Manor-house</a> </td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_428"><span class="ditto">“</span> <span class="ditto">“</span>428</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="smcap"><a href="#ill_019">Map of Route</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#ill_019"><i>End of book</i></a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xviii" id="page_xviii">{xviii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xix" id="page_xix">{xix}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xx" id="page_xx">{xx}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_004" style="width: 222px;"> -<a href="images/i_001fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_001fp.jpg" width="222" height="386" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>OLD BRASS CROMWELL CLOCK.</p> - -<p> -<i><a href="#page_8">See page 8.</a></i><br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_005" style="width: 324px;"> -<a href="images/i_001.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_001.jpg" width="324" height="186" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>ST. IVES BRIDGE.</p> - -<p> -<i><a href="#page_91">See page 91.</a></i><br /> - -</p></div> -</div> - -<h1>OVER FEN AND WOLD</h1> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">The planning of our tour—Ready for the road—The start—One of -Dick Turpin’s haunts—Barnet—A curious inn sign—In the coaching -days—Travellers, new and old—A forgotten Spa—An ancient map. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Our</span> tour was planned one chilly winter’s evening: just a chance letter -originated the idea of exploring a portion of Lincolnshire during the -coming summer. Our project in embryo was to drive from London to that -more or less untravelled land of fen and wold by the old North Road, and -to return to our starting-point by another route, to be decided upon -when we had finished our Lincolnshire wanderings. It was in this wise. -The day had been wild and blustery, as drear a day indeed as an English -December well<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> could make. A bullying “Nor’-Easter” had been blowing -savagely ever since the morning, by the evening it had increased to a -veritable storm, the hail and sleet were hurled against the windows of -our room, and the wind, as it came in fierce gusts, shook the casements -as though it would blow them in if it could. My wife and self were -chatting about former wanderings on wheels, trying fairly successfully -to forget all about the inclement weather without, each comfortably -ensconced in a real easychair within the ample ingle-nook of that cosy -chamber known to the household as “the snuggery”—a happy combination of -studio and library—the thick curtains were closely drawn across the -mullioned windows to exclude any possible draughts, the great wood fire -on the hearth (not one of your black coal fires in an iron grate -arrangement) blazed forth right merrily, the oak logs crackled in a -companionable way, throwing at the same time a ruddy glow into the room, -and the bright flames roared up the wide chimney ever and again with an -additional potency in response to extra vehement blasts without.</p> - -<p>“What a capital time,” I exclaimed, “to look over some of the sketches -we made during our last summer holiday; they will help us to recall the -long sunny days, those jolly days we spent in the country, and bring -back to mind many a pleasant spot and picturesque old home!” No sooner -was the idea expressed than I sought out sundry well-filled sketch-books -from the old oak corner cupboard devoted to our artistic belongings. -True magicians were those sketch-books, with a power superior even to -that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>REMINISCENCES</i></div> - -<p class="nind">of Prince Houssain’s carpet of <i>Arabian Nights</i> renown, for by their aid -not only were we quickly transported to the distant shires, but we also -turned back the hand of Time to the genial summer days, and, in spirit, -were soon far away repeating our past rambles, afoot and awheel, along -the bracken-clad hillsides, over the smooth-turfed Downs, and across the -rugged, boulder-strewn moors, here purple with heather and there aglow -with golden gorse; anon we were strolling alongside the grassy banks of -a certain quiet gliding river beloved of anglers, and spanned, just at a -point where an artist would have placed it, by a hoary bridge built by -craftsmen dead and gone to dust long centuries ago. Then, bringing -forcibly to mind the old beloved coaching days, came a weather-stained -hostelry with its great sign-board still swinging as of yore on the top -of a high post, and bearing the representation—rude but effective—of a -ferocious-looking red lion that one well-remembered summer evening bade -us two tired and dust-stained travellers a hearty heraldic welcome. Next -we found ourselves wandering down a narrow valley made musical by a -little stream tumbling and gambolling over its rocky bed (for the -sketches revealed to the mind infinitely more than what the eye merely -saw, recalling Nature’s sweet melodies, her songs without words, as well -as her visible beauties; besides raising within one countless -half-forgotten memories)—a stream that turned the great green droning -wheel of an ancient water-mill, down to which on either hand gently -sloped the wooded hills, and amidst the foliage, half drowned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> in -greenery, we could discern at irregular intervals the red-tiled -rooftrees of lowly cottage homes peeping picturesquely forth. Then we -were transported to an old, time-grayed manor-house of many gables and -great stacks of clustering chimneys, its ivy-grown walls and -lichen-laden roof being backed by rook-haunted ancestral elms; the -ancient home, with its quaint, old-fashioned garden and reed-grown moat -encircling it, seemed, when we first came unexpectedly thereon, more -like the fond creation of a painter or a poet than a happy reality.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you remember,” said my wife, as we were looking at this last -drawing, “what a delightful day we spent there, and how the owner, when -he discovered us sketching, at once made friends with us and showed us -all over the dear old place, and how he delighted in the old armour in -the hall, and how he told us that his ancestors fought both at Crecy and -Agincourt—how nice it must be to have valiant ancestors like that!—and -don’t you remember that low-ceilinged, oak-panelled bed-chamber with the -leaden-lattice window, <i>the haunted room</i>, and how it looked its part; -and afterwards how the landlady of the village inn where we baited our -horses would have it that the ghost of a former squire who was murdered -by some one—or the ghost of somebody who was murdered by that squire, -she was not quite sure which—stalks about that very chamber every -night. And then there were the curiously-clipped yews on the terrace, -and the old carved sun-dial at the end of the long walk, and——” But -the last sentence was destined never to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> finished, for at that moment -a knock came at the door, followed by a servant bringing in a letter all -moist and dripping, a trifling incident, that, however, sufficed to -transport us back again from our dreamy wanderings amongst sunny summer -scenes to that drear December night—our fireside travels came to an -abrupt end!</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“<i>TRY LINCOLNSHIRE</i>”</div> - -<p>“What a night for any one to be out,” I muttered, as I took the -proffered letter, glancing first at the handwriting, which was -unfamiliar, then at the postmark, which bore the name of a remote -Lincolnshire town, yet we knew no one in that whole wide county. Who -could the sender be? we queried. He proved to be an unknown friend, who -in a good-natured mood had written to suggest, in case we should be at a -loss for a fresh country to explore during the coming summer, that we -should try Lincolnshire; he further went on to remark, lest we should -labour under the popular and mistaken impression (which we did) that it -was a land more or less given over to “flats, fens and fogs,” that he -had visitors from London staying with him with their bicycles, who -complained loudly of the hills in his neighbourhood; furthermore, “just -to whet our appetites,” as he put it, there followed a tempting list, -“by way of sample,” of some of the good things scenic, antiquarian, and -archæological, that awaited us, should we only come. Amongst the -number—to enumerate only a few in chance order, and leaving out Lincoln -and its cathedral—there were Crowland’s ruined abbey, set away in the -heart of the Fens; numerous old churches, that by virtue of their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> -remoteness had the rare good fortune to have escaped the restorer’s -hands, and not a few of these, we were given to understand, contained -curious brasses and interesting tombs of knightly warriors and -unremembered worthies; Tattershall Castle, a glorious old pile, one of -the finest structures of the kind in the kingdom; the historic town of -Boston, with its famous fane and “stump” and Dutch-like waterways; -Stamford, erst the rival of Oxford and Cambridge, with its Jacobean -buildings, crumbling colleges, and quaint “Callises” or hospitals; -Grantham, with its wonderful church spire and genuine medieval hostelry, -dating back to the fifteenth century, that still offers entertainment to -the latter-day pilgrim, and, moreover, makes him “comfortable -exceedingly”; besides many an old coaching inn wherein to take our ease; -not to mention the picturesque villages and sleepy market-towns, all -innocent of the hand of the modern builder, nor the rambling -manor-houses with their unwritten histories, the many moated granges -with their unrecorded traditions, and perhaps not least, two really -haunted houses, possessing well-established ghosts.</p> - -<p>Then there was Tennyson’s birthplace at pretty Somersby, and the haunts -of his early life round about, the wild wolds he loved so and sang -of—the Highlands of Lincolnshire!—a dreamy land full of the -unconscious poetry of civilisation, primitive and picturesque, yet not -wholly unprogressive; a land where the fussy railway does not intrude, -and where the rush and stress of this bustling century<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> has made no -visible impression; a land also where odd characters abound, and where -the wise sayings of their forefathers, old folk-lore, legends, and -strange superstitions linger yet; and last on the long list, and perhaps -not least in interest, there was the wide Fenland, full of its own -weird, but little understood beauties. Verily here was a tempting -programme!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TEMPTING PROGRAMME!</i></div> - -<p>Pondering over all these good things, we found ourselves wondering how -it was that we had never thought of Lincolnshire as fresh ground to -explore before. Did we not then call to mind what a most enjoyable tour -we had made through the little-esteemed Eastern Counties? though before -starting on that expedition we had been warned by friends—who had never -been there, by the way—that we should repent our resolve, as that -portion of England was flat, tame, and intensely uninteresting, having -nothing to show worth seeing, fit for farming and little else. Yet we -remembered that we discovered the Langton Hills on our very first day -out, and still retained a vivid impression of the glorious views -therefrom, and all the rest of the journey was replete with pleasant -surprises and scenic revelations. Truly we found the Land of the Broads -to be flat, but so full of character and special beauty as to attract -artists to paint it. “Therefore,” we exclaimed, “why should not -Lincolnshire prove equally interesting and beautiful?” Perhaps even, -like the once tourist-neglected Broads, the charms and picturesqueness -of Lincolnshire may some day be discovered, be guidebook-lauded as a -delightful holiday ground. Who knows? Besides, there was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> the drive -thither and back along the old coachroads to be remembered; that of -itself was sure to be rewarding.</p> - -<p>The letter set us a-thinking, and the special shelf in our little -library where sundry road-books and county maps are kept was searched -for a chart of Lincolnshire. We were soon deeply engrossed with books -and maps, and with their aid planned a very promising tour. By the time -the old brass Cromwell clock on the bracket in a corner of the -ingle-nook struck twelve we had finally decided, for good or ill, to try -Lincolnshire; already we found ourselves longing for the summer time to -come that we might be off!</p> - -<p>But for all our longings and schemings it was the first of September -before we actually set out on our journey; however, if this were -unkindly delayed by the Fates, to make amends for such delay it must be -confessed that they granted us perfect travellers’ weather, for during -almost the whole time we were away from home there was not a day either -too hot or too cold for open-air enjoyment, we had very little rain, and -plenty of sunshine.</p> - -<p>According to my experience, the month of September and the first week in -October are generally the finest times in the year in England. During -our journey we picked up, to us, many fresh bits of weather-lore and -old-folk sayings; these are always welcome, and one of them runs thus: -“It’s a foul year when there are not twenty fine days in September.” In -that month truly the days are growing gradually shorter, but,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>IN TRAVELLING ORDER</i></div> - -<p class="nind">on the other hand, the dust—that one fly in the ointment of the driving -tourist—is not so troublesome, indeed on this occasion it did not -trouble us at all, nor is the heat so oppressive, nor the light so -glaring as in July or August; and if the evenings draw in then, well, it -only means an early start to have still a good long day before one, and -the dusk coming on as you reach your night’s destination is a plausible -excuse for indulging in a homelike fire in your apartment; and what a -look of friendly familiarity a fire imparts to even a strange room, to -say nothing of the mellow glow of candles on the table where your meal -is spread! There is something indescribably cheery and suggestive of -comfort, cosiness, and taking your ease about a fire-warmed and -candle-lighted room! Truly there are certain compensating advantages in -the early evenings! Did not Charles Lamb, writing to a brother poet, -Bernard Barton, exclaim of July, “Deadly long are the days, these summer -all-day days, with but a half-hour’s candle-light and no fire-light at -all”?</p> - -<p>Now, kind reader, please picture in your mind’s eye our comfortable and -roomy dog-cart, carefully packed with all our necessary baggage, rugs, -and waterproofs, the latter in case of cold or wet; our sketching and -photographic paraphernalia; and even every luxury that long experience, -gleaned from many former expeditions of a like nature, could suggest; -not forgetting a plentiful supply of good tobacco of our favourite -mixture, nor yet books to beguile a possible dull hour, which, however, -never<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> occurred. Amongst the books was a copy of Kingsley’s <i>Hereward -the Wake</i>, as this treats of the Fenland heroes, as well as describes -much of the lowland scenery of Lincolnshire. When I add that we included -in our “kit” a supply of candles in case the light at some of the -country inns should be too poor to read or write by comfortably, I think -it may be taken for granted that nothing was forgotten that would in any -way add to our ease or pleasure. It is astonishing how materially the -thought of such apparent trifles adds to the enjoyment of an outing like -ours. Even a good field-glass enhances the interest of a wide prospect, -such as is continually met with during a lengthened driving tour, by -enabling one the better to make out any special feature in the distant -panorama.</p> - -<p>Being thus prepared for the road, one cloudy September morning found us -driving slowly out of the vast conglomeration of smoke-stained bricks -and mortar that go to make the city—or county is it?—of London. -Passing the Marble Arch, we reached the Edgware Road, up which we turned -our horses’ heads, bound first for Barnet, taking Finchley on the way, -and striking the Great North Road just beyond the latter place, which -famous old coaching and posting highway we proposed to follow right on -to “Stamford town” in Lincolnshire.</p> - -<p>The morning was warm, cloudy, and rainless, though there had been a -prolonged downpour during the night, but the barometer was happily on -the rise, the “Forecast” in the paper prophesied only occasional -showers, and we gladly noted that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE FREEDOM OF THE ROAD</i></div> - -<p class="nind">there were frequent patches of blue showing through the cloud-rifts -above; all of which points taken together gave promise of improved -meteorological conditions, so that, in spite of the dulness of the -moment, we drove along in the most optimist of moods, firm in the belief -that the day would turn out fine; but fine or wet, we set forth on -pleasure bent with a fixed determination, come what might in the shape -of weather, to enjoy ourselves, and it would have taken a good deal more -than a few showers just then to damp our jubilant holiday spirits.</p> - -<p>No children fresh from school could have felt “jollier” than we did on -that memorable morning, at perfect liberty to wander whither we would, -masters of our conveyance, with no anxiety as to luggage, bound by no -tiresome time-tables, but departing and arriving at pleasure, stopping -here and there when anything of interest attracted our attention, -loitering by the way or hastening along at our own sweet pleasure: the -freedom of the road was ours, more desirable to us than the freedom of -any city, however great that city might be; and the former is to be had -by all, and the latter is only for the favoured few!</p> - -<p>Now, kind reader, if you will permit me to call you so once more, as at -last we really have started on our tour, I take the opportunity to crave -your welcome company, and cordially invite you in spirit to mount on to -the box-seat and join us in our pleasant pilgrimage along the highways -and byways of this little-travelled corner of Old England, and allow me -to do the honours of the country as we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> pass through it, and for the -nonce to act the part of “guide, philosopher, and friend.”</p> - -<p>For the first few miles it was a getting-out-of-town all the way; houses -and villas lined the road more or less, with tantalising peeps -between—peeps ever growing wider and more frequent—of the greenful -country stretching away to the blue horizon beyond, a beyond that looked -very alluring to our town-tired eyes. We drove on apace, for we found -nothing to specially interest or detain us till we reached Barnet; we -felt only anxious to escape as speedily as possible from the -ever-spreading domain of bricks and mortar, and to reach the real open -country, where pleasant footpaths take the place of the hard pavements, -and fragrant hedgerows, verdurous meadows, and tilled fields with their -green and golden crops that of houses raised by the speculative -builder—to sell. How much better was the old system of men building -their own homes to live in! The speculative builder is the unhappy -product of a progressive (?) century; he perhaps is responsible for the -uglification of London more than aught else, and, alas! is still adding -to it.</p> - -<p>Passing through the once rural hamlet of Whetstone, it was difficult to -realise that this now frequented spot was erst the favourite -hunting-ground of that famous (or infamous, if you will) -arch-highwayman, Dick Turpin. Great indeed was the terror inspired by -his name, for it is recorded that many a Scotch nobleman, squire, and -merchant of the period, having occasion to go from Edinburgh to London -or <i>vice versa</i>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A POPULAR SIGN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">actually preferred to risk the dangers and suffer the certain -discomforts of the then tedious sea voyage between those places, rather -than face the possibility of meeting with Master Turpin—lord of the -road from London to York! A driving tour would have afforded plenty of -excitement in those days, though I shall ever maintain that -adventures—and this from personal experiences of such with Indians, -bears, and rattlesnakes, whilst exploring the wild forests and mountains -of far-off California—are vastly better to read about than to -experience. Adventures are excellent things to relate to your friends in -after-dinner talk, if you can only get them to take you seriously!</p> - -<p>Arriving at Barnet, we pulled up at the “Red Lion,” and rested there to -bait our horses. The sign of the inn—perhaps the most popular of all -English signs—was not painted on a board and upheld by a post, as so -frequently obtains in old-fashioned hostelries such as this; but the -lion was carved in wood, and skilfully carved too, whilst to add to his -dignity we found him rejoicing in a fresh coat of vermilion, and still -further to attract the wayfarer’s attention he was supported upon a -wrought-iron bracket that projected right over the pavement. This sign, -standing thus boldly aloft on its great bracket, was a point of interest -in the everyday street for the eye to dwell upon—an interest emphasised -by past-time associations, for thus, before the coming of the iron -horse, had it greeted our inn-loving forefathers when journeying this -way, and in a pleasantly defiant manner bade them stop and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> take their -ease; not that they needed much pressing to do so, for did not the -worthy Dr. Johnson, when posting across country, frequently exclaim, -“Here is an inn; let us rest awhile”? But that was in the leisurely days -gone by when mortals had more time to call their own. I have often -wondered, could he be conjured back to life again, what the worthy -doctor would think of present-time ways, what he would say of the -railways, but above all, what his opinion would be of the huge company -hotel, where he would find his individuality merged in a mere number. I -trow he would prefer his comfortable tavern, where he could have his -quiet talk—and listeners.</p> - -<p>I find, by referring to some ancient and valued road-books in my -possession, that the two chief inns of the coaching age at Barnet were -the “Red Lion” and the “Green Man,” each patronised by rival coaches. -The latter sign I imagine, judging from the frequent mention of it in -the same authorities, to have been at the period a very common and -popular one, though now apparently gone entirely out of favour. What was -the origin of this strange sign I cannot say, but it may be remembered -that green men—that is, men with their faces, arms, and hands stained -that hue, and their bodies covered with skins—were frequently to be -found amongst the processions and pageants of the sight-loving Middle -Ages, such a “get-up” being intended to represent a savage, and constant -mention of them was made in the old writings and plays. In the play of -<i>The Cobblers Prophecy</i> (1594) one of the characters is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>“THE GREEN MAN”</i></div> - -<p class="nind">made to say, “Comes there a pageant by? Then I’ll stand out of the green -man’s way.” I find also, in Dr. Brewer’s <i>Handbook of Allusions</i>, an -extract given from a play of a year later, entitled, <i>The Seven -Champions of Christendom</i>, which runs as follows:—“Have you any squibs, -or green man in your shows?” During the next century, and for some time -afterwards, gamekeepers were usually clad in green, a fact noted by -Crabbe:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the green man shall I pass by unsung?...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A squire’s attendant clad in keeper’s green.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>At one or other of these two once famous hostels the old coaches took -their first change out, or their last change in, and not much time was -allowed for or lost in the changing either; for if our ancestors, -according to modern notions, made haste slowly, at least they made all -the haste they knew. The now quiet (except at the time of the noted -horse fair) Barnet High Street was then astir all the day long and half -the night with the coming and going of coaches, to say nothing of -“posters,” and the roadway rang with the rattle and clatter of fast -travelling teams, the air was resonant with the musical echoes of the -frequent horn, whilst the hurried shout of “next change” kept the -inn-yards alive and ready, the ostlers alert. Steam has changed all -this; now we travel more speedily but less picturesquely, more -luxuriously but less romantically. Why, the very meaning of the word -travel—derived, my dictionary informs me, from “travail; excessive -toil”—has surely wholly lost its signification in this easy-going<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> age -of Pullman cars, and mail steamers that are in reality floating palaces? -Yet somehow I sometimes find myself sighing for a little less luxury and -speed, and for more of the picturesqueness and goodfellowship engendered -by the conditions of old-time travel, that stands out in such sharp -antithesis to the ugliness and unmannerly taciturnity that has come with -the railway; the ugliness is universal, but the taciturnity, for some -cause I cannot fathom, is confined mostly to England.</p> - -<p>Said a prominent citizen of Chicago to me one day, upon his arrival at -St. Pancras Station, where I went to meet him as my visitor, in response -to my greetings: “Well, sir, as you kindly ask me, I guess I had a -mighty pleasant voyage in the steamer, and found your countrymen aboard -most agreeable and entertaining; but when I got on the cars at Liverpool -with four other Britishers, we had a regular Quakers’ meeting-time all -the way to London, and when I chanced to make a remark they really -appeared utterly astonished that a stranger should venture to address -them. Now that just strikes me as peculiar, and if that’s your -land-travelling manners I guess I don’t much admire them; surely there’s -no sin in one stranger politely speaking to another; indeed, it seems -sort of rude to me to get into a car and never as much as utter ‘Good -morning,’ or ‘I beg your pardon,’ as you pass a party by to take your -seat. Perhaps you can tell me just how it is that your countrymen are so -stand-offish on the cars?” But we could not answer the question -satisfactorily to the querist or to ourselves.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A “PHYSIC WELL”</i></div> - -<p>It may be news to many—it was to me till the other day, when quite -accidentally I came across the fact in an ancient road-book—that in the -days of Charles II. Barnet was a watering-place of considerable repute, -even disputing supremacy with its rising rival of Tunbridge Wells. In a -field near the town on the Elstree Road is the formerly famous but now -almost forgotten chalybeate spring known two centuries ago as the -“Physic Well,” and much resorted to by the fashionable folk of the -Restoration days. On glancing over the ever fresh and entertaining -<i>Diary</i> of Samuel Pepys, that chatty old-time road-traveller, who was -always getting up “betimes” and starting off somewhere or another, I -noted the following entry:—“11 August 1667 (Lord’s Day).—Up by four -o’clock, and ready with Mrs. Turner” (why so often without your wife, -good Mr. Pepys?) “to take coach before five; and set out on our journey, -and got to the Wells at Barnett by seven o’clock” (not a great rate of -speed), “and there found many people a-drinking; but the morning is a -very cold morning, so as we were very cold all the way in the coach.... -So after drinking three glasses, and the women nothing” (wise women), -“we back by coach to Barnett, where to the Red Lyon, where we ’light, -and went up into the great room, and drank and eat ... and so to -Hatfield,” where he “took coach again, and got home with great content.”</p> - -<p>Amongst my prized possessions is a quaint and ancient map of London and -the country for about twenty miles round. This interesting map I find,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> -by an inscription enclosed in a roll at the foot, was printed, and -presumably engraved, in Amsterdam, when I cannot say, for unfortunately -no date is given; an antiquarian friend of mine, however (an authority -on old prints), declares it to be of about the time of Charles II., -though he says it might possibly be copied from an earlier production of -the same kind and made up to that approximate date. It is just probable, -therefore, that Mr. Pepys may have seen, and used, a similar map; and on -mine I find “Barnett Wells” duly marked at a point about a mile -south-west of the town.</p> - -<p>These ancient maps, besides being very interesting, oftentimes reveal -the origin of puzzling place-names otherwise untraceable; for instance, -I never could account for the peculiar title of the little Sussex town -of Uckfield until one day I found it spelt “Oakefield” on an old map, -and as oaks still abound in the locality, I have no doubt that Uckfield -was evolved therefrom; and I could enumerate many other instances of a -like nature. So, on further consulting my Amsterdam chart, I find -Hatfield, which we shall reach in due course, given as -“Heathfield,”—now from this to Hatfield is an easy transition; next I -observe that the country immediately north of Barnet is represented as -wild and unenclosed, and is marked “Gladmore Heath.” A corner of this -bears the gruesome but suggestive title “Dead-man’s Bottom”: it is -highly probable that the famous battle of Barnet was fought on this open -waste, it being a suitable site for such a conflict, and the “Dead-man’s -Bottom” may mark<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN INTERESTING MAP</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the spot where a number of the slain were buried. Hertfordshire is also -rendered, as now generally pronounced, “Hartfordshire,” so perhaps it is -the spelling, not the pronunciation, that has changed. A wonderful -production is this old map, for in the apparently sparsely populated -country around the then moderate-sized city of London each church tower -is pictured in miniature; even solitary houses, including numerous -farmsteads, are so shown; tiny drawings of windmills abound; and on the -rivers, wheels are marked here and there, evidently intended to point -out the position of sundry water-mills; bridges over the rivers are -infrequent, but fords across and ferries over them are plentiful; now -and again one is reminded of other days and other ways by a dot, -inscribed above or below, simply but sufficiently “The Gallows”—a -familiar but gruesome spectacle, the reality of which must often have -been forced on the unwelcome sight of past-time travellers, and possibly -haunted the memories and dreams of the more nervous amongst them for -long afterwards. Even at one lonely place the map condescends to place a -solitary tree with the title “Half-way Tree.” On the little river Wandle -several water-mills are shown, most of which bear merely names, but -sometimes is added the kind of mill. I note on this same short stream -the following kinds: “Iron mill,” “copper mill,” “pouder mill,” and one -“brasile mill,” whatever that may be. On the river Lea I find a “paper -mill,” but that is the only one of the sort I can discover, though -“pouder” mills abound. The latter perhaps were called into requisition -by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> recent Civil wars. One lonely house is marked “hanted.” Could -this possibly mean haunted? But I must stop my disquisition, for I could -easily discourse for a whole chapter upon this curious map, were I to -let my pen run away with me as it is inclined to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Memorial of a great battle—An ancient fire-cresset—Free -feasting!—Country quiet—Travellers’ tales—Hatfield—An -Elizabethan architect—An author’s tomb—Day-dreaming—Mysterious -roadside monuments—Great North Road <i>versus</i> Great Northern -Railway—Stevenage—Chats by the way—Field life—Nature as a -painter—Changed times. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> Barnet, we soon reached a bit of triangular green enlivened by a -pond that was just then monopolised by geese; here, where the old and -formerly famous “Parliamentary and Mail Coach Turnpike” to Holyhead -diverges from the almost equally famous Great North Road of the -pre-railway days, stands a gray stone obelisk that challenges the -attention of the passer-by, and is inscribed with history thus:</p> - -<p class="c"> -Here was<br /> -Fought the<br /> -Famous Battle<br /> -Between Edward<br /> -the 4th. and the<br /> -Earl of Warwick<br /> -April the 14th.<br /> -Anno<br /> -1471.<br /> -In which the Earl<br /> -Was defeated<br /> -And Slain.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span></p> - -<p>I regret to have to record that immediately below this inscription, cut -also in the stone, and in the same kind and size of lettering, is the -obtrusive warning notice, so over-familiar to nineteenth-century eyes, -“Stick no Bills.” What bathos this!</p> - -<p>Here at Hadley the ancient church tower is surmounted by a rare and -interesting relic of the never-returning past in the shape of an iron -cresset or fire-beacon. The last time that this was used seriously was -in 1745, during the scare occasioned by the Stuart rising in the North. -The story goes that at the late hour in the evening when the beacon was -lighted, a large party from London, who had been feasting at the “Red -Lion” at Barnet upon the best that mine host could lay before them, all -rushed out during the excitement and quite forgot to return and pay -their reckoning! A curious example of forgetfulness caused by -excitement, as the fact that their bill remained unpaid never appears to -have occurred to any of the party in after days! This is a sample of one -of the stories of the road that, improved upon and embellished to fancy, -the coachmen of the past used to entertain their passengers with; there -was hardly a house, and certainly very few inns, on the way but had some -little incident, history, or tradition connected with it; these latter -afforded the jehus of the period (past-masters in the art of -embroidering fiction upon fact) plenty of raw material for the -production of their wonderful fund of anecdotes. My grandfather, who had -travelled a good deal by coach in his early life, said that the virtue -of these stories lay not so much in the matter as in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT BEACON</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the inimitable way in which they were told; but therein is the art of -story-telling—the craft of making much out of simple materials.</p> - -<p>The primitive mode of signalling events by beacon had this serious -drawback, that, should any one beacon by accident or set purpose be set -alight, needless alarm was forthwith spread throughout the land, and no -amount of care in watching the various collections of piled-up wood and -other inflammable material could, experience proved, prevent mischievous -or designing persons from sometimes surreptitiously lighting them; on -the other hand, when they were lighted legitimately, possibly fraught -with warning of great import to the State, sudden fogs and storms -occasionally prevented the message from speeding on its way. It must -have been both a picturesque and a thrilling sight in “the brave days of -old” for the expectant watchers on some commanding eminence to observe -the progress of the blazing beacons, as one answered the other from -height to height, the ruddy glare of the fiery signals gleaming plainly -forth against the darkness of the night.</p> - -<p>On from Hadley to Hatfield we had an excellent road, that led us through -a prettily wooded and pleasantly undulating country. As we drove along, -rejoicing in the pure sweet air and rural quietude after the smoke-laden -atmosphere and noise of town, the sunshine kept struggling through the -gray clouds overhead, and great gleams of golden light came and went, -warming and brightening up the little world around us, and enhancing the -natural beauty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> of the scenery by the varied effects they produced on -the landscape. A gleamy day is a picture-making and picture-suggesting -day, as artists full well know. By the time we reached Hatfield the sun -above had obtained complete mastery of the situation, and was doing his -best to make all things below pleasant for us.</p> - -<p>At Hatfield we pulled up at another “Red Lion,” and there we elected to -rest a while and “refresh the inner man,” as the country-paper reporters -have it, for our halt at Barnet was solely for the benefit of our -horses. In the coffee-room we found a party of four gentlemen lunching; -laughing and talking, their conversation was carried on in so loud a -tone of voice that, willing or unwilling, we could not help hearing -nearly all they said; their jovial jokes they made public property, and -the general good-humour and enjoyment of the party was quite infectious. -Manifestly they had no fear of strangers overhearing their tales and -talk, which rather surprised us, as sundry anecdotal reminiscences of -famous personages were freely related, which, if one could only have -felt sure of their veracity, would have been most entertaining. It was -indeed a right merry, possibly an inventive, and certainly a rather -noisy, quartet. Truly the various people that the road-traveller comes -in contact with from time to time often dispute interest with the -scenery. As Sir Arthur Helps says, “In travel it is remarkable how much -more pleasure we obtain from unexpected incidents than from deliberate -sight-seeing,” and it certainly appears to me that a driving tour -specially<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ARTIST AND AUTHOR</i></div> - -<p class="nind">lends itself to meeting with incidents. Such an informal and unusual way -of wandering puts you as a rule on a friendly, companionable footing -with everybody you meet: people take an interest in your journey, they -confide in you and you in them, there is a sort of freemasonry about the -road that has its attractions, you seem to belong to the countryside, to -be a part and parcel of your surroundings for the time being, in strong -contrast with the stranger suddenly arriving by the railway from -somewhere far away. He is brought, the driving tourist comes—a -distinction with a difference!</p> - -<hr style="width: 45%;" /> - -<p>But to return to the coffee-room of our inn. Amongst the anecdotes that -were forced upon our attention, one still remains in my memory, and this -I think worth repeating as a fair sample of the rest, and because it -deserves to be true, though possibly it is not, or only in part; -however, here it is, and I trust if any one of that merry company should -by chance read this, they will pardon the liberty I have taken—or else -be more careful of their conversation for the future in public! The -story is of a perfectly harmless nature, and characteristic of the -parties concerned, or I would not repeat it. It appears then that one -day Carlyle was making a first call upon Millais at his fine mansion in -Palace Gate. After looking around the sumptuous interior, Carlyle -presently exclaimed, in his gruff manner, “What! all from paint?” -Millais made no reply at the moment, but as his guest was leaving he -quietly remarked, “By the way, what a reputation you’ve got, -Carlyle—and all from ink.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>One anecdote begets another, and the foregoing distantly reminds me of a -story of Turner that came to me through a private source, which -therefore I do not believe has got into print yet—but I may be -mistaken. Once upon a time then—as the fairy stories begin, for I am -not certain about the exact date, and do not care to guess it—a certain -art patron demanded of Turner the price of one of his pictures, with a -view to purchasing the same, and deeming that Turner asked rather a -large sum, he jokingly exclaimed, “What, all those golden guineas for so -much paint on so much canvas?” To which the famous artist replied, “Oh -no, not for the paint, but for the use of the brains to put it on with!” -and I think the artist scored.</p> - -<p>Now I am wandering again, but not by road, as I set out to do, and -instead of enjoying the pleasant scenery and fresh air, I am wasting the -time indoors chatting about people. Let us get into the open country -again, and before we start on the next stage, there will be just time to -stroll round and take a glance at the fine old Jacobean pile of Hatfield -House, a glorious specimen of the renaissance of English architecture -that vividly recalls the half-forgotten fact that once we were, without -gainsaying, an artistic people; for no one but a great artist could have -designed such a picturesque and stately abode, two qualities not so easy -to combine as may be imagined.</p> - -<p>It is a most singular fact that the name of the architect of this -majestic mansion is not known; but the building so distinctly reminds me -of the work of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> John Thorpe that I have no hesitation in putting it down -to his creative genius. He was beyond all doubt the greatest architect -of the Elizabethan age; it was he who designed the glorious mansions of -Burleigh “by Stamford town,” Longford Castle, Wollaton Hall, most -probably Hardwicke Hall, Holland House, and many other notable and -picturesque piles, not to forget Kirby in Northants, now, alas! a -splendid ruin, which we shall visit on our homeward way.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE STONES OF ENGLAND</i></div> - -<p>Writing of the stately homes of England, it seems to me that the stones -of England have their story to tell as well as the “Stones of Venice,” -over which Ruskin goes into such raptures. Why is it ever thus, that -other lands seem more attractive than our own; wherein lies the virtue -of the far-away? Who will do for Old England at our own doors what -Ruskin has so lovingly done for Venice of the past? What a song in stone -is Salisbury’s splendid cathedral, with its soaring spire rising like an -arrow into the air; what a poem is Tintern’s ruined abbey by the lovely -Wye-side; what a romance in building is Haddon’s feudal Hall; what a -picture is Compton Wynyates’ moated manor-house! and these are but -well-known specimens, jotted down hastily and at haphazard, of countless -other such treasures, that are scattered all over our pleasant land in -picturesque profusion, but which I will not attempt to enumerate -catalogue fashion.</p> - -<p>Between Hatfield and Welwyn I find no mention of the country in my -note-book, nor does my memory in any way call it to mind; the scenery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> -therefore, could not have impressed us, and so may be termed of the -uneventful order. At the sleepy little town of Welwyn we came upon its -gray-toned church standing close by the road, and as we noticed the door -thereof was invitingly open, we called a halt in order to take a peep -inside. We made it a point this journey never to pass by an ancient -church, if near at hand, without stepping within for a glance, should -happily, as in this case, the door be open; but with one or two rare -exceptions we did not go a-clerk-hunting,—that sport is apt to pall -upon the traveller in time, unless he be a very hardened antiquary or -ardent ecclesiologist. It was an open or closed door that generally -settled the point for us, whether to see a certain church or leave it -unseen! We were not guide-book compilers, we did not undertake our -journey with any set idea of “doing” everything, we took it solely for -the purpose of spending a pleasant holiday, so we went nowhere nor saw -anything under compulsion. I think it well to explain our position thus -clearly at the start, so that I may not hereafter be reproached for -passing this or that unvisited; nor now that our outing is over do I -believe we missed much that was noteworthy on the way—nothing, indeed, -of which I am aware; though, by some strange caprice of fate, it ever -seems that when the traveller returns home from a tour, should anything -escape his observation thereon, some kind friend is certain to assure -him that just what he failed to see happened to be the very thing of the -whole journey the best worth seeing! Indeed, this incident so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SELF-APPOINTED GUIDE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">regularly re-occurs to me, that I have become quite philosophical on the -subject! There is no novelty about the same experience often repeated; -the only rejoinder it provokes on my part is a smiling “Of course,” or a -mild, remonstrating “Oh! I left that for another day.”</p> - -<p>On entering Welwyn church, we encountered a talkative old body; why she -was there I cannot say, for she was apparently doing nothing, and this -is no tourist-haunted region with guides of both sexes on the watch and -wait for the unwary; but there she was, a substantial personage not to -be overlooked. At once she attached herself to us, and asked if we had -come to see Dr. Young’s tomb—“him as wrote the <i>Night Thoughts</i>.” We -meekly replied that we did not even know that he was buried there. -“Well,” she responded, “now I do wonders at that, I thoughts as how -everybody knew it.” From the superior tone in which she said this, we -felt that she looked down upon us as ignoramuses—such is the lot of the -traveller who does not know everything! Then she pointed out with a -grimy finger—assuming the aggravating air of one who has valuable -information to impart, and will impart it whether you will or no—a -marble slab put up to the memory of the worthy doctor (I presume he was -a worthy doctor) on the south wall of the nave. Having duly inspected -this, our self-appointed guide suddenly exclaimed, still maintaining her -amusing didactic manner, “He’d much better have gone to bed and slept -like a good Christian than have sit up o’ nights a-writing his -thoughts.” We weakly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> smiled acquiescence, though perhaps it was hardly -a fair thing to do, for we had to confess to ourselves that we had not -even read the book in question. “Have you?” we queried. “Lor’ bless you, -sir,” replied she, still in an authoritative tone of voice, “books is -all rubbish, I never reads rubbish; give me the papers with some news in -’em, I says, that’s the reading for me,” and with this we took our -hurried departure. We have taught the people to read, which is a most -excellent thing, but, from all my experience, the country folk prefer -newspapers, frequently of a trashy nature, to solid books; for the -present they devour the “penny dreadful,” whilst the cheap classic -remains unread!</p> - -<p>Out of Welwyn the road mounted slightly, and to our left we passed a -large park; the sun’s rays glinting down between the big tree-trunks -therein sent long lines of golden light athwart the smooth sward, and -the lengthening shadows suggested to us that the day was growing old, -and that, unless we wished to be belated, we had better hasten on. Then -followed a pleasant stretch of wooded country, the west all aglow with -the glory of the setting sun, whilst a soft grayness was gradually -spreading over the east, blotting out all trivial details, and causing -the landscape there to assume a dim, mysterious aspect; in that -direction the scenery might be commonplace enough in the glaring light -of mid-day—possibly it was, but just then under that vague effect it -looked quite poetical, and by giving our romantic fancies full rein we -could almost have imagined that there lay the enchanted forest of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A ROADSIDE ENIGMA</i></div> - -<p class="nind">fairy-tale renown. A little occasional romancing may be allowed on a -driving tour; he is a dull and unpoetic soul, indeed, who never indulges -in a moment’s harmless day-dreaming now and again!</p> - -<p>Soon the slumberous, unprogressive little town of Stevenage came in -view, and just before it, on a green space to the right of the road, we -espied six curious-looking, grass-grown mounds all in a row, like so -many pigmy green pyramids. We afterwards learnt that these are supposed -to be Danish Barrows; but learned antiquaries, like most of their kind, -are not all agreed upon this point, though the majority hold to the -Danish theory. Still, Danish or not, there they stand to challenge the -curiosity of the observant wayfarer. A roadside enigma that doubtless -puzzled our forefathers, and afforded food for discussion when -journeying in these parts, the railway traveller misses them and much -else besides as he is whirled through the land at a speed that only -permits of a blurred impression of fields and woods, of rivers and -hills, of church towers, towns, hamlets, and farmsteads—that is, when -the train is not rushing through a cutting, or plunging into a darksome -tunnel. In a scenic sense between the Great North Road and the Great -Northern Railway is a vast gulf!</p> - -<p>At the present day, at any rate at the time we were there, these -prehistoric relics were serving the undistinguished purpose of a -ready-made and somewhat original recreation-ground for the town’s -children; for as we passed by we observed quite a number of them -climbing up and down the barrows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> playing “King of the Castle” thereon, -and generally romping over and round about them with much noisy -merriment. I really think that these ancient mounds deserve to be better -cared for; those things that are worthy of being preserved should be -preserved, for antiquity once destroyed can never be replaced; it is too -late when a monument of the past has disappeared to discover how -interesting it was.</p> - -<p>At Stevenage we put up for the night at the “White Lion,” a homely -little hostelry, where we found clean and comfortable, if not luxurious, -quarters for ourselves, and good accommodation for our horses, and not -being of an exacting nature, were well content. So ended our first long -day’s wanderings.</p> - -<p>We had seen so much since we left London in the early morning, that we -felt it difficult to realise, on the authority of our copy of -<i>Paterson’s Roads</i> (last edition of 1829), we had only travelled some -thirty-one miles; the precise distance we could not arrive at, since -Paterson takes his measurement from “Hick’s Hall,” and we did not start -from the site thereof; indeed, exactly where “Hick’s Hall” stood I am -not very clear—somewhere in Smithfield, I believe.</p> - -<p>Next morning, following the excellent example of the chatty Mr. Pepys, -and to borrow his favourite expression, we “awoke betimes,” to find the -sunshine streaming in through our windows, whilst a glance outside -revealed to us a glorious bright blue sky, flecked with fleecy -fine-weather clouds.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>LEISURELY TRAVEL</i></div> - -<p>This cheery morning greeting could not be resisted, so, early though it -was, we got up and dressed without any needless delay, and, sketch-book -in hand, set forth to explore the place before breakfast, which, -however, we took the precaution of ordering to be ready for us on our -return, for it is trying for a hungry man to have to wait for his meal! -Before going out, however, we paid our usual visit of inspection to the -horses, who, we discovered, were having their toilet performed for them, -luxurious creatures! though not without much “sishing,” and subdued -exclamations of “Whoa! my beauty,” “Steady there now,” “Hold up, can’t -yer”—sounds and utterances dear to the hearts of grooms and ostlers. We -were glad to note that the horses looked fit and fresh, and not a whit -the worse for their previous hard day’s work.</p> - -<p>On the road we have always found that it is the pace rather than the -distance that “knocks up cattle”; but haste formed no part of our -programme, as we travelled to see and enjoy the scenery, not merely to -pass through it, to sketch, to photograph, to inspect a ruin, or to do -whatever took our fancy at the time; also to chat at our leisure with -any one who appeared to be interesting and willing to chat—prepared -under those conditions to converse with anybody from a ploughboy to a -peer that chance might bring across our path, so that we might learn -“how the world wags” according to the different parties’ views.</p> - -<p>As Montaigne remarked, “Every man knows some one thing better than I do, -and when I meet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> a stranger therefore I engage him in conversation to -find that one thing out.” So we have discovered that even a -lightly-esteemed ploughboy, familiar all his life with Nature in her -many moods, at home in the fields and hedgerows, could tell us many -things we did not know, which are common knowledge to him. A chat with -an intelligent ploughboy, for such boys exist, may prove a profitable -and interesting experience, for perchance it may be racy of the soil, -full of the ways of wild birds and winged things, of the doings of -hares, rabbits, weasels, foxes, and other animals belonging to the -countryside, and of countless idle-growing things besides; above all, it -is genuinely rural, and conveys an unmistakable flavour of the open air.</p> - -<p>An intelligent rustic is unconsciously a close Nature-observer, and by -listening to what he has got to say, if you can only get him to talk and -keep him to his subject, you may make valuable use of the eyes of others -who can see, but give small thought to what they see.</p> - -<p>The works of White of Selborne and of Richard Jefferies have proved how -attractive and refreshing to the town-tired brain are the faithful and -simple record of the natural history of the English fields and -woodlands, and the descriptions of the charms and beauties of the -English country in all its varied aspects. One great value of such -writings is that they induce people to search for, and teach them how to -seek out, similar beauties for themselves in their everyday -surroundings, that they never before so much as imagined to exist. So -that truly a new,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> a costless, and a lasting pleasure in life is opened -out to them.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A “THOROUGHFARE” TOWN</i></div> - -<p>We found Stevenage to be a quiet, neat little town of the “thoroughfare” -type, to employ a term much in vogue in the coaching days when -describing places consisting chiefly of one long street. Wandering -about, we noticed an old building that had manifestly been a hostelry of -some importance in the pre-railway period, the archway giving entrance -to the stable-yard still remaining. Now the building is converted into a -pleasant residence, though, owing to the necessities of its former uses, -it stands too close to the roadway to afford that privacy which the -home-loving Briton so dearly delights in; which, on the other hand, the -average American citizen so heartily dislikes, considering such -comparative seclusion to make for dulness, and to savour of -unsociability. Such old buildings, converted, wholly or in part, from -inns to houses, are to be found frequently along the Great North Road. A -stranger, not aware of the fact, might well wonder why those great -houses were built with their ample arches in the little village street, -and so close upon the roadside.</p> - -<p>At one end of the town we found a rather pretty gabled cottage with a -high-pitched roof, from which rose a good group of chimneys. This -cottage, with its tiny garden railed off from the footpath by a wooden -paling, made quite a charming subject for the pencil, and was the first -to adorn our sketch-book. Whilst putting a few finishing touches to our -drawing, a native came up. An artist at work always<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> seems to have an -irresistible attraction for country people. He opened up a conversation -by admiring our sketch, though in a qualified manner. He was pleased to -say that it was “mighty” pretty, only he preferred a photograph to a -drawing any day. He had had a photograph taken of his house lately, and -on the photograph you could count every brick on the walls and every -tile on the roofs. “Now, that’s what I call a proper kind of -picture,—not but that yours is very nice for hand-work”!</p> - -<p>This is a very fair specimen of the criticisms that the long-enduring -landscape painter has frequently to put up with when at work in the -open.</p> - -<p>Next our art-critic and photograph-admirer presumed that we must be -strangers, as he knew most of the folk round about, but did not remember -having “sighted us afore.” We replied that we were. “Now, do you know,” -responded he, “I was sure of that”; and seeing no advantage in further -continuing the conversation, we hastened off to our inn—and breakfast.</p> - -<p>In spite of our early rising, it was ten o’clock before we got “under -weigh,” but when one sets out exploring and sketching, to say nothing of -gossiping, time flies.</p> - -<p>It was one of those rare and perfect days that come only now and then in -the year, which, when they come, linger lovingly in the memory for long -after. A stilly day of soft sunshine wherein is no glare; overhead great -rounded clouds of golden white, shading off into a tender pearly-gray, -were sailing slowly across a sea of pure, pale blue,—clouds<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CLOUD SCENERY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">ever varying in size and form, so that the eye was involuntarily -attracted to the scenery of the sky, as well as to that of the land; for -the changeful sky-scape—as Turner, Constable, and other painters have -shown—lends a wonderful charm to our English scenery,—clouds that -caused vast cool-gray shadows to chase each other in endless succession -over the wide countryside, till, space-diminished, the shadows vanished -into infinity, where the circling gray of the dim horizon melted into a -misty nothingness.</p> - -<p>The warmth of the cheerful sunshine was tempered by a soothing southerly -wind—a lazy wind that came to us laden with a mingling of fragrant -country odours distilled from flower, field, tree, and countless green -growing things as it lightly passed them by. It was a day inspiriting -enough, one would have imagined, to convert even a confirmed pessimist -into a cheerful optimist, and for us it made the fact of simply existing -a something to be thankful for!</p> - -<p>Manifestly the Fates were kindly disposed towards us. It was no small -matter to start forth thus in the fulness and freshness of such a -morning, free as the air we breathed, with our holiday only just -beginning, its pleasures barely tasted, and positively no solicitude -whatever except to reach an inn for the night; in truth, there was no -room for the demon Care in our dog-cart, so he was compelled to stay -behind “out of sight” and “out of mind.” We were purely on pleasure -bent, and we managed very successfully to maintain that part of our -programme from the beginning to the end of our tour. Good health means -good spirits, and being out so much in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> the open air, we laid in a -plentiful stock of the former. An out-of-door life, such as the one we -led, without fatigue, and with a sufficiency of interest to pleasurably -engage the attention, is the finest tonic in the world, I verily -believe, for mind and body, bracing both up; so that the answer of the -happy driving tourist to the doleful query, “Is life worth living?” -would be, to employ the schoolboy’s expressive slang, “Very much so.”</p> - -<p>After Stevenage we entered upon a pleasantly undulating and purely -agricultural and pastoral country, with nothing noteworthy till we came -to a neat little village that we made out from our map to be Graveley. -Here an unpretending inn, the “George and Dragon” to wit, boasted of a -fine wrought-iron support for its sign, doubtless a relic of a past -prosperity when this was a much-travelled highway, and the hostelries on -the road had the benefit of many customers. We noticed that the painting -of the sign, at least in our estimation, was sadly inferior in artistic -spirit to the clever craftsmanship displayed in the iron-work supporting -it; possibly the sign-board was of old as artistically limned as its -support was wrought, but the weathering of years would efface the -drawing and colouring, and later and less skilful hands may have renewed -the design, whilst, of course, the more enduring iron would still retain -its ancient charm of form unimpaired.</p> - -<p>The gracefulness and bold curving and twisting of the metal-work that -supports and upholds the sign of many an ancient coaching inn had a -peculiar fascination for us, and frequently brought our pencil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CONCEIT IN METAL</i></div> - -<p class="nind">into requisition to record their varied outlines and quaint conceits, -that truly splendid specimen of the “Bell” at Stilton—about which I -shall have more to say when we arrive there—especially delighting us. -At the sign of a certain “White Hart” elsewhere we could not but imagine -that the open iron-work above it in the shape of a heart was not -accidental, but intended as a play on words in metal, if the expression -may be allowed.</p> - -<p>After Graveley the road plucked up a little spirit and the scenery -improved, just as though it were doing its best to please us. At one -point there suddenly opened a fine view to the left, reaching over a -vast extent of country bounded by an uneven horizon of wooded -hills—hills that showed as a long, low undulating line, deeply blue, -but enlivened by touches of greeny-gold where the sunshine rested for a -moment here and there; it was as if Nature in one of her lavish moods -had washed the horizon over with a tint of ultramarine, “for who can -paint like Nature?”—little she recks the quantity or the rarity of the -hues she employs, miles upon miles oftentimes, and that for a mere -transient effect! To our right also our charmed visions ranged over a -wide expanse of wooded plain, so space-expressing in its wealth of -distances, the blue of which made us realise the ocean of air that lay -between us and the remote horizon, the reality of the invisible!</p> - -<p>After the confined limits of the house-bound streets of town, our eyes -positively rejoiced in the unaccustomed freedom of roving unrestrained -over so much space—a sudden change from yards to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> miles! I have found -from experience what a relief it is for the eye to be able thus to alter -its focus from the near to the far-away: the vision like the mind is apt -to become cramped by not being able to take a broad view of things. I -verily believe that the eyes are strengthened by having the daily -opportunity of exercising their full functions; this may be a fanciful -belief on my part, but I hold it and write advisedly.</p> - -<p>Gradually, as we proceeded, our road widened out, and was bounded on -either hand by pleasant grassy margins, that, had we been on a riding -instead of a driving tour, would certainly have tempted us to indulge in -a canter. These grassy margins used to form part of the hard, well-kept -highway when there was room for four coaches abreast at one time -thereon. I wonder whether these spare spaces will ever be utilised for -cycle tracks?</p> - -<p>What, I further wonder, would our ancestors—could they come back to -life again, and travel once more along the old familiar roads—think of -the new steel-steed, and what would they make of the following notice, -appended to the sign of an old inn on the way, which we deemed worthy of -being copied?—</p> - -<p class="c"> -Good Accommodation<br /> -and<br /> -Stabling<br /> -for<br /> -Cyclists and Motorists.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">This brings to mind the truth that lies in the old Latin saying, -<i>Tempora mutantur, et nos mutamur in illis</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A gipsy encampment—A puzzling matter—Farming and farmers past and -present—An ancient market-town—A picturesque bit of old-world -architecture—Gleaners—Time’s changes—A house in two counties—A -wayside inn—The commercial value of the picturesque. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> one of the grassy wastes by the roadside, a sheltered corner overhung -by branching elms, we espied a gipsy encampment. A very effective and -pretty picture the encampment made with its belongings and green setting -of grass and foliage. There were three brilliantly-coloured caravans -drawn up in an irregular line and partly screening from view the same -number of brown tents; in and out of caravans and tents sun-tanned and -gay-kerchiefed children were noisily rampaging; from amidst the brown -tents a spiral film of faint blue smoke lazily ascended, to be lost to -sight in the bluer sky above; and to complete a ready-made picture, the -gipsies’ horses were tethered close at hand, grazing on the rough sward. -Truly the gipsy is a picturesque personage, though I have to confess he -is not much beloved in the country; yet I should regret to have him -improved entirely away, for he does bring colour and the flavour of -wild, free life on to the scene, well suiting the English landscape.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></p> - -<p>The gipsy, for reasons best known to himself, is apt to resent the -advances of strangers, even when made in the most amiable manner. The -artist, who, for the sake of his picturesqueness and paintable -qualities, is inclined to overlook the gipsy’s possible sins of -commission on other people’s property, finds it difficult to sketch him; -for myself, I am content to “snap-shot” him photographically on passing -by, as I did on this occasion; which proceeding, however, he was prompt -to resent with some gruffly muttered exclamation, to which we chaffingly -replied, in the blandest of voices, “But you know a cat may look at a -king.” Upon which he shouted after us, not in the politest of tones, -“Yes, but a photograph machine ain’t a cat, and I ain’t a king, nohow,” -and we felt that after all the gipsy had the best of the skirmish in -words. The gipsy is manifestly no fool, or, with so many enemies on all -sides, he would hardly have held his own for so long, and be extant and -apparently flourishing as he is to-day. “It’s the gipsy against the -world,” as a farmer once remarked to me, “and bless me if the gipsy -don’t somehow score in the struggle.”</p> - -<p>As we passed by the encampment, the incense of burning wood, mingled -with sundry savoury odours, came wafted our way on the quiet air, and it -appeared to us that a gipsy’s life in the summer time was a sort of -continuous picnic, not without its charms. Such a charm it has indeed -for some minds, that we have more than once on previous expeditions -actually met imitations of the real article in the shape of lady and -gentleman gipsies (the term truly seems<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CARAVANNING</i></div> - -<p class="nind">rather a misnomer), touring about in smartly turnedout caravans, driven -by liveried coachmen. But all this seems to me far too respectable and -luxurious to be quite delightful. The dash of Bohemianism about it is -absurdly artificial; moreover, the coming of a caravan, both from its -size and unfamiliar appearance, of necessity invites an amount of -attention that is not always desirable, and is frequently very annoying. -Speaking for myself, I must say that when I travel I endeavour to -attract as little notice as possible; I go to observe, not to be -observed. Still, every one to his taste. If I have not become a -caravannist myself, it is certainly not from want of having the charms, -real or imagined, of that wandering and expensive life on wheels -instilled into me by a friend who owns a pleasure caravan, and has -travelled over a goodly portion of southern England in it, though he had -to confess to me, under close cross-examination, that there were certain -“trifling” drawbacks connected with the amateur gipsy’s life: first, -there was the aforementioned unavoidable publicity that a large caravan -entails; then there was the slow pace such a cumbrous conveyance imposes -on you at all times; the heat of the interior caused by the sun beating -on the exterior in hot summer days; to say nothing of having to go, at -the end of a long day’s journey, in search of camping ground for the -night, entailing often a loss of time and a good deal of trouble before -suitable quarters are found and permission to use them is obtained; -besides this, there is stabling to secure, and a foraging expedition has -to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> undertaken, hardly a pleasure should the weather be wet! Whilst a -simple inn is all that the more modest and less encumbered -driving-tourist needs.</p> - -<p>As we proceeded on our way, our attention was presently arrested by -something strange and quite novel to us: on the telegraph wires, that -stretched forth in long lines by the roadside, were suspended numerous -little square bits of tin, and this for a considerable distance. The -bits of tin, as they were swayed about by the wind, made weird music on -the wires. Had we chanced to have driven that way at night, and heard -those sounds coming directly down from the darkness above, without being -able to discover the cause, we should have been much mystified; indeed, -some hyper-nervous people passing there in the dark, under the same -circumstances of wind and weather, might have come to the conclusion -that this portion of the Great North Road was haunted. Such reputations -have been established from lesser causes.</p> - -<p>We were at a loss to account for the strange arrangement, so we looked -about for somebody to question on the subject, and to solve the mystery -for us if possible. There was not a soul in sight on the road, far off -or near; for that matter, there never is when wanted. However, another -look around revealed a man at work in a field near by, and to him we -went and sought for the information desired, and this is the explanation -we received in the original wording: “What be them tin things for on the -telegraph postes?” They were really on the wires, but I have long ago -discovered that you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHAT BY THE WAY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">must not expect exactness from the average countryman. “Why, they be put -there on account of the partridges. You see, the birds, when they be -a-flying fast like, don’t always see them wires, and lots of them gets -hurt and killed by striking themselves against them. You know, sir, as -how partridges is partridges, and has to be taken great care on; if the -quality only took the same care of the poor working-man, we should be -happy.” The poor working-man, or labourer, in the present case did not -appear very miserable or poorly clad, so we ventured to remark: “Well, -you don’t seem particularly unhappy anyhow.” At the same moment a small -coin of the realm changed ownership in return for the information -imparted, and we went our way, and the man resumed his work, after -promising to drink our very good healths that very night, and we saw no -reason to doubt that the promise would be faithfully kept. The one thing -you may positively rely upon the countryman doing, if you give him the -opportunity, is “to drink your health.”</p> - -<p>I may note here that during my many chats with the English labourer, in -different counties far apart from each other, I have found their chief -complaint (when they have one and venture to express it) is not so much -the lowness of their wage, or the hardness of their work, as the -poorness of their dwellings. Even the farm-hand begins to expect -something better than the too often cold, damp, and draughty cottages -that for generations past, in some parts of the country more than -others, his “rude forefathers” had to put up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> with uncomplainingly, or -otherwise. It seems to me that the best way of stopping the emigration -from the country to the town is to make the country more attractive to -the countryman by housing him better. “But cottages don’t pay,” as a -landlord once informed me, and in this age it is difficult to make men -enter into philanthropic enterprises—unless they return a certain <i>per -cent</i>! A moneymaking generation likes to mix up philanthropy with -profit—to do good openly and make it pay privately!</p> - -<p>From the agricultural labourer upwards to the farmer, and from the -farmer to the landowner, is an easy and natural transition. Now, since I -commenced taking my holidays on the road several years ago, agricultural -depression has, alas! gradually deepened, and my driving tours in rural -England have brought me into frequent contact with both landowner and -tenant farmer, and now and again with that sadly growing rarity the -independent and sturdy yeoman who farms his own little freehold, -perchance held by his ancestors for long centuries; with all of these I -have conversed about the “bad times,” and have obtained, I think, a -fairly comprehensive view of the situation from each standpoint. -Endeavouring, as far as is possible with fallible human nature, to take -the unprejudiced position of a perfectly neutral onlooker—a position -that has caused me in turn to heartily sympathise with each party—the -conclusion that I have reluctantly come to is this, that unless a great -war should be a disturbing factor in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN OLD SAYING</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the case—an ever-possible contingency, by the way—with cheapened ocean -transit and competition with new countries, land in Old England will no -longer produce a profit to the modern tenant as well as to the landlord, -and pay big tithes besides. It must be borne in mind that the tenant -farmer of to-day has progressed like the rest of the world. He needs -must possess a certain capital, and no longer is he or his family -content with the simple life or pleasures of his predecessors. His wife, -son, and daughters will not work on the farm, nor superintend the dairy, -as of old; they all expect, and I think rightly expect, in an age when -Board School children learn the piano and other accomplishments, a -little more refinement and ease. And if this be so, I take it that the -only way to solve the difficulty of making the land pay is somehow to -get back the disappearing yeoman: the pride of possession will alone -ensure prosperous farming. A local saying, possibly pertinent to the -question, was repeated to me one day by a large tenant farmer in the -Midlands, who had lost by farming well. It runs thus:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He who improves may flit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He who destroys may sit.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">And much truth underlies the proverbs of the countryside. Now a yeoman -would not have to “flit” for improving his freehold, and a man does not -generally destroy his own.</p> - -<p>Whilst our thoughts had been wandering thus, the dog-cart had kept -steadily on its way, and our reverie was broken by finding ourselves in -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> quaint old market-town of Baldock, driving down its spacious and -sunny main street, which we noticed with pleasure was lined with trees, -and bound by irregular-roofed buildings, mellowed by age into a -delicious harmony of tints. Nature never mixes her colours crudely. I -know no better study of colour harmonies than the weather-painting of a -century-old wall, with its splashes of gold, and silver, and bronze -lichen, its delicate greens and grays, its russets and oranges, and all -the innumerable and indescribable hues that the summer suns and winter -storms of forgotten years have traced upon its surface—hues blending, -contrasting, and commingling, the delight of every true artist, and his -despair to depict aright. With buildings age is the beautifier; even -Tintern, with its roofless aisles and broken arches, could not have -looked half as lovely in the full glory of its Gothic prime, when its -walls were freshly set, its sculptures new, and traceries recently -worked, as it looks now. No building, however gracefully designed, can -ever attain the perfection of its beauty till Time has placed his -finishing touches thereon, toning down this and tinting that, rounding -off a too-sharp angle here, and making rugged a too-smooth corner there, -adorning the walls with ivy and clinging creepers, and decorating the -roof with lustrous lichen!</p> - -<p>Baldock had such a genuine air of antiquity about it, with its ancient -architecture and slumberous calm, so foreign to the present age, that we -felt that without any undue strain upon the imagination we could picture -ourselves as medieval travellers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>QUAINT ALMS-HOUSES</i></div> - -<p class="nind">arriving in a medieval market-town! Baldock does not suggest, as so many -country towns unfortunately do, a bit of suburban London uprooted and -dumped down in a distant shire. No, Baldock has somehow managed to -retain its own characteristic individuality, and it pleases the lover of -the picturesque past because of this. To the left of the broad roadway -our eyes were charmed by the sight of a quaint group of ancient -alms-houses, situated within a walled enclosure, through which wall a -graceful archway gave entrance to the homes. Whilst we were admiring -this pleasing specimen of old-time work, one of the inmates came out and -invited us inside; but the interior, upon inspection, did not attract us -as the exterior had done: the latter had not been spoilt by furniture or -paper, or any other modern addition, to disturb its charming and restful -harmony. The rooms looked comfortable enough, however, and the old body -who showed us over declared that she was more than satisfied with her -quarters,—even life in an alms-house could not affect her manifestly -cheerful and contented disposition. A prince in a palace could not have -looked more satisfied with his lot. Inscribed on a stone tablet let into -the front of the building we read:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Theis Almes Howses are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">the gieft of Mr Iohn Wynne<br /></span> -<span class="i0">cittezen of London Latelye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deceased who hath left a<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yeareley stipend to everey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">poore of either howses to<br /></span> -<span class="i0">the Worldes End. September<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Anno Domini 1621.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">And may the stipend be regularly paid to the poor “to the Worldes End,” -according to the donor’s directions, and not be devoted to other and -very different purposes, as sometimes has been the case elsewhere with -similar gifts, under the specious pretext of changed times!</p> - -<p>Judging from the date affixed to these alms-houses, they were standing -just as they are now, looking doubtless a little newer, when Charles I. -passed a prisoner through here in the charge of General Fairfax; on -which occasion, according to long-cherished local tradition, the vicar -offered him for his refreshment some wine in the Communion cup. That -must have been an eventful day for Baldock.</p> - -<p>Not only the alms-houses, but the other buildings round about, of red -brick, with the pearly-gray bloom of age over them, were very pleasant -to look upon. Perhaps their colour never was so crude and assertive as -that of the modern red brick with which we construct our cheap misnamed -Queen Anne villas—which have nothing of the Queen Anne about them,—a -red that stares at you, and is of one uniform, inartistic hue—a hue -quite on a par as regards unsightliness with the chilly, eye-displeasing -blue of Welsh slates. Since the railways have come and cheapened -communication, Welsh slates have spread over all the land like an ugly -curse; you find them everywhere—they have displaced the cheerful ruddy -tiles that so well suit the gentle gloom of the English climate and the -soft green of its landscapes, they have ousted the pleasant gray stone -slab and homely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE MAGIC OF FAME</i></div> - -<p class="nind">thatch. Welsh slates are bad enough, but, alas! there is even a lower -depth of ugliness. Corrugated iron is still more hideous, and this I -sadly note is coming into use as a roofing material; it is cheap and -effectual, absolutely waterproof—and such an eyesore! How is it that -things are so seldom cheap and beautiful—truly there are exceptions, -but these only prove the rule—are these two qualities sworn enemies? If -only the Welsh slates were of the delicious greeny-gray tint of the more -expensive Cumberland ones, it would be a different matter. It is an -astonishing thing how even good architects are neglectful of colour in -their buildings, and what comparatively small thought they devote to the -beauty of the roof.</p> - -<p>Many people possibly would see nothing to admire or commend in Baldock; -it would probably impress the average individual as being a sleepy, -old-fashioned sort of place, deadly dull, and wholly devoid of interest; -so doubtless the same individual would consider Stratford-on-Avon, had -not Shakespeare been born there, and had not that magic accident of his -birth caused the town to be visited and written about by famous authors, -its beauties sought out and belauded by guide-book compilers, its quaint -old-world bits of architecture to be sketched and painted and -photographed endlessly, so that we all know how to admire it. Now, so -far as I am aware, no very notable person has been born at Baldock, so -the tourist comes not thither; and with nothing eventful to chronicle -about the town, nothing to commend it but its quiet natural<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span>ness and -picturesqueness, which it shares with many another ancient English -market-town, Baldock will have to sleep on unfamed, for its quiet charms -are not of the nature to assert themselves or appeal to everybody. There -is a beauty that requires searching after, which, not being pronounced, -the eye needs training to see. Still, I think that even the most -unobservant traveller, on passing through the quiet little town, must -note its pleasing look of mellowness and naturalness, the latter of -which qualities is attractively refreshing in this age of artificiality.</p> - -<p>Out of Baldock our road rose gradually on an embankment, possibly one of -the later improvements made by the old Turnpike Trust, when there was -actually a feeling amongst the coach proprietors that they might -successfully compete with the coming iron horse—an idea that took some -time to dispel, for even as late as October 1837 I find, from an old -coaching poster so dated, that the “Red Rover” from London to Manchester -was re-established as a commercial speculation. How long this -“well-appointed coach” ran after its establishment I cannot say.</p> - -<p>From the top of the rise we obtained a good view of Baldock, that, with -the woods around, the silvery sheen of water below, and the soft sky -above, made a very pretty picture; so pretty, indeed, that the -temptation to sketch it was not to be resisted. But later on we had to -harden our hearts and pass by many a picturesque spot without using our -pencil, otherwise we should have made more sketches than<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>OLD CUSTOMS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">miles per hour, and our journey would not have been finished by -Christmas time. To the artist eye, accustomed to look out for beauty, -rural England is one succession of pictures!</p> - -<p>We now struck upon a purely farming country, where the fields were large -and divided by hedgerows into a sort of glorified and many-tinted -chessboard—not a happy comparison certainly, but “<span class="lftspc">’</span>twill serve.” In -some of the fields we saw gleaners, women and children, at work amongst -the stubble,—I had nearly written at play, so unlike work did their -occupation seem, for the children were romping, and the women were -laughing and chatting, and it did our hearts good to hear the merry -prattle and cheerful voices. Would all labour were as lightsome!</p> - -<p>We had an idea that the gleaner, like the almost forgotten flail, was a -thing of the past, but were delighted to find that the good old custom, -honoured by over two thousand years of observance, sung of by poets and -beloved by painters, has not wholly disappeared, and that some of the -romance of the fields is left to us. The flail, that used to knock out -the corn on the old barn floors with much thumping, I have not met with -for years long past, but I believe, from what I hear, that it still is -used in a few remote places. The reaping machine has driven the slow -sickle into a few odd corners of the land, where the ground is rough and -the crops are small, though sometimes it has momentarily reappeared -elsewhere when the corn has been badly laid. The mowing machine also has -to a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> extent, though less universally, taken the place of the -scythe. And with these changes has come a change over the sounds of the -countryside. For the occasional whetting of the scythe we have the -continuous rattle of the machine; and the puffing and peculiar humming -of the steam-thresher, heard from afar, has taken the place of the -muffled thumping of the flail on the soft straw, only to be heard a -short way off.</p> - -<p>The fact cannot be blinked that husbandry has lost not a little of its -past-time picturesque and poetic aspect. Perhaps no one realises this -more than the artist; for though it may be done, and has been done, yet -for all it is not easy to put romance into commonplace machinery—that -means poetry without the gathered glamour of the associations of long -years. Machinery has at last but too successfully invaded the farm, and -the agriculturist is being slowly converted into a sort of produce -manufacturer. Now it is difficult to grow sentimental over machinery! -The time may even come when the readers of Crabbe, Gray, Thomson, and -other poets of the countryside will need the aid of a commentator to -understand their terms aright. Only the other day a literary man asked -me to describe a flail, as he was not quite sure what it was! Possibly -some of us hardly realise how rapidly “the old order gives place to the -new,” till unexpectedly the fact is brought to mind by some such -question. I am thankful to say that I have heard nothing of the “Silo” -of late, so that I trust that ensilage, that was to do such great things -for the English farmers, is a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE POETRY OF TOIL</i></div> - -<p class="nind">failure, and never likely to usurp the place of the pleasant hay-field -and fragrant haystacks. We simply cannot afford to improve the merry -haymaking away—it is the very poetry of toil.</p> - -<p>Driving on, we presently passed the fortieth milestone from London, just -beyond which a post by the roadside informed us that we had entered -Bedfordshire. Crossing this imaginary line brought back to mind a story -we had been told concerning it by an antiquarian friend, as -follows:—Just upon the boundaries of Bedfordshire and Hertfordshire -formerly stood a rambling old farm-house; the living-room of this was -long and low, and on the centre beam that went across the ceiling (such -as may still be found in ancient buildings) was inscribed this legend: -“If you are cold, go to Hertfordshire”—which apparently inhospitable -invitation was explained by the fact of the peculiar situation of the -room, one-half being in the one county and one-half in the other, and it -chanced that the fireplace was at the Hertfordshire end!</p> - -<p>Soon after the change of counties, at the foot of a long gradual -descent, we found ourselves in the hamlet of Astwick, where by the -wayside we espied a primitive but picturesque little inn boasting the -title of “The Greyhound,” with a pump and horse-trough at one side, as -frequently represented in old pictures and prints of ancient -hostelries—a trough of the kind in which Mr. Weller the elder so -ignominiously doused the head of the unfortunate Mr. Stiggins. Besides -the trough there was a tiny garden of colourful flowers in front of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> -inn by way of refinement, and above the weather-tinted roof uprose a -fine stack of clustering chimneys. The chance light and shade effect of -the moment suited well the unpretending but pleasant bit of old-time -architecture, so we proceeded to photograph it, not, however, before the -landlord had divined our intention, and had placed himself in a -prominent position, so that he might be included in the picture. A -worthy man the landlord proved to be, as we found out in after -conversation with him, and we promised to send him a copy of the -photograph; but “the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’<span class="lftspc">”</span> amateur -photographers “gang aft agley,” for it happened we had forgotten to -change the plate, and so took the old inn right on the top of a previous -photograph of another inn, and the photographic mixture was not -favourable to clearness or an artistic result! The negative when -developed showed two signboards on separate posts in different positions -and at different angles, two roofs, one just over the other, a hopeless -jumble of windows, and two stacks of chimneys occupying, the same place -at the same time, in spite of the well-known axiom that no two things -can do so. The Astwick landlord truly was there, but converted into a -veritable ghost, for through his body you could plainly trace the -doorway of the first inn! Certainly the result amused sundry of our -friends, but then the photograph—photographs, I mean,—were not taken -for that purpose, and friends are so easily amused at one’s failings! -This reminds me that a famous artist once told me, speaking of -experiments in painting,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> that he preferred a magnificent failure to a -poor success; but our failure was not magnificent.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>“HEART OF OAK”</i></div> - -<p>Having, as we fondly imagined, secured a fine photograph, we entered -into a conversation with the landlord, which resulted, as we hoped, in -his inviting us to “take a glance” inside, where he pointed out the -floors to us, which he said were all of “heart of oak,” and further -remarked, “You don’t find that in modern buildings of this sort”—a -statement in which we heartily concurred. He also showed us the -staircase, likewise of oak. He had not been in the house long, we -learnt, and when he bought the place “it was all going to ruin”; but he -put it in good order. “Lots of people come to sketch and photograph the -old inn, and some of the people who come patronise us for refreshment.” -So it would seem that, after all, the picturesque has a commercial -value—a fact we were delighted to note. Who would go even a mile to -sketch a modern-built public-house? for the primitive inn was really -that, though its picturesque and thought-out design suggested a more -dignified purpose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Biggleswade—“Instituted” or “intruded”!—A poetical will—The -river Ivel—A day to be remembered—The art of -seeing—Misquotations—The striving after beauty—Stories in -stone—An ancient muniment chest—An angler’s haunt—The town -bridge—The pronunciation of names—St. Neots. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Some</span> three miles or so beyond Astwick we reached high ground, from which -we had extensive views to the right over miles of fields and undulating -greenery. Shortly after this we dropped down into the drowsy old town of -Biggleswade; at least it struck us as being a very drowsy sort of place -when we were there, but doubtless it wakes up to a little life and -movement once a week, on market-days. Even the Biggleswade dogs looked -sleepily inclined, curled up under the shelter of various doorways, -hardly indeed condescending to give us a glance as we passed by; whilst -the nature of dogs generally is to make the arrival of a stranger in -their parts an excuse to rush out and bark at him, good-naturedly or the -reverse as the mood moves them. A dog seems to reason with himself, -“Barking is the chief pleasure of life; here comes a stranger, let’s -have a bark!”</p> - -<p>Here we drove into the ancient and rambling stable-yard of an old inn -near the market-place, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SUGGESTIVE WORD</i></div> - -<p class="nind">handed our horses over to the good keeping of the ostler; and whilst our -lunch was being prepared we wandered out to have a look round the town, -but found nothing to specially interest us, so all else failing, we -sought the church. Even here we did not discover much to reward us, -though the open and carved timber roof of the south aisle was good, with -its ornamental bosses and corbels formed of sculptured figures of -angels, the whole being more or less decayed and the worse for age. On -the woodwork are some slight remains of decorative painting.</p> - -<p>Placed against the wall of the church we observed a board with the -following heading—“The Vicars of Biggleswade,” followed by a list of -names of the said vicars, “from 1276 to the present time, with the dates -of their Institution.” Glancing down the long list of names, after each -we noticed the word “instituted,” followed by the date thereof; but when -we came to that of William Raulius, we noted instead of the usual -“instituted,” the suggestive word and date “intruded 1658” was inserted!</p> - -<p>Of this church my <i>Paterson’s Roads</i>, that does duty as a sufficient -guide-book for us, remarks: “This substantial ancient edifice was built -in the year 1230; it was formerly collegiate, and still contains several -of the stalls. The parishioners have all an equal right to any of the -seats, for which privilege, however, they are constrained to repair or -rebuild the fabric when requisite.” Under the heading of “Biggleswade,” -the same excellent road-companion also remarks of Sutton Park, near by, -on the road to Potton, “It is traditionally stated that this seat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> -formerly belonged to John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, who gave it to -Roger Burgoyne, ancestor of the present proprietor, by the following -laconic grant:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I, John of Gaunt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do give and do grant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unto Roger Burgoyne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the heirs of his loin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Both Sutton and Potton,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until the world’s rotten.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">There is also a moated site in the park, still known by the name of John -of Gaunt’s Castle.”</p> - -<p>Leaving Biggleswade, we crossed the river Ivel, but until the crossing -thereof we had no idea that there was a river of such a name in -England,—a driving tour is certainly helpful to a better and more -minute knowledge of the geography of one’s own land. Then we entered -upon a far-reaching level stretch of country, with a great expanse of -sunny sky above, and the silvery sheen of stilly waters showing below in -slothful river and clear but stagnant dyke. We could trace our road for -miles ahead in curving lines lessening to the low horizon, inclining -first this way and then that, now disappearing, to reappear again along -way off. The eye—the artistic eye at any rate—rejoices in such a -succession of sinuous curves, as much as it abhors the dictatorial and -monotonous straight line; it likes to be led by gentle and slow degrees -into the heart of the landscape, and away beyond into the infinity of -space where the vague distance vanishes into the sky. Possibly the -muscles of the eye more readily<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A PLEASANT LAND</i></div> - -<p class="nind">adapt themselves to such easy and gradual transition from spot to spot -than to the harsher insistence of a straight line. Nature herself hardly -ever indulges in the latter; man may make it, but she, in time, on every -opportunity, mars it gloriously.</p> - -<p>On either hand, as we drove on, stretched a level land of tilled fields -and verdant meadows, the many colours of the crops and the varied greens -of the pastures forming a gigantic mosaic. To the right of us rose some -rounded fir-crowned hills, if hills be the right term, for only perhaps -in a flat country would such modest elevations be dignified with the -title of hills. These, to employ a familiar painter’s expression, “told” -deeply blue—with all the beauty of ultramarine and all the depth of -indigo.</p> - -<p>It was an open breezy prospect, delightful to gaze upon, though there -was nothing exciting or grand about it save the great distances and the -wide over-arching sky; but it had the charm of wonderful colouring, and -was full of lightness and brightness that was most inspiriting; full of -cheery movement too, where the wild wind made rhythmic waves of the long -grasses and unreaped fields of corn, and rustled the leaves and bent the -topmost branches of the saplings before its gentle blasts, or where it -rippled the gliding waters of the winding river and silvery streams, -causing them to glance and sparkle in the flooding sunshine. All Nature -seemed buoyant with an exuberant vitality upon that almost perfect -afternoon, and the gladness of the hour entered into our very souls and -made us exultant accordingly! It was a day to call fondly back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> mind -when pent up in London during the darksome and dreary November days, -half asphyxiated with the smoke and sulphur laden atmosphere; then the -very remembrance of such a time of golden sunshine and fresh and -fragrant breezes is of untold refreshment.</p> - -<p>Some people might have deemed that prospect, composed chiefly of flat -fields, sluggish waters, and scattered trees, uninteresting and -unbeautiful, with nothing to commend it, still less to rave about; but -there is such a thing as the art of seeing, which art reveals, to those -who cultivate it, beauty in the most unexpected places. The charm of -form and colour is often a noteworthy factor that makes for beauty in a -prospect that is devoid of the picturesque and the “sweetly pretty.” The -best training in the art of seeing and discovering beauty that I know is -to make a series of sketches from Nature, in colour—water-colour for -preference, as being clearer of tint and easier applied. Take, for -instance, a bit of an old stone wall, or, better still, a -weather-stained boulder on some moor, outline it as well as you -can—never mind the drawing at first, it is the colour you must look -for—copy these tint for tint, hue for hue, as faithfully as you can. -Before starting you may imagine that the rugged boulder is simply gray -all over, lighter on the side where the sun shines, and darker in the -shadows, and that is all; but as you try to represent its surface you -will soon discover, if you only look hard and carefully enough, that -what you at first deemed to be merely a mass of gray is composed of a -myriad changeful colours:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A NEW SENSE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">there are sure to be the silver, and the gold, and perchance the red, of -clinging lichen (glorious colours these); then there are the greens of -mosses, and countless weather-stains here and there, all to be given; -then the rock itself, you will perceive as the eye gets more accustomed -to its novel task, is composed of countless tints, changing with almost -every change of surface, and where the boulder lies half in shadow you -will perceive a sort of blue-gray bloom—look very hard for this; then -the blackest shadows, you will note, are rich and deep, and look quite -colourful beside any single tint you may mix in the hope of representing -them. The more you study that boulder, the more colour you will see in -it; and if all this unexpected colour exists in one simple rock, to -leave the charms of varying form unconsidered, what must there not exist -on the whole wide moor? Look for yourself and see. After your eye has -had its first lesson in the art of seeing and searching out the -beautiful, it will naturally, unconsciously almost, begin to look for it -everywhere—and expect it! I fear I have perhaps written this in too -didactical a manner, but I find it difficult to express myself clearly -otherwise, and must plead this as my excuse for a failing I find it so -hard to endure in others.</p> - -<p>It was sketching from Nature that first taught me to look for and find -beauties in my everyday surroundings that before I had never even -imagined to exist. This art of seeing came to me like a new sense—it -was a revelation, and it has ever since afforded me so much positive and -lasting pleasure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> that I can truly say it has materially increased the -happiness of my life. Surely if “a man who can make two blades of grass -grow where one grew before is a benefactor to his race,” to add, however -slightly, to the happiness of life is to be a benefactor too, humble -though the addition may be.</p> - -<p>Now, after this over-long digression, let us once more resume the even -tenor of our tour. I had nearly written the even tenor of our way, and -placed the words between inverted commas, so familiar does the saying -sound; but I find on reference that Gray really wrote “the noiseless -tenor of their way,” which is not exactly the same thing, and it is as -well to be correct in small details as in great. It is astonishing to me -how often familiar quotations go wrong in the quoting; indeed, it is -rather the exception to find them rightly given. I have only just to-day -come across two instances of this whilst glancing over a magazine -article. First I note that Milton’s “fresh woods and pastures new” is -rendered, as it mostly is, “fresh fields and pastures new”; then -Nathaniel Lee’s “when Greeks joined Greeks, then was the tug of war” is -misquoted, as usual, “when Greek meets Greek,” etc., quite losing the -point that when the ancient—not the modern!—Greeks were joined -together they were a doughty foe. But now I am wandering again right off -the road!</p> - -<p>Driving on, we presently crossed the little river Ivel by a gray stone -bridge, beneath which the stream ran clear and brightly blue. Across the -bridge we found ourselves in the straggling village<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SUDDEN CONTRAST</i></div> - -<p class="nind">of Girtford. This began well with pretty cottages roofed with homely -thatch; then passing a wayside public-house with the uncommon title of -“The Easy Chair” (a sign that we do not remember to have met with -before), the village ended badly, in a picturesque point of view, with a -row of uninteresting cottages of the modern, square-box type, shelters -for man rather than habitations—commonplace, alas! and unsightly. The -sudden contrast from the old to the new was an object-lesson in ancient -beauty and modern ugliness.</p> - -<p>The progressive nineteenth century, by the mean and hideous structures -it has erected over all the pleasant land, has done much towards the -spoliation of English scenery. It has done great things, truly. It has -created railways, it has raised palaces, mansions, huge hotels, monster -warehouses, tall towers, and gigantic wheels of iron; but it has -forgotten the way of rearing so simple and pleasing a thing as a -home-like farmstead; it cannot even build a cottage grandly. Yet how -well our ancestors knew how to do these. Still, the wanderer across -country now and then sees signs of better things, a promise of a return -to more picturesque conditions, and this sometimes in the most -out-of-the-way and unexpected quarters. Thus, during our drive, have we -chanced upon a quaint and freshly-painted inn sign done in a rough but -true artistic spirit, supported by wrought-iron work of recent date, -worthy of the medieval craftsman; and in quiet market-towns and remote -villages have our eyes occasionally been delighted by bits of thoughtful -archi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span>tecture, the outcome of to-day, with their gable fronts, mullioned -windows, and pleasant porches, in reverent imitation of what is best in -the old. Besides these, sundry restorations of ancient buildings -backwards, not forwards, point to a striving again for beauty.</p> - -<p>An excellent and most delightful example of the revival of picturesque -village architecture we discovered the other year when driving through -Leigh, near Tunbridge, where the modern cottages are all pictures, -charming to look upon with their half-timber framework, thatched roofs -of the true Devon type, many gables, big chimneys, and quaint -porches—all modern, but imbued with the spirit and poetry of the past. -It is as though a medieval architect had been at work on them. The -simple cottages are nobly designed; there is no starving of material in -the attempt to make the utmost of everything; they are all humble -abodes, yet dignified; a millionaire might live in one and not be -ashamed; and withal they are essentially English. If they have a -failing, it is perhaps that they look a trifle artificial—too -suggestive of the model village or of stage scenery; but this I take it -arises mainly because we are not accustomed in these commonplace days to -find poetry out of books and paintings, so that the coming suddenly upon -it realised in bricks and mortar strikes one for the moment as strange -and unreal.</p> - -<p>After another stretch of wide, open country, flushed with air and -suffused with sunshine, the hamlet of Tempsford was reached. By the -roadside</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_006" style="width: 580px;"> -<a href="images/i_066fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_066fp.jpg" width="580" height="346" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A WAYSIDE INN.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT CHEST</i></div> - -<p class="nind">here stood the ancient fane, gray and dusky with years. Its door was -unfastened, so we stepped inside. Our hoary churches are stories in -stone, to those who can read them; though not always is the reading -easy, or the story complete. The first thing on entering that attracted -our attention was an unusually fine medieval muniment chest, its age -uncertain, but without doubt centuries old. It had evidently been cut -out of the solid trunk of a tree (presumably of an oak). The chest is -now much worm-eaten, and is bound round with many broad iron bands, and -further secured by five locks. They had great faith in big locks in -those days—locks with twisted keyholes, though to the modern mind they -look easy enough to pick. The problem that presented itself to us was, -seeing that about two-thirds of the wood was interlaced with these metal -bands, why was not the chest at the start made wholly of iron? In this -case the bands promise to outlast the worm-eaten and decaying wood they -enclose, though in some old chests of a similar nature the iron has -rusted more than the wood has perished, possibly owing to atmospheric -conditions, for dampness would probably destroy the iron quicker than -the wood, and dryness would reverse these conditions.</p> - -<p>At the west end of the north aisle we observed a curious triangular -window, and in the pavement at the base of the tower we found two flat -tombstones a little apart. One is inscribed in Latin to the memory of -“Knightley Chetwode,” and the other in English to his wife, who, we -learnt, was noted for her “piety towards God, fidelity to the King and -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> Protestant succession”; though why the virtues of the husband -should be set forth in Latin and those of his wife in English I do not -quite see.</p> - -<p>On the wall of the tower we also noted the following inscription cut in -a stone slab, the exact import of which was not very clear to us; -possibly it related to some rebuilding:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wil̄l̄ Savnderson Gē<br /></span> -<span class="i0">and Thōm̄ Staplo Yēō<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Overseers of this New<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Work & patentyes of his<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maiesties Letters<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Patent Granted for<br /></span> -<span class="i0">the same May xii—1621.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The lettering of this was delightfully full of character, and pleasing -to look upon simply for the forms of the letters—a something quite -apart from the mechanical precision with which the present-day engravers -render their works, possibly because they cannot do otherwise; it does -not require much thought to be simply precise!</p> - -<p>Just beyond Tempsford our road came close to the side of the -quiet-flowing Ouse, and there, where for a space the road and river ran -together, stood an inviting and picturesque inn, whose sign was that of -“The Anchor.” An ideal angler’s haunt it seemed to us as we passed by, -with an old punt and boats close inshore, and shady trees overhanging -the gleaming stream. There was a look of homely repose about the spot -quite incommunicable in words, a beauty about the fresh greens and -silvery grays of the wind-stirred foliage to be felt, not described.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE WINDING OUSE</i></div> - -<p>And how deep and rich were the luscious reflections where the woods -doubled themselves in the glassy flood! How peace-bestowing it all was! -We would, for the moment, that we were simple fishermen, and that this -were our journey’s end! Great was the temptation to stop and laze a -while, but we resisted it and drove on. We feared, perhaps, though we -did not confess this to ourselves, that too close an inspection might -rob us of our pleasant impressions. We had an ideal, and wished to keep -it! There is an art in knowing how much to leave unseen!</p> - -<p>On now we drove, through a land of broad and luxuriant meadows, cool and -tree-shaded, till we reached Eaton Socon, a pretty village with a small -green and a fine large church. Within the sacred edifice we discovered -little of interest, only portions of a rather good timber roof, a carved -oak screen of fair workmanship, and the remains of a squint blocked up. -If there were anything else noteworthy we managed very successfully to -miss it.</p> - -<p>Then a short stretch of road brought us once more to the blue winding -Ouse; at least it looked very blue that day. This we crossed on an -ancient, time-worn bridge, that had great recessed angles at the sides -wherein pedestrians might retreat and watch the long track of the -glimmering river, and dream day-dreams, should they be so minded, safely -out of the way of road traffic, and undisturbed by the passing and -repassing of those afoot. On the other side of the river we found -ourselves <i>at once</i> in the wide market-place of St. Neots. At the -bridge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> the country ended and the town began; there were no straggling -suburbs to traverse. Close at hand, right in the market-place, we caught -sight of an inviting hostelry, the “Cross Keys” to wit. The first glance -at the old inn was enough to decide us in its favour. Relying on the -instinct begotten of long years of road travel, we had no hesitation in -directly driving under the archway thereof, where we alighted in the -courtyard, and sought and obtained, just what we then mostly needed, -comfortable quarters for the night. In the case of the selection of an -hostelry, we had learnt to judge by outside appearances, in spite of the -proverb to the contrary effect. Even in proverbs there are exceptions to -the rule!</p> - -<p>I should imagine, from the glance we had on passing over, that the -bridge at St. Neots forms a sort of outdoor club for a number of the -townsfolk. There is something magnetic about a river that equally -attracts both the young and the old; it is bright and open, it has the -charm of movement, and there is nearly always life of some kind to be -found by the waterside. Thither, too, at times the fisherman, or at any -rate the fisher-urchin, comes; and what a fascination there is for most -minds in watching an angler pursuing his sport, even though in vain! I -have frequently observed that in country towns where there is a widish -river and a convenient bridge over it, there on that bridge do certain -of the citizens regularly congregate at evening-time, when the day’s -work is done, for a chat, a quiet smoke, and “a breath of air before -turning in.” The town<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE CHARM OF MYSTERY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">bridge has become quite an institution in some places!</p> - -<p>As we went out to do a little shopping, we were amused and instructed to -hear the different ways that the natives pronounced the name of their -town. One would have imagined that there was only one way of doing this, -but we discovered three: the first party we conversed with distinctly -called it St. Notes, a second as emphatically declared it to be St. -Nots, and still another would have it St. Neets, whilst we as strangers -had innocently pronounced it as spelt; and now I do not feel at all -certain as to which is the prevailing local appellation, or if there may -still be another variety.</p> - -<p>Our bedroom window faced the old market-square—a large, open, and -picturesque space, pleasant to look upon; and at the window we sat for a -time watching the life of the place and the odd characters coming and -going. It was all as entertaining to us as a scene in a play, and a good -deal more so than some, for there was no indifferent acting in our -players, and no false drawing in the background—the perspective was -perfect! And, as we watched, the light in the west gradually faded away, -whilst the moon rose slowly and shone down, large and solemn, through -the haze that gathered around when the dusk descended. The gentle -radiance of the moonlight made the mist luminous with a mellow light—a -light that lent the magic charm of mystery to the prospect. The houses, -grouped irregularly round the square, were indistinctly revealed, all -their harsher features being softened down; then one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> after another -lights gleamed forth from their many-paned windows, with a warm yellow -cheerfulness in marked contrast with the cold silvery moonshine without. -The mist-damped roadway was reflective, and repeated vaguely the yellow -gleams above, and imparted to the scene quite a Turneresque effect. -Above the low-roofed houses, dimly discernible, rose the tall tower of -the stately parish church, so grand a church that it has earned the -epithet of “the cathedral of Huntingdon.” It was a poetic vision, very -beautiful and bewitching to look upon, we thought; but, after all, much -of the beauty in a prospect lies in the imaginative qualities of the -beholder: we may all see the same things, yet we do not see them in the -same manner!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">The charm of small towns—The Ouse—A pleasant land—Buckden -Palace—A joke in stone—The birthplace of Samuel Pepys—Buried -treasure—Huntingdon—An old-time interior—A famous coaching -inn—St. Ives—A church steeple blown down!—A quaint and ancient -bridge—A riverside ramble—Cowper’s country—Two narrow escapes. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> of the special charms of small towns like St. Neots is that you can -readily walk out of them in any direction right into the country; and -what a boon it must be to the inhabitants of such places to have the -real country all around them, easily accessible even to children, and -this without having to take to cab or railway! So next morning, after -starting early, as was our wont, we soon found ourselves amongst the -green fields and trees again. It was a bright sunshiny day, with a -fleecy sky above and a brisk breeze below—the very weather for driving.</p> - -<p>Just outside St. Neots we came to a gateway on the road with the gate -closed and barring our path; there was, however, a man at hand to open -it, and a very prominent notice-board facing us inscribed—“The man who -attends to the common-gate is not paid any wage, and is dependent upon -the free gifts of the public.” This notice struck us as being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> somewhat -novel, practically converting the gate into a toll-gate, for the moral -obligation to tip was thereby made manifest—and why should gates be -allowed on the main highways?</p> - -<p>After this we crossed a long open common, at the farther end of which we -passed through still another gate, that also needed another tip for the -opening thereof; then we came to our old friend the Ouse again, which we -crossed on a bridge by the side of a mill; just before reaching this we -noticed that there was a raised causeway approach to the bridge for -pedestrians above and alongside of the road, suggestive of winter -flooding. The causeway also suggested an excellent motive for a picture -with suitable figures on it, to be entitled “When the river is in -flood.” It would form quite a Leaderesque subject, taken at a time when -the day is waning, and wan yellow lights are in the sky, and a yellow -sheen lies on the stream.</p> - -<p>The Ouse here is very pretty, clear-watered, and gentle-gliding, fringed -with reedy banks and overhung by leafy trees, the whole being rich in -colour and broad in effect. Indeed, the Ouse is a very pleasant, lazy -stream, and a most sketchable one too. The discovery of the -picturesqueness of this river—of which more anon—was one of the -unexpected good things of our journey.</p> - -<p>Now our road led us, with many windings, through a pleasant land of -parks and park-like meadows, wherein grew great branching elms, beneath -whose grateful shelter the meek-eyed cattle gathered complacently. It -was an essentially peaceful,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A PICTURESQUE PILE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">homelike country, green and slumberous, but wanting wide views; a -closed-in landscape, however beautiful of itself, becomes a trifle -monotonous in time—you can even have a monotony of beauty—the eye -loves to rake the countryside, to get a peep, now and then, of the blue -far-away, or of the gray outline of a distant hill.</p> - -<p>The first village on our way was Buckden, and here, being unprovided -with a guide-book, we had a delightful surprise, for as we entered the -place we caught a glimpse of the broken and time-worn towers of a large, -rambling, and picturesque pile of buildings, some portions ruined, -others apparently maintained and occupied. The structure was principally -of brick, but time-toned into a warmish gray with age. What could it be? -Manifestly, from its extent, it was a place of considerable importance. -Such surprises are happily to be expected in such a storied land as -England, wherein you cannot travel far without setting your eyes upon -some ancient history. In spite of the size and beauty of the -many-towered building, when we asked ourselves what it could be, we had -sadly to acknowledge that even the name of Buckden was unfamiliar to us! -So we consulted our ancient and faithful <i>Paterson</i> to see what he might -say, and running our finger down the line of road, as given in the -“London to Carlisle” route, we read after the name of the village, -“Bishop of Lincoln’s Palace.” A note by the side, giving some details -thereof, says: “This venerable pile is chiefly constructed of brick, and -partly surrounded by a moat; it comprises two quadrangular courts, with -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span> square tower and entrance gateway, and contains several spacious -apartments. Large sums of money have been expended by different prelates -on this fabric, particularly by Bishops Williams and Sanderson, the -former in the reign of James I. and the latter in that of Charles II. -The situation of the edifice is extremely pleasant. The manor was -granted to the see of Lincoln in the time of Henry I.... Several of the -prelates belonging to this see have been interred in the parish church.”</p> - -<p>We gathered from this that probably the church would be fine and -interesting, so we alighted and made our way thither. Facing the quiet -God’s acre—I would like to write God’s garden, but it was hardly -that—stood one of the square, semi-fortified gateways of the palace, -embattled on the top, and having four octagonal flanking towers at its -sides; in the enclosed walls below were mullioned windows, the stonework -of which was perfect, but the glass was gone; at the foot of the gateway -commanding the approach were cross arrow-slits, presumably placed there -for ornament—a survival of past forms that, even when the tower was -raised, had long outlived their uses, so strong is the strength of -tradition. Thus to-day I know instances where the modern architect of -renown has introduced buttresses when the wall is strong enough without; -peaceful church towers are likewise embattled like a feudal castle keep, -and gargoyles introduced thereon, where, did the latter only carry out -their offices, they would pour the rain-water down in streams upon the -heads of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>GARGOYLES</i></div> - -<p class="nind">congregation when entering or leaving the building! So, their true -functions gone, are obsolete forms retained for the sake of their -picturesqueness, which seems wrong art to me; rather should we attempt -to build for the needs of the present, and make those needs -ornamental—to construct soundly, and be content to adorn such -construction. The architects of old, I trow, did not introduce gargoyles -for the sake of ornament; they made them to throw the rain from off -their roofs and walls, purely for utility; then they proceeded to carve -and make them presentable, and converted an ugly excrescence into a -thing of beauty or quaintness, as the spirit moved them, but either way -they were interesting. Now that we have invented rain-water -pipes—which, let it be frankly owned, answer the purpose far better -than the old-fashioned gargoyles—we should seek, in the spirit of the -past, to make beautiful or quaint the headings of the same. Here is a -sadly neglected and legitimate opportunity to introduce the much-needed -decoration that <i>does</i> decorate, and thus add an interest to our houses -they so much need. Instead of this, we are too often content with “stuck -on” ornaments, which do not ornament, serve no need, and merely profit -the builder’s pocket.</p> - -<p>But to return to the old Buckden Palace gateway. Though externally the -brick and stone work is in fair condition, the structure is but a -skeleton; however, this fact adds to its picturesqueness, and with the -better-preserved towers beyond, it helps to form a very pleasing group. -When we were there the ruined tower was in the possession of a flock of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> -noisy starlings—birds that strangely appear to prefer buildings to -trees, and who made themselves much at home in the ruins.</p> - -<p>Then we took a glance within the church, where several Bishops of -Lincoln lie buried close to their palatial home. Fortunate beings those -ancient bishops—to make the best of both worlds, and to ensure so many -earthly good things on their way to heaven; to be the servant of Him who -had not where to lay His head, and yet to sit on a throne, live in a -palace, and enjoy a princely income; nevertheless, to talk of losing all -for Christ, who said, “My kingdom is not of this world”! Strangely -inconsistent is the creed of Christianity with the history of the -Church. “Love your enemies” was the command of the Master. “Torture and -burn them” was the order of the medieval Church—and is the servant -greater than the Master?</p> - -<p>Buckden church, though interesting, was hardly so much so as might have -been expected; its open timber roof, however, was very fine, and was -adorned with a series of sculptured angels that manifestly had once been -coloured, but now had a faded look, and faded angels seem hardly -appropriate; moreover, not one of the number had his (or her?) wings -perfect; some had only one wing, and that broken, others were in a still -worse plight, having no wings at all! But why should angels have wings? -Is it that neither scholar nor artist can get beyond anthropomorphism? -Wings are hardly spiritual appendages. The medieval craftsman, in -representing angels so provided, must surely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CARVED JOKE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">have reasoned with himself somewhat in this fashion: Angels fly; now all -birds and creatures that fly have wings, therefore angels must have -wings; and so he added them to the human form, to represent a spirit. -The medieval craftsman could invent demons—veritable monsters who -breathed and struggled in wood and stone, and looked good-naturedly -diabolical with leering, wicked eyes, yet hardly dreadful—monsters that -appeared quite possible in some other and most undesirable world—these -were pure creations, but his angels were simply winged humanity, neither -original nor interesting, for their even placid features, if without -guile, were equally without character.</p> - -<p>The roof was supported by stone corbels, that in turn supported carved -oak figures of mitred bishops, from which sprang the great rafters with -the angels on. One of these corbels was most cleverly carved so as to -represent a roundish head with a hand held over one eye in a very -roguish way, and tears running down the cheek from the other; the -expression of the features, one half merry and the other grieved, was -marvellous, especially the mouth, part jocund and part miserable; it was -an odd conceit that compelled one to laugh, the comicality was -irresistible. Were I to worship in that church, I am afraid that the -most serious sermon would hardly affect me with that droll face peering -grinningly down—one half at least—and looking so knowing! A carved -joke! That is art in truth that converts the amorphous stone into a -thing of life, with the expressions of grief and joy. Compare such -living<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> work with the lumpy, inexpressive, and meaningless stone-carving -that disfigures so many of our modern churches built “to the glory of -God” cheaply and by contract, and how great and distressing the -contrast!</p> - -<p>As we drove out of Buckden, we noticed what a fine coaching inn it -boasted once, namely the “George and Dragon.” The original extent of the -whole building, in spite of alterations, can still be easily traced; its -former size and importance may be gathered from the fact that there are -thirteen windows in one long line on its front, besides the great -archway in the centre, that is such a prominent feature in most -old-fashioned hostelries.</p> - -<p>A couple of miles or so beyond Buckden stands the pretty village of -Brampton, and here we made a short halt, as, besides its -picturesqueness, Brampton had a further interest for us in being the -birthplace of that celebrated Diarist and old-time road-traveller the -worthy Mr. Samuel Pepys, who was born here on 23rd February 1632, though -the event is not to be found in the parish register, for the excellent -reason that “these records do not commence until the year 1654.” I find -in the preface to the new edition of <i>Lord Braybrooke’s Diary of Samuel -Pepys</i>, edited by H. B. Wheatley, it is stated: “Samuel Knight, D.D., -author of the <i>Life of Colet</i>, who was a connection of the family -(having married Hannah Pepys, daughter of Talbot Pepys of Impington), -says positively that it was at Brampton” Pepys was born. The father and -mother of the ever-entertaining Diarist lived and died at Brampton, and -were buried there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A PRIMITIVE PROCEEDING</i></div> - -<p>The number of birthplaces of famous Englishmen that we came accidentally -upon during the course of our journey was a notable feature thereof. -Besides the instance just mentioned, there was Cromwell’s at Huntingdon, -Jean Ingelow’s at Boston, Sir John Franklin’s at Spilsby, Lord -Tennyson’s at Somersby, Sir Isaac Newton’s at Woolsthorpe, with others -of lesser note, the last four being all in Lincolnshire.</p> - -<p>But to return to Brampton. Pepys makes frequent mention of this place in -his notes, and gives some very amusing and interesting experiences of -one of his visits there under the date of the 10th and 11th of October -1667, when he came to search for and to recover his buried treasure. It -appears, after the Dutch victory in the Thames, and the rumours that -they intended to make a descent upon London, Pepys, with many others, -became alarmed about the safety of his property, so he sent a quantity -of gold coins in bags down to his father’s home at Brampton, with -instructions that they should be secretly buried in the garden for -security! A primitive proceeding truly, giving a curious insight of the -state of the times: one would have imagined that the money would really -have been safer hidden in London than risked on the road, where -robberies were not infrequent.</p> - -<p>When all fear of the Dutch invasion had vanished, Pepys journeyed down -to Brampton to get back his own, which caused him to moralise upon the -obvious thus—“How painful it is sometimes to keep money, as well as to -get it.” Having<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> recovered his money, or nearly all of it, he relates -how about ten o’clock he took coach back to London. “My gold I put into -a basket, and set under one of the seats; and so my work every quarter -of an hour was to look to see whether all was well; and I did ride in -great fear all day.” And small wonder, for if any of the “gentlemen of -the road” had “got wind” of Mr. Pepys’s exploit, it is more than -probable that they would have eased him of his treasure; even without -such knowledge, there was just a possibility of a misadventure at their -hands. The only pleasant part of that memorable journey must have been -the ending thereof. I wonder whether Mr. Pepys ever heard of the -tradition, which has found its way as historic fact into some of our -school-books, that “in Saxon times the highways were so secure that a -man might walk safely the whole length and breadth of the land, with a -bag of gold in his hand.” The “in Saxon times,” however, calls to my -mind the inevitable beginning of the good old-fashioned fairy stories, -“Once upon a time.” Both terms are rather suggestive of romancing; at -least they put back dates to a safely distant period!</p> - -<p>On the church tower at Brampton, which stands close to the roadside, is -the date 1635 plainly carved in stone, and to-day as sharp and clear as -when first chiselled over two eventful centuries ago. From Brampton we -drove to Huntingdon. About midway between those places we passed, on a -triangular bit of green, a gray stone obelisk surmounted by a ball. At -first we imagined that we had come across<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>COACHING INNS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">another wayside monument, but it disappointed us, proving to be merely a -glorified sign-post with hands pointing out the various directions, and -the various distances given below. Then leaving, to our left, the -historic home of Hinchinbrook, where the Protector spent some of his -boyish days with his uncle and godfather Sir Oliver Cromwell, we soon -entered the pleasant town of Huntingdon. Here we sought out the -“George,” one of the famous trio of coaching houses on the road that, -with its namesake at Stamford and the “Angel” at Grantham, disputed the -premier place for comfort, good living, and high charges. At either of -these well-patronised hostelries our forefathers were sure of excellent -fare and rare old port such as they delighted in: it was the boast of -some of the hosts, in the prime of the coaching age, that they could set -down before their guests better wine than could be found on His -Majesty’s table. If this were a fiction, it were a pleasant fiction; and -tired travellers, as they sipped their old bottled port, after feasting -well, doubtless deemed their landlord’s boast no idle one.</p> - -<p>Unfortunately the “George” at Huntingdon, unlike its two rivals -aforementioned, has externally been rebuilt, not, alas! on the -picturesque old lines, but in the square, commonplace fashion of plain -walls pierced with oblong holes for windows—a fashion so familiar to us -all. But upon driving beneath the archway and entering the courtyard, a -pleasant surprise awaited us. We found a picture in building presented -to our admiring gaze. It was one of those delightful experiences that -are so delightful because<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> so unexpected: there is a wonderfully added -charm about pleasures that are unanticipated. This is why it is so -enjoyable to travel through a fresh country with all before you unknown -and therefore pregnant with possibilities; the mind is thus kept ever in -an agreeable state of expectancy, wondering what each new bend in the -road may reveal; and what a special interest there lies in the little -discoveries that one makes for oneself! Could a guide-book be produced -giving particulars of all one would see on a tour, so that one would -always know exactly what to expect everywhere, I make bold to say that a -tour undertaken with such a perfect companion would not be worth the -taking!</p> - -<p>But to get back to the “George” at Huntingdon. There, straight in front -of us, stood a goodly portion of the ancient inn, unlike the exterior, -happily unmodernised—a fact for all lovers of the beautiful to be -deeply grateful for. This bit of building retained its ancient gallery, -reached by an outside stairway (so familiar in old prints and drawings -of such inns), and in the great tiled roof above, set all by itself in a -projecting gable, was the hotel clock, that doubtless erst did duty to -show the time to a generation of road-travellers in the days before the -despotic reign of the steam-horse, when corn and hay, not coal and coke, -sustained the motive power.</p> - -<p>This unchanged corner of a famous old coaching hostelry spoke plainly of -the picturesque past. It was not a painter’s dream, it was a reality! It -suggested bits from <i>Pickwick</i>, and sundry scenes from novels of the -out-of-date romantic school.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_007" style="width: 557px;"> -<a href="images/i_084fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_084fp.jpg" width="557" height="335" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>AN OLD COACHING INN: COURTYARD OF THE GEORGE, -HUNTINGDON.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN INN TO OUR LIKING</i></div> - -<p>Indeed, it must formerly have been quite a Pickwickian inn, and in our -mind’s eye we conjured up a picture in which the immortal Sam Weller was -the chief character, standing in the courtyard below flirting with the -neat be-ribboned maids above as they leaned over the open gallery, when -for a moment business was slack in the yard, and the chamber bells had a -brief respite from ringing. The building and courtyard had a genuine -old-world flavour about them that was very charming, and to add to its -interest and attractiveness the building was not decayed or ruined, as -so many of the kind are, but was well preserved and maintained, so that -it must have looked to us much the same as it did in the days of our -ancestors—peace be to their ashes!</p> - -<p>At the “George” we were received by a motherly landlady with a welcoming -smile, that made us feel more like an expected guest arriving than an -utter stranger seeking food and shelter for a time; this ready greeting -in the good old-fashioned style promptly recalled to memory Shenstone’s -famous and often-quoted lines as to the warmness of the welcome a -traveller may find at an inn.</p> - -<p>So much to our liking were both landlady and hostelry, that we forthwith -determined to stop the night beneath the sign of the “George” at -Huntingdon, though it was only then mid-day. “I really must make a -sketch of your pretty courtyard!” I exclaimed to the landlady, after -returning her greeting with thanks, for we were always most particular -to repay courtesy with courtesy. “Oh! do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> wait till to-morrow,” she -begged, “as you are staying on, for I have ordered some flowers and -plants to put round about the yard. They will be here this afternoon, -and the place will look so much nicer with them.” So smilingly we -consented to wait till to-morrow, when the flowers and shrubs would be -in evidence. It was something to feel that so charming a relic of the -past was thus prized and cared for. Picturesqueness begets -picturesqueness; as a pretty house calls for tasteful things about it, -so a picturesque bit of old building like this mutely begs for flowers -and plants to complete its pleasantness.</p> - -<p>As we had the whole afternoon on our hands, we determined to do a little -local exploring. The only point to be considered was, in which direction -we should go. To settle this our map was consulted, and from it we -learnt that the ancient town of St. Ives was only, by rough scale -measurement, some four to five miles off; moreover, we noted that our -newly-made friend the Ouse flowed between the two towns with many a bend -that suggested pleasant wanderings; and as we were informed that there -was a footpath by the riverside, the wanderings were feasible. So we -made up our minds to get to St. Ives somehow, by railway if needs be and -a train served, and at our leisure to follow the winding stream afoot -back to Huntingdon. We felt a strong desire to become better acquainted -with the Ouse, as the few peeps we had already caught of its quiet -beauties much impressed us; still, we had a haunting dread of being -disappointed with a wider view, so often have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SLEEPY TOWN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">hopes raised in a similar manner proved illusive. Then we remembered -Wordsworth’s lines:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It must, or we shall rue it!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have a vision of our own;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ah! why should we undo it!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Well, we had “a vision of our own” of what the Ouse would be -like—“should we undo it?” We had asked ourselves almost a similar -question before of one picturesque spot by the same river’s side near -Tempsford, as may be remembered, but that was only of one special nook, -not of a five miles’ stretch of country!</p> - -<p>We found St. Ives to be a drowsy, old-fashioned town, delightfully -unprogressive, and little given to so-called modern improvements—a -place where the feverish rush of life seemed stayed. It struck us as -being quaint rather than picturesque, though its curious old bridge, -hoary with antiquity, certainly deserved both these epithets, and bits -of its buildings, here and there, proved eminently sketchable. Whilst we -were drawing an odd gable which took our fancy, an elderly stranger -approached and began to converse with us—a frequent incident under such -circumstances, so much so that we had become quite accustomed to it. The -stranger in this case turned out trumps, in that he was somewhat of a -character, possessing a fund of entertaining information about local -subjects that interested us. He was a quiet-spoken and pleasant-mannered -man, rather shabbily dressed, as though he paid<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> little heed to the cut -of his coat or external appearances, but his linen was scrupulously -clean. We felt puzzled what position in the varied economy of life to -assign to him, nor did any chance remarks of his help us in this -respect. But, after all, who or what he might be was no business of -ours. “Have you seen the old bridge yet?” was one of his first -questions. Then he went on to say, “You must not miss that, it is the -queerest bridge in England; it was constructed by the old monks -originally; there’s a curious building right in the middle of it, on the -site of an ancient chapel in which prayers used to be offered up for the -safety of travellers starting on a journey, and thanks were given for -their safe arrival. When the chapel and priests were done away with, a -lighthouse was put up in its place to help the river traffic, so I’ve -been told; then the lighthouse got burnt down; and afterwards, when the -people found that they could get along without either chapel or -lighthouse, the place was converted into a dwelling-house, and that’s -what it is now. There’s not many folk, I fancy, in these times, who have -their home in the middle of a bridge! It is a wonderful old building, -you must not miss it on any account,” and we promised that we would not. -“Then there’s our church,” he went on; “the spire of it has been blown -down twice, though you might not think it on such a day as this; but it -does blow terribly hard here at times: the wind comes up the river and -sweeps down upon us in the winter, now and then, hard enough to take you -off your legs. I’ve been blown down myself by it when crossing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A STRANGE STORY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the bridge. But I was going to tell you a strange bit of history -connected with our church, which I believe is quite unique. Many years -ago—I don’t just now remember the exact date, but it was over two -hundred years back—a Dr. Wilde left a sum of money in his will, the -interest on which was to go to buy Bibles to be tossed for by dice on -the Communion table by six boys and six girls of the parish, and the -tossing still takes place every year according to the will, only now it -is done on a table in the vestry instead of on the Communion table. Now -that’s a bit of curious history, is it not?” and we confessed that it -was, and duly jotted it all down in our note-book just as told to us. -When we had finished, our informant further added, “I have heard that an -account of the dice-tossing was given in one of the London papers, only -by some mistake it was said to have taken place at St. Ives in Cornwall, -and some one from there wrote to the paper and said that there was not a -word of truth in the story.” So the conversation went on. The only other -item of special interest that I can remember now, is that he remarked -that perhaps we did not know the origin of the name of Huntingdon. We -confessed our ignorance on the subject, and he forthwith kindly -enlightened us, though I cannot, of course, in any way vouch for the -authenticity of a statement made by an utter stranger in the street of a -country town! Still, I give it for what it may be worth, and because the -derivation seems not only plausible but probable. According to our -unknown authority, then, in Saxon times the country around Huntingdon -was one vast<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> forest given over to the chase, and the place was then -called Hunting-ton—or Hunting-town, in modern English—and from this to -Huntingdon is an easy transition.</p> - -<p>Curiously enough, just after writing this record of a chance -conversation, I came upon a paragraph in the <i>Standard</i> giving an -account of the St. Ives dice-tossing, which runs as follows, and bears -out the story as told to us:—“The ancient custom of raffling for Bibles -in the parish church of St. Ives took place yesterday. The vicar -directed the proceedings, and twelve children cast dice for the six -Bibles awarded. The custom dates from 1675, and is in accordance with -the will of Dr. Wilde, who left £50 to provide a fund for the purpose. -It was expended on what is still called ‘Bible Orchard,’ with the rent -of which the books are bought, and a small sum paid to the vicar for -preaching a special sermon.”</p> - -<p>The bridge at St. Ives we found to be a most interesting and picturesque -structure, having a tall building over the centre pier, and in addition -a low and smaller building over another pier at the farther end, that -looked as though it might have been originally a toll-house. Four out of -the six arches of the bridge were pointed, and thereby suggested the -ecclesiastical architect. The remaining two were rounded, doubtless -reconstructed so at a later period. At the base of the house that stood -in the middle of the bridge was a little balcony with iron railings -round it, to which access was given by a door, so that the tenant of the -house could sit outside and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> have a quiet smoke whilst amusing himself -watching the craft going up and down stream. The bridges at -Bradford-on-Avon in Wiltshire and at Wakefield in Yorkshire have their -old chapels, and one of the bridges at Monmouth has its ancient -fortified gateway thereon; but I do not know of any bridge in England -besides that of St. Ives that has an inhabited house upon it.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">A HOUSE ON A BRIDGE.</div> - -<p>Crossing the river on the quaint, old, and timeworn bridge (of which an -engraving is given at the head of the first chapter), we soon found -ourselves once again in the greenful country; and walking over a meadow -that seemed to us a good mile long, we reached the pleasant Ouse, -shimmering like a broad band of silver in the soft sunshine, and gliding -slowly and smoothly along its sinuous course between flower-decked -fields and reed-grown banks, with over-arching trees ever and again that -gave deliciously cool reflections in the stream below.</p> - -<p>After the hoary bridge and ancient time-dimmed town, how fresh and -bright looked the fair open country, so full of exuberant vitality! How -gray and aged the dusky town appeared from our distant standpoint—the -wear and tear of centuries was upon it; by contrast how ever young and -unchangeable the country seemed. The one so mutable, the other so -immutable!</p> - -<p>As we wandered on, we suddenly found ourselves in a most picturesque -nook, where the river made a bend and a bay, and was overshadowed by -trees—a peace-bestowing spot it was, and in the shallow edge of the -stream, beneath the sheltering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> trees, cattle were lazily resting and -cooling themselves. Here too we discovered a rambling old mill, the -subdued droning of whose great wheel mingled with the plashing of -falling water and the murmuring sur—sur—suring of the wind-stirred -foliage—sounds that were just enough to make us realise the stillness -and tranquilness of the spot. One does not always comprehend the -quietude of Nature; we travel too much in company to do this. But -besides the old mill, that so pleased us that we forthwith made a sketch -of it, there was close at hand an ancient lock, gray and green, and just -sufficiently tumble-down to be perfectly picturesque. Look which way we -would, we looked upon a picture. Perhaps the one that pleased us best -was the view of the great gabled mill as seen from the top of the lock, -with the big leafy trees outstretching behind it, and the weedy and worn -towing-path winding in front.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">OVER FEN AND WOLD.</div> - -<p>As we stood by the lock sketching the old mill—called Knight’s mill, we -learnt from the lock-keeper—a barge came along drawn by a gray horse, -for there is traffic on the Ouse, but only just enough to give it a -little needful life and interest. As the barge proceeded on its journey, -we observed that, at a point where the tow-path apparently ended, the -horse went boldly down into the water and walked on in the river close -by the bank where it was shallow; it struck us from this that it would -hardly do to rely solely upon the tow-path for exploring purposes.</p> - -<p>Not far from the mill and lock is Hemingford<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> Grey, a pretty village -whose fine old church stands picturesquely by the side of the river. The -church appeared formerly to have possessed a fine spire, but now only a -stump of it remains, and each angle of this is adorned with a small -stone ball that gives a curious look to the building. Just against the -churchyard, that is merely divided from the river by a low wall, is a -little landing-place for boats; so we imagined that some of the country -folk are rowed or punted to church on Sundays—quite a romantic and an -agreeable proceeding in the summer time.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">TO CHURCH BY BOAT.</div> - -<p>Here we saw a man on the bank fishing with a bamboo rod, contentedly -catching nothing—a lesson in patience and perseverance. The rod he -declared to be an ideal one to angle with, being so light and strong; -nevertheless, we observed that, in spite of this advantage, he had -caught no fish. Perchance they were shy or “off their feed” that day; -they always seem to be so, I know, when I go a-fishing. Then we asked -him about the church spire—had it never been completed, or had it been -struck by lightning, or had it been pulled down as unsafe?</p> - -<p>“You’ve not guessed right,” he replied; “it was blown down”! Now this -struck us as extraordinary. Church spires do not generally get blown -down, yet that very day we had come upon two, not very far apart, that -had so suffered. Either this part of England must be very windy, or the -spires must have been very badly built! It was a strange and puzzling -fact.</p> - -<p>Cowper stayed some time at Hemingford Grey,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> and wrote a few of his -poems there; and as it seems to me a most charming spot, I am perplexed -to understand how he could write of the scenery around Huntingdon, of -which it forms part, thus:—“My lot is cast in a country where we have -neither woods nor commons, nor pleasant prospects—all flat and insipid; -in the summer adorned with willows, and in the winter covered with a -flood.” Surely Cowper must have been in an extra melancholy mood at the -time, else why does he condemn a country thus, that he praises for its -beauties in verse? Are there two standards of beauty, one for poetry and -one for prose?</p> - -<p>So we rambled on by the cheerful riverside, over the greenest of -meadows, past ancient villages and picturesque cottages, past -water-mills, and with occasional peeps, by way of change, of busy -windmills inland, past primitive locks and shallow fords, till we -reached Godmanchester. Our verdict, given after our enjoyable tramp, is -that the Ouse from St. Ives to Huntingdon is a most picturesque and -paintable stream, simply abounding in picture-making material. Quite as -good “stuff” (to use artists’ slang) may be found on the Ouse as on the -Thames, with the added charm of freshness, for the beauties of the -Thames have been so painted and photographed, to say nothing of being -engraved, that they are familiar to all, and over-familiarity is apt to -beget indifference!</p> - -<p>So we rambled leisurely along by the river side, over meadows spangled -with daisies and buttercups, those lowly but bright and lovely flowers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A NARROW ESCAPE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">of the sward, by ancient villages and unpretending cottage homes, that -pleased because they were so unpretending, by droning water-mills and -whirling windmills, by picturesquely neglected locks, by shallow fords, -and by countless beauty-bits such as artists love, till we reached -Godmanchester—a quiet little town, remarkable neither for beauty nor -for ugliness, that stands just over the Ouse from Huntingdon. Here we -crossed first some low-lying ground, and then the river by a raised -causeway and a long stone bridge, darkly gray from age; on the wall in -the centre of this bridge is a stone slab inscribed:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -Robertus Cooke<br /> -Ex Aquis emersus<br /> -Hoc viatoribus sacrum<br /> -D.D. 1637.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">It appears that, in the year above stated, this Dr. Robert Cooke, whilst -crossing the causeway, then in bad repair, was washed off his feet and -nearly drowned, the river running strongly past in heavy flood at the -time; and in gratitude for his narrow escape he left in his will a -certain sum of money, the interest on which was to be expended in -keeping the causeway and bridge in perfect repair for ever.</p> - -<p>This reminds me of the historic fact that no less a personage than -Oliver Cromwell, when a schoolboy, at this spot and under similar -circumstances, also nearly lost his life, but was saved from drowning by -the timely aid of a Huntingdon clergyman who was likewise crossing at -the time. When, in after<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> years, Cromwell, no longer unknown to fame, -chanced to be passing through the streets of Huntingdon at the head of -his Ironsides, he happened to notice the very clergyman watching the -procession, and, smiling, reminded him of the incident, asking him if he -remembered it. “I do well,” replied the clergyman, who bore no love -towards the Puritans, “and I wish to God I had let you drown rather than -have saved your life to use it to fight against your king.” To which -Cromwell sternly retorted, “It was God’s will, you merely acted as His -servant to perform His wishes. Be pleased, sir, to remember that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Cromwell’s birthplace—Records of the past—Early photographs—A -breezy day—Home-brewed ale—Americans on English -scenery—Alconbury Hill—The plains of Cambridgeshire—The silence -of Nature—Stilton—A decayed coaching town—A medieval hostelry—A -big sign-board—Old-world traditions—Miles from anywhere. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Returning</span> to our comfortable hostelry after our pleasant wanderings, we -felt just sufficiently tired to enjoy the luxury of taking our ease -therein, but “hungry as hunters” from our long tramp, therefore we -rejoiced in the fact that the worthy landlady had not forgotten her -guests, for we found quite a sumptuous repast awaiting us, worthy of the -ancient traditions of the house, though we on our part, it must be -confessed, were not equally worthy of the traditions of our ancestors in -the wine side of the feast; indeed, our healthy out-of-door life gave us -a positive distaste for wine of any kind. We always infinitely preferred -a homely draught of good old English ale, than which, for thirsty -mortals, a better drink has yet to be invented!</p> - -<p>It may be remembered—though we only gleaned the fact whilst in -Huntingdon—that Oliver Cromwell was born in that town, and was educated -at the grammar school there. The house in which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> Protector “first -saw the light of day” has, alas! been pulled down, but an ancient -drawing thereof represents it as being a comfortable and substantial -two-storied building, apparently of stone, having Tudor mullioned -windows and three projecting dormers in the roof. At the commencement of -the century the house was standing, and was shown as one of the sights -of the place. If only photography had been invented earlier, what -interesting and faithful records might have been preserved for us of -such old historic places which are now no more! As it is, we have to be -content with ancient drawings or prints of bygone England, and these not -always skilfully done, nor probably always correct in detail. -Furthermore, artists, then as now, perhaps more then than now, romanced -a little at times, and therefore were not so faithful to facts as they -might have been; as witness many of Turner’s poems in paint, which, -however beautiful as pictures, are by no means invariably true -representations of the places and scenes they profess to portray. -Indeed, there is a story told of Turner, who, when sketching from Nature -upon one occasion, deliberately drew a distant town on the opposite side -of the river to which it really stood, because, as he explained, “It -came better so”!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PHOTOGRAPHIC RECORDS</i></div> - -<p>An unknown and very kind friend some time ago most courteously sent me a -number of prints from paper negatives taken in the early days of -photography by the Fox-Talbot process, and amongst these chanced to be -an excellent view of the ancient hostelry of the “George” at Norton St. -Philips in Somerset (a wonderful old inn, by the way, which I -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> - -have already very fully described in a former work<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>). When I received -the prints, I had only recently both carefully drawn and photographed -the quaint old-time hostelry, and I found that, even in the -comparatively short period that had elapsed since the Fox-Talbot -negatives were made, certain marked changes had taken place in the -building; so there can be no doubt as to the value and interest of such -recording photographs, for the lens has no bias, but faithfully -reproduces what is before it, neither adding to nor taking away -therefrom for the sake of effect. Now that, fortunately, both the -amateur and professional photographer are in evidence everywhere, future -generations will happily possess true, if not always artistic, -representations of places and historic spots as they really were at the -time of being taken; and in the case of matters of antiquarian or -archæological interest, we can well pardon the probable loss of -picturesqueness for the sake of accuracy. Fancy, if we could only have -to-day photographs preserved for us showing, for example, Fountains -Abbey in the full glory of its Gothic prime, or of other notable -buildings of the medieval age, how we should prize them! If we only had -a few faithful photographs of Elizabethan England to compare with -Victorian England, what a precious possession they would be! What would -not one give for a “snap-shot” of the Invincible(?) Armada arrogantly -sailing up the English Channel in stately procession, or of the -innumerable pageants of bygone times with all their wealth of -picturesque paraphernalia!</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> <i>Through Ten English Counties.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p></div> - -<p>We were up early in the morning, and before breakfast had made a sketch -of the quaint and ancient courtyard of the “George,” an engraving of -which is given in the last chapter. By a little after nine the dog-cart, -packed for travelling, was at the side door of our inn, and bidding -good-bye to the landlady—who in the good old-fashioned manner had come -to see us off and wish us a pleasant journey—we took our departure, and -were soon once more in the open country. Overnight we had, as our wont, -consulted our map as to our next day’s stage, and determined that we -would drive to Stamford, just twenty-five and three-quarter miles from -Huntingdon, according to our faithful <i>Paterson</i>.</p> - -<p>Again we had delightful weather: a fresh, invigorating breeze was -blowing from the west; overhead was a deep blue sky, from which the sun -shone warmly, but not too warmly, down. The air was clear and sweet, and -the country all around full of brightness, colour, and movement, for the -wind swayed the trees in its path, and made golden waves as it swept -over the unreaped corn-fields, and green ones as it passed over the long -grasses in the meadows; it rippled the waters on ponds and rivers, and -whirled the sails of the windmills round at a merry pace; the brisk -breeze gave animation to the landscape, and seemed to imbue it with -actual life. Huntingdonshire, fortunately for the traveller therein, -possesses no large manufacturing towns, Huntingdon, St. Neots, and St. -Ives being of the compact, clean, homely order—more agricultural -centres than commercial ones. Therefore the atmosphere of the county is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> -not smoke-laden or oppressed with grayness, but pure, bright, and -buoyant, with the scent of the real country about it—an atmosphere that -makes one suddenly realise that there is a pleasure in merely breathing!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>HOME-BREWED ALE</i></div> - -<p>About two miles out we came to a little roadside inn having the sign of -the “Three Horse-shoes” displayed in front. Why three horse-shoes? Four, -one would imagine, would be the proper number. Here we observed a notice -that the thirsty wayfarer could indulge in “Home-brewed Ale,” rather a -rare article in these days of tied houses, when large brewing firms buy -up all the “publics” they can, so as to ensure the sale of their beer -thereto, and no other. Now, it may be pure fancy on my part, for fancy -counts for much, but in my opinion there is a special flavour and -pleasing character about <i>good</i> home-brewed ale never to be found in -that coming from the big commercial breweries.</p> - -<p>A little farther on our road brought us to Little Stukeley, a rather -picturesque village. Here, to the left of the way, stood a primitive old -inn, with its sign let into the top of a projecting chimney-stack, an -uncommon and curious place for a sign. In fact there were two signs, one -above the other; the top one was of square stone carved in low relief to -represent a swan with a chain round its body. The carving was all -painted white (except the chain, which was black), and bore the initials -in one corner of C. D. E., with the date 1676. Just below this, on a -separate and oblong tablet, painted a leaden colour, was the carved -representation of a fish<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span>—intended, we learnt, for a salmon, as the inn -was called the “Swan and Salmon.” We felt duly grateful for the lettered -information, otherwise we might in our ignorance have imagined the sign -to be the “Swan and Big Pike”!</p> - -<p>Now we passed through a pretty but apparently sparsely-populated -country; indeed, it is strange how little the presence of man is -revealed in some portions of rural England, though the signs of his -labour are everywhere in evidence. Upon one occasion, when driving a -prominent American citizen, a guest of mine, across country (in order -that he might behold it from another point of view than that afforded by -a railway carriage, the general mode of seeing strange countries -nowadays), I took the opportunity of asking him what he was most struck -with in the English landscape. “Its uninhabited look,” was the prompt -reply; “and that is the very last thing I expected. I see great parks -here and there, and now and then I get a peep of a lordly palace -standing in stately solitude therein, as though it needs must keep as -far removed from the plebeian outer world as possible; but the homes of -the people (I mean those who are neither very rich nor very poor), where -do they hide themselves? From all I have seen to-day, had I not known -the facts, I should have imagined it was Old England that was the new -and thinly-populated land, and not my American State. With you, I guess, -it is a civilised feudalism that still prevails: the palace surrounded -by its park takes the place of the ancient castle surrounded by its -moat—the outer forms<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> have changed, the spirit still remains. The -English country strikes me as a land of magnificent mansions and humble -cottages.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AS OTHERS SEE US!</i></div> - -<p>I was so struck by this statement of views, that on my return home I -looked up the works of some American authors who have written about -England, to gather what they might say on the subject, and I found that -John Burroughs, in an appreciative essay on English scenery in his -<i>Winter Sunshine</i>, writes his impressions of it thus:—“To American eyes -the country seems quite uninhabited, there are so few dwellings and so -few people. Such a landscape at home would be dotted all over with -thrifty farmhouses, each with its group of painted outbuildings, and -along every road and highway would be seen the well-to-do turnouts of -the independent freeholders. But in England the dwellings of the poor -people, the farmers, are so humble and inconspicuous, and are really so -far apart, and the halls and the country-seats of the aristocracy are so -hidden in the midst of vast estates, that the landscape seems almost -deserted, and it is not till you see the towns and great cities that you -can understand where so vast a population keeps itself.” It is -interesting sometimes “to see ourselves as others see us,” and never was -I more entertained than by hearing the outspoken opinions upon England -and the English of a notable Japanese official whom I met in California, -and who confided to me his ideas and views of things British, imagining -I was an American citizen all the time, and I did not undeceive him.</p> - -<p>On our map we saw Alconbury Hill marked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> right on our road of to-day, -also we found it noted in our <i>Paterson</i>, therefore we expected to have -some stiff collar-work, for we reasoned to ourselves, when an Ordnance -map makes prominent mention of a hill it means climbing for us; so we -were surprised to find the hill only a gentle, though rather long, rise, -with a descent on the other side to correspond—trotting-ground every -inch of the way. From the top of the modest elevation, however, we had -an extensive prospect opening out before us over the flat, far-reaching -plains of Cambridgeshire—a little world of green meadows and tilled -fields, varied by many-tinted woods, enlivened by the gleam of still -water and the silvery thread of winding stream—a vast panorama -stretching away farther than our eyes could reach, for the far-off -horizon was lost in a faint blue haze that seemed to wed the sky to the -land. There is a certain fascination in looking over such a breadth of -earth and sky to be felt rather than described; it affords one an idea -of the majesty of space!</p> - -<p>The country, as we drove on, became very lovely but very lonely; we had -the road all to ourselves for miles, not even the ubiquitous cyclist did -we see, and the fields on either hand appeared strangely deserted; a -profound peace brooded over all, so that even the tramping of our -horses’ feet and the crunching of our wheels on the hard road seemed -preternaturally loud—and we realised what a noise-producing creature -man is! I knew a Londoner, who lived within sound of the perpetual roar -of street traffic, after spending a night in a remote<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>TRANQUILLITY OR DULNESS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">country house, actually complain of the painful stillness there, -averring that he could not sleep for it! So silent is Nature when at -rest, and so unaccustomed is the average town-dweller to its quietude. -To Charles Lamb the tranquillity of the country was “intolerable -dulness”; to others it is infinite rest. Lamb wrote: “Let not the lying -poets be believed, who entice men from the cheerful streets.... Let no -native Londoner imagine that health and rest, innocent occupation, -interchange of converse sweet, and recreative study, can make the -country anything better than altogether odious and detestable. A garden -was the primitive prison, till man, with Promethean felicity and -boldness, luckily sinned himself out of it”!</p> - -<p>Driving on, we observed a large old house to our right close to the -roadway; this we imagined from appearances had formerly been a fine old -coaching hostelry, but now it is divided down the centre, one half doing -duty as a farmstead, the other half still being a house of -entertainment, that proclaims itself with the sign of the “Crown and -Woolpack.” I find that an inn so named is marked at this very spot on a -last-century travelling map I possess, so that it was presumably then of -some importance. To-day it struck us that the farmhouse looked more -prosperous than the inn.</p> - -<p>As we proceeded, the country all around had a mellow, home-like look, -smiling and humanised with long abiding and the tireless toil of -generations of hardy workers: it was a delightful compound of green -fields, leafy trees, tangled hedgerows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> murmuring streams, with winding -roads and inviting footpaths leading everywhere. Here and there, too, we -caught pleasant peeps of the gray gable-ends of ancient homes amidst the -woods, the rest being drowned in foliage. The scenery was thoroughly, -intensely English. Had you by some magic been suddenly transplanted -there from some distant region of the world, you would have had no -hesitation in saying that you were in England, for no other scenery in -the world is quite the same as what we looked upon. Here again let an -American give his opinion. I find Mark Twain, in his <i>More Tramps -Abroad</i>, thus writes: “After all, in the matter of certain physical -patent rights, there is only one England. Now that I have sampled the -globe, I am not in doubt. There is the beauty of Switzerland, and it is -repeated in the glaciers and snowy ranges of many parts of the earth; -there is the beauty of the fiord, and it is repeated in New Zealand and -Alaska; there is the beauty of Hawaii, and it is repeated in ten -thousand islands of the Southern Seas; there is the beauty of the -prairie and the plain, and it is repeated here and there in the earth. -Each of these is worshipful, each is perfect in its way, yet holds no -monopoly of its beauty; but that beauty which is England is alone—it -has no duplicate. It is made up of very simple details—just grass, and -trees, and shrubs, and roads, and hedges, and gardens, and houses, and -churches, and castles, and here and there a ruin, and over it all a -mellow dreamland of history. But its beauty is incomparable, and all its -own.”</p> - -<p>It is not always the grandest scenery that affords<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ENGLISH SCENERY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the most lasting pleasure, rather is it the quiet beauty that lies in -our rural everyday landscape that holds the sweetest remembrance. -Grandeur may excite our admiration, call forth our most expressive -adjectives, but it is the lovable that dwells nearest the heart, whose -memory is the closest treasured in after years; and it is this very -quality of lovableness that the English scenery flows over with that so -charms and binds one’s affections. English scenery does not challenge -attention by any <i>tour de force</i>; it simply allures you by its sweet -smile and home-like look. As Thackeray says, “The charming, friendly -English landscape! Is there any in the world like it?... It looks so -kind, it seems to shake hands with you as you pass through it.”</p> - -<p>About twelve miles from Huntingdon stands the little decayed town of -Stilton—a famous place in the old coaching days, when the traffic here -on the Great North Road is said never to have ceased for five minutes, -day or night, the whole year round. But now Stilton has shrunk to little -more than a large village. Thanks to the railway, its prosperity is a -thing of the past, depending as it did almost wholly upon its inns, -which in turn depended upon the road traffic. As we drove into the -drowsy old town (I use the term in courtesy), that seems to have gone to -sleep never to waken more, our eyes were delighted by the vision of a -genuine, little-altered, medieval hostelry—of which very few remain in -the land. It was a picture rather than a place—a dream of old-world -architecture; and this is what we saw before us: a long, low, gabled -building, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> bent, uneven roof and shapely stacks of chimneys, with -the usual low archway in, or about, the centre, giving access to the -stable-yard, and a grand old sign-board, supported by great brackets of -scrolled iron-work, and further upheld by a post in the roadway (there -is a curious old inn, the “Chequers,” at Tunbridge, with its sign -supported in a similar manner). The fine sign-board of the inn at -Stilton bears the representation of a huge bell, and forms quite a -feature in the building; the front of the latter has a delightful -mellow, gray tone—a sort of bloom that only age can give, the priceless -dower of centuries.</p> - -<p>So charmed were we with this quaint and picturesque specimen of a -past-time hostelry of the pre-coaching era, that we involuntarily pulled -up to gaze upon it at our leisure, half afraid lest it should prove an -illusion, and like a dream vanish into nothingness; but no, it was a -happy reality, and not the delusion of a moment—it was “a something -more than fiction.” Not often in these prosaic days does the driving -tourist come upon a romance in stone like this, for romance was written -large over all its time-toned walls—walls that since the hostelry was -first raised, over three storied centuries ago, must have looked upon -many strange sights and eventful doings. Then the highway to the North -was in parts but little better than a track. The “gentlemen of the road” -made travelling a doubtful delight, full of excitement, and more -dangerous than tiger-hunting now is. Little wonder, therefore, that our -medieval ancestors commended their souls to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> God before starting out on -a journey; even the early coaching bills took the precaution of stating -that “the journey would be performed, God permitting.” The modern -railway time-table compilers are not so particular!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>“THE BELL” AT STILTON</i></div> - -<p>Driving under the ancient archway, we entered the stable-yard of the -“Bell,” and found that, in spite of the changed times and forsaken look -of the place, we could put our horses up there, as well as obtain a meal -for ourselves. Whereupon we ordered the best that the house could -provide “for man and beast.” Having settled this necessary detail, we at -once went outside and began work on a sketch of the ancient hostelry (an -engraving which will be found with this chapter). So engrossed did we -become with our pleasant task, that we forgot all about our meal, so the -landlord had to come out to remind us about it. We excused ourselves by -remarking that we could eat and drink any day, but not always had we the -opportunity of sketching such a picturesque bit of building. The -landlord simply smiled, and gazed at us inquiringly. What was passing in -his mind I cannot say, but he remarked that our chops were getting cold. -Possibly he wondered at any one preferring to stand outside in the -roadway drawing an old inn, instead of sitting within it feasting. -Moreover, he reminded us that he had some excellent ale. This was a -sudden descent from the poetic to the practical, but the practical -prevailed, for we had to confess to ourselves that we were hungry, and -thirsty too; and as my wife pertinently remarked, “The chops wo<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span>n’t -wait, and the inn will; it has waited several hundreds of years where it -is, and you can finish your sketch after lunch.” The argument was -unanswerable, so we stepped within, and did ample justice to the repast -that mine host had provided. I am inclined to think that the sketch did -not suffer for the interruption, for a hungry man is apt to draw -hastily, be he ever so enthusiastic about his work. Our repast finished -and our drawing done, we sought out the landlord—a stout, -jovial-looking personage; may his shadow never grow less!—for a chat, -in the hope of gleaning thereby some information or traditions about the -old place, and were not wholly disappointed.</p> - -<p>It appeared that mine host had been there thirty-two years, and even in -his recollection much of the stabling and a portion of the building in -the rear also had gone to decay, and consequently was pulled down. He -seemed proud of his ancient inn, but especially proud of the original -sign-board, which, being of copper, for lightness, had not decayed, -neither had it warped. “Now, I’ll wager you cannot guess the height of -it within a foot,” he exclaimed, looking up at the swinging board. We -thought we could, it seemed an easy matter; so we guessed and failed! We -conjectured five feet. “Ah!” exclaimed the landlord, “I knew you would -guess wrong—everybody does. Why, it’s six feet and two and -three-quarter inches high! I’ve been up on a ladder and measured it -myself. It does look big when you’re up close to it. There used to be -lots of bets about it, I’ve heard, in the old coaching days, much to the -profit of the drivers; for you see they knew the height and</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_008" style="width: 579px;"> -<a href="images/i_110fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_110fp.jpg" width="579" height="351" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A MEDIEVAL HOSTELRY: THE BELL INN, STILTON.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A FINE INN SIGN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">their passengers didn’t. It was said to be the finest sign on the road. -More than once, to settle a wager, the coach waited whilst the board was -measured. It’s a sad pity, but the scrolled iron-work is corroding away, -besides getting bent out of place here and there from the heat of the -sun, but I expect it will last my time for all that. The owner would -like to restore the old inn, only there is so little road custom now, it -would not pay to do so.” “But how about the cyclists,” we queried; “do -you not obtain a good deal of custom from them?” “Well, not very much, -sir. Somehow, they seem mostly to pass along without stopping. Now and -then one or two may stop just for a glass of ale, but the majority of -them simply slow down a bit as they pass by, and exclaim, ‘What a funny -old place!’ or a similar remark; but a few odd glasses of ale and a lot -of remarks don’t go far towards paying rent. You see, there’s nothing to -come here for, this isn’t a tourist country. Now, were we only near to a -watering-place, we should get a lot of folks a-driving over to see the -old house, refreshing themselves, and baiting their horses. Then there -would be money in it.” For myself, I am selfishly glad that the “Bell” -at Stilton is not near any fashionable resort, otherwise there would be -a great chance of its picturesqeness being improved away. As it is, it -may still, with a little repairing now and then, last for centuries, to -delight the eye of antiquaries and artists yet unborn—a bit of history -in stone of the never-returning past.</p> - -<p>Then the landlord asked us to go into his garden<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> at the back, and there -presented us with one of his roses. “It’s a rare kind,” he said; “they -call it a new rose. A gentleman living near here gave a big price for a -stock one like it; but when he showed me his purchase I told him that I -had just the same kind in my garden, and it had been there for seven -years; and he would not believe me till he came and saw for himself. -There’s what you call a spa spring in the garden. In olden times it used -to be considered a cure for some complaints, but it seems forgotten now. -It is the only spring in the place; all the other water has to be got -from wells.”</p> - -<p>The name of Stilton is, of course, a familiar household word, as the -little town gave its name to the now famous cheese. I find my copy of -<i>Paterson</i> has the following note about the place:—“Stilton has long -been celebrated for the excellence of its cheese, which not unfrequently -has been called the English Parmesan. It is asserted that this article -was first made by a Mrs. Paulet of Wymondham, near Melton Mowbray, in -Leicestershire, who supplied the celebrated Cooper Thornhill, who kept -the Bell Inn in this village, with this new manufacture, which he often -sold for 2s. 6d. per lb., and hence it is said to have received its name -from the place of sale. This Thornhill was a famous rider, and is -recorded to have won the cup at Kimbolton with a mare that he -accidentally took on the course after a journey of twelve miles.” -Another performance of this sporting worthy was to ride to London and -back for a wager within twelve hours. I find by my road-book the -distance for the double journey to be 150 miles,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> so that he must have -ridden over twelve miles an hour; and a good day’s work in truth!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>INN-LORE</i></div> - -<p>Most of the landlords of the old coaching hostelries were sporting men, -and wonderful stories are told of their doings, stories that probably, -like most wines, have improved with age. Indeed, a vast amount of -inn-lore (we have folk-lore, why not inn-lore?) may be picked up by the -road traveller of to-day, from talkative landlords and communicative -ostlers, if he be a good listener. I should think that I have gathered -this journey sufficient anecdotes of the road, good, bad, and -indifferent, to fill two chapters at least. But the stories lose much -when retold in prosaic print; it is the persons who tell them, and the -manner of telling, together with suitable surroundings, that give them a -special charm. To do them justice you must hear them in a remote country -hostelry from the lips of some jovial old host—for a few such may still -be found on the way—whose interest lies in that direction; and if told -in his low-ceilinged parlour, hung round with prints of coaching and -sporting subjects, produced in the pre-chromo-lithographic age, so much -the better; if over a pipe, better still. Then perchance mine host may -settle down and warm up to his subject, when one story will inevitably -suggest another, and that still another, and so on apparently <i>ad -infinitum</i>, till your note-book is filled with all sorts of curious -histories. Or failing the landlord, the “wrinkled ostler, grim and -thin,” may well supply his place; and the rambling old inn-yard where -some of the wonderful feats related took place, or are presumed to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> -taken place, forms a very appropriate and telling background to the -tale. We have had the <i>Tales of my Landlord</i>. Who will give us the -<i>Tales of an Ostler</i>? These, judging from my own selection, might, with -a little necessary weeding, prove interesting and, in certain cases, -even sensational reading.</p> - -<p>I well remember, some few years back, when touring in Yorkshire, the -aged ostler of a solitary inn on the moors, where we were weather-bound -for a time, related to me, by way of pleasantly passing the time, a -blood-curdling story about the house in the “good old times.” I must say -that the story suited well the building, for it was a bleak, -inhospitable-looking house, with long untenanted, unfurnished chambers, -its stables going to decay, and mostly given over to cobwebs and -half-starved mice—the whole place looking doubly dreary in the dripping -rain: a gray drooping sky and a soughing wind serving only too -successfully to accentuate its dismalness. “Ah,” exclaimed the ostler as -we stood together sheltering from the steady downpour in a corner of the -stables, “there were queer doings in the old place. I’ve heard tell, in -past times, many a belated traveller who put up here for the night never -got no further if he were supposed to have much money upon him; that is, -for the landlord then, they do say, combined inn-keeping with robbery. -There were one bedroom in the house where they used to put likely -travellers to sleep, and this had a secret door to it. It’s yon room -with the low window overlooking the yard, and, well, next morning the -traveller had disappeared no one knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GRUESOME STORY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">where; but a lot of skeletons have been found when digging in the moor -round about. However, one night the landlord caught a Tartar. There was -a scuffle in the room, and some pistol shots were heard, and the -landlord was found dead on the floor: the traveller turned out to be a -famous highwayman, who so cowed the rest of the house that he rode off -in the morning with a good share of the landlord’s plunder to which he -quietly helped himself.” But then the story may not be true, or only -true in part, for tradition is a sad scandal-monger; and tradition, -unlike a rolling stone, gathers substance as it goes on. I should -perhaps state, in fairness to the worthy ostler’s tale-telling talent, -that I have only given his grim story in brief, and have purposely -omitted some very gruesome and thrilling details that he positively -gloated over. These my readers can supply for themselves if they be so -minded, providing a trap-door in the floor of the chamber, with a deep -well immediately below, and flavouring to taste.</p> - -<p>But to return to the “Bell” at Stilton, from which I have wandered far -afield. This gray and ancient hostelry, with its weather-tinted walls, -produced an impression upon us difficult to analyse; it verily seemed as -though there must be some old legend or mystery connected with the -building and only waiting to be discovered. The glamour of romance -seemed to brood over it: a romance in which the “knights of the road” -figured prominently, and we began to weave a little story “all our own,” -after the most approved manner of Harrison<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> Ainsworth. Dick Turpin must -have known this hostelry very well, it being on his favourite and most -paying line of road; and the chances are that he stopped at it more than -once, for it was in a remote position and a convenient halting-place for -his calling. Outwardly the old inn may be a trifle more time-toned and -not so trim or well kept as then, but otherwise I do not imagine that -either it or the town has altered much since his day. On the whole it -doubtless looks much the same to us now as it did to him. Stilton is a -place that in an age of change has remained unchanged; since the last -coach departed thence it appears to have fallen into a deep sleep with -small prospect of ever awakening again. The railway has left it quite -out in the cold. Of Stilton it may truly be written, “It was!”</p> - -<p>Dick Turpin must have passed by the “Bell” on his famous ride to -York—if ever that ride took place, for sundry hard-headed and -hard-hearted antiquaries, who ought to know better, declare the episode -to be as apocryphal as the “Battle of Dorking.” Legends should not be -judged by the same standard as matter-of-fact history! I wish learned -authorities would devote their time to some more profitable task than -that of upsetting innocent and perfectly harmless romances: already they -have demolished nearly all the fabled stories of my childhood, besides a -host of my favourite traditions which I liked to feel might be true, -such as the picturesque elopement of Dorothy Vernon. “In reality nine -out of every ten traditions are deliberate inventions.” Possibly; -nevertheless I find no special<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span> pleasure in being assured that “Cæsar -never cried that cry to Brutus; Cromwell never said ‘Take away that -bauble’; Wellington denied that he uttered, ‘Up, Guards, and at them!’ -and the story of Cambronne declaring that ‘The Old Guard dies, but never -surrenders,’ is now known to have been invented by Rougemont two days -after the battle.... As for the Abbé Edgeworth’s farewell to Louis XVI. -on the guillotine, the cry of the crew of the sinking <i>Vengeur</i>, and the -pretty story of young Barra in the war of La Vendée—these are all -myths”—and more’s the pity!</p> - -<p>It was with great reluctance that we bade goodbye to the quaint and -ancient “Bell” at Stilton, and in spite of the unreliability of -traditions generally, we could not help wondering whether there were any -truth in the oft-repeated story that Dick Turpin had half the landlords -between London and York “under articles” to him, and if the then -landlord of this special inn were one of them.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>MILES FROM ANYWHERE</i></div> - -<p>On the front of a lonely little hostel at Upware, in the wide Fenland of -Cambridgeshire, is inscribed “Five Miles from Anywhere. No Hurry,” and -it struck us that these words might equally well be painted on the -front, or beneath the sign, of the “Bell” at Stilton. There is a sense -of remoteness about the decayed, medieval hostelry that suits well the -legend: for Stilton is miles from anywhere, and it seems generations -removed from the present prosaic age of progress, rush, and bustle. It -is a spot in which the past appears the reality, and the present a -dream!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Norman Cross—A Norman-French inscription—A re-headed statue—The -friendliness of the road—The art of being delightful—The turnpike -roads in their glory—Bits for the curious—A story of the -stocks—“Wansford in England”—Romance and reality—The glamour of -art—“The finest street between London and Edinburgh”—Ancient -“Callises”—A historic inn—Windows that have tales to tell. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> Stilton we had a pleasant stretch of rural country of the -restful, home-like, friendly order, but none the less beautiful because -of an unambitious type. It was a constant delight to us to search for, -and to discover what was most beautiful in the everyday English country -we passed through; the charm of such quiet scenery is that it never -palls nor becomes wearisome with familiarity, as more pretentious -landscapes often do. Far fresher and more enjoyable was it, to us, to -wander leisurely about rural England out of the well-beaten tourist -track than to traverse a district famous for its scenery, belauded by -guide-books, and crowded by excursionists, where beforehand you know -almost exactly what to expect and where therefore pleasant surprises, or -discoveries, are rare; but, on the other hand, by anticipating too much, -disappointment often awaits one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MATTER OF SENTIMENT</i></div> - -<p>At Norman Cross, a tiny hamlet with a suggestive name, situated about a -mile on our way out of Stilton, there are the slight remains of the -colony of barracks that were erected in the last century, wherein some -thousands of French prisoners were confined during the Napoleonic wars. -From Norman Cross we drove merrily along until we came to the pretty -village of Water Newton, pleasantly situated by the side of the river -Nen, or Nene,—for I find it spelt both ways on my map. Here the -time-mellowed church, placed rather in a hollow a meadow’s length away -from the road, attracted our attention, though why it especially did so -I hardly know, for there was apparently nothing particularly noteworthy -about it, at least not more so than any one of the other country fanes -we had passed unregarded by that day. Moreover, our tastes for the -moment did not incline to things ecclesiastical. But it is a fact, that -now and then, without any definable cause, a certain spot, or place, -will excite one’s interest and arouse within one a strong desire to stop -and explore it: such sentimental, but very real, feelings defy all -reasoning; they exist but cannot be explained or reduced to an argument.</p> - -<p>So half-involuntarily we pulled up here. “We must see that old church,” -we exclaimed, though wherefore the compulsion we did not inquire of -ourselves; but we went, in spite of the fact that it was getting late -and that we had some miles more to accomplish before we reached -Stamford, our night’s destination. In the churchyard we noticed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> an -ancient stone coffin and lid, but we had seen many such stone coffins -and lids before, so that these did not specially appeal to us. Then -walking round the building, in search of any object of interest, we -happened to glance at the tower, and on its west side we espied, about a -third of the way up, a recess with a carved stone figure of a man -standing therein, the hands of which were clasped as though in prayer. -This at once excited our curiosity. On looking further we observed an -inscription below the figure apparently in Norman-French, but the -lettering was so much defaced that it was difficult to decipher, a -difficulty increased by the distance we were away from it; nevertheless, -nothing daunted, we boldly made the attempt, and whilst puzzling over -the spelling without, be it confessed, making much progress, the rector -fortunately discovered us and kindly came to our aid. Existence is -doubtless somewhat uneventful in this quiet spot, and possibly he was -not averse to the scarce luxury of a chat with a stranger. I must say it -seems to me that the life many of our refined and educated clergy lead -in remote, out-of-the-way rural districts, is not altogether an enviable -one, for, as a rule, the society of such is sadly restricted, and the -conversational powers of the farmers and agricultural labourers are apt -to be somewhat limited, not to say monotonous. Arcadia has its delights, -but they are not academical. The chief charms of ruralism to some people -are to be found second-hand in “open-air” books! Therein lies the -difference between the genuine and the pseudo Nature lover.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT INSCRIPTION</i></div> - -<p>The church had been restored recently, so the rector informed us, and by -aid of a ladder the inscription had been deciphered as follows:—</p> - -<p class="c" style="clear:both;font-size:85%;"> -VOVS : KE : PAR<br /> -ISSI : PASSEZ<br /> -PVR : LE : ALME<br /> -TOMAS : PVR<br /> -DEN : PRIEZ<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">which I afterwards put into English thus, though I do not profess to be -a Norman-French scholar, but in this case the translation seems -manifest:—You that pass by here pray for the soul of Thomas Purden. -This truly sounds rather like a command than begging a favour of a -stranger, still I trust that this Thomas Purden had his demands amply -gratified, and I further trust that his soul has benefited thereby—but -what of the countless number of souls of other poor folk, equally dear -to them, who had neither money nor influence to cause such an entreaty -to be made public thus for their benefit? It was a hard faith that -seemed to make it thus easier “for a rich man to enter the kingdom of -God” than for a poor man, and calls to mind the Puritans’ dictum that -Purgatory was invented to enrich the priest!</p> - -<p>Who this Thomas Purden was the rector could not say, possibly now no one -can: he may have been the founder of the church, though in that case one -would have expected to find this memorial of him in the chancel, -according to the prevailing custom; it appears to me more probable, -therefore, that he was the builder of the tower, or possibly a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> -benefactor of the church; but this is pure conjecture on my part, and -conjectures must be taken for what they are worth.</p> - -<p>The head of the statue, we were informed, was not the original one, -which had decayed away or had been broken off, so that at the time of -the restoration of the church the figure was headless: “However,” we -were informed, “the builder, curiously enough, had some old carved stone -heads knocking about his yard, and he fitted on one of these in place of -the missing one”! Thus is the lot of the future antiquary made hard: but -this is not so blameworthy as an instance that came under my notice on a -previous tour, when I discovered that a mason had inserted an ancient -dated stone over the porch of an old house he had been called in to -repair, solely because he had it on hand and thought it looked -ornamental there! This was enough to deceive the very archæological -elect! I have to confess that the new head supplied to Master Thomas -Purden appeared to be, from our point of view below, a good “ready-made” -fit; but therein lies the greater pitfall for the future antiquary -aforementioned.</p> - -<p>“Now,” exclaimed the rector, “you will doubtless wonder why the figure -with such an appeal to the public was placed on the side of the tower -facing the meadows, and not on the side facing the road.” As a matter of -fact this detail had not occurred to us; one cannot think of -everything—though we tried to look surprised at the fact—then the -rector continued, apparently pleased by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> our perspicacity: “Well, -formerly the road went past the west front of the tower, close under it -indeed, and crossed the river by a ford; if you look along the fields -you can see traces of it even now.” So we looked and imagined we could -see the traces in question, but our eyes, naturally, were not so -accustomed to make them out as those of our informant. Then the rector, -seeing the manifest interest we took in his church, most courteously -devoted himself to us, and good-naturedly acted the part of guide, for -which attentive civility we felt duly grateful. But that was not all, -for after we had finished our inspection of the building, he, with -thoughtful kindness, invited us into his snug rectory, hospitably intent -on making us partake of afternoon tea; and this was by no means a -solitary occasion of such a kindness shown to us—pressed upon us would -be the more exact expression; utter strangers travelling by road!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS</i></div> - -<p>Indeed, during our tour, the difficulty that frequently presented itself -to us when we did not wish to dally on the way was how we could -gracefully decline the many proffered invitations of a similar nature -without appearing to be rude. At one time we thought that probably the -sight of the dog-cart, as showing that we were presumably respectable -wayfarers, might have had something to do with the continued courtesies -we received, for in almost every stranger we met we seemed to find a -friend; but when touring alone on a walking tour, with only a knapsack -strapped on my back, I have experienced the same kindly treatment, often -too when in a dust-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span>stained condition. On one well-remembered occasion -during the shooting season, when trespassing afoot across some moors in -search of a short cut, I came suddenly upon the owner of the land with -his party lunching; the owner was inclined to be indignant with me at -first, but an apology for my inexcusable trespass quietly expressed was -followed by a few minutes’ conversation, which ended in my being invited -to join the lunching party, no refusal being permitted. “We insist upon -your joining us as a penalty for your trespassing,” was the jovial -manner in which the invitation was enforced, and I accepted the -inevitable without further demur!</p> - -<p>After all the world is much as we make it; smile on it and it returns -your smiles, frown and it frowns back again, greet it good-naturedly and -it will return your greeting in kind. As Seneca says, “He that would -make his travels delightful must first make himself delightful.” And to -do this he should cultivate a pleasant manner; it costs so little and -returns so much, obtaining favours for which money would not avail, and -generally smoothing wonderfully the way of the wanderer. Thus Emerson -sings—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What boots it thy virtue?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What profit thy parts?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The one thing thou lackest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The art of all arts.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The only credential,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Passport to success,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Opens castles and parlours,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Address, man, address.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">And Emerson knew!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span></p> - -<p>During our past wanderings on wheels we have made numerous friends, and -have received many kind invitations to spend a time at their homes, and -in the course of this journey we received three such invitations, all -from perfect strangers; only one of which we were enabled to accept, and -in that case a most hearty welcome was extended to us. Such generous -hospitality shown, which included stabling our horses, such a manifest -anxiety evinced to make our short stay as enjoyable as possible, that -mere thanks seemed a wholly insufficient return.</p> - -<p>But to return to Water Newton church, after this digression and short -sermon on civility which my readers are fully licensed to skip, the -rector called our attention to the painstaking manner in which the tower -was constructed: “All of ashlar work and scarcely any mortar, or cement, -being used. The top of the tower has one feature about it that tells its -own story; as you will see, a quantity of old Norman tooth-moulding has -been employed in the window arches, manifestly preserved from an earlier -building, for the joints of the ornamentations do not come evenly -together; thus plainly proving resetting. On the farther and fourth side -of the tower that is less seen the windows have none of this moulding, -but are simply finished off in unadorned stone-work, the builders having -presumably used up all the old carving in the more prominent positions.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CURIOUS NAME</i></div> - -<p>Then entering the church the rector pointed out to us the name of -“Original Jackson” cut in a flat<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> tombstone on the floor. The Christian -name of “Original” being curious and, as far as I know, unique. At one -time we learnt that there had been a dove-cote in the tower, or rather a -portion of it formed a dove-cote of considerable size, and was doubtless -a source of profit to the pre-Reformation clergy. At the foot of the -tower is the old vestry door, and a very narrow one it is, so narrow -indeed that, the story goes, a former priest of goodly proportions was -unable to pass through it; therefore, as the door could not be -conveniently altered, a new vestry with an ampler means of approach had -to be devised. In a window recess in the south aisle is a recumbent -stone effigy, much mutilated and cracked; the feet of this rest upon a -lion, apparently showing the figure, which is under lifesize, to be -intended to represent a man, yet the features of the head with its long -hair suggest a woman. We understood that this effigy was the cause of -considerable dispute amongst antiquaries as to whether it were -representative of a knight or a dame. We decided in favour of the lady. -The church, we were informed, “is dedicated to St. Remigius, an almost -unique dedication in England.”</p> - -<p>Then adjourning to the rectory we were shown there some very interesting -specimens of Roman pottery and other ancient relics that the rector -himself had found in a gravel-pit near by, at a spot where an old Roman -encampment once had been. To show how times have changed we were told -that two old houses between the rectory and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SHOEING CATTLE!</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the road were formerly small but flourishing inns; and that an old -farmer, aged eighty-three, who lived in an ivy-clad farmhouse a little -farther on our way, well remembers sixteen mail-coaches passing Water -Newton in the day: this was besides the ordinary non-mail-coaches, of -which there were a number. Another reminder of other days and other -ways, in the shape of a bygone custom quite novel to us, we gleaned from -an old gaffer we met on the way. From him we learnt that in the -pre-railway days, when the cattle were driven along the Great North Road -from Scotland to the London markets, the animals were actually shod like -horses so that their hoofs might stand the long journey on the hard -highway. Several blacksmiths on the road moreover, we were given to -understand, made a special business of shoeing such cattle apart from -shoeing horses. So one travels and picks up curious bits of information. -One man we saw gathering nettles assured us that, boiled, they made a -delicious green vegetable, besides purifying the blood and being a cure -for boils and the rheumatics. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I should not wonder -some day, when their virtues are discovered, to find rich people growing -them in their gardens instead of spinach and the like. Nettles be a -luxury. Now, if ever you suffers from the rheumatics mind you tries -nettles, they beat all the doctor’s medicine; they just do.” And we -promised to think the matter over. The idea of any one ever growing -crops of nettles in their kitchen-gardens amused us. Still the weed, -vegetable I mean, may have hidden virtues<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> I wot not of; and possibly it -is not altogether wise to dismiss as absolute nonsense every item of -country folk-lore one comes upon. I always jot such sayings down in my -note-book, and shall soon have quite a collection of them. I remember -one simple remedy that a farmer’s wife told me of when a youngster, -which, boy-like, I at once tried—and actually found it effectual! Some -of the countryfolk’s cures, however, may be considered worse than the -disease. Here, for instance, is one for baldness that I have not tested: -“Rub well the bald parts with a fresh onion just cut, twice a day, for -ten minutes at a time at least; and you must never miss a rubbing till -the hair begins to grow again”!</p> - -<p>Leaving Water Newton we drove on through a level country, passing in -about a mile or so some ancient stocks and a whipping-post on a grassy -corner by the roadside; these had been painted manifestly to preserve -them as a curiosity. Some day, like ducking-stools and scolds’ gags, -they will possibly only be found in a museum. According to a paragraph -in a local paper that I extracted the gist of on the journey, the last -time that a man was condemned to the stocks in England was at the -village of Newbold-on-Avon in Warwickshire late in this century. The man -in question was a confirmed drunkard, and the magistrates fined him 7s. -6d. with the option of being placed in the stocks: the drunkard chose -the stocks which he well knew were decayed and unfit for use; so they -were forthwith repaired at some expense, which being done the man -suddenly found the money for the fine and so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>LOCAL PAPERS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">escaped the indignity of the stocks, and the doubtful honour of being -the last person to be legally confined therein. When all else fails in -the evenings at country inns, the local papers often afford much -entertainment combined with information. The local antiquaries -occasionally write to them upon matters of interest in the -neighbourhood; and such communications are frequently well worth -reading, for by perusing them the traveller out of the beaten track may -obtain intelligence of old-time relics and quaint rural customs that he -would otherwise probably never hear of, and such things are well worth -knowing and preserving.</p> - -<p>Wansford, the next village we came to, pleased us by its picturesqueness -and its pleasant situation on the banks of the Nene, a wide and -fishful-looking stream whose name we did not even know before we -undertook this tour; so that driving across country teaches one a good -deal about the geography of one’s own land, besides affording the road -wanderer an intimate knowledge of it, never obtainable from the railway.</p> - -<p>Wansford is built of stone and is a charming specimen of an old English -village; its houses and cottages strike the eye as being substantial, -comfortable, and enduring; for you cannot well build meanly with stone. -One large house in the village street, large enough to deserve the -often-misappropriated term of mansion, with its stone-slab, overhanging -roof, and strong stacks of chimneys, especially pleased us; neither -roof, wall, nor window seemed as though any one of them would need -repairs for long years:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> possibly this building was originally a fine -old coaching inn, for it stood close upon the roadway. Oh! the comfort -of a well-built home like this, with a roof fit to weather the storms of -centuries, and thick walls, so charmingly warm in winter and so -delightfully cool in summer, wherein you may dwell in peace, and bills -for repairs are almost an unknown thing.</p> - -<p>The church here is a box-like structure, small, primitive, and ugly, and -we merely went to view it because the rector at Water Newton had told us -that the ancient font thereof was curious; it being carved round with -men fighting—scarcely an appropriate ornamentation for a font in a -Christian church though, one would imagine! Quite in keeping with the -rude interior of this tiny fane is the wooden gallery at one end, with -the most suitable inscription:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This Loft Erected<br /></span> -<span class="i0">January 1st, 1804.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">I have only to add that it is an excellent example of the Churchwarden -era of architecture, and you seldom find a structure of the period more -ugly.</p> - -<p>At Wansford we crossed the river Nene on a fine old stone bridge of -thirteen arches, if we counted them aright: a solid bit of building -pleasing to look upon and making a pretty picture from the meadows below -with the clustering, uneven roofs of the village for a background. Over -the centre arch let in the wall we noticed a stone inscribed P. M. 1577. -Wansford is curiously called locally “Wansford in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> England” and has been -so called for generations. In my copy of <i>Drunken Barnaby’s four -journeys to the North of England</i>, edition of 1778, I find the following -lines:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thence to Wansforth-brigs ...<br /></span> -<span class="idtt">. . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On a haycock sleeping soundly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ River rose and took me roundly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the Current: People cry’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sleeping down the stream I hy’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Where away</i>, quoth they, <i>from Greenland?</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>No; from Wansforth brigs in England.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GREAT ARCHITECT</i></div> - -<p>Now we hastened along to “Stamford town,” some six miles farther on, -where we proposed to spend the night. Just before we reached our -destination we passed to our right Burleigh park and house. Of the -latter we had a good view: a splendid pile it is, stately but not too -stately, dignified yet homelike, it combines picturesqueness with -grandeur—a rare and difficult achievement for any architect and one for -which Vanbrugh strove in vain; the more merit therefore to the famous -John Thorpe who designed Burleigh House, in my humble opinion the -greatest of English architects; his works speak his praises. The man who -originated the Elizabethan style of architecture was no ordinary genius! -Thorpe built pictures, he was never commonplace.</p> - -<p>My readers will remember Tennyson’s well-known lines about the “Lord of -Burleigh” and his village spouse; unfortunately, like the charming story -of Dorothy Vernon’s elopement, the romance<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> loses much of its gilt by -too critical an examination. The lovely and loving Countess was the -Lord’s second wife, he having married another lady from whom he was -divorced. After the separation, acting upon the advice of his uncle, and -having lost all his own fortune, he retired into the country and -eventually took lodgings with a farmer named Thomas Hoggins at Bolas in -Shropshire, giving himself out to be a certain Mr. Jones, not an -uncommon name. Here “Mr. Jones,” possibly finding time hanging heavily -on his hands, promptly made love to his landlord’s daughter Sarah, the -village beauty, and eventually married her. It was not till after the -death of his uncle that he became “Lord of Burleigh,” all of which is a -matter of history. It was after this event, when he succeeded to the -Earldom and estates, that his rank was revealed, much in the romantic -manner that Tennyson relates. Then the new “Lord of Burleigh” took his -innocent and loving wife by easy stages to her home, pointing out all -the country sights and mansions on the way, she dreaming all the while -of the little cottage he so long had promised her—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All he shows her makes him dearer:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Evermore she seems to gaze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On that cottage growing nearer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where they twain will spend their days.<br /></span> -<span class="idtt">. . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus her heart rejoices greatly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till a gateway she discerns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With armorial bearings stately,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And beneath the gate she turns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sees a mansion more majestic<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than all those she saw before:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many a gallant gay domestic<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bows before him at the door.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they speak in gentle murmur,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When they answer to his call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While he treads with footstep firmer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leading on from hall to hall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, while now she wonders blindly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor the meaning can divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proudly turns he round and kindly,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“All of this is mine and thine.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A PICTURESQUE TOWNSCAPE</i></div> - -<p>Driving into Stamford, a place we had never visited before, we were -struck by the familiarity of the townscape presented to us; it seemed to -greet us like an old friend, whose face we had often seen. The square -towers, the tall tapering spires, with the gable-fronted, -mullion-windowed old houses, and the picturesque way that these towers, -steeples, and old-fashioned houses were grouped and contrasted had a -strangely well-known look—yet how could this be if we had not beheld -them before? Then we suddenly solved the promising mystery by -remembering that it was Turner’s engraved drawing of Stamford in his -“England and Wales” series of views that had brought the prospect to -mind. In this case—judging by our recollection of the engraving, a -great favourite, so strongly impressed upon us—Turner has been more -than usually topographically faithful: he appears to have taken very -little, if any, liberty with the buildings or the composition of the -subject—possibly because the natural grouping is so good, that art -could not, for the nonce, improve picturesquely upon fact. For it is not -the province of true art to be realistic, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> to be poetic; the painter -is not a mere transcriber, but a translator. There is such a thing as -pictorial poetry; the pencil can, and should, be employed sincerely yet -romantically. Observe, in this very drawing of Stamford, how Turner, -whilst not departing one whit from the truth, has by the perfectly -possible, yet wonderful, sky-scape he has introduced, with the effective -play of light and shade that would be caused thereby, strong yet not -forced, and the happy arrangement of figures and the old coach in the -foreground, added the grace of poetry to the natural charms of the -ordinary street scene. The photograph can give us hard facts and precise -details, enough and to spare, yet somehow to the artistic soul the -finest photographs have a want, they are purely mechanical, soulless, -and unromantic. They lack the glamour of the painter’s vision, who gives -us the gold and is blind to the dross, he looks for the beautiful and -finds it; so he brightens his own life and those of others, and his work -is not in vain!</p> - -<p>Scott, who often travelled by this famous Great North Road, described -St. Mary’s Hill at Stamford as being “the finest street between London -and Edinburgh,” and surely Scott ought to know! To use an artist’s slang -expression of a good subject “it takes a lot of beating.” Besides being -beautiful, Stamford is one of the most interesting towns in England, -with quite a character of its own; it is essentially individual, and -therein lies its special charm: to me it is passing strange that such a -picturesque and quaint old town should be so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ERST UNIVERSITY TOWN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">neglected by the tourist, and the few who do find their way thither -appear to come attracted solely by the fame of Burleigh House, one of -the “show” mansions of the country, merely treating old-world Stamford, -with all its wealth of antiquarian and archæological interest, as a -point of departure and arrival. For Stamford—whose name is derived we -were told from “Stone-ford,” as that of Oxford is from “Ox-ford” over -the Isis—was erst a university town of renown whose splendid colleges -rivalled both those of Oxford and Cambridge, and even at one period -threatened to supersede them, and probably would have done so but for -powerful and interested political intrigues. Of these ancient colleges -there are some small but interesting remains. Spenser in his <i>Faerie -Queene</i> thus alludes to the town:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Stamford, though now homely hid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then shone in learning more than ever did<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cambridge or Oxford, England’s goodly beams.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>But besides the remains of its ancient colleges, Stamford possesses -several fine old churches of exceptional interest, a number of quaint -old hospitals, or “callises” as they are locally called—a term derived, -we were informed by a Stamford antiquary we met by chance, from the -famous wool merchants of “the Staple of Calais” who first founded them -here—the important ruins of St. Leonard’s Priory, crumbling old -gateways, bits of Norman arches, countless ancient houses of varied -character, and quaint odds and ends of architecture scattered about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span></p> - -<p>At Stamford we patronised the ancient and historic “George Inn,” that -still stands where it did of yore—an inn which has entertained -generations of wayfarers of various degrees from king to highwayman; -and, as in the past, opens its doors to the latter-day traveller, who, -however, seldom arrives by road. It was quite in keeping with the old -traditions of the place that we should drive into its ancient and -spacious courtyard and hand our horses over to the ostler’s charge, -whilst we two dust-stained travellers, having seen our baggage taken out -of the dog-cart, should follow it indoors, where the landlord stood -ready to welcome us, just as former landlords on the self-same spot -might have welcomed former travellers posting across country. During the -month of August 1645, Charles I. slept a night here on his way south -from Newark; it was Scott’s favourite halting-place on his many journeys -to and from London—and many other notables, of whom the list is long, -have feasted and slept beneath the sign of the “George” at Stamford. -“Walls have ears,” says the old familiar proverb: would that the walls -of the “George” had tongues to tell us something of the people who have -rested and feasted within its ancient chambers, to repeat for our -benefit the unrecorded sayings, witticisms, stories of strange -adventures on the king’s highway, and aught else of interest that may -have passed their lips. Marvellous men were some of those ancestors of -ours, who would sit outside a coach all day, and sit up half the night -consuming their three bottles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> of port, yet rise in the morning -headacheless and proceed with their journey smiling. There must be some -wonderful recuperative virtue about life in the open air, otherwise they -could hardly have led the life they did. Up early, and to bed late, with -port, or punch, nearly every night, and sometimes both—and yet we have -no record of their complaining of dyspepsia! Again I repeat they were -marvellous men; peace be to their ashes.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>RECORDS ON GLASS</i></div> - -<p>In many a coaching inn they have left mementoes of themselves by -scratching their names with dates, and sometimes with added verses, on -the window panes of the rooms: these always deeply interest and appeal -to me; they tell so little and so much! The mere scratches of a diamond -on the fragile glass have been preserved all those years, they look so -fresh they might have been done only a month ago. Nowadays it is only -the “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Arrys” who are supposed to do this sort of thing, but in the olden -times even notable personages did not deem it beneath their dignity thus -to record their names. On the window of the room in which Shakespeare -was born at Stratford-on-Avon may be found the genuine signature of the -“Wizard of the North,” in company with those of other famed and unfamed -men and women. Where walls are silent, windows sometimes speak! I have -noted dates on these of nearly two centuries ago; the names of the -writers being thus unwittingly preserved whilst perchance they have -weathered away from their tombstones. Such records as the following -which I select haphazard from my note-book are interesting:—“Peter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> -Lewis 1735. Weather-bound,” or “G. L. stopped on the heath by three -men,” or again, “T. Lawes, 1765. Flying machine broken down, Vile -roades.” Suggestive comments that one can enlarge and romance upon. Now -and then these old-time travellers instead of leaving their names behind -them indulged their artistic propensities by drawing, more or less -roughly, representations of coats-of-arms, and crests, or else gibbets, -highwaymen, and such like. These old records on glass are an interesting -study, and are mostly to be found on bedroom windows; but panes get -broken in time, or destroyed during alterations, or the old houses -themselves get improved away, so these reminders of past days and -changed conditions of life and travel gradually grow fewer: it is -therefore wise of the curious to make note of them when they can.</p> - -<p>In the coffee-room of the “George” we met a pleasant company consisting -of three belated cyclists, and with them we chatted of roads, of -scenery, and many things besides till a late hour, when we retired to -rest and found that we had allotted to us a large front bedroom. We -could not help wondering how many other travellers, and who they might -have been, the same chamber had sheltered since the inn was first -established in the years gone by. Probably—it was even more than -probable—Scott himself may have slept in the very chamber we occupied. -Verily a glamour of the long ago, a past presence, seems to hang over -this ancient and historic hostelry! It is haunted with memories!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A picturesque ruin—Round about Stamford—Browne’s “Callis”—A chat -with an antiquary—A quaint interior—“Bull-running”—A relic of a -destroyed college—An old Carmelite gateway—A freak of -Nature—Where Charles I. last slept as a free man—A storied -ceiling—A gleaner’s bell—St. Leonard’s Priory—Tennyson’s -county—In time of vexation—A -flood—Hiding-holes—Lost!—Memorials of the past. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the morning we started out to explore the town; first, however, -we found our way to Wothorpe a short mile off, from whence there is a -fine view of Stamford. At Wothorpe are the picturesque ruins of a small -mansion built by the first Earl of Exeter: “to retire out of the dust,” -as he playfully remarked, “whilst his great house at Burleigh was -a-sweeping.” The deserted and time-rent mansion is finely built of -carefully squared stones and has four towers one at each corner, square -at the base, but octagonal at the top; these towers, judging from an old -print we saw in a shop window at Stamford, were formerly capped by -shaped stone roofs, which in turn were surmounted by great weathercocks: -the towers when complete must have been quite a feature in the -structure, and have given it a special character—a touch of quaintness -that is always so charming and attractive in a building. The ruins<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> are -weather-toned and ivy-grown and make a very pretty picture, though only -the outer crumbling walls remain. Wothorpe has arrived at such a -pathetic state of decay as to be almost picturesquely perfect, and -pleads to be admired! Man has ruined it, but nature left to work her own -sweet will has beautified it, for she has draped it with greenery, has -tinted its stones, and broken up its rigid symmetry. It is a sad thought -that a building should be more beautiful in ruin than in its perfect -state, but, as Byron says,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">there is a power<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And magic in the ruin’d battlement,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For which the palace of the present hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>From this spot we retraced our steps to Stamford, and wandering -desultorily about the town eventually came upon Browne’s Hospital, Bede -House, or Callis; a most interesting old building, the exterior of which -suggested to us a quaint interior, so we determined to obtain a glimpse -of the latter, if possible. As we were ascending the steps to inquire if -the place were shown we encountered a gentleman coming down, whom -instinctively we took to be an antiquary; though why we should have -jumped at such a conclusion it would be hard to say; and oddly enough it -turned out that we were correct in our conjectures, so we ventured to -ask him whether he thought we should be able to obtain admittance to the -building. There is nothing lost in this world by seizing opportunities -and asking polite questions, for oftentimes the traveller gains<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>“A BROTHER LUNATIC!”</i></div> - -<p class="nind">much thereby. In this case we were well rewarded for making so simple an -inquiry, for the stranger, noting the interest we took in the fine old -building, appeared forthwith to take an interest in us, and thereupon -offered to show us over it himself—a civil word how profitable it -sometimes is!—he even appeared to enjoy his self-imposed task of doing -duty as a guide. Possibly it pleased him to have a talk with a -sympathetic soul as it did another antiquary we met later on, who on -parting with us jokingly remarked: “It has been a treat to exchange -views with a brother lunatic!” so bearing this in mind we chatted with -our new friend about things old, of bygone times, and of -antiquarian-lore galore—for he was a man whose life seemed in the past, -his conversation gave one the impression that he was born at least a -century too late for his own pleasure. The result of our discourse was -that on leaving the hospital we had so gained his good-will that he -further offered to show us something of the town, “As strangers might -readily miss so much, and I should like to point out to you a few of the -chief objects of interest”; then he added, “It will not be any trouble -to me; I’ve nothing particular to do this morning.” We were only too -glad to accept his kind aid, and greatly did we enjoy our exploration of -Stamford under his helpful guidance.</p> - -<p>But to “hark back” a little. Upon entering the old hospital our -attention was called to the carved stone figure of the founder over the -doorway, where he is shown holding a plan of the building in his hands. -Then we were led into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> large, long hall having a heavy oak-beamed -ceiling. Here originally (I am now quoting from the notes I made on the -spot of what we were told) the poor inmates slept in cubicles, access to -which was gained by a gangway down the centre of the hall. Now that the -old folk have sleeping accommodation in another portion of the hospital, -the floor has been tiled, and the tiles are so laid as to show the -shape, size, and plan of the cubicles. A very excellent idea—if changes -must be made. Some ancient stained glass in a window here has “the -founder’s chief crest” painted thereon, “for the founder’s family had -the right to use two crests; only two other families in England having -this right.” The “chief crest” is a phœnix, it is placed over a -coat-of-arms on which three teasels are shown (these teasels puzzled us -until our friend explained what they were). The motto given is “<i>X me -sped</i>,” “Christ me speed,” we Anglicised it. An old “gridiron” table of -the time of Charles I. stood, when we were there, in the centre of the -hall; the ends of this draw out to extend it—an idea that the modern -furniture manufacturer might well consider as a possible improvement -upon the usual troublesome leaves and screw, nor prize it the less -because so long invented. I have a table made in a similar fashion and -find it most useful; two rings forming handles to pull out the ends.</p> - -<p>Then we came to the chapel, divided from the hall by a carved oak -screen; all the inmates are compelled to attend service here twice a -day. The large chapel window, with a high transom, is filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>RELICS OF THE PAST</i></div> - -<p class="nind">with fine old stained glass, on a bit of which we discerned the date -1515. The bench-ends are good. As well as these we had pointed out to us -in its original position the pre-Reformation altar-stone, distinguished -by the usual five crosses upon it. At one side of the altar was an -ancient “cope-chair, in this the priest sat down, his cope covering the -chair, and from it he blessed the congregation. There were formerly two -of these chairs, but one was stolen”! Then we were shown a rare old -wooden alms-box of the fifteenth century; this was bound round with -iron.</p> - -<p>In the quaint old audit room over the hall, where we went next, painted -on a wooden panel set in the centre end of the wall we found the -following ancient inscription, commencing in Latin and ending in -English:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -Haec Domus Eleemosynaria fundata<br /> -Fuit a Guilielmo Browne<br /> -Anno Don̄i 1495. Anno Regio Henrici<br /> -VII Decimo<br /></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This structure new contains twelve habitations<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which shall remain for future generations<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For old and poore, for weake and men unhealthy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This blessed house was founded not for wealthy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hee that endowed for aye and this house builded.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By this good act hath to sinne pardon yielded.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The honour of the country and this towne<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas now dead his name was William Browne.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be it an house of prayer and to diuine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Duties devoted else not called mine.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Ten old men and two old women are boarded and cared for here, we learnt; -the women having to act<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> as nurses if required. Outside the building -away from the road is a very picturesque and quiet courtyard with -cloisters; these seem verily to enclose an old-world atmosphere, a calm -that is of another century. The wall-girt stillness, the profound peace -of the place made so great an impression on us that for the moment the -throbbing and excited nineteenth century seemed ages removed, as though -the present were a fevered dream and only existed in our imagination. So -do certain spots enthral one with the sentiment of the far-away both in -time and space! From here there is a view to be had of a gable end of -the founder’s house; the greater part of the building having been pulled -down, and only this small portion remaining.</p> - -<p>The broad street outside Browne’s “Callis” was, we were told, the -opening scene of the bull-running. Most towns in past days, as is well -known, indulged in the “gentle sport” of bull-baiting, but from time -immemorial in Stamford bull-running took its place as an institution -peculiar to the town. The bull-running, we were told, was carried on, -more or less, in the following fashion. Early in the morning of the day -devoted to the “gentle sport” a bell-man went round to warn all people -to shut their shops, doors, gates, etc., then afterwards at a certain -hour a wild bull, the wilder the better, was let loose into the streets -and then the sport began. The populace, men, women, and boys, ran after -the bull, armed with cudgels, with which they struck it and goaded it to -fury; all the dogs of the town, needless to say, joining in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT SPORT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">sport and adding to the medley. By evening if the bull were not killed, -or driven into the river and perchance drowned, he was despatched by an -axe. Men occasionally of course got tossed, or gored, during these -disgusting and lively proceedings, and others were injured in various -ways: indeed it seems to have been very much like a Spanish bull-fight -vulgarised. This sport continued till about the year 1838. I presume -that there was no “Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals” -then; or is it that cruelty does not count when sport comes in? for as a -supporter of the Society once laid down the law to me dogmatically thus: -“It’s cruelty to thrash a horse, even if he be vicious, but it’s not -cruelty to hunt a fox or a hare, as that is sport; so we never interfere -with hunting: neither is bull-fighting cruel, for that is a sport.” -Well, my favourite sport is fly-fishing, and I am glad to learn that it -is not a cruel one, as “fish have no feelings.” But how about the boy -who impales a worm on a hook: has the worm conveniently “no feelings” -too? Shall we ever have a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to -Reptiles?</p> - -<p>The origin of the Stamford bull-running appears to be lost in the mists -of antiquity; of course where history fails legend must step in, and -according to legend the sport began thus:—Some time in the thirteenth -century (delightfully vague date! why not openly “once upon a time”?) a -wild bull got out of the meadows where it was grazing near the town and -rushed into the streets; it was chased by the populace, and chased by -dogs, and eventually<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> driven into the river and drowned, after affording -much entertainment to the townsfolk; thereupon the bull-running was -established as a sport. The legend does not sound so improbable as some -legends do, but whether based on fact or not I cannot say. It is only -for me to repeat stories as they come to my ear.</p> - -<p>In the same street outside Browne’s “Callis,” we further learnt, the old -market cross stood which was taken down about the year 1790. According -to ancient engravings it appears to have been a structure with a tall -stone shaft in the centre, surmounted by a cross which was duly knocked -off by the Puritans; from this central shaft a roof extended to a number -of columns around, thus forming a shelter for the market folk. This -market cross is not to be confounded with a Queen Eleanor’s Cross that -stood beyond the Scot-Gate about half a mile from Stamford on the old -York and Edinburgh road. A glorious example, this latter must have been, -of one of these picturesque crosses erected in pious memory of a loved -consort, judging at least from a description of it we observed quoted in -a local guide-book we found in our hotel, which runs thus:—“A vision of -beauty, glorious with its aggregate of buttresses and niches and diaper, -and above all with the statues of Eleanor and Edward; the most beautiful -of that or any age. Shame to those savages in the Great Rebellion who -swept away the very foundations of it! But the cry of superstition hunts -down such things as these a great deal faster than age can despatch -them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span>”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>TRADITIONS</i></div> - -<p>Next our guide took us to the site of Brasenose College—mostly pulled -down in the seventeenth century by the corporation—but the outer wall -and an arched stone gateway still remain. On the gate here was a quaint -and ancient knocker, judged by antiquaries to be of the fourteenth -century; this was formed of a lion’s head in beaten brass holding a ring -in his mouth; we understood that it had left the town, a fact to be -regretted. It is singular that there should have been a college here of -the curious name of Brasenose, as well as the one at Oxford. There is -indeed a tradition that the veritable nose that surmounts the gateway at -Oxford came from the Stamford college, and was brought by the students -when compelled to return to their former university town. Another -tradition professes to give the origin of the peculiar name, stating it -to be derived from <i>brasen-hus</i>, or <i>hws</i>, a brew-house, it being said -that one was attached to the college—but the derivation, though just -possible, is more ingenious than convincing.</p> - -<p>Next we were taken to see the crumbling gateway of the ancient Carmelite -Friary; this had three niches for statues above, but is more interesting -to antiquaries than to the lovers of the picturesque; it now forms the -approach to the Infirmary. Then we visited the three chief churches, -noting in St. Martin’s the magnificent altar-tomb—gorgeous with colour -and gilt, but rather dusty when we were there—of Queen Elizabeth’s Lord -Treasurer, whereon he is represented in recumbent effigy clad in -elaborately adorned armour. Men dressed their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> parts in those days! -Space will not permit a detailed description of these historic fanes; -indeed, to do Stamford justice would take at least several chapters, and -I have not even one to spare!</p> - -<p>Next our wanderings led us into an old graveyard to see the last -resting-place of a famous Stamford native, whose size was his fame! His -tombstone inscription tells its own story without any further comment of -mine, and thus it runs:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -In Remembrance of<br /> -That Prodigy in Nature<br /> -<span class="smcap">Daniel Lambert</span><br /> -who was possessed of<br /> -An exalted and convivial mind<br /> -And in personal greatness<br /> -Had no Competitor<br /> -He measured three feet one inch round the leg<br /> -Nine feet four inches round the body<br /> -And Weighed<br /> -Fifty-two stone Eleven pounds!<br /> -He departed this life<br /> -On the 21st of June<br /> -1803<br /> -Aged 39 years.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">“An exalted and convivial mind” is good, it is a phrase worth noting. -Our good-natured guide informed us that after the death of this worthy -citizen his stockings were kept for many years hung up in a room of one -of the inns as a curiosity, and that he distinctly remembered being -taken there by his father when a boy, and being placed inside one of the -stockings.</p> - -<p>After this in a different part of the town we had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A HUNTED KING!</i></div> - -<p class="nind">pointed out to us “Barn Hill House,” an old gray stone building more -interesting historically than architecturally, for it was within its -walls that Charles I. slept his last night “as a free man.” He arrived -there disguised as a servant, and entered by the back-door—a hunted -king! Such are the chances and changes of fate: the ruler of a kingdom -coming stealthily in by a back-door, and seeking shelter and safety in -the house of a humble subject, clad in the lowly garb of a serving-man! -But I am moralising, a thing I dislike when others do it! possibly -through having an overdose thereof when I was a boy, for almost every -book I had, it seemed to me, concluded with a moral; till at last, I -remember, I used first to look at the end of any new work that was given -to me, and if I found the expected moral there, I troubled it no -further!</p> - -<p>We were shown much more of interest in Stamford, a town every square -yard of which is history; but space forbids a detailed description of -all we saw. One old house we were taken over had a very quaint and -finely-enriched plaster ceiling, for builders of ancient homes did not -believe in a flat void of whitewash. The ornaments of this ceiling were -rendered in deep relief, the chief amongst them being animals playfully -arranged; for instance there was, I remember, a goose in the centre of -one panel with a fox greedily watching it on either side; another panel -showed a poor mouse with two cats eyeing it on either hand; then there -was a hare similarly gloated over by two hounds; and so forth. We -visited the site of the castle and saw the last<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span> bit of crumbling wall -left of the once imposing stronghold, also the small remains of old St. -Stephen’s gate: then we returned to our hotel, our good-natured -antiquarian friend still keeping us company.</p> - -<p>Reaching the bridge that crosses the Welland river, which structure has -taken the place of the “stone-ford,” we had pointed out to us a line -marked upon it with an inscription, showing the height of the water at -the spot during the memorable flood of 15th July 1880, when the swollen -river rose above the arches of the bridge. On that occasion, we learnt, -our inn was flooded, the water reaching even to the top of the -billiard-table. During a former great flood in the seventeenth century, -we were told, the horses in the “George” stables were actually drowned -at their stalls.</p> - -<p>At our inn we reluctantly parted company with our entertaining -companion, not, however, before we had thanked him for his kindness to -us as strangers. It is these pleasant chance acquaintances the wanderer -so frequently makes that add a wonderful zest to the pleasures of -travel.</p> - -<p>The sign of the “George” inn, as of old, still hangs from the centre of -a beam that stretches right across the roadway; it is said that there -are only some twenty-five or twenty-seven signs remaining in England so -arranged. At the village of Barley in Herts, on the highway from London -to Cambridge, the “Fox and Hounds” possesses one of these signs. Here -may be seen figures of huntsmen, hounds, and fox, represented as -crossing the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SPORTING SIGN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">beam in full cry; the fox apparently just escaping into the thatched -roof of the inn, the hounds immediately following, whilst the merry -huntsmen bring up the rear. This very sporting sign shows well, being -strongly silhouetted against the sky; it is full of spirit and movement, -and has the charm of originality.</p> - -<p>I have forgotten to say we were told that at the village of Ketton, in -the near neighbourhood of Stamford, a gleaners’ bell used to be rung in -due season, as well as the curfew; before the first ringing of the -former no one might glean in the fields, nor after the second ringing -was any one allowed to continue their gleaning under the penalty of a -fine, which went to the ringers. I trust I need not apologise for making -note of these old customs, from time to time, as I come upon them. The -church at Ketton is considered to be the most beautiful in the county; -it has a central tower with a broach spire, and has been compared with -St. Mary’s at Stamford: the saying being that the latter “has the more -dignity, but Ketton the greater grace.”</p> - -<p>Before resuming our journey I may note that in the heyday of the -coaching age, I find from an old “Way Bill” that the time allowed for -the mail-coach from London to Stamford—89¼ miles—was 9 hours and 20 -minutes, including changes.</p> - -<p>Early next morning we set out from our ancient hostelry bound for -Spalding, with the intention of visiting the once far-famed Fenland -abbey of Crowland on the way, though from our map it appeared that the -roads and the dykes were rather mixed up,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> and our route thither was not -at all easy to trace; nor was the information we obtained at Stamford -very helpful: “It’s a good road as far as Market Deeping,” we were told, -“but beyond that you’ll have to find your way.” The worthy landlord of -the “George” came to the door to see us off, and right sorry we felt to -leave our genial host, comfortable quarters, and the interesting and -historic town of Stamford that bade us such a pleasant welcome into -Lincolnshire.</p> - -<p>In about a mile, or less, as we drove on we espied some picturesque and -important-looking ecclesiastical ruins; these we found to be the remains -of the nave of St. Leonard’s Priory, now debased, part into a barn and -part into a shed; and what a substantial barn the solid Norman work -made! fit to last for centuries still, if let alone; and the shed upheld -by the massive Norman pillars, between which the shafts of farm carts, -and sundry agricultural implements peeped forth—what a grand shed it -was! It is not always that a farmer has his out-buildings constructed by -Norman masons! The west front of the Priory is happily little changed -from its original state, the great arched doorway and windows above -being built up, but nothing more; the arches are elaborately decorated, -and suggest that when the whole was complete it must have been a fine -specimen of Late Norman work. What a pity it is that such picturesque -and interesting relics of the past are not carefully preserved as ruins, -instead of being patched up and altered to serve purely utilitarian -purposes. The ruin of a fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> building like this, raised by skilled and -pious hands for the glory of God and not for the profit of man, should -be a prized possession and left to Mother Nature’s gentle care, which is -far less destructive than man’s hands—even the restorers! There are -many things to be done in the world, but you cannot convert the nave of -a stately priory, hallowed by the worship within its walls of departed -humanity, into a barn and a cart-shed consistently!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SUNSHINY DAY</i></div> - -<p>Now we entered upon a very pleasant stretch of greenful country, seeming -doubly pleasant under the glamour of that soft sunshiny morning—a -morning upon which the atmosphere was permeated with light, causing the -grassy meadows and leafy trees to put on a rare, rich golden-green, as -though glowing with brightness. Only under special conditions of weather -and time shall you look upon scenery thus glorified. To slightly alter -Wordsworth, such is—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The light that seldom is on sea or land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The consecration, and the Poet’s dream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The blue sky overhead flecked with the lightest of summer clouds, the -buoyant air, the sun-steeped landscape, the general brightness and -cheerfulness of the day, impressed us with an indefinable but very real -joyousness and light-heartedness. We felt in truth, just then, that the -world was a very pleasant place to live in, and that especial corner of -it known as England the pleasantest part thereof. Then, as we drove -lazily on half lost in the luxury of day<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span>-dreaming—a very lotus-eaters’ -land it seemed to be that soft and slumberous morning—some chance -drifting of thought called to mind William Hazlitt’s remarks anent a -walking tour, a recreation in which he delighted: “Give me,” says he, -connoisseur of good things that he was, “the clear blue sky over my -head, and the green turf beneath my feet, a winding road before me, and -a three hours’ march to dinner ... then I laugh, I leap, I sing for -joy.” Well, we could not readily run, nor yet leap, as we were driving -and in a quiet mood moreover, neither did we sing for joy; not that we -took our pleasures sadly, but rather for the hour did we delight in a -drowsy progress soothed into untold rest by the peace-bestowing quietude -that prevailed all around: our happiness was too real to need any -outward display, which but too often disturbs the deep repose of -absolute content. Such a sensation of inward satisfaction with oneself -and one’s surroundings comes not every day, not even with searching -after, but when it comes it makes one thankfully realise the full -meaning of—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">that blessed mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which the burden of the mystery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In which the heavy and the weary weight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all this unintelligible world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is lightened.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Uffington, the first village on our way, proved to be a remarkably -picturesque one, clean and neat, with solid stone-built cottages, some -roofed with homely thatch, others with gray stone slabs, and all looking -pictures of contentment—let us hope</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_009" style="width: 572px;"> -<a href="images/i_154fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_154fp.jpg" width="572" height="339" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A QUIET COUNTRY ROAD.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>“GENUINE ENGLISH BRANDY!”</i></div> - -<p class="nind">it was not only looking! Soon after this we reached a roadside inn with -a swinging sign-board that proclaimed it to be “The Tennyson’s Arms,” -where we also learnt that we could quench our thirst with “strong ales.” -This somehow called to mind another notice we saw at a country “public” -elsewhere to this effect: “Ales and spirits sold here; also genuine -English brandy.” The last item was distinctly novel! “The Tennyson’s -Arms” reminded us that we were in the county that gave the great -Victorian poet birth.</p> - -<p>Next we came to Tallington, another clean and picturesque village: two -desirable qualities that unhappily do not always go together. There we -stopped to sketch and photograph a large stone-built pigeon-house that -would hold a little army of birds, which stood in an old farmyard; a -fierce-looking bull bellowing a loud disapproval of our -proceedings—across a strong high fence.</p> - -<p>Beyond Tallington we somehow got off our road and found ourselves in the -remote and sleepy hamlet of Barholm, an uninteresting spot. On the tower -of the church here, however, about half-way up, we observed a stone slab -with a rather quaint inscription thereon that we made out, with some -difficulty, to be—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was ever such a thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since the Creation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A new steeple built<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In time of vexation ... 1648.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Then by cross-country crooked ways we reached Market Deeping, a sleepy, -decayed little town,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> whose first name is now a misnomer, as the market -is no more. The low-lying level country all around here, we learnt, was -under water during the great flood of 1880, when the corn-fields were so -flooded that only the tops of the ears of grain showed, and the ducks -swam three to four feet above what is now dry land—a great event in -local annals that even now affords a subject for local gossip. Such -notable occurrences give the rural folk a time to reckon from, more to -their liking than any date. “It were the year after the big flood,” or -“Three years afore the flood,” and so forth, are the remarks that may -frequently be heard. To a stranger in these parts, unaware of past -happenings, it sounds curious to listen to some such saying as this: “I -minds my father telling me, who died just afore the flood,” for to the -average stranger “the flood” suggests the Biblical one, and that was -some time ago now!</p> - -<p>From Market Deeping to Deeping St. James—another old decayed town that -looks as out-of-the-world and forsaken as though nothing would ever -happen again there—was but a short distance, our road following the -bends of the winding river Welland to our right, the air blowing -refreshingly cool on our faces from the gliding water. So picturesque -was the river-side with bordering old trees, cottages, and buildings, -tumbling weir, which made a pleasing liquid melody on the quiet air, and -wooden foot-bridge, that we were tempted to stop a while and sketch it. -At Deeping St. James we noticed as we passed by its grand old church, -whose dusky and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> crumbling walls tell the tale of the long centuries it -has bravely weathered. Near to this ancient fane, in a wide space where -three roads meet, stands a market cross apparently reconstructed from -old material, presumably that of the fine Perpendicular Cross that is -recorded to have stood somewhere here in past days.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SECRET CHAMBERS</i></div> - -<p>Our antiquarian friend at Stamford had told us that shortly after -leaving “the Deepings” we should pass close to the roadside an ideal old -manor-house with a gateway-house in front, and having mullioned windows, -courtyard, great hall, oak screen, with quaint and characteristic -architectural details, that made it a most interesting place. “You -<i>must</i> see it,” he exclaimed after enlarging rapturously upon its rare -beauties: a skeleton, he further informed us, had recently been found in -the roof there, supposed to be that of a man stowed away and starved in -a hiding-hole—without which advantage no old home of any pretensions -was considered complete. Strange to say, even only the other day an -architect of standing confided to me that more than once recently he had -been called upon to provide a secret chamber in large houses he was -employed to design: the real reason for this curious demand it would be -interesting to know. I have seen quite a modern country house with a -well-planned secret hiding-place, and the amount of ingenuity displayed -in the contriving of this excited my utmost admiration. But why such -things in the close of the nineteenth century?</p> - -<p>The charming word-pictures of this old home,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> within and without, had -raised both our expectations and curiosity. “You cannot possibly miss -it,” we had been assured; nevertheless we did so most successfully, much -to our regret and disappointment; in fact, to own the truth, we did not -so much as obtain even a glimpse of it. This was exceedingly provoking; -indeed, the roads about were very puzzling: they were very lonely also, -for we never came across a soul of whom to ask the way. The country was -a dead level and the hedges were high, so that we could not see much -beyond the roadway; it was like being in a maze, the point being to find -the old manor-house. Then it struck us as being rather a poor joke to -say that we could not possibly miss it! Could we not? Why, we did so -quite easily! Then we remembered that we had been told at Stamford that -we should have to drive through the village of Peakirk to get to -Crowland, and that we could not by any chance get there without so -doing. But somehow again we managed to accomplish the impossible, for we -eventually got to Crowland, but we never went through Peakirk or any -other village. The state of affairs was this, that we had lost our way, -there was no one about to put us right, sign-posts we looked for in -vain, or if we found one it was past service: so we simply drove -eastwards as far as we could, trusting to fate. Fortunately the day was -fine, and time was not pressing; indeed, we rather enjoyed the -delightful uncertainties of our position. We presumed that we should -arrive somewhere at last, and that was enough for us. There is a sort of -fascination in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> being lost at times—otherwise why do people go into -mazes.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ANCIENT LANDMARKS</i></div> - -<p>Just about here, it must be confessed, our map failed us; indeed, I am -inclined to think that it omitted some of the roads altogether: quite -possibly the engraver may have confused them with the river or the -innumerable dykes that intersect the land in every direction. The more -we studied the map the more confused we became, till we folded it up and -put it carefully away, lest it should cause us to use bad language. A -map that fails, just when you most need its guidance, what a -temper-trying thing it is! However, a gentleman we met later on during -our tour had something more temper-trying to contend with: it appeared -that he started out touring in a motorcar, and the thing broke down -utterly, on an unsheltered stretch of road in the midst of a drenching -thunderstorm, so that he had to beg the loan of a horse from a farmer to -get the machine housed. To make the matter worse, some of the people -thought it a matter to laugh over, to see a horse lugging the helpless -motor along; but remembering that horses sometimes go lame on a journey -(though whilst touring we have never been delayed by such a mishap), we -sympathised with our fellow-wayfarer.</p> - -<p>Before we put our map away, however, a close scrutiny of it revealed to -us two spots marked with a cross, and after each cross the legends -respectively of “Kenulph’s Stone” and “St. Guthlak’s Cross.” The former -of these was one of the four boundary stones of “the halidome” of the -Abbey, and may still be found by the side of the Welland; the broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> -shaft of the latter, with curious lettering thereon, is also to be seen -at Crowland. According to learned antiquaries the lettering forms the -following Latin inscription:—“<i>Aio hanc petram Guthlacvs habet sibi -metam.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A land of dykes—Fenland rivers—Crowland Abbey—A unique -triangular bridge—Antiquaries differ—A mysterious statue—A -medieval rhyme—A wayside inscription—The scenery of the -Fens—Light-hearted travellers—Cowbit—A desolate spot—An -adventure on the road—A Dutch-like town. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">So</span> we drove on till the tall hedgerows ceased and the country became -more open and assumed a wilder aspect: narrow dykes or ditches now -divided the fields instead of the familiar fences, so that our eyes -could range unimpeded over the wide landscape. Then presently, as we -proceeded, a high and long grass-grown embankment came into view, right -in front of us, and so our prospect ahead was suddenly shut in, reduced -from miles to yards! Approaching close to this embankment, we found that -our road turned sharply to the left and ran immediately below and -alongside of it. Here we pulled up and scrambled to the top of the steep -bank, just “to see what was on the other side.” The mystery of the vast -earthwork was solved: it was no Brobdingnagian railway scheme, but an -earthwork constructed to keep the river Welland in bounds when flooded, -though just then the river flowed sluggishly along, deep down below its -high-banked sides, as innocent-looking a stream as could well be -imagined.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span></p> - -<p>One striking peculiarity of the Fenland rivers is that they are mostly -held in thus by banks and are not allowed, as English rivers generally -are, the liberty to meander about at their own sweet will; for in these -parts the primary use of a river appears to be to do duty as a mighty -drainage dyke, and this curbing of wilful nature gives such rivers an -exceedingly artificial and somewhat tame look. Quaint to English eyes is -it to observe these great river-banks standing high above the -surrounding country and highways, for often, for convenience of -construction, do the roads follow the course of the streams and -water-ways. Well is this division of Lincolnshire called “Holland” or -“Holland in England,” as some maps have it. Indeed, this mighty level -land, now smiling with yellow corn-crops and rich green pastures, was -erst a swampy waste, more water than land; fit only to be the home of -wildfowl and coarse fish, till sundry Dutch engineers undertook to -reclaim it, importing their own countrymen to assist in the task. We -were told by a Lincolnshire man that several of the Dutch workmen never -returned home, but settled and married in the new “Holland in England” -that their labours had helped to create; furthermore, we were told that -a goodly number of purely Dutch names still existed in the county.</p> - -<p>After following along and below the embankment for a mile or more, our -road took to itself a sudden whim and boldly mounted to the top of the -bank which was wide enough to drive upon, and from our elevated position -we had a space-expressing prospect over a level country, reaching all -round to the long,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> low circling line of the bounding horizon. Though we -could not have been raised much above sea-level, still I have climbed -high mountains for a far inferior view. It is not the height one may be -above a scene that gives the observer therefrom the best impression of -it; indeed one may easily be elevated too far above scenery to -appreciate it properly. A bird’s-eye view of a landscape is not the one -an artist would select to paint; there is such a thing as a picturesque -and an unpicturesque way of looking on an object. Sometimes, truly, -scenery has been painted as a bird sees it, for the sake of novelty; but -novelty is not synonymous with beauty: they may join hands at times, but -as a rule they are utter strangers one to another.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>DIFFICULT DRIVING</i></div> - -<p>Then as we drove slowly and carefully on—for there were no fences to -the road on either side and it was not over safe to approach too near -the edges, or we might have been precipitated into the river on one -hand, or on to the fields below on the other, either of which events -would have brought our outing to a sudden termination—as we drove thus -cautiously on, the one remaining tower and great vacant archway of -Crowland’s lonely abbey came into sight, standing out a tender -pearly-gray mass against the sunlit sky: in all the ocean of greenery -round about there was nothing else in sight that raised itself -noticeably above the general level.</p> - -<p>There was something very impressive in this first view of the ancient -fane, rising in crumbling yet solemn majesty out of the ever-green world -below; a poem in stone, laden with ancient legend<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> and fraught with -misty history. It was a scene for a pilgrim, pregnant with peacefulness, -and as lovely as a dream. Yet how simple was the prospect—a gray and -ruined abbey, a silent world of green suffused with faint sunshine that -filtered through the thin clouds above! Below us and before us stretched -the river gleaming for miles between its sloping banks, winding away -towards the picturesque pile of ancient devotion in curving parallels -that narrowed toward the distant horizon to a mere point; and this -describes all that was before us!</p> - -<p>After the abbey’s pathetic ruins, beautiful with the beauty of decay, -what most struck us was the sense of solitude, silence, and space in our -surroundings. On every side the level Fenland stretched broad as the -sea, and to the eye appearing almost as wide and as free; and from all -this vast lowland tract came no sound except the hardly to be -distinguished mellow murmuring of the wind amongst the nearer sedges and -trees. The river flowed on below us in sluggish contentment without even -an audible gurgle; no birds were singing, and, as far as we could see, -there were no birds to sing; and in the midst of this profound stillness -our very voices seemed preternaturally loud. There are two such things -as a cheerful silence and a depressing silence; the difference between -these two is more to be felt than described: of course all silence is -relative, for such a thing as absolute silence is not to be found in -this world; but the quietude of the Fens, like that of the mountain-top, -simulates the latter very successfully. The thick atmosphere about us -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> the effect of subduing sounds doubtless, whilst it held the light, -as it were, in suspense, and magnified and mystified the distance. The -profound quietude prevailing suggested to us that we were travelling -through an enchanted land where all things slept—a land laid under some -mighty magic spell.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DISPUTED SPELLING</i></div> - -<p>As we proceeded along our level winding way, with the river for silent -company, the outline of the ruined abbey gradually increased in size, -and presently we found ourselves in the remote out-of-the-world village -of Crowland—or Croyland as some writers have it; but I understand that -certain antiquaries who have studied the subject declare that the latter -appellation is quite wrong, and as they may be right I accept their -dictum and spell it Crowland with my map, though, authorities and map -aside, I much prefer Croyland as the quainter title.</p> - -<p>The inhabitants appear to spell the name of their village indifferently -both ways. One intelligent native, of whom we sought enlightenment, said -he did not care “a turn of the weathercock” which way it was spelt, -which was not very helpful; but we were grateful for the expression “a -turn of the weathercock,” as it was fresh to us. He further remarked, -apropos of nothing in our conversation, “You might as well try to get -feathers from a fish as make a living in Crowland; and the people are so -stupid, as the saying goes, ‘they’d drown a fish in water.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> Manifestly -he was not in love with the place. He did not even think much of the old -abbey: “It’s very ruinous,” was his expression thereof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<p>Crowland is a thoroughly old-world village; I know no other that so well -deserves the epithet: its gray-toned cottages, grouped round the decayed -and time-rent fane, save the ruins from utter desolation. Crowland -impressed us as a spot that exists simply because it has existed: like -the abbey, it looks so old that one can hardly imagine it was ever new. -It is—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A world-forgotten village,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like a soul that steps aside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into some quiet haven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From the full rush of tide.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A place where poets still may dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the wheels of Life swing slow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And over all there hangs the peace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of centuries ago.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Crowland village, apart from its ruined abbey, is quaint rather than -beautiful; it appeals to the lover of the past perhaps more than to the -lover of the picturesque. We found there a primitive and clean little -inn where we stabled our horses and procured for ourselves a simple, but -sufficient, repast that was served in a tiny parlour. Whilst waiting for -our meal to be prepared, having no guide-book, we consulted our -<i>Paterson’s Roads</i> to see if it gave any particulars of the place, and -this is what we discovered: “Crowland, a place of very remote antiquity, -particularly interesting to the antiquary on account of the ruins of its -once extensive and splendid abbey, and its singular triangular-shaped -bridge, is now reduced to the size of a large village that possesses -little more than the ruins of its former<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE ISLE OF CROWLAND</i></div> - -<p class="nind">splendour. The chief existing remains of the abbey are the skeleton of -the nave of the conventual church, with parts of the south and north -aisles; the latter of which is covered over, pewed, and fitted up as a -parish church. The triangular bridge in the middle of the town may be -looked upon as one of the greatest curiosities in Britain, if not in -Europe; it is of stone, and consists of three pointed arches springing -from as many abutments that unite their groins in the centre.... -Crowland being so surrounded by fens is inaccessible, except from the -north and east, in which directions the road is formed by artificial -banks of earth, and from this singular situation it has been, not -inaptly, compared to Venice.” I have again quoted from this old and -famous road-book, which was as familiar to our forefathers as “Bradshaw” -is to us, because it shows the sort of combination of road-book and -guide that the pre-railway traveller was provided with, all England and -Wales being included in one thick volume. Paterson’s accounts of famous -spots and places of interest are not perhaps so learned or long as those -of the modern hand-book, but they are possibly sufficient, and brevity -is an advantage to the tourist who desires to arrive quickly at his -information.</p> - -<p>In olden days it would seem that the spot whereon Crowland now stands -was one of the many Fen islands, consisting of comparatively dry and -firm soil that rose above the general level of the moist lowlands, or, -to be more exact, a wilderness of shallow waters—a district described -by Smiles as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> “an inland sea in winter, and a noxious swamp in summer”; -but so slight is the rise of the land that to the superficial observer -it scarcely seems to rise at all. Here—on this “Isle of Crowland”—as -it was formerly called in company with other similar islands, such as -the better-known “Isle of Ely”—the old monks built their abbey, remote -and fengirt from the outer world, only to be approached at first by -boats, and, in long years after also, by a solitary raised causeway -frequently under water and nearly always unsafe and untravellable in -winter. The problem to me is how ever all the stone required for the -building was secured. Presumably most of it was brought down the Welland -from Stamford; but what a long and laborious task the carrying of it -must have been. Still, the problem sinks into insignificance like that -of Stonehenge, for all authorities on this mysterious monument of -antiquity agree that the nearest spot to Salisbury Plain from which the -igneous rocks that compose the inner circle could come, would be either -Cornwall or North Wales! An effective word-picture of the early -monastery is given in Kingsley’s <i>Hereward the Wake</i> which I take the -liberty to quote, though he describes the building as being chiefly of -timber, but the first historic record declares that it was “firmly built -of stone.” Thus, then, Kingsley writes: “And they rowed away for -Crowland ... and they glided on until they came to the sacred isle, the -most holy sanctuary of St. Guthlac and his monks.... At last they came -to Crowland minster, a vast range of high-peaked buildings founded on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> -piles of oak and alder driven into the fen, itself built almost entirely -of timber from the Bruneswold; barns, granaries, stables, workshops, -strangers’ hall, fit for the boundless hospitality of Crowland; -infirmary, refectory, dormitory, library, abbot’s lodgings, cloisters; -with the great minster towering up, a steep pile, half wood, half stone, -with narrow round-headed windows, and leaden roofs; and above all the -great wooden tower, from which on high-days chimed out the melody of the -seven famous bells, which had not their like in English land.” So minute -is the detailed description of that which was such a long time off that -one is almost tempted to wonder how Kingsley knew all this.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TRIANGULAR BRIDGE</i></div> - -<p>Leaving our little inn we first inspected the exceedingly quaint -triangular bridge that stands in the main thoroughfare—a thoroughfare -without any traffic it appeared to us, nor did we see where any future -traffic was to come from. This structure is stated to be positively -unique. Apart from its uncommon form, it certainly has a curious -appearance to-day, as the roadway below is dry, and the “three-way -bridge,” as it is locally called, has much the meaningless look that a -ship would have stranded far inland. This quaint structure consists of -three high-pitched half arches, at equal distances from each other, that -meet at the top. The way over the bridge is both narrow and steep, so -that manifestly it could only have been intended for pedestrians.</p> - -<p>Much good ink has been spilt by antiquaries and archæologists anent the -peculiar form of the bridge, and different theories have been put -forward to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> solve this enigma in building: some authorities having -declared their belief that it was a mere freak of the monks indulged in -from pure eccentricity; others reason that it was intended to support a -high cross, but surely a bridge would hardly have been built as a -foundation for this? And it is so manifestly a bridge complete in -itself, though novel in design, nor does there appear to me to be room -for the base of an important cross on the apex of the arches where alone -it could come. It is verily an archæological <i>pons asinorum</i>. Personally -I find a difficulty in subscribing to either the freak or the cross -theory; indeed, a more reasonable solution of the puzzle presents itself -to me as one who does not look for out-of-the-way causes. It seems -possible, rather should I say highly probable, that when the bridge was -built, in the days before the drainage of the Fens, a stream may have -flowed past here, and it may have been joined by another Y fashion. To -cross these streams where they both met to the three points of dry -ground would entail a triangular bridge, and the monks were equal to the -occasion! The only fault I can find with this theory is that it is so -simple! Shortly after writing this, in looking over an old portfolio of -pictures, I chanced upon a rather crude, but fairly faithful, engraving -of this very bridge. The work was not dated, but I judged it to be of -the late seventeenth or of the early eighteenth century, a pure guess on -my part. However, it is interesting to note that this ancient engraving -showed two streams flowing under the bridge precisely as suggested. I -merely mention<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> the fact, though it proves really nothing, for the -engraver or artist may easily have added the water, imagining that it -ought to be there. Here again the advantage of photography is apparent, -for the lens has no bias, and if it seldom lends itself to the -picturesque, at least it does not invent accessories.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A STATUE ASTRAY</i></div> - -<p>On the parapet at the foot of the bridge is a mutilated and weather-worn -statue, having apparently a crown on its head and a globe in its hand. -An absurd local tradition declares this to be intended for Cromwell -holding a ball. Why it should be fathered on to the Protector is beyond -my understanding; it is more than probable that it existed centuries -before he was born. Looking sideways at the figure it is noticeably -thin, and was manifestly only intended to be seen from the front. One -may therefore, I think, reasonably conclude that it originally came from -a niche in the abbey, for it is quite out of place on the bridge, and -could never have properly belonged to it. Most probably, judging from -similar old sculptures, it was intended for our Lord, and had place in -the centre of the pediment over the west front of the abbey, a portion -of the building that has now disappeared. Some antiquaries, however, -maintain that it is intended for King Ethelbald, the founder of the -monastery; this would be a plausible enough suggestion but for the fact -that this king is already represented amongst the statues that still -adorn the abbey.</p> - -<p>The mouldings, ribs, and vaultings of the arches indicate the date of -the present bridge to be about the middle of the fourteenth century. It -is worthy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> note how readily an archæologist may determine the -approximate date of an ancient building by its style, even, if needs be, -by a small portion of its carvings; but what will the archæologists of -centuries hence be able to make of our present jumble of all periods? a -mixture of past forms from which the meaning and true spirit have fled. -Indeed, a certain famous English architect once boasted, I have been -told, that he made such an excellent copy of an Early English building, -even to the working of the stones roughly, in reverent imitation of the -original, that he gave it as his opinion that, in the course of a -century or two, when the new building had become duly time-toned, -weather-stained, and the stone-work crumbled a little here and there, no -future antiquary would be able to distinguish it from a genuine Early -English structure, unless possibly by its better state of preservation. -Alas! the nineteenth century has no specially distinguishing style, save -that of huge hotels and railway stations! Our most successful -ecclesiastical edifices are but copies of various medieval examples. We -can copy better than we can create! A new architectural style worthy of -the century has yet to be invented, and it appears as though—in spite -of much striving after—the century will pass away without such an -achievement.</p> - -<p>Then we made our way to the ruined abbey in the reverent spirit of an -ancient pilgrim, although in the further spirit of this luxurious -century our pilgrimage was performed with ease on wheels, and not -laboriously on foot. The most picturesque and interesting part of this -fane of ancient devotion is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> the beautiful west front, glorious even in -ruin, with its elaborate decorations, its many statues standing, as -erst, each in its niche, its great window, now a mighty void, shaftless -and jambless, and its graceful pointed Gothic doorway below. An -illustration of this portion of the abbey is given with this chapter. -The other portions of the building are of much archæological interest, -but not so statelily picturesque, nor can any drawing in black and white -suggest the wonderful wealth of weather-tinting that the timeworn -masonry has assumed. The summer suns and winter storms of unremembered -years have left their magic traces upon the wonderful west front of this -age-hallowed shrine, tinging it with softest colouring varying with -every inch of surface!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>RESTORERS OLD AND NEW</i></div> - -<p>Within the ancient nave now open to the sky, where grows the lank, rank -grass under foot in place of the smooth inlaid pavement often trod by -sleek abbot, and meek or merry monk, we observed the base of a -Perpendicular pillar round which the earth had been excavated, -apparently to show the foundation, and we noticed that this was composed -of various old carved stones of an earlier period of architecture, -presumably when the abbey was undergoing a medieval restoration or -rebuilding; plainly proving, as is well known, that the builders of the -past did not hold their predecessors’ works so very sacred, and to a -certain extent the modern restorer would be justified in quoting this -fact in extenuation of his doings, or misdoings, “What is sauce for the -goose is sauce for the gander” surely? Only those medieval restorers -sinned so magnificently, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> modern restorer, as a rule, sins so -miserably! From the medieval reconstructor to the restorer of the -Churchwarden era is a vast gulf. It would be an archæological curiosity -and an object lesson in ecclesiastical construction if we could have -preserved for our study and edification a church showing all the varying -periods of architecture, from the crude Saxon and stern Norman to that -of to-day!</p> - -<p>Reluctantly we left Crowland’s old ruined abbey that stands alone in -crumbling, dusky majesty, as though solemnly musing over the chances and -changes of its chequered life’s long history. This remote and hoary -pile, surrounded by the wild waste of watery fens, impressed us with an -undefinable feeling of mystery and melancholy—a mystery that had to do -with the past, and a melancholy that had to do with the present. No -other ruin has impressed us quite in the same way, but then Crowland -Abbey has a striking individuality seen from near or afar; it is utterly -unlike any other spot, and from every point of view forms a most -effective picture. Time has fraught its ancient walls with meaning, and -the rare dower of antiquity, the bloom of centuries is gathered over -them all—a bloom that has beautified what man and age have left of the -former hallowed sanctuary. Now a solemn peacefulness broods incumbent -over Crowland’s solitary tower, broken arches, and decaying masonry. No -more, as in the days of old, at evensong when the silent stars come out, -does the belated fisherman stop his skiff awhile by the side of the -inland isle, to listen to the sweet chanting of the monks, mingling with -the organ’s</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_010" style="width: 356px;"> -<a href="images/i_174fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_174fp.jpg" width="356" height="561" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>CROWLAND ABBEY.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CROWLAND ABBEY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">solemn thunder-tones. The poetry and the romance of the ancient faith -and days have departed, and the prosaic present strikes a purely -pathetic key—of things that have been and are no more! The ancient -abbey</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">in ruin stands lone in the solitude;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wild birds sing above it, and the ivy clings around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And under its poppies its old-time worshippers sleep sound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Relic of days forgotten, dead form of an <i>ancient</i> faith,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Haunting the light of the present, a vanished Past’s dim wraith!<br /></span> -<span class="idttt">. . . . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the winds wail up from the seaward, and sigh in the long grave grass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A message of weltering tides, and of things that were and must pass.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Reluctantly, as I have said, we left this lonely Fenland fane, a legend -in stone: a dream of Gothic glory in its prime, and a thing of beauty in -decay; and beauty is a more precious possession than glory! Very -beautiful did the ancient ruin look as we took our farewell glance at -it, with the warm sun’s rays touching tenderly its gray-toned walls and -lightening up their century-gathered gloom, whilst the solemn shadows of -pillared recesses and deepset arches lent a mystic glamour to the pile, -as though it held some hidden secrets of the past there, not to be -revealed to modern mortals, all of which aroused our strongest -sympathies, or a feeling close akin thereto—for I know not for certain -whether mere inert matter can really arouse human sympathy, though I -think it can.</p> - -<p>This wild and wide Fenland was anciently renowned for its many and -wealthy monasteries.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> A medieval rhyme has been preserved to us that -relates the traditional reputations these religious establishments -respectively had. Of this rhyme there are two versions, one is as -follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ramsey, the bounteous of gold and of fee;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crowland, as courteous as courteous may be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spalding the rich, and Peterborough the proud;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sawtrey, by the way, that poore abbaye,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Gave more alms in one day<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Than all they.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The other version runs more fully thus:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ramsey, the rich of gold and of fee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thorney, the flower of many a fair tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crowland, the courteous of their meat and drink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spalding, the gluttons, as all people do think,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peterborough, the proud, as all men do say:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sawtrey, by the way, that old abbey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gave more alms in one day than all they.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>From Crowland we decided to drive some nine and a half miles on to -Spalding, where we proposed to spend the night; or rather the map -decided the matter, for our choice of roads out of Crowland, unless we -went south, was limited to this one; it was a pure case of “Hobson’s -choice,” to Spalding we must go, and thither we went. Mounting the -dog-cart once more we were soon in the open country; our road, like that -of the morning, was level and winding, with the far-reaching fens all -around, that stretched away through greens, yellows, russets, and grays -to a hazy horizon of blue. A short distance on our way by the roadside -we observed a large notice-board, that claimed our<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A WAYSIDE RECORD</i></div> - -<p class="nind">attention from its size, so we pulled up the better to examine it, and -found this legend plainly painted thereon:—</p> - -<p class="c" style="clear:both;"> -1000 Miles<br /> -in<br /> -1000 Hours,<br /> -by Henry Girdlestone,<br /> -at the age of 56,<br /> -in the year 1844.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">As, nowadays, people mostly travel by rail, this record of a past -performance is wasting its information in the wilderness for want of -readers, so I have been tempted to repeat the account of Mr. Henry -Girdlestone’s feat here.</p> - -<p>Our road was an uneventful one; the scenery it provided was somewhat -monotonous, but there was a certain inexplicable fascination about its -monotony as there is in that of the sea. It had the peculiar quality of -being monotonous without being wearisome. As in our drive to Crowland, -what especially struck us in our drive therefrom was the sense of -silence, space, and solitude. Spread out around us were leagues upon -leagues of level land, like a petrified sea, that melted away -imperceptibly into a palpitating blueness in which all things became -blended, indistinct, or wholly lost. Leagues of grass lands and marshes, -splashed here and there with vivid colour, and enlivened ever and again -by the silvery gleam of still, or the sunlit sparkle of wind-stirred -water; its flatness accentuated, now and again, by a solitary uprising -poplar, or a lonely, lofty windmill—built high to catch every -wind—and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> these served to emphasise the general solitude: the -prevailing silence was made the more striking by the infrequent peevish -cry of some stray bird that seemed strangely loud upon the quiet air.</p> - -<p>The scenery could not be called picturesque, yet it possessed the rarer -quality of quaintness, and it therefore interested us. In a manner it -was beautiful on account of its colour, and the sky-scape overhead was -grand because so wide, whilst it flooded the vast breadth of unshaded -land with a wealth of light. After all, let mountain lovers say what -they will, a flat land has its charms; it may not be “sweetly pretty,” -but it is blessed with an abundance of light, and light begets -cheerfulness; and its cloud-scapes, sunrises, and sunsets, that compel -you to notice them, are a revelation in themselves. A Dutch artist once -told me, when I was pointing out to him what I considered the paintable -qualities of the South Downs, that he honestly considered hills and -mountains a fraud, as they hid so much of the sky, which, to him, -appeared infinitely more beautiful and changeful both in form and -colour. “There is a fashion in scenery,” said he; “mountain lands have -been fortunate in their poets and writers; some day a poet or great -writer may arise who will sing or describe for us the little-heeded -beauties of the lowlands, and the hills will go out of fashion. The -public simply admire what they are told to admire.” If Ruskin had only -been born in the lowlands of Lincolnshire, then might we have had some -chapters in his works enlarging upon their peculiar beauties! Truly -Tennyson was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> born in Lincolnshire, but he was born in the Wolds -surrounded by woods and hills. Even so, Tennyson has not done for the -Wolds what Scott has done for the Scotch Highlands; the scenery of the -Wolds has its special charms, but it is no tourist-haunted land, yet -none the less beautiful on that account, and selfishly I am thankful -that there are such spacious beauty spots still left to us in England -unknown to, and unregarded by, the cheap-tripper. Let us hope that no -popular guide-book will be written about certain districts to needlessly -call his attention to them.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A NOVEL EXPERIENCE</i></div> - -<p>This corner of England that we were traversing has an unfamiliar aspect -to the average Englishman; the buildings and people therein truly are -English, intensely English, but, these apart, the country looks strange -and foreign. It is a novel experience to drive for miles along an -embanked road looking down upon all the landscape, just as it is equally -curious, on the other hand, to drive along a road below an embanked -river! Keen and fresh came the breezes to us from over the mighty fens, -for they were unrestrained even by a hedge; pleasantly refreshing and -scented were they with the cool odours of marsh flowers, plants, and -reeds. The fields being divided by dykes and ditches, in place of -hedges, the landscape gained in breadth, for the sweep of the eye was -not continually arrested by the bounding hedges that but too often cut -up the prospect of the English country-side, chess-board fashion.</p> - -<p>At one spot low down to the right of our way<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> was a swampy bit of -ground, half land, half water, if anything more water than land; here -tall reeds were bending and tossing about before the wild wind, and the -pools of water were stirred by mimic waves, and in the heart of all this -was a notice-board inscribed “Trespassers will be prosecuted”! Somehow -this simple and familiar warning in such a position brought to mind the -comic side of life and aroused much merriment, for who in the wide world -would wish to trespass there? We were in such good humour with ourselves -and all things that we were easily amused: our superabundance of health -begot a mirthful spirit readily provoked and difficult to damp. I verily -believe that when trifles went wrong on the journey, which by the way -they very seldom did, then we were the merriest, as though to show that -nothing could depress us. I remember on a former tour that we got caught -in a heavy storm of rain when crossing an open moor; the storm came up -suddenly from behind and took us quite by surprise, so that we got -pretty well wet before we could get our mackintoshes out; shelter was -there none, and the result was that, after a couple of hours’ driving -along an exposed road, we arrived at a little country inn positively -drenched through to the skin, the water running off the dogcart in -streams, and all things damp and dripping, yet in spite of our sorry -plight we felt “as jolly as a sandboy,” and could not restrain our -laughter at the dismal picture we presented as we drove into the -stable-yard; indeed, we treated the matter as a huge joke, and I thought -to myself, “Now if only Charles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> Keene were here to sketch us arriving -thus, what an excellent subject we should make for a <i>Punch</i> picture -with the legend below ‘The pleasures of a driving tour!’<span class="lftspc">”</span> So excellent -did the joke appear to us that we had changed our saturated clothing and -put on dry things, and had warmed ourselves before a roaring wood fire -which the kind-hearted landlady had lighted for us, and had further -refreshed ourselves with the best the house could provide, before our -merry spirits quieted down. So it took some time to quiet them down!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A LEANING TOWER</i></div> - -<p>Now this digression has taken us to the village of Cowbit, a dreary, -forsaken-looking place, desolate enough, one would imagine, to disgust -even a recluse. Here we noticed the dilapidated church tower was leaning -very much on one side, owing doubtless to the uncertain foundation -afforded by the marshy soil; indeed, it leaned over to such an extent as -to suggest toppling down altogether before long, so much so that it gave -us the unpleasant feeling that it might untowardly collapse when we were -there. It may be that the tower will stand thus for years; all the same, -did I worship in that fane I feel sure I should ever be thinking rather -about the stability of the fabric than of the prayers or of the sermon!</p> - -<p>Leaving this forsaken spot—where we saw neither man, woman, nor child, -not even a stray dog or odd chicken about to lessen its forlorn look—a -short way ahead we discovered that our way was blocked by a broken-down -traction engine, a hideous black iron monster of large proportions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> -that stood helplessly right in the very centre of the road, so that it -was extremely doubtful if there were sufficient room left for us to pass -by; and if we failed to do this and our wheels went over the edge of the -embankment we were on, which was fenceless on both sides, the dog-cart -and horses might very probably follow suit. Some men were busily -hammering and tinkering at the engine; they said that she had broken -down an hour ago, and they had not been able to get her to move since, -but fortunately there had been no traffic coming along, and we were the -first party to arrive on the scene. All of which was very entertaining -and informative, but not very helpful as to how we were to proceed. Did -they think we could possibly get by? Well, they did not know, they -hardly thought so; but they would measure the width of our carriage and -the width of the roadway left. This being duly done, it was discovered -that there was just room, but not even the proverbial inch to spare. -Thereupon we naturally concluded that the margin for safety was -insufficient! Here was a pleasant predicament to be in! We could not -well go back; on the other hand the men confessed that they had no idea -when they would be able “to get the thing to work again.” The steam was -up, but when turned on the iron monster snorted, creaked, and groaned, -but resolutely refused to budge. “Something has given way, and we be -trying to mend it” was the only consolation offered us, beyond the fact -that they had sent a man over to Spalding for help, but when he would -return they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DILEMMA</i></div> - -<p class="nind">did not know; “It were certainly bad luck that we should have been right -in the middle of the road when she gave out, but you see we never -expected anything of the kind.” It was an unfortunate position of -affairs; if we decided to attempt to drive by, and our horses shied or -swerved ever so little in the attempt, a serious accident was almost a -certainty; so, after considering the matter well, a happy, if -troublesome, way out of the difficulty occurred to us: this was to -unharness both horses and lead them past the obstructing engine, then to -wheel the dog-cart after as best we could. Just as we had decided to do -this, the monster gave another spasmodic snort or two and began to move -in a jerky fashion, only to break down again, then the men set to work -once more a-hammering. How long would this go on? we wondered. However, -the few yards that the engine had managed to move was to one side, which -gave us a little more room to pass, whereupon, acting under a sudden -impulse, we whipped the horses up, and taking tight hold of the reins -dashed safely by, but it was “a touch and go” affair; our horses did -swerve a trifle, and we just missed bringing our tour to a conclusion on -the spot, but “all’s well that ends well,” and “a miss is as good as a -mile!”</p> - -<p>After this little episode we had a peaceful progress on to Spalding -undisturbed by further adventure. The approach to this essentially -old-world-looking town from the Crowland direction alongside the river -Welland—which is here embanked and made to run straight, canal fashion, -and has shady<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> trees and grassy margins on either side—is exceedingly -Dutch-like and very pleasant. Few English towns have so attractive an -approach; it gave us a favourable impression of the place at once—so -imperceptibly the country road became the town street, first the trees, -then the houses. Spalding is a place that seems more of a natural -growth, an integral part of the scenery, so in harmony is it therewith, -rather than a conglomeration of houses built merely for man’s -convenience. Such charmingly old-fashioned, prosperous, but delightfully -unprogressive towns are not to be met with every day, when the ambition -of most places appears to be more or less a second-hand copy of London; -and at a sacrifice of all individuality they strive after this -undesirable ideal. How refreshing is a little originality in this world, -that grows more sadly commonplace and colourless year by year! Alas! we -live in an age of civilised uniformity, an age that has given us -railways and ironclads in far-off Japan, and tramway lines and French -<i>tables d’hôte</i> in the very heart of ancient Egypt! Soon the only ground -the unconventional traveller will have left to him will be the more -remote spots of rural England! It is far more primitive and picturesque -to-day than rural new America with its up-to-date villages lighted with -electricity, and stores provided with all the latest novelties of -Chicago or New York! Where will the next-century mortal find the rest -and repose of the past?</p> - -<p>Driving into Spalding we noticed the ancient hostelry of the “White -Hart” facing the market<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">“<i>HARPER YE HOST</i>”</div> - -<p class="nind">square, a hostelry that was ancient when the railways still were young, -and on the lamp that projected over the centre of this old house we -further noticed the quaint legend “Harper ye Host,” a conceit that -pleased us much. “A host must surely be one of the right sort thus to -proclaim himself,” we reasoned, “we will place ourselves under his -care”; so without more ado we drove beneath the archway into the -courtyard, and confidently handed our horses over to the ready ostler’s -charge, and sought for ourselves entertainment and shelter beneath the -sign of the “White Hart.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Spalding—“Ye Olde White Horse Inne”—An ancient hall and quaint -garden—Epitaph-hunting—A signboard joke—Across the Fens—A -strange world—Storm and sunshine—An awkward -predicament—Brown—Birthplace of Hereward the Wake—A medieval -railway station!—Tombstone verses. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">We</span> determined that we would devote the next morning to leisurely -exploring Spalding, armed with sketch-book and camera, for the ancient -town promised, from the glance we had of it whilst driving in, to -provide plenty of picturesque and quaint material for both pencil and -lens.</p> - -<p>We had not to search long for a subject, for in less than five minutes -we came upon a tempting architectural bit in the shape of a past-time -inn, with a thatched roof, high gables, and dormer windows, whose -swinging signboard proclaimed it to be “Ye Olde White Horse Inne.” It -was a building full of a certain quiet character that was very -pleasing—a home-like and unpretentious structure whose picturesqueness -was the outcome of necessity, and all the more charming for its -unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>Then wandering by the waterside we chanced upon a beautiful and ancient -house called Ayscough Hall, gray-gabled, time-toned, and weather-worn, -with a great tranquil garden of the old-fashioned sort<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>OLD GARDENS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">in the rear, rejoicing in the possession of massive yew hedges, clipped -and terraced in the formally decorative manner that so delighted the -hearts and eyes of our ancestors, who loved to walk and talk and flirt -between walls of living green. In olden days the architect often planned -the garden as well as the house; so, as at Haddon Hall, Montacute, and -elsewhere, we frequently find the stone terrace forming an architectural -feature in the grounds, and immediately beyond this Nature trimmed, -tamed, and domesticated with prim walks and trees fantastically cut into -strange shapes. And what delightful retreats and pleasant pictures these -old formal gardens make: perhaps it would be well if nowadays the -architect of the house were employed to design the grounds that it will -stand in; but alas! this is not a home-building age, so only rarely is -the idea feasible—for does not the modern man generally buy his -“desirable residence” ready-made as he does his furniture, fitting into -it as best he may?</p> - -<p>Upon inquiry we learnt that this charming old-world hall with its dreamy -garden, so eloquent of the past, had been purchased by the town for a -public park. Fortunate people of Spalding! And what a unique and -enjoyable little park it will make if it is only left alone and -preserved as it is; but if for a passing fad or fashion the landscape -gardener is ever let loose thereon, what havoc may be wrought under the -cuckoo-cry of improvement! Such old gardens are the growth of centuries; -money will not create them in less time, yet, sad to realise, they may -be destroyed in a few weeks or days! What<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> the modern restorer is to an -ancient and beautiful church, so is the modern landscape gardener to the -quaintly formal old English garden.</p> - -<p>The house itself appeared to be deserted and shut up, so that -unfortunately we were unable to obtain a glance at its interior. Some -portions of the building looked very old, possibly as early as the -fifteenth century, especially a large stone-mullioned window, filled—we -judged from the exterior view—with some interesting specimens of -ancient heraldic glass, but the other portions were of later date, and -signs of nineteenth-century modernising were not wanting. We asked a man -we saw if he knew how old the oldest part of the hall was, and he -honestly replied that he did not; “but it be a goodish bit older nor I. -You sees they don’t register the birth of buildings as they does babies, -so it’s difficult to find out how old they be.” Then the man chuckled to -himself, “You sees I’se a bit of a wit in my way,” but it was just what -we did not see; nevertheless we put on a conventional smile just to -please him, whereupon, in a confidential whisper, he informed us where -we could get “as good a glass of ale as is to be had in all -Lincolnshire, if not better, and I don’t mind a-showing you the way -there and drinking your very good health.” It is rather damping to think -how many of our conversations with rural folk have come to a similar -ending. “Why,” we rejoined in feigned surprise, “you look like a -teetotaler; you surely would not be seen drinking beer in a -public-house.” The air of mute astonishment that pervaded his features -was a study. “Well, I’m blest!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span>”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHARACTER</i></div> - -<p class="nind">he exclaimed, more in a tone of sorrow than of anger, “I’ve never been -taken for that before”—and thereupon he turned round and walked hastily -away with as much dignity as he could assume. Could it be that we had -hurt his feelings by our unfounded imputation, or could he possibly -think that we had made such a base insinuation for the mean purpose of -saving our twopence? However, we did not feel inclined to call after -him, so the incident closed. One does meet with curious characters on -the road—a remark I believe that I have made before. Then we again -turned our diverted attention to the old house, which pleased us from -the indefinable look it had of having seen an eventful and historic -past: one generation had done this, another had done that, one had -added, another had pulled down; so at least we read the story in stone.</p> - -<p>Next we found our way by accident, not of set purpose, to the spacious -parish church, a much altered and enlarged edifice, unless our judgment -by appearances was at fault—a cathedral in miniature. Somehow, though -manifestly of considerable archæological interest, the fabric did not -appeal to us, but this may have been owing to our mood that day. The -interior is vast—but we do not worship mere vastness—and has the -peculiarity of possessing four aisles; two, instead of the usual one, on -each side. An enthusiastic antiquary, whom I afterwards met, declared to -me that Spalding church was one of the finest and most interesting in -the county, and jokingly remarked in a good-natured way that my not -finding it so proved that I was uninteresting.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> Well, I accept the -reproach, and cling to my own opinion! It is strange how one sometimes -takes a sudden dislike to a place or building as well as to a person, -for no reason that we can possibly assign to ourselves; and for my own -part, favourable or unfavourable, my first impression lasts. It is a -clear case of—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I do not like thee, Dr. Fell—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The reason why I cannot tell:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But this I know, and know full well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I do not like thee, Dr. Fell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Not being interested in the church, we wandered about the large and -grass-grown graveyard, and amidst the moss-encrusted and lichen-laden -tombstones, in search of any quaint epitaph that Time and man might have -spared, for I regret to say that the despoiling hand of religious -prudery is answerable for the deliberate destruction of sundry quaint -epitaphs. A flagrant case of this came under my notice on a previous -journey, when I learnt that the two concluding lines of a tombstone -inscription had been purposely erased as being profane. By fortunate -chance I was enabled, through a clergyman who had retained a copy of the -sinning lines, to rescue them from oblivion; though, to be perfectly -honest, I have to confess that the words of the obliterated lines were -given to me for the purpose of justifying their removal! However, -looking upon such things, as I ever endeavour to do, in the spirit of -the age that dictated them, the condemned lines appeared innocent enough -to me; but then, as a certain high church ecclesiastic once told me, in -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> opinion, when curious old epitaphs were concerned, my charity was -“too wide, and covered too many sins.” Whether my charity be too wide or -not is a matter I do not care to discuss, but my readers may judge for -themselves, if they be so minded and care to take the trouble to refer -to a former work of mine, <i>Across England in a Dog-cart</i>, page 386.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>GRAVEYARD LITERATURE</i></div> - -<p>Our search in the churchyard at Spalding for any curious epitaphs was -unrewarded by any “finds”; we discovered nothing but dreary -commonplaces. Graveyard literature is becoming—has become, rather -should I say—very proper, very same, yet very sad. Somehow those quaint -old-time inscriptions appeal to me; when I read them I seem to -understand what manner of man lies sleeping below; they bring the dead -to life again, and rescue forgotten traits from total oblivion. It seems -to us now strange that our ancestors should have treated death in this -lighter strain, though perhaps not stranger than some of the coarse -jokes in carvings that the presumably devout monkish medieval sculptor -introduced into the churches of the period. Each age sees things from -its own standpoint, and I am inclined to think that we take both life -and death more seriously than our ancestors:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each century somewhat new<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is felt and thought of death—the problem strange<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With newer knowledge seems to change,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It changes, as we change our point of view.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in this age when over much is known,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Science summons from the deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dim past the centuries that sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Thought is crowned for ruler, Thought alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We gaze at Death with saddest eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p>Soon, especially if man is to be allowed to help Time in the work of -obliteration, quaint and interesting epitaphs will only be discoverable -in books; perhaps better this than to be lost altogether, but I do not -like my epitaphs served thus; I prefer to trace them for myself direct -from the ancient tombstones, even though it entails a journey, time, and -trouble to do this, for then I know they are genuine. I have an uneasy -suspicion that the majority of clever and amusing epitaphs we find in -books never came from tombstones at all, but owe their existence solely -to the inventive faculties of various writers; I hope I am wrong, but my -hoping does not prove me so! As an example of what I mean, I was reading -a work the other day by a learned antiquary, in which I found quoted -quite seriously the following droll epitaph—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Underneath this ancient pew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lieth the body of Jonathan Blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His name was Black, but that wouldn’t do,<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">with the information that it existed in a church in Berkshire. Now this -really will not do, it is far too indefinite; I object to be sent -epitaph-hunting all over a whole county; it would surely be as easy to -give the name of the church as to state that it was somewhere “in -Berkshire,” which is suggestive of its being nowhere! Even when you know -the precise locality of the church wherein is a quaint epitaph, it is -not always easy to find the latter, as on one occasion I actually learnt -from the clerk that an inscription that I had come a long way specially -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> see for myself and to copy, had been covered over and hidden by a -brand new organ! Matting you may move, even a harmonium, and I always do -on principle, as I once made an interesting discovery by so doing; but -an organ is a very different matter: not that I should have any scruples -under the circumstances in moving an organ, if I could!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A JOKING SIGN</i></div> - -<p>From the church we strolled down the river-side, or as near to it as we -could, in search of sketchable bits—and shipping, for though some ten -miles inland (judging by our map), Spalding is a seaport, small, but -flourishing in its way; brigs and sloops, inconsiderable in size -according to modern commercial ideas, find their way thither, and these -are more profitable to the artist, if not to their owners, than huge -steamers and big iron vessels. Small sea-craft are always picturesque, -which is more than can be said of their larger brethren. On our way we -passed a public-house, its projecting sign had two men’s heads painted -thereon, with the title above, “The Loggerheads,” and below the legend, -“We be Loggerheads three,” a joke at the expense of the reader. It would -be interesting to learn the origin of this curious and uncommon sign. I -have consulted all the likely books in my library, but, though I find -allusions to it, I can discover no explanation thereof.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon before we made a start from Spalding; -exploring, sketching, and photographing, to say nothing of -epitaph-hunting or chatting with local folk, take up time, so our -morning slipped quietly away before we knew it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> though we had made an -early beginning. As the time remaining was short, after a glance at our -map, we determined to drive on to Bourn, a twelve-mile stage, and to -remain there the night.</p> - -<p>Since mid-day the sky had clouded over, whilst the barometer had dropped -considerably; the weather looked gray and gloomy, and the wind blew -gustily from the west. “You’ll have a storm,” prophesied the ostler, -“and it’s a wild, exposed road on to Bourn, right across the marshes, -and there’s no shelter on the way.” We smilingly thanked the ostler for -his information and his solicitude for our welfare, but all the same -proceeded on our stage, jokingly reminding him that we were composed of -“neither sugar nor salt.” So with this encouraging “set-off” we parted, -and soon found ourselves once more in the wide Fenland, with which our -road was on a level, neither above nor below, as generally prevails in -the district. Passing by a gray, stone-built, and picturesque old home, -some short distance off in the flat fields, and leaving behind the last -traces of Spalding in the shape of roadside villas and prim cottages, we -entered upon a lonesome stretch of country, dark and dank and dreary, -yet fascinating because so dreary, so foreign-looking, and so eerie!</p> - -<p>Overhead, without a break, stretched the louring, dun-coloured sky; the -low-lying landscape around, as though in sympathy therewith, was all of -dull greens and grays, varied by long wide dykes and sedgy pools of a -dismal leaden hue. The wild wind blew chilly and fitfully, and made a -melancholy sighing sort of sound as it swept over the rank</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_011" style="width: 582px;"> -<a href="images/i_194fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_194fp.jpg" width="582" height="346" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A FENLAND HOME.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">reeds and coarse grasses, whilst it bent into a great curve the solitary -tall poplar that alone stood out in relief against the stormy sky—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For leagues no other tree did mark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The level waste, the rounding gray.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>There was plenty of movement everywhere, for the strong breeze made -waves of the long lank grass, as it makes waves of the sea; but there -were no signs of life except for a few stray storm-loving seagulls that, -for reasons best known to themselves, were whirling about thus far -inland, uttering peevish cries the while, apparently as much out of -their element as a sailor of the old school ashore.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE FENS</i></div> - -<p>A strange, weird world this English Fenland seems to unfamiliar eyes, -especially when seen under a brooding sky; and there is a peculiar -quality of mystery, that baffles description and cannot be analysed, in -the deep blue-gray palpitating gloom that gathers over the Fenland -distances when they lie under the threatening shadow of some coming -storm. Under such conditions the scenery of the Fens is pronouncedly -striking, but even under ordinary circumstances a man can have but -little poetry in his soul who cannot admire its wild beauties, its vast -breadths of luxuriant greenery over which the eye can range unrestrained -for leagues upon leagues on every side, its space-expressing distances -and its mighty cloud-scapes, for the sky-scape is a feature in the -Fenland prospect not to be overlooked; in fact, I am inclined to think -that its sky scenery—if I may be allowed the term<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span>—is the finest and -most wonderful in the world. It is worth a long journey to the district -if only to behold one of its gorgeous sunsets, when you look upon a -moist atmosphere saturated with colour so that it becomes opalescent, -and the sinking sun seen through the vibrating air is magnified to twice -its real size as it sets in a world of melting rubies and molten gold: -from the western slopes of far-off California I have looked down upon -the sun dipping into the wide Pacific amidst a riot of colour, but -nothing like this! It is not always necessary to leave England in search -of the strange and beautiful; the more I travel abroad, the more I am -convinced of this!</p> - -<p>It almost seemed to us, as we drove along, that somehow we must be -travelling in a foreign land, so un-English and unfamiliar did the -prospect appear! I have long studied the scenery of Mars through the -telescope, have in the silent hours of the night wandered thus over the -mighty, water-intersected plains of that distant planet, and had only -the vegetation of the Fens been red instead of green, we might in -imagination well have fancied ourselves touring in Mars! Truly this may -be considered a rather too far-fetched phantasy, but as Bernard Barton, -the East Anglian poet, says—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a pleasure now and then, in giving<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full scope to Fancy and Imagination.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Then suddenly, so suddenly as to be almost startling, one of those -scenic revelations and surprises that this singular land abounds in, -took place. Low down<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TRANSFORMATION</i></div> - -<p class="nind">there came a long rift in the cheerless, gray, vapoury canopy above, -followed by a suspicion of warm light, after which slowly the round red -sun peeped forth embroidering the edges of the clouds around him with -fringes of fire, and sending forth throbbing trails of burning orange -everywhere over the sky; then the landscape below became reflective and -receptive, and was changed from grave to gay as though by magic, the -dull, leaden-hued waters of the stagnant dykes and dreary pools became -liquid gold all glowing with light and brightness, and the damp, dismal -swamp grasses were transformed into waving masses of translucent -yellow-green; the distance became a wonderfully pure transparent blue, -and colour, tender, rich, or glowing, was rampant everywhere: yet five -minutes had wrought this marvellous change from depressing gloominess to -cheerful gaiety! The English climate has its faults as well as its -virtues, but it cannot fairly be charged with monotony, nor does it ever -fail to interest the quiet observer. As we live in a land of such fine -and changeful sky-scapes, I wonder we do not study them a little more; -they are often as worthy of note as the scenery. Where would be the -beauty of most of Turner’s or Constable’s landscapes without their -skies? A well-known artist told me that a good sky was the making of a -picture, and that, as a matter of fact, he gave more time and study to -it than to any other part of his work. “I never miss,” said he, “when -out of doors making a sketch of a fine cloud effect, and I have found -these studies of the utmost value; you cannot invent clouds -success<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span>fully, whatever else you may do.” One day when I was looking at -a half-finished picture of his, and wondering why it had remained so -long in that condition, he exclaimed, in response to my inquiring -glance, “Oh! I’m waiting for a suitable sky!”</p> - -<p>The last four or five miles of our road into Bourn was a perfectly -straight stretch, its parallel lines lessening as they receded till lost -in a point on the horizon—a grand object lesson in perspective! A road -level and direct enough to delight the heart of a railway engineer, with -everything plainly revealed for miles ahead and no pleasant surprises -therefore possible. I am afraid I am a little fastidious in the matter -of roads; I like a winding one, and within reasonable limits the more it -winds the better I like it, so that at every fresh bend before me, I am -kept in a state of delightful expectancy as to what new and probably -wholly unexpected beauty will be presented to my eyes: thus I am enticed -on and on from early morning till the evening, never disappointed and -never satiated.</p> - -<p>On either side of our present road ran a wide dyke as usual by way of -fence, crossed by frequent bridges giving access to fields, footpaths, -and narrow by-roads. It appeared to us a very simple and easy matter for -a careless whip on a dark night to drive right into this dyke, which, -judging from the dark look of its water, was fairly deep; you need a -sober coachman for these open Fenland roads! Even a cyclist would be -wise to proceed with caution along them after sundown, or a sudden bath -in dirty water might be the result. Indeed, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN AMUSING INCIDENT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">we drove on we observed that a poor cow had somehow managed to slip down -the steep bank into the dyke, and there she was swimming up and down it -apparently on the outlook for an easy spot to climb out, but her -struggles to gain a footing on the slippery earth were alas! in vain; -three men followed the unfortunate animal up and down, and at every -attempt she made to reach <i>terra firma</i> they commenced prodding her -behind with long sticks and shouting violently, by way of encouragement, -we presumed; but prods and shouts were unavailing, the final result -always being that the cow slipped quietly down into the dyke again and -recommenced her swimming. Had we not felt sorry for the poor bewildered -creature we should have laughed outright, for there was something very -ludicrous about the whole proceeding. The men told us that they had been -“two mortal hours a-trying to get the daft beast out, but we bain’t no -forrader than when we begun. We shall have to go back home and get a -rope and tie it round her horns and haul her out.” Why they had not done -this long before when they found their other method of help was -unavailing I could not understand, nor could the men explain. How the -amusing episode ended I cannot say, as we felt we could not afford to -wait till the rope appeared.</p> - -<p>At Bourn we found comfortable quarters at the Angel; this little market -town—described by Kingsley as lying “between the forest and the -Fen”—though clean and neat, is more interesting historically than -picturesquely. Bourn claims to be the birthplace of that Saxon patriot -Hereward the Wake,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> who may well be termed the hero of the Lowlands. How -is it, I wonder, that the daring deeds of Highlanders of all nations -appeal so much more to most poetic and prose writers, and to the -multitude generally, than the equally valiant achievements of the -Lowlanders? Was not the long struggle of the Dutch for freedom as heroic -and as worthy of laudatory song as that of the Swiss mountaineers?</p> - -<p>The landlord of our inn pointed out to us the site of the castle of the -Wakes in a field not far from the market-place. “Some dungeons had been -discovered there many years ago,” we were informed, “but now there are -no remains of any masonry visible,” and we found it as the landlord -said. All that we observed on the spot were some grass-grown mounds, -manifestly artificial, and the traces of the moat. Close by is a large -pool of water, supplied by a never-failing spring that bubbles up from -below; this pool overflows into a wide stream “that goes right round the -town.” Kingsley describes the site as being “not on one of the hills -behind, but on the dead flat meadow, determined doubtless by the noble -fountain, bourn, or brunne, which rises among the earthworks, and gives -its name to the whole town. In the flat meadow bubbles up still the -great pool of limestone water, crystal clear, suddenly and at once; and -runs away, winter and summer, a stream large enough to turn many a mill, -and spread perpetual verdure through the flat champaign lands.”</p> - -<p>What struck us, however, as being the most interesting feature in -Bourn—which though a very ancient town has an aggravating air of -newness<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A HISTORIC MANSION</i></div> - -<p class="nind">generally about it, even our little inn was quite modern—was its old -railway station. I must confess, at the same time, that I do not -remember ever having admired a railway station before for its beauty. -But this is, or was, not a modern railway station but a genuine -sixteenth-century one! I am writing seriously, let me explain the -mystery. When the line was being constructed it passed close alongside -of an ancient and charmingly picturesque Elizabethan mansion, known as -the Old Red Hall, which for a long while was the residence of the Digby -family, who were implicated in the Gunpowder Plot: it was here, -according to tradition, that the Guy Fawkes conspiracy was originated in -1604. The intention was, I understand, in due course to pull this -ancient structure down and to erect a station on its site. But sundry -antiquaries, learning what was proposed to be done, arose in arms -against such a proceeding and prevailed; so for once I am glad to record -that the picturesque scored in the struggle with pure utilitarianism. A -rare victory! The old-time building, often painted by artists and -appearing in more than one Academy picture, was happily spared from -destruction and was converted into a very quaint, if slightly dark and -inconvenient railway station: its hall doing duty as a booking-office, -one of its mullion-windowed chambers being turned into a waiting-room, -another into a cloakroom, and so forth. Thus matters remained until a -year or so ago, when a brand new station, convenient and ugly, was -constructed a little farther along the line, and the old house, one of -the finest remaining<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> Elizabethan red-brick mansions in the kingdom, -became the stationmaster’s home—happy stationmaster! So it was that -until quite recently Bourn boasted the unique possession of a medieval -railway station!</p> - -<p>Passing Bourn church on the way back to our inn we observed a notice -attached to the door, of a tax for Fen drainage and the maintenance of -the dykes, a shilling an acre being levied for this purpose “and so on -in rateable proportion for any less quantity.” This called to our mind -the ceaseless care that is needed to prevent these rich lands from -flooding and becoming mere unprofitable marshes again, and the amount of -the tax does not seem excessive for the security afforded thereby. On a -tombstone in the graveyard here, we came upon, for the third time this -journey, the often-quoted epitaph to a blacksmith, beginning:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My sledge and hammer lie reclined,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My bellows too have lost their wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My fire’s extinct, my forge decayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the dust my vice is laid.<br /></span> -<span class="idtt">. . . .<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">This familiar inscription has been stated by guidebook compilers to be -found in this churchyard and that; the lines, however, had a common -origin, being first written by the poet Hayley for the epitaph of one -William Steel, a Sussex blacksmith, and cut on his tombstone in the -churchyard of Felpham near Bognor. The inscription at once became -popular, and was freely copied all over England, like the ubiquitous and -intensely irritating “Diseases sore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ANCIENT EPITAPHS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">long time he bore, Physicians were in vain,” etc. In a similar manner, -though to a far less extent, the quaint epitaph that formerly existed in -a private chapel in Tiverton churchyard, to Edward Courtenay, the third -Earl of Devon, and his Countess, appears to have been copied with -variations. Writing early in the seventeenth century, Risdon, in his -<i>Survey of Devonshire</i>, gives this epitaph thus:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hoe! hoe! who lies here?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis I, the good Erle of Devonshire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Kate my wife to mee full dere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wee lyved togeather fyfty-fyve yere.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wee spent we had,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wee lefte wee loste,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That wee gave wee have. <span style="margin-left: 2em;">1419.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">This appeared in old Doncaster church in the following form:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">Hoe! hoe! who is heare?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I Robin of Doncaster and Margaret my feare.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That I spent I had,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That I gave I have,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That I left I lost. <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><small>A.D.</small> 1579.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">A near relation to this may be found on a brass at Foulsham near Reepham -in Norfolk, that reads:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of all I had, this only now I have,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nyne akers wh unto ye poore I gave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Richard Fenn who died March ye 6. <span style="margin-left: 2em;">1565.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">But now that I have got upon the attractive subject of epitaphs again, I -must control my pen or I shall fill up pages unawares: already I find I -have strayed far away from Lincolnshire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A pleasant road—Memories—Shortening of names—Health-drinking—A -miller and his mill—A rail-less town—Changed times and changed -ways—An Elizabethan church clock—A curious coincidence—Old -superstitions—Satire in carving—“The Monks of Old.” </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">From</span> Bourn we decided to drive to Sleaford, an easy day’s stage of -eighteen miles, baiting half-way at Falkingham. Upon asking the ostler -about the road, it struck us as curious to hear him remark that it was a -hilly one; so accustomed had we become to the level roads of the Fens -that for the moment we had forgotten that Lincolnshire is a county of -heaths, hills, and waving woods as well as of fens, dykes, and sluggish -streams.</p> - -<p>The aspect of the country we passed through that morning had completely -changed from that of yesterday; it was pleasantly undulating, and even -the brake was brought into requisition once or twice, for the first time -since we left London. Hedges again resumed their sway, and we realised -their tangled beauties all the more for our recent absence from them; -sturdy oaks and rounded elms took the place of the silvery flickering -willows and of the tall thin poplars, and smooth-turfed meadows that of -the coarse-grassed marsh-lands. The general<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span> forms and outlines of the -country were more familiar, but it seemed a little wanting in colour -after the rich tints of the lowlands; by contrast it all appeared too -green: green fields, green trees, green crops, for these, with the -winding road, chiefly composed the prospect. Moreover, we missed the -constant and enlivening accompaniment of water that we had become so -accustomed to, with its soft, silvery gleaming under cloud and its -cheerful glittering under sun. Water is to the landscape what the eye is -to the human face; it gives it the charm of expression and vivacity. At -first, also, our visions seemed a little cramped after the wide and -unimpeded prospects of the Fens; and the landscape struck us as almost -commonplace compared with that we had so lately passed through, which -almost deserved the epithet of quaint, at least to non-Dutch eyes. There -was no special feature in the present scenery beyond its leafy -loveliness. Truly it might be called typically English, but there was -nothing to show that it belonged to any particular portion of -England—no distant peep of downs, or hills, or moors, that seems so -little, but which to the experienced traveller means so much, as by the -character and contour of distant hill, or moor, or down he can tell -fairly well whether he be in the north or south, the east or west, and -may even shrewdly guess the very county he is traversing.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A PASTORAL LAND</i></div> - -<p>It was, however, a lovely country, full of pastoral peacefulness, -sunshine, and grateful sylvan shadiness, lovely yet lonely—a loneliness -that aroused within us a feeling akin to melancholy: it may<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> have been -our mood that saw it so that day, and that the fault lay in ourselves -and not in the landscape. Does not the poet say, “Our sweetest songs are -those that tell of saddest thought”? So may not the sweetest scenery, in -certain minds, and under certain conditions, arouse a sentiment of -sadness? There is a peacefulness that is restful beyond words, -especially to the town-wearied brain; but there is also a peacefulness -so deep as to become actually oppressive. However, all the feelings of -loneliness and melancholy vanished, like the mist before the sun, at the -sight of an old-fashioned windmill painted a cheerful white and -picturesquely situated at the top of a knoll by the side of our road, -its great sails whirling round and round with a mighty sweep and a -swishing sound as they rushed through the air in their never-completed -journey. This busy mill gave just the touch of needful life to the -prospect; we hailed it as we would have hailed an old friend, and at -once our spirits rose to a gleesome point. What trifles may thus -suddenly change the current of thought and feeling! It may even be so -small a matter as the scent of a wild flower, or the sound of the wind -in the trees, recalling past days and far-away scenes. So this old mill -brought up before us a rush of pleasant memories, the poetry of many a -rural ramble, of chats with merry meal-covered millers, for millers I -have ever found to be the merriest of men, and never yet have I come -upon a crusty one. All those to whom I have talked, and they have not -been few, without exception appeared to take a rosy view<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> of life, not -even grumbling with cause. I wish I knew the miller’s secret of -happiness!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DOUBTFUL PLEASURE</i></div> - -<p>It was whilst watching the hurtling sails of the creaking mill that it -occurred to us why the country seemed so dull that day; it was the -absence of movement, we had the road all to ourselves. There was no -flowing river or running stream, and the cattle in the fields were lazy -and placid, seemingly as immovable as those in pictures; not even -troubling to whisk their tails at real or imaginary flies. Even the -birds appeared too indolent to fly; at least they were strangely -invisible. An air of solemn repose pervaded the whole countryside until -that cheery windmill came into view. It was curious that at the moment -the only life in the landscape should be given to it by a building! for -the mind pictures a building as a substantial thing not given to any -movement.</p> - -<p>Shortly after this we reached the pretty and picturesquely situated -village of Aslackby—shortened to Asby by a native of whom we asked its -name—even the rustic has come into line with the late nineteenth -century, so far as not to waste breath or words. The straggling village -was situated in a wooded hollow a little below our road; its ancient -church and cottages, half drowned in foliage, formed a charming picture. -The church looked interesting, but we found the door carefully locked, -and not feeling just then our archæological and antiquarian zeal -sufficient to induce us to go a-clerk-hunting, a doubtful joy at the -best, we quietly, and, I fear, unregretfully, resumed our seats in the -dog-cart, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> the soft sunshine and sweet air were grateful to our -senses, and it pleased us to be out in the open.</p> - -<p>Just beyond Aslackby a wayside inn ycleped “The Robin Hood” invited us -with the following lines on its sign-board, though unavailingly, to stop -and refresh ourselves there:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gentlemen if you think good,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Step in and drink with Robin Hood:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If Robin Hood abroad is gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pray take a glass with Little John.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Noting us stop to take down the inscription, and possibly mistaking our -motive, the familiar incident once more took place—a beery-looking -passer-by approached us and remarked that he could recommend the tap. We -thanked him for his kindness, and jokingly responded that we did not -happen to be thirsty just then, but we would bear in mind his -recommendation should we ever again be in the neighbourhood. “Not -thirsty on such a day as this,” he exclaimed with an air of surprise; -“why, I be as thirsty as a fish”; but we did not rise to the occasion, -and as we drove away the man glanced reproachfully after us, then he -disappeared within the building. Perhaps we might have parted with the -customary twopence, for the man was civil-mannered, but why should the -wanderer by road in England be so frequently expected to have his health -drunk by utter strangers? The number of twopences I have already -expended for this purpose since I first started my driving tours must be -considerable!</p> - -<p>Some way farther on our road we chanced upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> still another ancient -wooden mill busily at work like the former one. It was a picturesque -mill of a primitive type that is fast disappearing from the land; the -whole structure being supported on a great central post that acts as a -pivot, and is bodily turned on this by a long projecting beam acting as -a lever, so that the sails can be made to face the wind from whichever -quarter it may come; but this arrangement, of course, needs constant -watchfulness.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>IN A WINDMILL</i></div> - -<p>We pulled up here in order to make a sketch of the old mill, that looked -almost too quaint and picturesque to be real, giving one a sort of -impression that it must have come out of some painting, an artist’s -ideal realised. The worthy miller watched our proceeding with manifest -interest from his doorway above, and when we had finished he asked us if -we would care to take a glance inside. We did care, and likewise were -not averse to have the opportunity of a chat so that we might gather his -view of the world and of things in general, for naturally everybody sees -the former from his own centre, and through his own glasses. We had to -mount a number of rickety steps that communicated with the creaking mill -above which oscillated unpleasantly, for the sails were spinning round -apace before the breeze, causing the ancient structure to tremble and -its timbers to groan like those of a ship in a gale; indeed, when we had -safely surmounted the flight of shaking steps we felt that we sadly -needed our “sea-legs” to stand at all, and the latter are not always -immediately at command when cruising on land. “She’s running a bit free -to-day,” exclaimed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> the miller, smiling and all gray-white with dusty -meal, “and she’s not so young as she were by a couple of centuries or -so, but she’s quite safe though she do rock and rattle a bit. But Lor’ -bless you, I likes to hear her talk; it’s company like, for it’s lonely -work up here by oneself all day at times.” It was not only that the -ancient mill moved and shook so, but the floor was uneven as well, nor -was there overmuch elbow-room to allow a margin for unsteadiness, and it -would have been awkward to have been caught by any of the whirring -wheels; moreover the noise was confusing and the light seemed dim for -the moment after the bright sunshine without. But we soon got used to -the new condition of things and our novel and unstable surroundings.</p> - -<p>“I wonder she has never been blown right over in a storm during all -those years,” I said, “for she is only supported on a single post, -though certainly it is a big one.” In truth the mill shook so much in -the comparatively steady breeze that it seemed to us a heavy storm would -easily have laid her low. Mills, like ships, are always “she’s,” I have -observed, though how a man-of-war can be a “she” has always puzzled me. -“Well, she may be only supported on one post, but that is of solid heart -of oak, as whole and strong to-day as when first put up; not worm-eaten -a bit. There’s an old saying you may have heard, ‘there’s nothing like -leather’; it ought to be, I thinks, by rights, ‘there’s nothing like -oak.’ She do rock though when it blows hard, but I’m used to it; it’s -her nature, and she’ll last<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHAT WITH A MILLER</i></div> - -<p class="nind">my life. Oh yes, she’s very old-fashioned and slow, but for all that she -can grind corn better nor your modern mills, in spite of what people -talk. We grinds the wheat and makes honest meal; the modern mills with -their rollers make simply flour, which is not half as wholesome or -nourishing. Wheat-meal and flour are not the same, though they both make -bread: wheat-meal possesses nourishing qualities that ordinary flour -does not.” So one drives about country and learns!</p> - -<p>The miller looked an oldish man, but his face and beard (I think he had -a beard, but my memory may be at fault) were white from dusty meal, and -may have made him appear older than he really was. Anyhow, we ventured -to ask him if he thought times had altered for the better or for the -worse since he was young. Like the rest of the world, merry miller -though he was, he complained of the severe competition that had cut down -profits to a minimum, whilst the work was harder. In “the good old days” -of milling, when he began the trade, the price for grinding corn used to -be 1s. a strike or 8s. a quarter for wheat, and 8d. a strike or 5s. 4d. -a quarter for barley; now the charge is 5s. 4d. a quarter for wheat, and -2s. 6d. a quarter for barley. “Moreover, nowadays, though we gets less -money for the work, we have to fetch the corn and take the meal back -again; whereas in past times the corn was carted to the mill, and taken -away when ground.” So that, we were given to understand, besides the -lowering of prices there was the cost of cartage to and fro to be taken -into con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span>sideration. It is the same familiar story of a harder struggle -to earn a living, entailing besides a lessened leisure. Some one has to -suffer for the benefit of cheap production, and the small man suffers -most.</p> - -<p>Bidding good-bye to our worthy miller, who, in spite of altered times, -had a contented look that a millionaire well might envy, we remounted -the dogcart and soon reached the sleepy, little, and erst market town of -Falkingham—a town unknown to Bradshaw, because it has been left out in -the cold by the railway, but none the less picturesque on that account! -Here the road widened out into a large triangle, the base being at the -end farthest away from us; this formed the old market-place, a pleasant -open space surrounded by quaint and ancient houses and shops. One of -these houses especially interested us, a substantial stone building with -mullioned windows, set slightly back from the roadway and approached -between two massive pillars surmounted by round stone balls. It was not -perhaps actually picturesque, but it had such a charming air of quiet -dignity, and looked so historical in a mild manner, as to make the -modern villa seem a trumpery affair. It was a house that struck you as -having been built originally for the owner to live in and to enjoy, in -contradistinction to which the “desirable residence” of to-day always -seems to me to be built to sell. The stones of this old house were -delightfully toned into a series of delicate grays, enlivened here and -there by splashes of gold and silver lichen. What a difference there is -between the wealth of colourful hues of a time-tinted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> country building -and the begrimed appearance of a smoke-stained London dwelling. Age adds -beauty to the one; it adds but a depressing gloom to the other.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PRE-RAILWAY TRAVELLERS</i></div> - -<p>Right in front of us, at the top of the market-place, stood a fine -example of an old coaching inn—a long red-brick structure whose ruddy -front showed in pleasant contrast with the gray stone buildings around -of earlier date: a plain but comfortable-looking hostelry, its many -windows gleaming cheerfully in the sunshine, and having in the centre -under the eaves of its roof a reminder of the past in the shape of a -sun-dial with a legend upon it; but what that legend was we could not -make out, for time and weather had rendered it indistinct. In our mind’s -eye we pictured to ourselves the outside travellers by the arriving -coaches consulting it, and then pulling their cumbersome “verge” watches -out of their fobs to see if they were correct. Sun-dials, besides being -picturesque, were of real utility in the days when watches and clocks -could not always be relied upon to tell the right time.</p> - -<p>Of old, Falkingham was on the high turnpike road from London to Lincoln, -therefore the traffic passing through the little town in the coaching -age must have been considerable, and the place must have presented a -very different aspect then from the one of slumberous tranquillity it -now possesses. Our inn, “The Greyhound” to wit, I find duly recorded in -my copy of <i>Paterson</i> as supplying post-horses. I well remember my -grandfather expatiating upon the pleasures of a driving tour in his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> -young days when he left home with his travelling carriage packed, but -without horses, as he posted from town to town and place to place, -without the shadow of anxiety about the “cattle,” or having any need to -consider whether this or that stage was too long. It was expensive -travelling doubtless, but delightfully luxurious and free from care, -except for the bogey of the highwayman; but every pleasure has its -shadow! The Greyhound has manifestly been but little altered since the -last coach pulled up there, beyond that the great arched entranceway in -the centre has been glazed and converted into a hall, which may or may -not be an improvement: personally, for tradition’s sake, I look -jealously upon any modifications in the economy of these ancient -coaching houses; but one cannot keep the hand of Time back just for the -sake of tradition or the picturesque.</p> - -<p>Having refreshed ourselves very satisfactorily here, our roast beef -being washed down with a foaming tankard of genuine home-brewed ale, we -set out to have a quiet look at the clean past-time town, which, as a -matter of fact, we could take in at a glance, for it was all gathered -round its large old market-square, though market-triangle would be a -more correct term. Falkingham seems never to have known the hand of the -modern builder, and has therefore happily preserved its charming -old-world look, thanks doubtless in a great measure, if not wholly, to -the fact of the railway having left it stranded high and dry out of the -traveller’s beat.</p> - -<p>Our stroll round the square did not take long:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A RAIL-LESS TOWN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the only inhabitants we saw were an old gaffer talking across a garden -wall to a woman who stood in her doorway listlessly listening to him; we -were much amused to hear the former suddenly exclaim, just as we passed -by, “Why, bless my soul, I’ve been over half an hour here; I must go now -and have a chat with old Mother Dash.” It suggested to us that his life -was mostly composed of gossiping, and that time was not such a priceless -commodity at Falkingham as in most places. Here at least the hurry and -rush, the stress and striving of the nineteenth century appear not to -have penetrated, and humanity rusts rather than wears away. Can this be -due to the mere absence of the railway, I wonder? Certainly where the -iron horse does not penetrate, life seems to be lived at a lower -pressure than elsewhere. A deep sense of repose hung over the whole -place, a peacefulness that could possibly be felt; for a town it was -unnaturally—painfully I might almost say—silent: in the heart of the -country we could not have found a greater tranquillity!</p> - -<p>Having “done” the town and having added a few more pencil notes to our -sketch-book, on glancing around we suddenly espied the church half -hidden away in a corner to the left of our inn that somehow we had -hitherto overlooked. Approaching the aged fane we noticed a great -clockface on the weather-worn and hoary tower with a solitary wooden -hand thereon pointing aimlessly down to six; it was then a few minutes -to one, for we had lunched early, having started in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> morning -“betimes,” to once again employ Mr. Pepys’s favourite expression. For -when driving across country it is well to have a long day before one; -even then the whole day was sometimes too short!</p> - -<p>Affixed to the porch of the church we observed the following notice, -that plainly tells its own tale of changed times and changed ways, and -of an enlightened, up-to-date ecclesiasticism:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -Cyclists Welcomed<br /> -In Cycling Dress.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">Entering the building we heard a peculiar creaking noise, apparently -proceeding from the tower above, that was in singular contrast with the -otherwise profound stillness of the interior. This puzzled us, and, -discovering a circular stone stairway that led up the tower, we promptly -ascended it to solve the mystery. This eventually—after climbing over -one hundred steps (we counted them)—took us into a small chamber, where -we found the sexton winding up an ancient clock of curious design, an -interesting specimen of medieval handicraft. I sincerely trust that no -agent from South Kensington or other museum, or any emissary from -Wardour Street, will unearth this antique “time-teller,” or if unhappily -they do, I trust that they will not be permitted to possess it, even -though they promise a brand new clock in its place! I prefer to see such -curiosities in their rightful positions, where they ought to remain -their natural life undisturbed, and where alone they are in harmony with -their surroundings. Many an ancient<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ELIZABETHAN CLOCK</i></div> - -<p class="nind">helmet, that once hung over the recumbent effigy of its former knightly -owner in the quiet village church, has been basely filched away to add -to the collector’s store, where they may only be seen by the favoured -few, and why should this be? The queer old clock was being wound up, not -by a key, but by a sort of miniature windlass. The works were of wrought -iron, all hammered and cut by hand, for machinery manifestly had no part -in their construction; perhaps that is why they have lasted so long! -From our knowledge of such things, we concluded that this clock could -not have been of later date than Elizabeth’s time; how much earlier, if -any, it would be hard to say. Unless, however, we are greatly mistaken, -it has outlived three centuries, and has probably marked the hours all -those long years, more or less correctly, whilst the cunning hands that -designed and constructed it are forgotten dust. Here the inevitable -moral should follow, but I refrain. This reminds me that I once gave my -thirteen-year-old daughter an improving, well-intentioned book, and in -due course I asked her how she liked it: “Well, dada,” she replied, -quite innocently, “when you’ve skipped all the goody bits there’s -nothing left!” A brass plate attached to the clock informed us that</p> - -<p class="c"> -W. Foster<br /> -Repaired this Clock<br /> -Anno Domini<br /> -1816.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">We understood that, so far as the sexton knew, it had not been repaired -since that date. Then we called<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> the sexton’s attention to the fact that -the face of the clock had but one hand, and that was loose and moved to -and fro in the wind as helplessly as a weather-vane: “Yes,” he replied -with a grin, “I had to pull the other hand off; it caught in the wind so -as to slow the clock, and when it blew hard sometimes it stopped her -going altogether. I left the other hand on, as being loose it could do -no harm”! This sounded a delightfully primitive way out of a mechanical -difficulty; quite a stroke of rural genius! At the same time it appeared -to us strangely inconsistent and illogical to have a clock going that -did not show the time. “Lor’ bless you, sir,” responded he, “the old -clock strikes the hours right enough, and that’s all the folk want to -know. Why, if the hands were going they’d never look up at ’em. Not -they.” What a lotus-eating land this, we thought, where people only care -to know the hours, and take no thought of the intervals! Just then the -sexton began to toll a loud bell vigorously. In reply to our query for -the reason of this, he explained that it was the custom there to ring -the bell every morning at eight o’clock, and again at one o’clock, “and -it’s one o’clock now, and so I’m ringing of it. I don’t rightly know how -old the custom be, but the bell be very useful, as it lets the people at -work in the fields around know the time. We calls this the dinner bell. -You see it carries farther than the sound of the clock striking.”</p> - -<p>We then ventured to admire the old tower, a fine specimen of -Perpendicular masonry, possessing some much-weathered, curious but -rather coarse gargoyles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> outside. The sexton also admired it: “It -certainly be a fine tower; there’s a wonderfully good view of the -country round from the top. I allus goes up there when the hounds be out -to see the run. I know no other tower in the district from which you can -see so far. Now, if them old builders had only,” etc., etc. I am afraid -the sexton and ourselves regarded the old tower from two very dissimilar -standpoints.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>OUT OF THE BEATEN TRACK</i></div> - -<p>Descending into the body of the church, we noticed a doorway in the -south wall, and caught a peep of some stone steps beyond, leading, we -were informed, to a chamber over the porch formerly used as a -schoolroom, “now we only keep rubbish in it, odd tiles, broken bits of -carvings, and the like. You can go up if you care to, but it be rare and -dusty.” We did care to go up. Indeed, in the fondness of our heart for -such things we even dared to hope that perchance we might, to use an -expressive term much favoured by antiquaries, come upon “a find” there. -Here, we reasoned, is a fine and ancient church, well out of the beaten -track of travel. The present interior suggested that it had once been -richly adorned; presumably it had suffered, more or less, the fate of -other ornate churches during the Commonwealth. Who can tell but that -some quaint relic of its former beauty may not be stowed away up there -amongst the rubbish? The very mention of “odd tiles” sounded -encouraging, only supposing that there happened to be some quaint -medieval ones amongst the number! So, full of pleasant anticipation, we -eagerly ascended the steep stone steps, worn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> both very concave and -slippery with the tread of generations departed. We reached a large -parvise, or priest’s chamber, provided with a fireplace; the uneven -floor was strewn with bits of broken tiles, worm-eaten wood, plaster, -bricks, etc. The chamber was exceedingly dusty and cobwebby, but we at -once enthusiastically began to search amongst the litter for anything of -interest, but, alas! discovered nothing noteworthy; the tiles were -modern. The sexton was right after all—it was full of rubbish! So, -disappointed and almost as white as a miller, we descended the slippery -steps. Then as the sexton—there was no clerk, he informed us—seemed in -a chatty mood, we asked him if he knew of any curious inscription in the -churchyard. “Well, I think I can show you one that will interest you,” -he replied, whereupon he led the way outside and we followed. Coming to -an old tombstone he remarked, “Now, I call this a funny one; it is to a -man and his wife who both died in the same year, and were both exactly -the same age to a day when they died.” Then he rubbed the ancient stone -over with his hand, that we might better read what was written thereon, -which I copied as follows:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -To<br /> -The Memory of<br /> -<span class="smcap">John Bland</span><br /> -Who Died March 25th, 1797,<br /> -Aged 75 Years, 6 Weeks, and 4 Days.<br /> -———<br /> -Also of<br /> -<span class="smcap">Jane</span>, his Widow<br /> -Who Died May 11th, 1797,<br /> -Aged 75 Years, 6 Weeks, and 4 Days.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A FORTUNATE COMBINATION</i></div> - -<p class="nind">Provided the inscription records facts, it certainly is a curious -coincidence; still quite a possible one.</p> - -<p>Returning to our inn, we ordered the horses to be “put to,” and whilst -this was being done, we had a chat with the landlord, from whom we -learnt that he both brewed his own ale and grew his own barley to brew -it with. It is the pleasant fate of some of these remote old coaching -hostelries in their old age to become half hotel and half farmhouse, and -a more fortunate combination for the present-day traveller there could -not be. By this arrangement the old buildings are preserved and cared -for in a manner that diminished custom would hardly permit were they to -remain purely as inns; nor does the providing suffer from the blending -of uses, the produce of the farm being at command, which means, or -should mean, fresh vegetables, milk, butter, and eggs. In the present -case it further meant the rare luxury of home-brewed ale from home-grown -grain, and a quart of such, does not Shakespeare say, “is a dish for a -king”?</p> - -<p>We drove on now through a pretty and well-wooded country, our road -winding in and out thereof in the most enticing manner: every now and -then we caught refreshing peeps of a far-away distance, faintly blue, -out from which came to us a fragrant breeze, cool, sweet, and soothing. -In driving across country it is not only the prospect that changes but -the air also, and, as the eye delights in the change of scene, so the -lungs rejoice in the change of climate. The landscape all around had a -delightfully fresh and smiling look; it was intensely pastoral and -peaceful, and over all there brooded a sense of deep<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> contentment and -repose. Old time-mellowed farmsteads and quiet cottage homes were dotted -about, from which uprose circling films of blue-gray smoke, agreeably -suggestive of human occupancy. “How English it all looked,” we -exclaimed, and these five words fitly describe the scenery. In that -sentence pages of word-painting are condensed!</p> - -<p>As we proceeded above the woods to the left and the right of us rose two -tall tapering spires, belonging respectively—at least so we made out -from our map—to the hamlets of Walcot and Treckingham. These spires -reminded us what splendid churches some of the small Lincolnshire -villages possess; there they stand in remote country districts often -hastening to decay, with no one to admire them. The ancient architects -who</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Built the soaring spires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sing their soul in stone,<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">seem to have built these songs in vain: for what avails a poem that no -one prizes? The Lincolnshire rustic is made of stern stuff, he is -honest, hardy, civil, manly, independent (at least that is the opinion I -have formed of him), but he is not a bit poetical, and a good deal of a -Puritan: I fancy, if I have read him aright, he would as soon worship in -a barn as in a church; indeed, I think he would prefer to do so if he -had his own way, as being more homelike. A clergyman I met on the -journey and who confided in me said, “To get on in Lincolnshire, before -all things it is necessary to believe in game, and not to trouble too -much about<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>STRANGE REVELATIONS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the Catholic faith.” He said this in a joking manner truly, but I could -see that he jested in earnest: he further assured me as a positive fact -that both devil-worship and a belief in witchcraft existed in the -county. He said, “I could tell you many strange things of my rural -experiences,” and he did—how the devil is supposed to haunt the -churchyards in the shape of a toad, and how witchcraft is practised, -etc. “You may well look astonished,” he exclaimed, “at what I tell you, -but these things are so; they have come under my notice, and I speak -advisedly from personal knowledge.”</p> - -<p>Presently we reached the village of Osbournby; here the church looked -interesting, so we stopped in order to take a glance inside, and were -well rewarded for our trouble by discovering a number of very fine and -quaintly-carved medieval bench-ends in an excellent state of -preservation. Medieval carvings have generally a story to tell, though -being without words some people are forgetful of the fact, deeming them -merely ornamental features, and so miss the carver’s chief aim because -they do not look for it; sometimes, by way of relief, they have a joke -to make, now and then they are keenly sarcastic: but the stories—not -the jokes—mostly need time to elucidate, for they often mean more than -meets the eye at a hurried glance; moreover they have to be read in the -spirit of the age that produced them. One of the bench-end carvings at -Osbournby that is particularly noticeable represents a cunning-looking -fox standing up in a pulpit<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> preaching to a silly-looking congregation -of geese, a favourite subject by the way with the monkish sculptors, and -a telling contemporary satire on the priesthood by those who ought to -know it best. It is remarkable that this peculiar subject should have -been so popular, for I have met with it frequently; there is a good -example of the same on one of the miserere seats in St. David’s -Cathedral. What does it signify?</p> - -<p>Still more curious does this strange satire seem when we remember that -in the dark ages such carvings were the poor man’s only literature, for -then even reading was a polite art confined to the learned few, and -spelling was in its infancy. One finds it difficult to conjecture why -the Church allowed such ridicule of its religious preaching to be thus -boldly proclaimed, so that even the unlettered many could hardly fail to -comprehend its meaning, for in this case the story meets the eye at once -and was manifestly intended to do so.</p> - -<p>If we may judge them solely by their carvings the monks of old, at a -certain period, appear to have been craftsmen clever beyond cavil, full -of quaint conceits, not over refined, often sarcastic, sometimes -severely so, but curiously broad in their selection of subjects for -illustration. Of course they carved religious subjects as in duty bound, -and with painstaking care, but these all look stiff and mechanical, -forced and not spontaneous, possibly because they had to work more or -less in a traditional groove, and consequently there was no scope for -originality; but in their less serious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MEDIEVAL LEECH</i></div> - -<p class="nind">moments, and these seemed many, when the mood inclined them they wrought -carvings that were imbued with life; and laughed, or grinned, or joked -in stone or wood to their heart’s content; then the whole soul of the -craftsman entered into his work—and the inanimate matter lived, -breathed, and struggled. His comicalities are simply delightful; he was -the medieval Leech and Keene! Truly not all the old monks took religion -seriously! but whatever their virtues or failings they were artists of -no mean merit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A civil tramp—Country hospitality—Sleaford—A Lincolnshire -saying—A sixteenth-century vicarage—Struck by lightning—“The -Queen of Villages”—A sculptured anachronism—Swineshead—A strange -legend—Local proverbs—Chat with a “commercial”—A mission of -destruction—The curfew—Lost our way—Out of the beaten track—A -grotesque figure and mysterious legend—Puzzling inscriptions—The -end of a long day. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Journeying</span> leisurely on we presently arrived at the curiously entitled -village of Silk Willoughby; here again on asking the name of the place, -which we did before consulting our map, a native shortened it to Silkby. -It is a marked tendency of the age to contract the spelling and the -pronunciation of names to an irreducible minimum,—a tendency that I -have already remarked upon. Well, perhaps for everyday speech, Silk -Willoughby is rather overlong, and the more concise Silkby serves all -needful purposes. Still this pronouncing of names differently from what -they are spelt on the map is sometimes inconvenient to the stranger, as -the natives have become so accustomed to the abbreviated expression that -the full title of a place, given precisely as on the map, is -occasionally unfamiliar to them, and they will declare hopelessly that -they “never heard of no such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PLACE NAMES</i></div> - -<p class="nind">place.” On the other hand, once when driving in Worcestershire we were -sadly puzzled when a tramp asked us if he were on the right road to -“Kiddy”; it eventually turned out that he wanted to get to -Kidderminster. I verily believe, tramp though he was, that he looked -upon us as ignoramuses in not recognising that curt appellation for the -town in question! He was a civil tramp though, for there are such beings -in the world, and we always make it a point to return civility with -civility, whether it be a ploughboy or a lord who is addressing us. -“Well now,” he exclaimed in genuine surprise as we parted, “to thinks -that you should not know that Kidderminster is called Kiddy. Why, I -thought as how everybody knew that.” In Sussex, too, once when driving -near Crowborough a man in a trap shouted to us to know if he were “right -for the Wells,” for the moment it did not occur to us that he meant -Tunbridge Wells, but that we discovered was what he did mean.</p> - -<p>In Silk Willoughby, by the roadside, we noticed some steps with the -stump of the shaft of the village cross on the top; on four sides of the -base of this were the carved symbols of the Evangelists, much worn but -still traceable. We found that these steps, as is frequently the case, -formed a rendezvous and a playing-place for the village children, a fact -that can hardly tend to the preservation of the carvings!</p> - -<p>As we had got down to make a sketch of the ruined cross we thought we -might as well walk<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> across the road and have a look at the ancient -church. On reaching this the first thing that attracted our attention -was the following, “Iohn Oak, Churchwarden, 1690,” cut boldly straight -across the old oak door, though why John Oak’s name should be inscribed -in such a prominent position, and handed down to posterity thus I cannot -say. Possibly he presented the door to the church—though it looks older -than the date mentioned—and modestly inscribed his name thereon to -record his gift.</p> - -<p>Within we found the building in a state of picturesque but pathetic -decay. Right in the centre of the nave was a big wooden post reaching -straight up from the stone slab floor to support the open timber roof -above; all the windows, except one to the right of the chancel which -from its position was hidden from the general view, had lost their -stained glass; and a huge horizontal beam that stretched across the -chancel also blocked the top of the east window,—the unhappy result of -a previous restoration we were informed. On the floor we noticed an -incised slab inscribed to the memory of one of the Armyn family; this -bore the date of MCCCLXVIIII, and was decorated with a finely engraved -cross, and a shield charged—I believe that is the correct heraldic -term—with a coat-of-arms. Another old tombstone laid on the floor, -having an inscription the lettering of which was deeply cut, we should -have liked to decipher, for it looked of interest, but as the greater -part was covered by a pew this was impossible.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PLEASANT CIVILITIES</i></div> - -<p>Whilst we were endeavouring, with but small success, to puzzle out some -Latin (or dog-Latin) verse on an ancient brass, the rector made his -appearance, and, learning that we were driving across country and -strangers in the land, forthwith invited us to the rectory for afternoon -tea. Such kindly attentions had become quite customary features of our -wanderings, so much so that we had ceased to wonder at them, and we -greatly regretted in this instance to be obliged to decline such -thoughtfully proffered hospitality, as we had no means of lengthening -out the day to embrace all our pleasures! Truly the lot of the driving -tourist is an enviable one, a very enviable one when it takes him into -the pleasant land of Lincolnshire: a delightful thing it is to -experience this old-time friendliness—a friendliness that makes the -wheels of life run so smoothly, and reveals the gracious and sunny side -of human nature.</p> - -<p>A mural tablet in the chancel rather amused us by the invitation -contained in the first two lines of a long inscription,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Kind stranger stay a moment ere you go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Attend and view this monumental show.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Thus were we bidden to read through a tedious and wordy eulogy upon a -youth whose only distinction appeared to be that he died young,—there -is such a thing as consistency in epitaphs, the tomb of many a hero -takes up less space than this one! The famous Speaker Lenthall of the -Long Parliament directed that “no monument whatever should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> placed -over him, save only a plain stone slab with the two words</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Vermis Sum.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">But he was a great man and lives in history. Frank Osborne, the author -and moralist, and contemporary of Speaker Lenthall, also dictated the -epitaph on his simple tombstone at Netherworton in Oxfordshire, in which -he pertinently remarks:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I envy not those graves which take up room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Merely with Jetts and Porphyry: since a tomb<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Adds no desert.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">After all, simplicity and brevity of epitaph appeal more to the heart of -man than fulsome eulogy or “monumental show.”</p> - -<p>In the chancel wall, immediately to the left of the east window, is a -tall narrow niche. The rector said he did not know the original purpose -of this, unless it were for ornament. The niche was too tall for a -statue, and we imagined from its form that probably it was intended, of -old, to receive the processional cross—the pre-Reformation churches -being, I believe, provided with a recess or a locker for this purpose. A -specimen of the latter, with the ancient ornamented oak door still in -position, may be found in the church at Barnby in Suffolk.</p> - -<p>Then, bidding good-bye to the courteous and hospitable rector, we once -more resumed our pleasant pilgrimage, and, passing through an -eye-refreshing and peace-bestowing country of green meadows, waving -woods, and silvery streams, we reached the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>WEATHER SIGNS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">ancient town of Sleaford just as the sun was setting red in the west, a -fact, according to the well-known proverb—which however we have not -found to be perfectly reliable—that should ensure fine weather for the -morrow—“Red at night is a shepherd’s delight; red in the morning is a -shepherd’s warning.” Well, I am not a shepherd, but speaking from my -experience as a road traveller, who naturally studies the weather, I -have frequently noted that a red morning has been followed by a -gloriously fine and sunny day. When, however, the sky is a wan yellow at -sunrise, and especially if the wind be south-westerly, then you may -expect rain before evening with some degree of certainty; but of all -things to dogmatise about, the English weather is the most dangerous.</p> - -<p>As we entered Sleaford we noticed a monument to a local celebrity, the -designer of which we imagined had been inspired by the excellent example -of a Queen Eleanor’s Cross. The structure certainly adds interest to the -street in which it stands, and this is a great deal more than can be -said of most memorials of notables in the shape of statues, which, -perched high on pedestals, are generally prominent eyesores that a -long-suffering community has to put up with. Close to this monument was -a pump, below which a basin was inscribed, “Every good gift is from -above.” The quotation did not strike us as the most appropriate that -might be chosen, as the pump was erected for the purpose of obtaining -water from below.</p> - -<p>Sleaford, on the day we arrived, offered a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> contrast to the -slumberous quiet of Falkingham, for it was the evening of the annual -sheep fair, and groups of agriculturists were scattered about engaged in -eager conversation, and flocks of sheep were being driven out of the -town, with much shouting, dog-barking, and commotion, and farmers in -gigs or on horseback starting back home added to the general -restlessness. Indeed, after the deep tranquillity of the lonely country -roads we had traversed that day, Sleaford seemed a place of noise and -bustle. Next morning, however, we found the streets quiet enough, as we -remarked to a stranger in the stable-yard. “Yes,” he said, “Sleaford is -quiet enough. It sleeps more or less all the year, but wakes up once for -the annual fair. You mayn’t have heard the saying, ‘Sleaford for sleep, -Boston for business, Horncastle for horses, Louth for learning.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> -“Perhaps,” responded we, mindful of yesterday, “as it is Horncastle for -horses, it should be Sleaford for sheep, not ‘sleep.’<span class="lftspc">”</span> The two words -sound very much alike. But our suggestion was scorned.</p> - -<p>Rambling about the town we noted the date of 1568 on a gable of the -half-timbered and creeperclad vicarage, that stood divided by a footpath -from the church. A noble structure the latter, with a most effectively -picturesque front owing to the fact that the aisles are lengthened so as -to be in level line with the tower; the pierced parapet extending across -this long front is adorned with bell-turrets, pinnacles, and minarets, -forming a varied outline against the sky. Whilst we were taking a -pencil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CATASTROPHE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">outline of this charming specimen of ancient architecture, a man in dark -tweeds approached us, who said he was an amateur photographer, and would -give us a photograph of the building if we liked. We thanked him very -much for his kindness, but he did not go home to fetch the said -photograph, as we expected, but stood watching us finish our sketch. -Then we made some random remark to the effect that it was a very fine -church,—we had nearly said “a very fine day,” from sheer custom, but -checked ourselves half-way. In conversation we always endeavour to keep -the weather back as a last resource; but old crusted habits are -difficult to conquer. “Yes,” he agreed, “it’s a fine church, but it was -finer before the tower was knocked down.” For a moment we imagined that -we were talking with an escaped lunatic; we had never heard of a church -tower being “knocked down” before! “What,” queried we, “did a traction -engine run into it, or how did it get knocked down?” The answer was -reassuring; we were not talking to a lunatic! “It was knocked down by -lightning when I was fifteen years younger than I am now. It happened -one Sunday morning during service. The storm came on very suddenly, and -I was sheltering in a doorway over yonder. Suddenly there was a blinding -flash and a great crack of thunder, and I saw the tower come crashing -down with a tremendous roar, followed by a cloud of dust or steam, I’m -not sure which. Then the people rushed out of church pell-mell—men -without their hats, all in the soaking rain, for it did pour<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> down, and -women screaming. One woman shouted out that the end of the world had -come; it was the sound ‘of the last trump,’ and it was some time before -she became calm. I never saw anything like it.” Then he stopped for a -moment, and in a more thoughtful tone of voice proceeded, “Do you know -that catastrophe set me thinking a good deal. It struck me as very -strange that we should build churches for the worship of God, and that -God should so often destroy them by lightning. That morning the -public-houses escaped hurt, but the church was wrecked by fire from -heaven. It does seem strange to me.” And he became so engrossed in his -talk that he forgot all about the promised photograph, and we did not -like to remind him. “Why do you think the church was struck?” he asked -us as we parted. “Probably,” we replied, “because it was not protected -with a conductor, or if it were provided with one it was defective.” -“But that does not explain why Providence allowed it,” he retorted; but -we declined to be drawn into an argument. So we hastened back to our -hotel, and, as we had planned a long day’s journey, ordered the horses -to be “put to” at once.</p> - -<p>Our road out of Sleaford led us through a level pastoral land, pleasant -enough to look upon, though there was nothing on the way of particular -interest to engage our attention till we reached Heckington, a large -village known locally, we were told, by the proud title of “the Queen of -Villages.” It certainly is a pretty place, and it possesses a truly -magnificent church that seems, like so many others in Lincolnshire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANACHRONISM</i></div> - -<p class="nind">strangely out of proportion to the requirements of the parish. This -church has the architectural quality, so rare in English churches, of -being all of one period. Like Salisbury Cathedral it has the merit of -unity of design. We noticed some fine gargoyles on the tower, and a few -statues still remain in the niches thereof. Within, the building hardly -comes up to the expectations raised by its splendid exterior. It looks -spacious and well proportioned, but cold and bare, possibly chiefly due -to the want of stained glass. We noticed the mutilated effigy of an -ecclesiastic in an arched recess of the north wall, and above, enclosed -within a glass case, was an ancient broken silver chalice, doubtless -exhumed from his tomb. But perhaps the greatest thing of archæological -interest here is the superb and elaborately carved Easter Sepulchre, the -finest we have seen in England. At the base of this are sculptured stone -figures representing the Roman guards watching the tomb; and these are -shown clad in medieval armour!—a curious instance of inconsistency, but -then there were no art critics in those days, and the medieval carver -and painter were a law unto themselves! Yet in spite of their oftentimes -glaring anachronisms, the works of the medieval artists, be they -sculptors or painters, were always effective and suggestive of life, and -never failed to be decorative. Modern art, as a rule, simply reverses -these conditions. It is above all things correct—more precise than -poetical; magnificent in technique, but wanting in spirit.</p> - -<p>After Heckington the country became more<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> wooded, but still uneventful. -Crossing a wide dyke that stretched away monotonously straight for miles -on either hand, the roof-trees of the little town of Swineshead came -into sight peeping above a wealth of foliage. In spite of its -unattractive name Swineshead looked a charming place, and as we had -already driven eleven miles from Sleaford, we determined that we would -make our mid-day halt there, and drive on to Boston in the afternoon.</p> - -<p>At Swineshead we found a little inn with stabling attached, the landlord -whereof chanced to be standing at his door as we drove up, and after the -preliminary greetings he informed us that a hot dinner of roast fowl, -etc., would be ready in a few minutes. We were considerably, though -pleasantly, surprised at learning this, for Swineshead is a small, -primitive town, hardly indeed more than a large village, and our inn had -a simple, countrified look in keeping with the place, and a cold repast, -therefore, was all we had looked for, but the wanderer by road never -knows what surprises are in store for him. The few minutes, however, -turned out to be nearly twenty, and whilst waiting in a small parlour -for our meal to be served, we amused ourselves by glancing over some odd -numbers of old provincial papers that we found there. One may often -glean something of interest by studying the pages of local magazines and -papers, and we did so on this occasion. In a copy of the <i>Horncastle -News</i>, dated 9th June 1894, that had somehow been preserved from -destruction, our eyes fell upon this paragraph that we deemed worthy of -being copied into our notebook. “A<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> strange legend is current in -Swineshead that, ‘If a corpse lies in a house on Sunday there will be -three within the week.’ This saying has been verified twice this year.” -Which statement, if true as it presumably is, I suppose, serves as an -example to show that superstitious sayings may come true at times. When -things are possible they may occur; if they never did occur it would be -still more wonderful. All the same it is a remarkable coincidence, -though of course nothing more, that this “strange legend” should have -“been verified twice” in one year. We were amused also by another -article in one of the papers that dogmatically settled the everlasting -Irish question by stating all that is required is “more pigs and fewer -priests.” In the same paper we came upon several proverbs, or folk-lore, -said to be much employed in Lincolnshire. Apropos of striving after the -impossible, we were told: “One might as well try and wash a negro -white,” or “Try to fill a cask with ale by pouring it in at the -bung-hole whilst it ran out at the tap”; we were further informed it was -“Like searching for gold at the end of a rainbow.” Then followed a -saying that house-hunters might consider with advantage, “Where the sun -does not come, the doctor does.” I have quoted these items chiefly as a -sample of the sort of entertainment that is to be found in country -papers, a study of which may sometimes while away, profitably or -otherwise, those odd five minutes one so often has to spend in country -inn parlours.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>COUNTRY SAYINGS</i></div> - -<p>At last the dinner was served, and an excellent<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> little dinner it proved -to be. At this moment a stranger entered and joined us at our meal. A -very talkative individual he proved to be, and we soon discovered that -he was a commercial traveller who drove about the country. “Ah!” he -remarked, “you’ve to thank me for this dinner; they knew I was coming, -it’s my day, and they always have a nice little dinner ready for me. If -you had come another day I fancy you would not have fared so well.” Then -we took the opportunity of discovering how the world looked as seen -through the eyes of a commercial traveller. “Yes, I like the life, it’s -pleasant enough in the summer time driving from place to place. The work -is not too hard, and one lives well. But it’s the winter time I don’t -care for. It’s not too pleasant then driving in the country when a -bitter east wind is blowing, and hail or sleet are dashed against you. -The country is very well, and pretty enough in the summer, but I prefer -towns in the winter. You get wet driving in the open too at times; now I -don’t mind being wet and warm, but to be wet and cold is cruel; and mind -you, you have always to come up smiling to your customers. Yes, you may -well wonder at my coming to such an uncommercial-looking place as -Swineshead, but it’s in these little country towns nowadays that we do -our best trade in spite of appearances; you see they supply the rural -folk all around, for these people do not get their goods from the London -stores like most of those do who live in the towns. The parcel post -makes it hard for the provincial shopkeeper to get a living, it acts as -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span> huge country delivery for the stores and big shops in London: people -write up to town one day and get their goods sent down to their houses -the next.” Then our commercial suddenly remembered he had business to -attend to and took his leave, and we went out for a stroll.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A RESTORATION BACKWARDS</i></div> - -<p>Wandering about we observed the steps and base of the shaft of an -ancient market cross by the roadside, for Swineshead was once a market -town, also another relic of a past civilisation in the shape of the -decayed stocks. Then we took a glance at the interior of the church and -found a party of ladies therein busily employed in decorating it for the -harvest festival; as we were leaving the vicar made his appearance and -kindly volunteered to show us over the building. When he first came -there, he informed us, he found the village school was held in a portion -of the nave partitioned off for that purpose, and that the children used -the graveyard as a playground when the weather was fine, and the -interior of the church when it was wet, romping and shouting about, and -indulging in the game of hide-and-seek amongst the pews! The pulpit then -was of the old “three-decker” type, and the rest of the church -furnishings in keeping therewith. This is all changed now, and the -church has been restored backwards to something more resembling its -primitive condition. Under the communion table we had pointed out to us -the original altar-slab with the five crosses thereon, which had been -used to pave the church, a fact the vicar discovered in 1870, in this -wise. Colonel Holingshead had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> been sent there in 1567 “to destroy all -superstitious articles,” and of his mission thus the Colonel reported: -“We came to Swineshead, here we found two altars, one was broken in -taking down, one we took entire and laid in on the pavement.” After -reading this the vicar made search for the latter and found it in the -flooring as described. So what one generation removes another restores; -one blackens, the other whitens; one has a predilection for ceremony, -another for simplicity: it is the everlasting swing of the pendulum -first to one side then to the other, there is even a fashion in religion -as in all things else, though we may not call or know it by that name. -The Puritan claimed that he destroyed beautiful things not because he -hated them, but of painful necessity because in churches he found that -they were associated with shameful imposture and debasing superstition. -To-day the modern Puritan does not appear to object to ornate fanes of -worship, he even expresses his admiration of decorative art, it is the -ritual and vestments he despises; for thus a famous American puritan -writes of Ely Cathedral: “The beauty of Ely is originality combined with -magnificence. The cathedral is not only glorious; it is also strange.... -Its elements of splendour unite to dazzle the vision and overwhelm the -soul.... When you are permitted to sit there, in the stillness, with no -sound of a human voice and no purl of ecclesiastical prattle to call you -back to earth, you must indeed be hard to impress if your thoughts are -not centred upon heaven. It is the little preacher in his ridiculous -vestments, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> is man with his vanity and folly, that humiliates the -reverent pilgrim in such holy places as this, by his insistent contrast -of his own conventional littleness with all that is celestial in the -grandest architectural results of the inspiration of genius.” The -pointed remark, “no ecclesiastical prattle to call you back to earth,” -is noteworthy.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A QUAINT LOCAL CUSTOM</i></div> - -<p>At Swineshead we learnt that the curfew is still tolled at eight o’clock -every evening for five minutes, and after a short interval this is -followed by another bell which tells the date of the month. A quaint -local custom, and may it long continue! As we were leaving the church -our attention was called to the date 1593, deeply cut on one of the -beams of the timber roof, presumably marking the date of its -construction, or more probably its restoration.</p> - -<p>On leaving Swineshead for Boston we were told to “take the first to the -left and then drive straight on, you cannot possibly miss your way. -You’ll see the stump right before you,”—“the stump” being the local and -undignified term by which the lofty tower of Boston’s famous church is -known. A tower that rises 272 feet boldly up into the air, and is -crowned at the top with an open octagonal lantern of stone—a landmark -and a sea-mark over leagues of flat Fenland and tumbling waters. This -tall tower rising thus stately out of the wide plain has a fine effect, -seen from far away it seems to be of a wonderful height, and, as an -ancient writer says, “it meets the travellers thereunto twenty miles -off, so that their eyes are there many hours before their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> feet.” This -was, of course, before the days of the railway, but it is still true of -the leisurely road wanderer.</p> - -<p>Though we were told to drive straight on, and that we could not possibly -miss our way, we managed very successfully to do the latter, and the -former we found difficult of accomplishment, as in due course we came to -the junction of two roads, one branching to the left, and the other to -the right, and how to drive “straight on” under those circumstances -would have puzzled the wisest man. At the point there was no sign-post, -nor was there a soul in sight; we consulted our map, but this did not -help us, for it mixed up the roads with the dykes in such a puzzling way -that we could not make out which was intended for which. We waited some -time in the hopes that some one might appear on the scene, but no one -did, so at last we selected the right-hand road as tending, if anything, -slightly more in the direction of Boston “stump” than the other, -nevertheless it proved to be the wrong one, and we presently found -ourselves in a maze of byroads complicated with dykes. We were by no -means driving “straight on,” according to instructions, though we kept -the famous “stump” in view and ahead of us, now slightly to the right -and now to the left; but in time we found that we were gradually getting -nearer to it, which was satisfactory,—and, after all, we reasoned to -ourselves, it does not matter greatly how we progress, so long as we do -progress and we reach our destination and an inn before nightfall. Our -horses are going fresh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> the country is interesting and full of -character, and would even probably be pronounced beautiful by a -Dutchman!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MYSTERIOUS INSCRIPTION</i></div> - -<p>So by “indirect, crooked ways” we reached Frampton, an out-of-the-world -village, a spot where one might go in search of peace when</p> - -<div class="poetry" style="clear:both;"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i4">weary of men’s voices and their tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of clamouring bells and whirl of wheels that pass.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">It seemed a place so very remote from “the busy haunts of men.” It -impressed us with its restful calm. Here by the side of the road stood -its ancient and picturesque church,—we had seen enough churches that -day to last for a whole tour, but somehow this rural fane so charmed us -that we felt we could not pass it by without a glance; and it was well -we did not, for here we made one of the most interesting discoveries of -our journey. Strolling round the graveyard in search of any curious -epitaph we noticed the quaint carving of a grotesque head on a buttress -of the north wall of the building. Upon closer inspection we further -discovered a puzzling inscription beneath this, which we made out to be -as follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">✠ Wot ye whi i stond<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here for i forswor mi fat ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ego Ricardus in<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Angulo.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">We made out the inscription without difficulty, all but the last word of -the second line, which appears to begin “fat,” but the next letter or -letters are undecipherable. We hazarded a guess that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> missing letter -might be “f” and that the word was intended for “faith,” but it might -equally well have ended with the letters “her” and so have read -“father.” At the time, however, we were inclined to the first rendering, -and concluded that the head above was meant to represent a monk who had -turned apostate, and, therefore, was placed there in the cold outside -the church, and made, like a naughty boy, to stand in the corner.</p> - -<p>This grotesque figure with the enigmatical inscription below greatly -interested us, so much indeed that we resolved, if by any means it were -possible, to obtain the correct interpretation thereof. But we found, -somewhat to our surprise, that the few likely people of whom we inquired -were not even aware of the existence of such a thing in their -neighbourhood. However, after much searching, we heard of a certain -learned Lincolnshire antiquary who had long and carefully studied the -strange figure and legend; so on our return home we ventured to write -and ask him if he could throw any light upon the subject. To our request -we received a most courteous reply, an extract from which I hereby give, -as it is of much interest, even if it does not actually determine the -meaning of the curious bit of sculpturing: “It evidently records some -<i>local</i> matter or scandal. Looking at the date of the building, and the -history of the parish simultaneously, I find a <i>Richard</i> Welby, eldest -son of Sir Richard Welby, lived then, and that for some unknown cause he -was disinherited by his father and the estate went to his next brother. -If he ‘forswor’ either ‘faith<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span>’ or ‘father,’ the disinheritance <i>may</i> be -accounted for, and also its chronicle below this figure in a civilian -cap (it may be either civilian or monkish, but I incline to the former). -Of course this is only supposition founded upon dates and local history, -and may be utterly wrong.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TOMBSTONE ENIGMA</i></div> - -<p>The curious carvings and inscriptions that one comes upon ever and again -when exploring rural England are a source of great interest to the -traveller of antiquarian tastes, and there are many such scattered over -the land of a most puzzling nature. Take the following tombstone enigma, -for instance, to be found in Christchurch graveyard in Hampshire. Who -will unravel the hidden import of this most mysterious legend? I have -tried long and hard to arrive at some probable solution thereof but all -in vain.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We were not slayne bvt rays’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rays’d not to life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But to be bvried twice<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By men of strife.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What rest covld the living have<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the dead had none.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Agree amongst yov,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here we ten are one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">H. Roger. died April 17. 1641.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">I. R.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Then again in the church of Great Gidding—a village we passed a little -to the left of our road before we reached Stilton—is another carved -enigma consisting of the following five Latin words arranged in the form -of a square thus:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span>—</p> - -<p class="c"> -S A T O R<br /> -A R E P O<br /> -T E N E T<br /> -O P E R A<br /> -R O T A S<br /> -</p> - -<p>The meaning of this is not at all clear, to me at any rate. This puzzle -bears the date 1614. The following curious inscription, too, was pointed -out to me upon a flat, “broken and battered” tombstone that lies in the -churchyard of Upton near Slough: “Here lies the body of Sarah Bramstone -of Eton, spinster, who dared to be just in the reign of George the -Second. Obijt. Janry. 30, 1765, aetat 77.” One naturally asks who was -this Sarah Bramstone? These records in stone are hard to interpret. Even -old drinking vessels, that the wanderer in rural England occasionally -unearths, often possess significant inscriptions, as the following -example taken from a goblet of the Cromwellian period, I think, -sufficiently proves. This certainly suggests a Jacobean origin of our -national anthem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God save the King, I pray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God bless the King, I say;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">God save the King.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Send him victorious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy and glorious,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soon to reign over us;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">God save the King.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>A few more miles of level winding road through a wooded country brought -us in sight of the old historic town of Boston,—a name familiar in two -hemispheres. A jumble of red buildings, uneven-roofed, and grouped -together in artistic irregularity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A POETIC PROSPECT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">was presented to us; buildings quaint and commonplace, but all glorified -in colour by the golden rays of the setting sun, their warm tints being -enhanced by broad mysterious shadows of softest blue, mingled with which -was a haze of pearly-gray smoke—the very poetry of smoke, so film-like -and romantic it seemed. And over all there rose the tall tower of St. -Botolph’s stately fane, so etherealised by the moist light-laden -atmosphere that it looked as unsubstantial as the building of a dream, -whilst near at hand tapering masts, tipped with gold, and ruddy sails -told of the proximity of the sea. The ancient town had a strangely -medieval look, as though we had somehow driven backwards into another -century, the glamour of the scene took possession of us, and we began to -dream delicious dreams, but just then came wafted on the stilly air the -sound of a far-away railway whistle, soft and subdued by distance truly, -but for all that unmistakable. The charm of illusion was over; it was a -sudden descent from the poetic to the prosaic. Still, perhaps in the -picturesque past the belated traveller would not have fared so well, so -comfortably, or so cleanly in his hostelry as did we in our -nineteenth-century one, where we found welcome letters awaiting us from -home that reached us by the grace of the modern iron horse! Speed is a -blessing after all, though it is the parent of much ugliness!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">The Fenland capital—Mother and daughter towns—“Boston stump”—One -church built over another—The company at our inn—A desultory -ramble—An ancient prison—The Pilgrim Fathers—The banks of the -Witham—Hussey Tower—An English Arcadia—Kyme Castle—Benington—A -country of many churches—Wrangle—In search of a ghost—A remote -village—Gargoyles—The grotesque in art. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Boston</span>, that proudly calls itself “the capital of Fenland,” struck us as -a quaint old town, prosperous and busy, but not restless, with somewhat -of a Dutch look about it, yet, notwithstanding, intensely English. A -dreamy place in spite of its prosperity, dreamy but not dull; quaint -perhaps rather than picturesque—a delightful, unspoilt old-world town, -with an indescribable flavour of the long-ago about it, a spot where the -poetry of a past civilisation lingers yet; a commercial town that is not -ugly!</p> - -<p>St. Botolph’s town, as our American cousins love to call it, is one of -the shrines of the “Old Country,” competing for first place with -Stratford-on-Avon in the heart of the New England pilgrim, for is not -storied Boston the mother of its modern namesake across the wide -Atlantic? However, we know that “a prophet hath no honour in his own -country,” so whilst numberless American travellers have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> expressed their -delight at this old Lincolnshire town, and Longfellow and other American -poets have sung its praises in verse, the average Englishman appears to -regard it hardly at all, and scarcely ever to visit it except under -compulsion, and has even sung its dispraises in doggerel thus:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">Boston! Boston!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou hast naught to boast on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But a grand sluice and a high steeple,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A proud, conceited, ignorant people,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a coast where souls are lost on.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>FROM TWO POINTS OF VIEW</i></div> - -<p>But the charm of Boston, as indeed that of most places, depends upon -sentiment and seeing, whether you look upon it with poetic or prosaic -eyes. A famous English engineer once told me that he considered a modern -express locomotive a most beautiful thing, and it was so in his eyes! -“Unless a thing be strong it cannot be beautiful,” was his axiom. -Weakness, or even the idea of weakness, was an abomination to him, so -that the tumble-down cottage, with its uneven roof bent into graceful -curves that an artist so delights in, was simple ugliness to him.</p> - -<p>It was meet that here we should “take our ease” in an ancient hostelry, -and that we should have our breakfast served in a pleasant low-ceilinged -parlour, whose panelled walls had an aroma of other days and other ways -about them, and suggested to our imaginative minds many a bit of -unrecorded romance. With a romancer’s license we pictured that -old-fashioned chamber peopled by past-time travellers who had come by -coach or had posted by private chaise, and mingled with these was a -bluff ship<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> captain of the wild North Sea, all making merry over their -glasses and jokes. The modern traveller in the modern hotel is alas! -less sociable, and takes himself over seriously, and seldom even smiles. -But happily there seems to be something about the old English inn that -thaws the formality and taciturnity out of strangers. I think this must -be due to the sense of homeliness and comfort that pervades it, with the -delightful absence of all pretence and show.</p> - -<p>From our inn we looked across the wide market square right on to the -splendid and spacious church with its tall and graceful tower, a -veritable triumph of the builder’s craft. It chanced to be market-day, -and so the large square was filled with stalls, and was chiefly in the -possession of picturesquely-clad country folk displaying their -goods,—fruits, flowers, vegetables, eggs, poultry, and the like, whilst -the townsfolk gathered round to make their purchases, the transactions -being carried on with much mutual bargaining and leisurely chattering; -and the hum of many blended voices came upwafted to us, not as a -disturbing noise, but with a slumberous sound as restful as the summer -droning of innumerable bees. The ear may be trained to listen with -pleasure, as well as the eye to discern with delight, and it is the -peace-suggesting country sounds, the clean, fresh air laden with sweet -odours from flower, field, and tree, as well as the vision, that cause a -rural ramble to be so rewarding and so enjoyable. There must surely be -something in the moist air of the Fenland that makes musical melody of -noises; for we noticed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> that even the clanging of bells, the shrill -whistling of locomotives, and the metallic rush of trains seemed -strangely and pleasantly mellowed there; moreover, the traffic on the -stony streets of Boston appeared subdued, and had none of that -nerve-irritating din that rises so often from the London thoroughfares.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>FROM AN INN WINDOW</i></div> - -<p>It was a morning of sunshine and shower, an April day that had lost -itself in September, and not readily shall I forget the shifting scene -below with its moving mosaic of colour, nor the effect of the constantly -changing light and shade on the stately church tower. Now it would be a -deep purple-gray, dark almost to blackness as seen against a mass of -white vapour, then suddenly it would be all lightened up to a pale -orange tint against a sombre rain-cloud, its tracery and sculpturings -outlined by the delicate shadows they cast, giving them a soft effect as -of stone embroidery. A wonderfully effective and beautiful structure is -this tower, and, in my opinion, after Salisbury’s soaring spire, the -most beautiful and graceful in England, which is saying much in a land -where so many fine examples of ecclesiastical architecture abound. This -splendid church of St. Botolph arose out of the piety and prosperity of -a past generation. History has it that it was built over a small Norman -church that formerly stood on the site, and that worship went on in the -earlier structure during the time of building, and not until the new -edifice was completed was the ancient one removed—a curious, and I -should imagine a unique fact, that may account for the great height and -size of the nave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span></p> - -<p>It being market-day, we sought the bar of our hotel for a while, in -order to study any odd characters we might perchance find gathered -there, and we discovered a curious mixture of agricultural and town -folk, with a sprinkling of seafaring men. The talk was as varied as the -company. During the general hum of conversation we could not help -noticing how many expressions were used manifestly of nautical origin, -though they were employed apparently wholly by landsmen in concerns -having no connection with the sea or shipping. We jotted down some of -these as follows, just as they came to us:—“He’s been on the rocks so -lately”; “he’s in smooth water now”; “it’s all plain sailing”; “it’s not -all above board”; “he had to take in sail”; “now stow that away”; “it -took the wind out of his sails”; “any port in a storm, you know”—and -others of a like nature. A civil engineer with whom we got into -conversation here, and who we gleaned was employed on the Fen drainage, -expressed his unstinted admiration for the old Roman embankment that -still follows the contour of a goodly portion of the Lincolnshire coast, -and was designed and constructed as a bulwark against the encroachments -of the sea, a purpose it has admirably served. This embankment, he told -us, was in the main as strong and serviceable, in spite of ages of -neglect, as when first raised all those long and eventful centuries ago; -and furthermore, he stated as his honest opinion that, in spite of all -our boasted advantages and progress, we could not to-day construct such -enduring work.</p> - -<p>Wandering in a desultory fashion about the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE MAKING OF HISTORY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">rambling old town, we came across a quaint old half-timber building -known as Shodfriars Hall, that, with its gable-ends facing the street -and projecting upper stories, showed how picturesquely our ancestors -built. How pleasantly such an arrangement of gables breaks the skyline -and gives it an interest that is so sadly wanting in our modern towns! -Then we chanced upon the old town hall with its ancient and historic -prisons; these consist of iron cages ranged along one side of the gloomy -interior, cages somewhat resembling those that the lions and tigers are -accommodated with at the zoological gardens, but minus the light, -sunshine, and fresh air that the latter possess. Here in these small -cages, within the dark and dreary hall, some of the Pilgrim Fathers were -confined, and most uncomfortable they must have been; but they were men -with stout hearts and dauntless spirits—men who made history in spite -of circumstance! The sailing of the little ship <i>Mayflower</i> from Boston, -in 1620, with the Pilgrim Fathers on board was at the time a seemingly -trivial event, yet it has left its mark in the annals of the world; and -in new America of to-day to trace your descent to one of that little and -humble band is to be more than lord, or duke, or king! Some there are -who have made light of the episode of the sailing of those few brave men -for an unknown world across the wide and stormy ocean solely because -they would be free:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou who makest the tale thy mirth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Consider that strip of Christian earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the desolate shore of a sailless sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full of terror and mystery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Half-redeemed from the evil hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the wood so dreary, and dark, and old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which drank with its lips of leaves the dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Time was young and the world was new,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wove its shadows with sun and moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere the stones of Cheops were square and hewn—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of the sea’s dread monotone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the mournful wail from the pinewood blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the strange, vast splendours that lit the North,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the troubled throes of the quaking earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the dismal tales the Indians told.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Seated safely and comfortably in a cosy arm-chair, how easy it is to -sneer!</p> - -<p>Then wandering on we espied a charming specimen of old-world building in -the shape of an ancient grammar school, beautified with the bloom of -centuries, which was, we learnt by a Latin inscription thereon, built in -the year 1567. This interesting and picturesque structure is approached -from the road by a courtyard, the entrance to which is through a fine -old wrought-iron gateway. Verily Boston is a town of memories; its -buildings are histories, and oftentimes pictures!</p> - -<p>Not far away, on the opposite side of the road, stands a -comfortable-looking red-brick building of two stories in the so-called -Queen Anne style. It is an unpretentious but home-like structure, -noteworthy as being the birthplace of Jean Ingelow, the popular -Lincolnshire poetess and novelist. Then to our right the houses ceased, -and the slow-gliding and, let it be honestly confessed, muddy river -Witham took their place. Here and there the stream was crossed by -ferry-boats, to which you descend by</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_012" style="width: 582px;"> -<a href="images/i_255fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_255fp.jpg" width="582" height="351" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>A BIT OF BOSTON.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>RIVERSIDE BOSTON</i></div> - -<p class="nind">wooden steps, and in which you are paddled over in that primitive but -picturesque old-fashioned manner at the cost of a penny. Here also, by -some timber landing-stages, were anchored sundry sea-beaten fishing -smacks that, with their red-tanned sails and sun-browned sailors on -board mending their nets, made a very effective picture, so effective -that we needs must spend a good hour sketching and photographing them -(an engraving of one of our sketches will be found herewith). Along the -banks of this river the artist may find ample material—“good stuff,” in -painter’s slang—for brush or pencil, and the amateur photographer a -most profitable hunting-ground. Even the old warehouses on the opposite -side of the river are paintable, being pleasing in outline and good in -colour—a fact proving that commercial structures need not of necessity -be ugly, though alas! they mostly are. Then rambling on in a -delightfully aimless fashion, at the same time keeping our eyes well -open for the picturesque, we chanced, in a field a little beyond the -outskirts of the town, upon an old ruined red-brick tower, standing -there alone in crumbling and pathetic solitude. We learnt that this was -called Hussey Tower, and that it was erected by Lord Hussey about 1500, -who was beheaded in the reign of Henry VIII. for being concerned in the -Lincolnshire rebellion. So one drives about country and learns or -re-learns history as the case may be.</p> - -<p>We bade a reluctant good-bye to old-world and storied Boston one bright, -breezy morning, and soon found ourselves once again in the open country, -with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> all Nature around us sunny and smiling. Boston was interesting, -but the country was beautiful. The landscape had a delightfully fresh -look after the frequent showers of the previous day; the moisture had -brought out the colour and scent of everything. The air, wind-swept and -rain-washed, was clear, and cool, and sweet, and simply to breathe it -was a pleasure. As we journeyed on we rejoiced in the genial sunshine -and the balmy breezes that tempered its warmth and gently rustled the -leaves of the trees by the way, making a soft, subdued musical melody -for us, not unlike the sound of a lazy summer sea toying with some sandy -shore—breezes that, as they passed by, caused rhythmic waves to follow -one another over the long grasses in the fields, and set the sails of -the windmills near at hand and far away a-whirling round and round at a -merry pace.</p> - -<p>Everywhere we glanced was movement, in things inanimate as well as -living; the birds, too, were in a lively mood, and much in welcome -evidence (what would the country be without birds? those cheery -companions of the lonely wanderer!). Even the fat rooks gave vent to -their feelings of satisfaction by contented if clamorous cawing as they -sailed by us in merry company overhead, for, be it noted, rooks can caw -contentedly and discontentedly, and the two caws are very different. -Rooks are knowing birds too, and they appear to possess a considerable -amount of what we term instinct. We all know the old saying that rats -desert an unseaworthy ship. Whether this be true or not I cannot tell, -but I believe that rooks desert an unsafe tree. I lived<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE WAYS OF ROOKS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">near a rookery once, and studied their ways and character. There were -several nests in one big elm tree, a sturdy-looking tree, and apparently -a favourite with the rooks. One year, for a purpose I could not divine, -all the nests in this tree were deserted, and fresh ones built in -another elm near by. Within a few months after its desertion by the -rooks the former tree was blown down in an exceptionally heavy gale, -though, till the gale came, it had shown no signs of weakness. Other big -trees in the same wood were laid low at the same time, but not one of -those that the rooks inhabited was damaged even in branch.</p> - -<p>The weather was simply perfect, the sky overhead was as blue as a June -sea; it was a joy to be in the country on such a day, when earth seemed -a veritable Paradise, and pain and death a bad dream. There is a virtue -at times in the art of forgetting! for, when the world looks so fair, -one desires to be immortal! “Around God’s throne,” writes Olive -Schreiner, “there may be choirs and companies of angels, cherubim and -seraphim rising tier above tier, but not for one of them all does the -soul cry aloud. Only, perhaps, for a little human woman full of sin that -it once loved.” So there may be golden cities in Paradise paved with -priceless gems, yet not for these does my soul hunger, but for the -restful green fields and the pastoral peacefulness of our English -Arcadia, with its musical melody of wandering streams and sense of -untold repose. Did not Mr. Andrew Carnegie, the American millionaire, -who once drove through the heart of England from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> Brighton to Inverness, -on arriving at the latter town, send a telegram to a friend, saying, “We -arrived at the end of <i>Paradise</i> this evening”? There is something very -lovable about the English landscape; where grander scenes excite your -admiration, it wins your affections, and will not let them go again, it -nestles so near your heart. I have beheld the finest scenery the earth -has to show, oftentimes with almost awe-struck admiration, but only the -peace-bestowing English scenery have I ever felt to love!</p> - -<p>About two miles on our way, and a little to the right of our road, we -observed Kyme’s ancient tower uprising amidst surrounding foliage; this -picturesque relic of past days gave a special interest and character to -the prospect with its flavour of old-world romance. The solitary tower -is all that remains of the once stately abode of the Kymes; it is now -incorporated with a homely farmstead, and tells its own story of fallen -fortunes.</p> - -<p>Driving on we soon reached a wide dyke, which we crossed on an ancient -bridge; here a lonely wayside inn proclaimed itself on its sign with the -comprehensive title of “The Angler’s, Cyclist’s, and Traveller’s Rest.” -The dyke struck us, even on that bright sunshiny day, as being a dark -and dreary stretch of water of a cheerless leaden hue, embanked and -treeless. But the sullen waters of the dyke only acted as a foil to -enhance the bright beauty of the sun-suffused landscape all around, as -the shadow gives value to the light, and too much beauty is apt to cloy. -A picture may be too pretty. Said an art<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE USE OF UGLINESS!</i></div> - -<p class="nind">critic once to Turner, “That’s a fine painting of yours, but why have -you got that ugly bit of building in the corner?” “Oh!” replied Turner, -“that’s to give value to the rest of the composition by way of contrast; -I made it ugly on purpose!” and Turner was right. Who enjoys the country -so much as the dweller in the unbeautiful smoke-stained streets of our -huge modern towns?</p> - -<p>Shortly after this we reached the little village of Benington, which -boasted a large church having a fine old tower, a tower, however, that -ended abruptly without any architectural finish; presumably the ambition -of the early builders was greater than their means. Nowadays we have -improved upon the old ways—we build and complete without the means, -then we set to work to beg for the money, though the begging is not -always successful, as the following characteristic letter of Mr. Ruskin -shows, which he wrote in reply to a circular asking him to subscribe to -help to pay off some of the debt on a certain iron church:—</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">Brantwood, Coniston, Lancashire</span>,<br /> -<i>19th May 1886</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Sir</span>—I am scornfully amused at your appeal to me, of all people in -the world the precisely least likely to give you a farthing! My -first word to all men and boys who care to hear me is—Don’t get -into debt. Starve and go to heaven, but don’t borrow.... Don’t buy -things you can’t pay for! And of all manner of debtors, pious -people building churches they can’t pay for are the most detestable -nonsense to me. Can’t you preach and pray behind the hedges, or in -a sandpit, or in a coalhole first? And of all manner of churches -thus idiotically built, iron churches are the damnablest to me.... -Ever, nevertheless, and in all this saying, your faithful servant,</p> - -<p class="rt"> -<span class="smcap">John Ruskin</span>.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span></p> - -<p>Dear me, and when I think of it, how often am I not asked to subscribe -to help to pay off debts on churches, mostly, if not all, built by -contract, and adorned with bright brass fittings from Birmingham!</p> - -<p>The ancient church at Benington, time-worn and gray, looked interesting, -and the interior would probably have repaid inspection, but the day was -so gloriously fine that our love of the open air and cheerful sunshine -quite overpowered our antiquarian tastes that sunny morning. Moreover, -we did not set out to see everything on our way unless inclined so to -do; ours was purely a pleasure tour, the mood of the moment was alone -our guide. By the side of the churchyard we noticed a square space -enclosed by a wall; we imagined that this must have been an old -cattle-pound, but when we passed by it was full of all kinds of rubbish, -as though it were the village dustbin.</p> - -<p>Our road now wound through a very pleasant country, past busy windmills, -sleepy farmsteads, and pretty cottages, till we came to the hamlet of -Leake, where we observed another very fine church, of a size apparently -out of all proportion to the needs of the parish. It may often be noted -in Lincolnshire and the eastern counties generally how fine many of the -remote country churches are, and how often, alas! such fine -architectural monuments are in bad repair for want of sufficient funds -to properly maintain them, the surrounding population being purely -agricultural and poor; it is difficult to imagine that the population -could ever have been much greater, though it may have been wealthier. -The question<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> arises, How came these grand and large churches to be -built, without any probability of their having a congregation at all -commensurate with their size?</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MATTER OF SENTIMENT</i></div> - -<p>The country became now more open, and our road wound in and out of the -level meadows like the letter S, or rather like a succession of such -letters, thereby almost doubling the distance from point to point taken -in a straight line. We could only presume that the modern road followed -the uncertain route of the original bridle-path, which doubtless wound -in and out in this provokingly tortuous manner to avoid bad ground and -marshy spots. Were Lincolnshire a county in one of the United States, I -“guess” that this road would long ago have been made unpicturesquely -straight and convenient,—the practical American considers it a wicked -waste of energy to go two miles in place of one. His idea of road-making -resembles that of the ancient Romans in so far as the idea of both is to -take the nearest line between two places. “That’s the best road,” -exclaimed a prominent Yankee engineer, “that goes the most direct -between two places; beauty is a matter of seeing and sentiment, and to -me a straight line is a beautiful thing, because it best fulfils its -purpose.” So speaks the engineer. Both Nature and the artist, as a rule, -abhor straight lines.</p> - -<p>The next village on our road was Wrangle; since we had left Boston we -had hardly been out of sight of a village or a church, but though the -villages were numerous they were small. Here at Wrangle again we found a -tiny collection of houses,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> out of which rose another fine and beautiful -church, the stones of which had taken upon themselves a lovely soft gray -with age. I think there is no country in the world where Time tones and -tints the stones of buildings so pleasantly as it does in England. The -people in this part of Lincolnshire should be good, if an ample supply -of fine churches makes for goodness. Still one can never be certain of -anything in this uncertain world, for does not the poet declare that—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Wherever God erects a house of prayer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Devil always builds a chapel there:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ’twill be found upon examination,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The latter has the largest congregation.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We had been informed by a Lincolnshire antiquary, whom by chance we had -become acquainted with during the journey, that the rectory at Wrangle -was haunted by a ghost in the shape of a green lady, and that this ghost -had upon one occasion left behind her a memento of one of her nocturnal -visitations, in the shape of a peculiar ring—surely a singular, if not -a very irregular thing, for a spirit to do. Moreover, the enthusiastic -and good-natured antiquary most kindly gave us his card to be used as an -introduction to the rector, who he said would gladly give us all -particulars. The story interested us, and the opportunity that fortune -had placed in our way of paying a visit to a haunted house was too -attractive to be missed. So, bearing this story in mind, and finding -ourselves in Wrangle, we forthwith drove straight up to the rectory, an -old-fashioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DISAPPOINTMENT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">building that had an ancient look, though perhaps not exactly one’s -ideal of a haunted house—still it would do. Having introduced ourselves -to the rector, and having explained the purport of our visit, just when -our expectations were raised to the utmost pitch, we received a dire -disappointment, for the rector, with a smile, informed us that he had -only recently come there and, so far, he had never seen the ghost, or -been troubled by it in any way. He had a dim sort of a recollection that -he had heard something about it from some one, and he would be glad to -learn further particulars. He did not even know which the haunted room -was, or whether it was the whole house that was supposed to be haunted -and not a particular chamber. “I am afraid,” he said, “your introduction -must have been intended for my predecessor, who possibly was well posted -up in the matter.” Certainly our introduction was of a very informal -nature, our antiquarian friend had simply written on the back of his -card, “Call on the rector of Wrangle, make use of my card, and he will -tell you all about the ghost.” Truly we felt just a trifle disappointed. -We had been on the trail of a ghost so often, yet had never been able to -run one to earth, and again it had eluded us! Possibly the rector -divined our feelings, for he cheerily exclaimed, “Well, I am sorry I -cannot show you what you want, but I can show you a very interesting -church.” Now we had not come to Wrangle to see a church, but a haunted -house, and a material ring left by an immaterial spirit, and we felt -somehow, if unreasonably, aggrieved at not finding these.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span></p> - -<p>The church was truly interesting, though I fear we were hardly in the -mood to properly appreciate it. The rector pointed out to us in the east -window some old stained glass that had been reset in fragments there, -which he declared to be the finest old stained glass in Lincolnshire; -then he led us to the south porch, where he pointed out to us the quaint -and beautiful external carvings round the Early English south doorway, -which we observed was curiously trefoiled and decorated with dog-tooth -mouldings. It is a specimen of carving that any church might be proud to -possess; here, little seen and possibly never admired except by chance -comers like ourselves, it is wasting its beauty in the wilderness, for -the doorway is simply the entrance to the graveyard and appears not to -be much, if at all used, the congregation entering the church by the -north porch. On the north wall we observed a fine, not to say -ostentatious, altar-tomb to Sir John Read and his lady dated 1626. This -takes up, profitably or unprofitably, a good deal of room. Below on a -verse we read the following tribute to the underlying dead:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whom love did linke and nought but death did dessever,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Well may they be conioind and ly together,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like turtle doves they livd Chaste pure in mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fewe, O, too few such couples we shall find.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>You have to get used to the archaic spelling of some of these old -tombstone inscriptions, but this one is comparatively clear. Our -ancestors evidently did not set much score on spelling, for on a -stately<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> seventeenth-century monument I have actually noticed the same -word spelt in three different ways. Above Sir John Read’s fine -altar-tomb is suspended a helmet with a crest coloured proper, only the -helmet is not a genuine one, being of plaster! and the plaster has got -cracked, and therefore the sham is revealed to the least observant; so -the whole thing looks ridiculous! Possibly, however, this was merely -intended for a temporary funeral helmet, and would have been removed in -due course but had been forgotten.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CURIOUS GARGOYLES</i></div> - -<p>In the pavement we noticed a slab containing an interesting brass dated -1503, to “Iohn Reed marchant of ye stapell of Calys, and Margaret his -wyfe.” Their eight sons and five daughters are also shown upon it. Round -this slab run portions of an inscription in old English. It is -unfortunate that this is incomplete, for it appears to be quaint.</p> - -<p>On leaving the church we observed with pleasure that the ancient and -curious gargoyles that project from its roof still serve the purpose for -which they were originally constructed, and have not been improved away, -or suffered the common indignity of being converted into rain-water -heads. Who invented the gargoyle, I wonder? A monk, I’ll wager, if I -have read past ecclesiastical architecture aright. And all lovers of the -quaintly decorative are under great obligations to the unknown monk, for -gargoyles offered an irresistible opportunity for the medieval craftsman -to outwardly express his inmost fancies and the artistic spirit that -consumed his soul, and must somehow be visibly revealed. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span> jocular -at times, even to the verge of profanity. Possibly because gargoyles -were outside the sacred edifice, he felt more at liberty to do as he -would, so he created wonderful monsters, grinning good-natured-looking -demons in place of saints; demons that seemed verily to exist and -breathe and struggle in stone; his subtle art contrived to make even the -hideous delightful and to be desired. So great was his genius, so -cunning his chisel that when I look upon his handiwork, oftentimes I -gaze with astonished admiration at his rare skill and inventive -faculties, and I sadly wonder whether we shall ever look upon his like -again. His art was the outcome of love. Our modern art seems of unhappy -necessity imbued with the commercial spirit of the age. Men now paint -and sculpture to live, the medieval art craftsman lived to work; the one -labours to live, the other loved to labour. The highest art, the -worthiest work, cannot be produced for gold, it comes alone from love, -love that is unembarrassed with the thought of having to provide the -necessaries of life. Where anxiety steps in, art suffers, then -withers—and dies! Some years ago I was showing a now popular artist an -old picture by Francesco Francia on panel that I possess, and asked him -how it was, apart from the almost painful truthfulness of the drawing, -that the colours had remained so fresh and pure in tint, after all the -years it had existed, whilst so many modern pictures lose so much of -their first brilliancy in comparatively so short a time. He replied, -after examining the picture, that it had been painted, then smoothed -down, and re-painted many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span> times, each after an interval to allow the -pigments to dry hard, and that it had taken years in place of months to -complete. “Now were I to paint like that I should simply starve, and -possibly be called a fool for my pains—and man must live, you know, to -say nothing of rent, rates, and taxes. When I began life I was young and -enthusiastic, and, as you know, painted in a garret for love and -possible fame which came too tardily” (I have a painting the artist did -in those happy early days, pronounced by competent critics to be worthy -of a great master); “but love did not butter my bread nor provide me -with a decent home, so at last I was compelled to paint for popularity -and profit. Now I possess a fine studio and fashionable patrons, whose -portraits I paint without pleasure but I live at ease—yet sometimes I -sigh for those old times when things were otherwise.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ARTIST’S TALE</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span></div> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Wind-blown trees—Marshlands—September weather—Wainfleet—An -ancient school—The scent of the sea—The rehabilitation of the -old-fashioned ghost—A Lincolnshire mystery—A vain search—Too -much alike—Delightfully indefinite—Halton Holgate—In quest of a -haunted house. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> Wrangle, the country to our right became still more open; for -the rest of our way we followed the changeful line of the sea-coast at a -distance of about a mile or more inland. The wind, coming unrestrained -from the seaward over the flat marsh-like meadow lands, bore to us the -unmistakable flavour of the “briny,” its bracing and refreshing salt -breath, cool and tonic-laden, was very grateful to our lungs after the -soft, soothing country airs that we had been so long accustomed to. The -trees here, what few trees there existed that is, were stunted, -tortured, and wind-blown to one side; but strangely enough, not as is -usually the case, bent inward from the sea but towards it, plainly -proving that the strong gales and prevailing winds in this quarter are -from the land side, thus reversing the general order of things on our -coasts.</p> - -<p>Another notable feature of our road—in marked contrast with the early -portion of our stage out from Boston—was the fact that for the next -nine miles or<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A LONELY COUNTRY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">so on to our night’s destination at Wainfleet we passed no villages and -saw no churches. It was a lonely stretch of road; for company we had, -besides the stunted trees, only the wide earth and open sky; but such -loneliness has its charms to the vigorous mind, it was all so suggestive -of space and freedom, begetful of broad thinking and expanded views. To -look upon Nature thus is to make one realise the littleness of the minor -worries of life. The mind is too apt to get cramped at times by cramped -surroundings, the vision impresses the brain more than most people are -aware. The wild, far-reaching marshlands to our right had a peculiarly -plaintive look. Across them the mighty gleams of golden sunlight swept -in utter silence, succeeded by vast purple-gray shadows blown out into -the eternity of blue beyond: movement of mighty masses but no sound, yet -one is so accustomed in this world to associate movement with sound that -the ear waits for the latter as something that should follow though it -comes not. The prospect was to a certain extent desolate, yet not -dreary; the golden green of the long autumn grasses tossing in the wind, -the many bright-hued marsh-flowers made the wild waste look almost gay, -so splashed with colour was it over all! The vast level landscape -stretching away and away to the vague far-off horizon that seemed to -fade there into a mystic nothingness—neither earth, nor sea, nor -sky—excited within us a sentiment of vastness that words are inadequate -to convey, a sentiment very real yet impossible wholly to analyse. One -cannot describe the indescribable, and of such moods of the mind one<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> -feels the truth of the poet’s dictum that “What’s worth the saying can’t -be said.”</p> - -<p>Nature here wore an unfamiliar aspect to us; the wide marshland was -beautiful, but beautiful with a strange and novel beauty. Now and then -were infrequent sign-posts, old and leaning, each with one solitary arm -pointing eastward, laconically inscribed “To the Sea,” not to any house -or hamlet be it noticed. They might as well have been inscribed, it -seemed to us in our philosophy, “To the World’s end!” Here the black -sleek rooks and restless white-winged gulls appeared to possess a common -meeting ground; the rooks for a wonder were quiet, being silently busy, -presumably intent after worms; not so the gulls, for ever and again some -of them would rise and whirl round and round, restlessly uttering -peevish cries the while. Neither the cry of gull nor caw of rook are -musical; in truth, they are grating and harsh, yet they are suggestive -of the open air, and are, therefore, pleasing to the ear of the -town-dweller, and lull him to rest in spite of their discordance with a -sense of deep refreshment.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare sings of “the uncertain glory of an April day.” He might, -even with greater truth, have written September in place of April; for -in the former month the weather is just as changeful, and the skies are -finer with more vigorous cloud-scapes; then, too, the fields and foliage -“have put their glory on,” and at times under a sudden sun-burst, -especially in the clear air that comes after rain, the many-tinted woods -become a miracle of colour such that the painter with the richest -palette cannot realise. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> were reminded of “the uncertain glory of a -<i>September</i> day” by a sudden, wholly unexpected, and unwelcome change -that had taken place in the weather. In front of us were gradually -gathering great banks of sombre clouds that might mean rain; the wind as -suddenly had lost its gentleness and blew wild and fitfully, but still -the sun was shining brightly all around, converting the winding -water-ways and reed-encircled pools of the marshlands into glowing gold. -The strong effect of the sunlight on the landscape contrasting with the -low-toned gray sky ahead was most striking. But the outlook suggested to -us that it would be wiser to hasten on than to loiter about admiring the -prospect, for it was a shelterless region. So we sped along to the merry -music of the jingling harness, and the measured clatter of our horses’ -hoofs on the hard roadway, rounding the many corners with a warning note -from the horn, and a pleasant swing of the dog-cart that showed the pace -we were going.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>WILD WEATHER</i></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A low, gray sky, a freshing wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A cold scent of the misty sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before, the barren dunes; behind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The level meadows far and free.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The approach to Wainfleet was very pretty; just before the town a -welcome wood came into sight, then a stream of clear running water -crossed by a foot-bridge, next a tall windmill which we passed close by, -so close that we could hear the swish, swish, swish of its great sails -as they went hurtling round and round in mighty sweeps; at that moment -the rain came down, and, though we reached our inn directly after<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span>wards -we managed to get pretty wet outwardly during the few minutes’ interval. -However, the good-hearted landlady greeted her dripping guests with a -ready smile, and ushered us into a tiny, cosy sitting-room, wherein she -soon had a wood fire blazing a cheery and ruddy welcome, “just to warm -us up a bit.” Thoughtful and kindly landlady, may you prosper and live -long to welcome hosts of other travellers! Then “to keep out the cold” -(we had no fear of cold, but no matter), a hot cup of tea with <i>cream</i>, -rich country cream and buttered toast, made its unexpected but not -unwelcome appearance, so though our hostel was small and primitive in -keeping with the town, we felt that we might have fared much worse in -far more pretentious quarters. Looking round our chamber we observed -that the door opened with a latch instead of a handle, a trifle that -somehow pleased us, one so seldom comes upon that kind of fastening -nowadays, even in remote country places.</p> - -<p>Soon the storm cleared away, and the sun shone forth quite cheerily -again, and though now low in the yellowing western sky, still it shone -brilliantly enough to entice us out of doors. We discovered Wainfleet to -be a sleepy little market-town, and a decayed seaport—a town with some -quaint buildings of past days, not exactly a picturesque place but -certainly an interesting one. Wainfleet is a spot where the hand of Time -seems not only to be stayed but put back long years; it should be dear -to the heart of an antiquary, for it looks so genuinely ancient, so far -removed from the modern world and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> all its rush, bustle, and advantages! -It is a spot that might be called intolerably dull, or intensely -restful, according to the mind and mood of man. We deemed it the latter, -but then we only stopped there a few waking hours (one cannot count the -time one sleeps); had we remained longer perhaps we might have thought -differently!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT COLLEGE</i></div> - -<p>First we made our way to the market square, which, by the way, we had -all to ourselves, except for a sleeping dog. In the centre of the square -stands the tall and weather-stained shaft of an ancient cross, elevated -on a basement of four steps. The top of the shaft is now surmounted by a -stone ball in place of the cross of old. This is capped by a -well-designed weather-vane; so this ancient structure, raised by -religious enthusiasm, and partially destroyed by religious -reforming—deforming, some people will have it—zeal, now serves a -useful and picturesque purpose, and could hardly be objected to by the -sternest Puritan.</p> - -<p>Then, wandering about, we espied a fine old brick building of two -stories, the front being flanked by octagonal towers, a building not -unlike Eton College Chapel on a smaller scale. This proved to be -Magdalen School, founded in the fifteenth century by the famous William -de Waynflete, Bishop of Winchester, 1459, who was born in the town and -who also founded Magdalen College, Oxford, which little history we -picked up accidentally that evening in an odd copy of a Lincolnshire -Directory we discovered at our hotel. We did not hunt it up of set -purpose. I mention this, not wishing to be considered didactic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span> The -building, after all the years bygone, still serves its ancient purpose, -more fortunate than many other foundations in this respect whose funds -have been diverted to different aims from those originally intended, -sometimes perhaps of necessity, but other times, and not seldom, I fear, -without such compulsory or sufficient cause. We were told that the top -story of this very interesting bit of old-time architecture was the -school, and the ground floor the master’s house, a curious arrangement. -“Just you ring the bell at the door,” exclaimed our informant, “and I’m -sure the master will show you over; it’s a funny old place within.” But -we did not like to intrude; moreover, it was getting late and the -gloaming was gathering around.</p> - -<p>Resuming our wanderings we found ourselves eventually by the side of the -narrow river Steeping, up which the small ships of yore used to make -their way to the then flourishing port of Wainfleet, or Waynflete as the -ancient geographers quaintly had it. There we rested that warm September -evening watching, in a dreamy mood, the tranquil gliding and gleaming of -the peaceful river, listening to the soothing, liquid gurgling of its -quiet flowing water. There was something very poetic about the spot that -caused us to weave romances for ourselves, a change from reading them -ready-made in novels! So we rested and romanced</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While the stars came out and the night wind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brought up the stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Murmurs and scents of the infinite sea.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We had so far been disappointed in our search<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE LAW ON GHOSTS!</i></div> - -<p class="nind">after a haunted house this journey, but, nothing daunted, the following -morning we set forth on the same errand, having heard that there was “a -real haunted house” at Halton Holgate, a village situated about eight -miles from Wainfleet. Haunted houses are strangely coming into note and -repute again; I really thought their day was over for ever, but it seems -not so. The good old-fashioned ghost that roams about corridors, and -stalks in ancient chambers till cock-crowing time; the ghost of our -ancestors and the early numbers of the Christmas illustrated papers; the -ghost that groans in a ghastly manner, and makes weird “unearthly” -noises in the middle of the night, appears once more much in -evidence,—I had nearly said “had come to life again”! He is even -written about seriously and complainingly to the papers! In a long -letter to the <i>Standard</i> that appeared therein on 22nd April 1896 under -the heading of “A Haunted House,” the writer gravely laments his lot in -having unwittingly taken a lease of a house from which he and his family -were driven, solely on account of the ghostly manifestations that took -place there! The letter, which I afterwards learnt was written in -absolutely good faith and was no hoax, commences: “In the nineteenth -century ghosts are obsolete, but they are costing me two hundred pounds -a year. I have written to my lawyer, but am told by him that the English -law does not recognise ghosts!” The reading of this caused me to open my -eyes in wonderment, the assertions were simply astonishing. Still the -law seemed sensible; if any man were<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> allowed to throw up an -inconvenient lease on the plea of ghosts where should we be? The writer -of the letter, it appears, was an officer in the English army. “Some -time ago,” he proceeds, “I left India on furlough, and, being near the -end of my service, looked out for a house that should be our home for a -few years.... I may say that I am not physically nervous. I have been -under fire repeatedly, have been badly wounded in action, and have been -complimented on my coolness when bullets were flying about. I was not -then afraid of ghosts as far as I knew. I had often been in places where -my revolver had to be ready to my hand.... As winter drew on and the -nights began to lengthen, strange noises began to be heard.... The -governess used to complain of a tall lady, with black heavy eyebrows, -who used to come as if to strangle her as she lay in bed. She also -described some footsteps, which had passed along the corridor by her -door, of some one apparently intoxicated. But in fact no one had left -their rooms, and no one had been intoxicated. One night the housemaid, -according to her account, was terrified by a tall lady with heavy dark -eyebrows, who entered the room and bent over her bed. Another night we -had driven into the town to a concert. It was nearly midnight when we -returned. Our old Scotch housekeeper, who admitted us, a woman of iron -nerves, was trembling with terror. Shortly before our arrival a horrible -shriek had rung through the house. To all our questions she only -replied, “It was nothing earthly.” The nurse, who was awake<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> with a -child with whooping-cough, heard the cry, and says it was simply -horrible. One night, lying awake, I distinctly saw the handle of my -bedroom door turned, and the door pushed open. I seized my revolver, and -ran to the door. The lamp in the long corridor was burning brightly, no -one was there, and no one could have got away. Now I can honestly say -there is nothing against the house but ghosts. It is a roomy, nice, dry -house. There are no ghosts. Are there not?” This is truly astonishing -reading considering, as I have already stated, that I know the -communication was made in perfectly good faith. A brave soldier to be -driven out of a very comfortable and suitable home by a ghost—for thus -the story ended!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>EXTRAORDINARY HAPPENINGS</i></div> - -<p>For curiosity I cut out this letter and pasted it in my Commonplace -Book. The subject had almost slipped my memory, when, just before -starting on our present tour, I read in the <i>Standard</i> of 30th August -1897 of another haunted house in Lincolnshire. The account was long and -circumstantial; having perused it carefully I took note of all -particulars, determining to visit the house, if possible, and to see if -by any means one could elucidate the mystery. As it may interest my -readers, I venture here to quote the article <i>in extenso</i>; the more am I -induced to do this as it happened we did manage to inspect the house at -our leisure, and had besides a long conversation with Mrs. Wilson, who -claims to have actually seen the ghost! But I am getting previous. It -will be noted that the account is of some length, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span> the story -was not dismissed by the editor of the <i>Standard</i> in a mere paragraph. -This then it is:—</p> - -<div class="blockquott"><p>From Halton Holgate, a village near Spilsby, Lincolnshire, comes a -story which is causing some sensation among the country folk in the -neighbourhood. For some time rumours of human bones having been -discovered under a brick floor of a farm, near the village, of -strange tappings having been heard, and of a ghost having been -seen, have been afloat, and it was with the intention of trying to -sift the mystery that a Lincoln reporter has just visited the -scene. The farmstead where the sounds are said to have been heard, -and the ghost seen, stands some distance back from the high road, -and is occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Wilson and their servant man. On -being interviewed Mrs. Wilson was at first reluctant to make any -statement, but eventually she narrated the following story:—</p> - -<p>“We came here on Lady-day. The first night or so we heard very -strange noises about midnight, as though some one was knocking at -the doors and walls. Once it seemed as though some one was moving -all the things about in a hurry downstairs. Another time the noise -was like a heavy picture falling from the wall; but in the morning -I found everything as right as it was the night before. The servant -man left, saying he dared not stop, and we had to get another. Then -about six weeks ago, I saw ‘something.’ Before getting into bed, my -husband having retired before me, I thought I would go downstairs -and see if the cow was all right, as it was about to calve. I did -so, and when at the foot of the stairs, just as I was about to go -up again, I saw an old man standing at the top and looking at me. -He was standing as though he was very round-shouldered. How I got -past I cannot say, but as soon as I did so I darted into the -bedroom and slammed the door. Then I went to get some water from -the dressing-table, but ‘feeling’ that some one was behind me I -turned round sharply, and there again stood the same old man. He -quickly vanished, but I am quite certain I saw him. I have also -seen him several times since, though not quite so distinctly.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Wilson conducted her interviewer to the sitting-room<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> where -the figure appeared. The floor in one corner was very uneven, and a -day or two ago Mrs. Wilson took up the bricks, with the intention -of relaying them. When she had taken them up she perceived a -disagreeable smell. Her suspicions being aroused, she called her -husband, and the two commenced a minute examination. With a stick -three or four bones were soon turned over, together with a gold -ring and several pieces of old black silk. All these had evidently -been buried in quicklime, the bones and silk having obviously been -burned therewith. The search after this was not further prosecuted, -but a quantity of sand introduced and the floor levelled again. Dr. -Gay, to whom the bones were submitted, stated that they were -undoubtedly human, but he believed them to be nearly one hundred -years old. </p></div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GHOST MYSTERY</i></div> - -<p>Now it happened, whilst we were at Boston, that we purchased a copy of -the <i>Standard</i> of 13th September 1897. On glancing over this our eyes -caught sight of the following further and later particulars of this -haunted dwelling, now exalted into “The Lincolnshire Ghost Mystery.” The -account brought up to date ran thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquott"><p>A Lincoln Correspondent writes: “Despite all efforts, the -Lincolnshire ghost mystery still remains unravelled. That the -noises nightly heard cannot be ascribed to rats has been amply -demonstrated, and other suggestions when acted upon likewise fail -to elucidate the matter. All over the country the affair has -excited the greatest interest, and two London gentlemen have -written asking for permission to stay a night in the house. Other -letters have been received from ‘clairvoyants’ asking for pieces of -the silk or one of the bones discovered under the floor, whilst a -London clergyman has written advising Mrs. Wilson to bury the bones -in consecrated ground, then, he says, ‘the ghostly visitor will -trouble you no longer.’ The owner of the house in question—a -farmstead at Halton Holgate, near Spilsby—has tried to throw -discredit on the whole affair, but such efforts have failed, and it -now transpires that the house was known to be haunted fully thirty -years ago.” </p></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span></p> - -<p>The mystery had quite a promising look; and, coming across this second -account of it just as we were approaching the neighbourhood of the scene -of ghostly doings, raised our curiosity still more, and increased our -determination not to miss this rare opportunity of inspecting a -genuine(?) haunted house. See it somehow we must! Now it occurred to us -that, as Halton Holgate was within easy distance of Wainfleet, our -landlord would surely know something about the story and the people, and -that he might enlighten us about sundry details. So in the morning, -before starting, we interviewed him in his snug bar, and having shown -him the cuttings from the <i>Standard</i> that we had brought with us, -awaited his comments. “Oh yes,” he began, “I’ve heard the story, but do -not put much account on it myself, nor do I believe any one else about -here does. I think the London papers put more store on it than we do. -They say noises have been heard in the house at night. Well, you see, -sir, the house stands on the top of a hill, and is very exposed to the -wind. I’ve been told that there is a small trap-door in the roof at the -top of the staircase, which is, or was, quite loose, and at the foot of -the staircase is the front door, and they say that when the wind blows -at all strong it gets under the door and lifts the trap up and down, and -this accounts for the noises, perhaps there may be rats as well. I fancy -the noises frightened the woman when she first went into the house, and -she imagined the rest. At least that’s my view of the matter from all -I’ve heard.” Manifestly the landlord was unbelieving; truly we<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span> too were -sceptical, but even so, we thought the landlord’s explanation of the -nightly noises rather weak, notwithstanding his further remark that he -thought the woman was very nervous, and the house being in a lonely -situation made her the more so when she was left in it by herself at -times, as she frequently was on their first coming there. “But that -hardly accounts for her <i>seeing</i> the ghost,” we exclaimed. “Oh! well, I -just put that down to nerves; I expect she got frightened when she went -there at first, and, as I’ve said, imagined the rest. I don’t believe in -ghosts seen by other people.” “And what about the human bones?” we -queried. “Well, as to the bones, they say as how when the house was -built some soil was taken from the churchyard to fill up the -foundations, and that fact would account for the finding of them.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>INQUIRIES</i></div> - -<p>It certainly seemed to us that the landlord’s theory and explanations -rather added to the mystery than helped to clear it up in any way; his -reasonings were hardly convincing. We noted one thing in the landlord’s -arguments that appeared to us almost as improbable as the ghost story, -namely, the way he so readily accounted for the existence of human bones -under the floor by the removal of soil from the churchyard, the latter -we afterwards discovered being about a mile away from the place; and -even allowing such a thing to be permitted at the time of the building -of the house—perhaps, by rough guess, some fifty years ago—such a -proceeding was most unlikely, as soil could be had close at hand for the -digging.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span></p> - -<p>We felt that now we must wait till we got to Halton Holgate for further -details. We had an introduction to the rector of the parish there, and -we looked forward to hearing his view’s on the matter, for surely he of -all people, we reasoned, would be in a position to help us to unravel -the mystery. Matters were getting interesting; at last it seemed, after -long years of search, that we should be able to run a real “haunted” -house to earth; and we determined, if by any means we could arrange to -do so, that we would spend a night therein. It would be a novel -experience; indeed we felt quite mildly excited at the prospect. Failing -this, it would be something if we could converse with a person who -declared that she had seen an actual ghost, and who would describe to us -what it was like, how it behaved itself, and so forth! We had come -across plenty of people in the world, from time to time, who declared to -us that they once knew somebody who said that they had seen a ghost, but -we could never discover the actual party; for some cause or another he -or she was never get-at-able, and I prefer my facts—or fiction—first -hand. Stories, like wine, have a wonderful way of improving with age; -indeed I think that most stories improve far more rapidly than wine. I -once traced a curious three-year-old story back home to the place of its -birth, and the original teller did not even recognise his offspring in -its altered and improved garb! Tradition is like ivy; give it time and -it will completely disguise the original structure.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TALL WINDMILL</i></div> - -<p>The weather being fine and having finished our interview with our -landlord, we started off without further delay, anxious to have as much -time as possible before us for our day’s explorations. The country still -continued level, the road winding in and out thereof, as though -determined to cover twice as much ground as needful in getting from -place to place. Just beyond Wainfleet we passed, close to our way, the -tallest windmill I think I have ever seen; it looked more like a -lighthouse with sails attached than a proper windmill; it was presumably -so built to obtain all the breezes possible, as in a flat country the -foliage of the growing trees around is apt to deprive a mill of much of -its motive power. In fact an Essex miller once told me that owing to the -growth of the trees around his mill since it was first built, he could -hardly ever work it in the summer time on account of the foliage robbing -him of so much wind. Then as we drove on we caught a peep of low wooded -hills ahead, showing an uneven outline, faintly blue, with touches of -orange here and there where the sun’s rays rested on the golden autumn -leafage, now lighting up one spot, now another. We were delighted to -observe that our road led apparently in the direction of these hills, -for they gave promise of pleasant wanderings.</p> - -<p>Farther on we reached a pretty little village, with its church -picturesquely crowning a knoll. Here we pulled up for a moment to ask -the name of the place from a man at work by the roadside. “This be -I-r-b-y,” he responded, spelling not pro<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span>nouncing the name, somewhat to -our surprise; so we asked him why he did so. “Well, sir, you see there -be another village not far off called Orby, only it begins with a ‘O’ -and ours begins with a ‘I,’ and the names do sound so alike when you -speaks them, that we generally spells them to strangers to make sure. -Often folk comes here who wants to go to Orby, and often folk who wants -to come here gets directed to Orby. One of the names ought to be -changed, it would save a lot of trouble and loss of temper.” Then we -asked him how far it was to Halton Holgate, and he said he thought it -was about three miles, but he was not quite sure, not being a good judge -of distances; “it might be more or it might be less,” which was rather -vague. Indeed we noticed generally in Lincolnshire how hard it was to -obtain a precise reply to any query as to distance. Here is a sample of -a few of the delightfully indefinite answers made to us from time to -time when seeking information on this point. “Oh! not very far.” “Some -goodish bit on yet.” “Just a little farther on.” “A longish way off.” “A -few miles more.” To the last reply a further query as to how many miles -only brought the inconclusive response, “Oh! not many.”</p> - -<p>In due time we bade good-bye to the level country, for our road now led -us up quite a respectable hill and through a rock cutting that was -spanned at one point by a rustic bridge. It was a treat to see the great -gray strong rocks after our long wandering in Fenland. The character of -the</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_013" style="width: 555px;"> -<a href="images/i_284fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_284fp.jpg" width="555" height="345" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>AN OLD-TIME FARMSTEAD.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">scenery was entirely changed, we had touched the fringe of the Wold -region, the highlands of Lincolnshire—“Wide, wild, and open to the -air.” At the top of the hill we arrived at a scattered little village, -and this proved to be Halton Holgate. The church stood on one side of -the road, the rectory on the other; to the latter we at once made our -way, trusting to learn something authoritative about the haunted house -from the rector, and hoping that perhaps we might obtain an introduction -to the tenant through him. Unfortunately the rector was out, and not -expected back till the evening. This was disappointing. The only thing -to do now was to find our way to the house, and trust to our usual good -fortune to obtain admission and an interview with the farmer’s wife.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>QUESTIONING A NATIVE</i></div> - -<p>We accosted the first native we met. Of him we boldly asked our way to -the “haunted house,” for we did not even know the name of it. But our -query was sufficient, evidently the humble homestead had become famous, -and had well established its reputation. We were directed to a footpath -which we were told to follow across some fields, “it will take you right -there.” Then we ventured to ask the native if he had heard much about -the ghost. He replied laconically, “Rather.” Did he believe in it? -“Rather” again. We were not gaining much by our queries, the native did -not appear to be of a communicative nature, and our attempts to draw him -out were not very successful. To a further question if many people came -to see the house, we received the same reply. Mani<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span>festly for some -reason the native was disinclined to discuss the subject. This rather -perplexed us, for on such matters the country folk, as a rule, love to -talk and enlarge. As he left us, however, he made the somewhat -enigmatical remark, “I wish as how we’d got a ghost at our house.” Was -he envious of his neighbour’s fame? we wondered, or what did he mean? -Could he possibly deem that a ghost was a profitable appendage to a -house on the show principle, insomuch as it brought many people to see -it? Or were his remarks intended to be sarcastic?</p> - -<p>Having proceeded some way along the footpath we met a clergyman coming -along. We at once jumped to the conclusion that he must be the rector, -so we forthwith addressed him as such; but he smilingly replied, “No, -I’m the Catholic priest,” and a very pleasant-looking priest he was, not -to say jovial. We felt we must have our little joke with him, so -exclaimed, “Well, never mind, you’ll do just as well. We’re -ghost-hunting. We’ve heard that there’s a genuine haunted house -hereabouts, an accredited article, not a fraud. We first read about it -in the <i>Standard</i>, and have come to inspect it. Now, can you give us any -information on the point? Have you by any chance been called in to lay -the ghost with candle, bell, and book? But perhaps it is a Protestant -ghost beyond Catholic control?” Just when we should have been serious we -felt in a bantering mood. Why, I hardly know, but smile on the world and -it smiles back at you. Now the priest had smiled on us, and we -retaliated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span> Had he been austere, probably we should have been grave. -Just then this ghost-hunting expedition struck us as being intensely -comical. The priest smiled again, we smiled our best in reply. We -intuitively felt that his smile was a smile of unbelief—in the ghost, I -mean. “Well, I’m afraid,” he replied, “the worthy body is of a romantic -temperament. I understand that the bones are not human bones after all, -but belonged to a deceased pig. You know in the off-season gigantic -gooseberries, sea-serpents, and ghosts flourish in the papers. You -cannot possibly miss the house. When you come to the end of the next -field, you will see it straight before you,” and so we parted. Somehow -the priest’s remarks damped our ardour; either he did not or would not -take the ghost seriously!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>GHOST-HUNTING</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span></div> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">In a haunted house—A strange story—A ghost described!—An offer -declined—Market-day in a market-town—A picturesque crowd—Tombs -of ancient warriors—An old tradition—Popular errors—A chat by -the way—The modern Puritan—A forgotten battle-ground—At the sign -of the “Bull.” </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Reaching</span> the next field we saw the house before us, a small, plain, -box-like structure of brick, roofed with slate, and having a tiny -neglected garden in front divided from the farm lands by a low wall. An -unpretentious, commonplace house it was, of the early Victorian small -villa type, looking woefully out of place in the pleasant green country, -like a tiny town villa that had gone astray and felt uncomfortable in -its unsuitable surroundings. At least we had expected to find an -old-fashioned and perhaps picturesque farmstead, weathered and gray, -with casement windows and ivy-clad walls. Nothing could well have been -farther from our ideal of a haunted dwelling than what we beheld; no -high-spirited or proper-minded ghost, we felt, would have anything to do -with such a place, and presuming that he existed, he at once fell in our -estimation—we despised him! I frankly own that this was not the proper -spirit in which to commence our investigations—we ought to have kept an -open mind, free from prejudice. Who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span> were we that we should judge what -was a suitable house for a ghost to haunt? But it did look so prosaic, -and looks count for so much in this world! The flat front of the house -was pierced with five sash windows, three on the top story and two on -the ground floor below, with the doorway between,—the sort of house -that a child first draws.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SUCCESSFUL SEARCH</i></div> - -<p>We did not enter the little garden, nor approach the regulation front -door, for both had the appearance of being seldom used, but, wandering -around, we came upon a side entrance facing some farm outbuildings. We -ventured to knock at the door here, which was opened by the farmer’s -wife herself, as it proved; the door led directly into the kitchen, -where we observed the farmer seated by the fireplace, apparently -awaiting his mid-day dinner. We at once apologised for our intrusion, -and asked if it were the haunted house that we had read accounts of in -the London papers, and, if so, might we be allowed just to take a glance -at the haunted room? “This is the haunted house,” replied the farmer -with emphasis, “and you can see over it with pleasure if you like; the -wifie will show you over.” So far fortune favoured us. The “wifie” at -the time was busily occupied in peeling potatoes “for the men’s meal,” -she explained, “but when I’ve done I’ll be very glad to show you over -and tell you anything.” Thereupon she politely offered us a chair to -rest on whilst she completed her culinary operations. “I must get the -potatoes in the pot first,” she excused herself, “or they won’t be done -in time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span>” “Pray don’t hurry,” we replied; “it’s only too kind of you to -show us the house at all.”</p> - -<p>Then we opened a conversation with the farmer; he looked an honest, -hard-working man; his face was sunburnt, and his hands showed signs of -toil. I should say that there was no romance about him, nor suspicion of -any such thing. The day was warm, and he was sitting at ease in his -shirt sleeves. “I suppose you get a number of people here to see the -place?” we remarked by way of breaking the ice. “Yes, that we do; lots -of folk come to see the house and hear about the ghost. We’ve had people -come specially all the way from London since it’s got into the papers; -two newspaper writers came down not long ago and made a lot of notes; -they be coming down again to sleep in the house one night. We gets a -quantity of letters too from folk asking to see the house. Have I ever -seen the ghost? No, I cannot rightly say as how I have, but I’ve heard -him often. There’s strange noises and bangings going on at nights, just -like the moving about of heavy furniture on the floors, and knockings on -the walls; the noises used to keep me awake at first, but now I’ve got -used to them and they don’t trouble me. Sometimes, though, I wakes up -when the noises are louder than usual, or my wife wakes me up when she -gets nervous listening to them, but I only says, ‘The ghost is lively -to-night,’ and go to sleep again. I’ve got used to him, you see, but he -upsets the missus a lot. You see she’s seen the ghost several times, and -I only hear him.” The wife meanwhile was intent on her work<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span> and made no -remark. “This is all very strange and interesting,” we exclaimed; “and -so the house is really haunted?” Now it was the wife’s turn. “I should -rather think so,” she broke in, “and you’d think so too if you only -slept a night here, or tried to, for you’d not get much sleep unless you -are used to noises, I can tell you: they’re awful at times. I daren’t be -in the house alone after sundown, I’m that afraid.” “And you’ve actually -seen the ghost?” I broke in. “Yes, that I have, three or four times -quite plainly, and several times not quite so plainly; he quite -terrifies me, and one never knows when to expect him.” “Ah! that’s an -unfortunate way ghosts have,” we remarked sympathetically, “but -good-mannered ones are never troublesome in the daytime: that’s one -blessing.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A NOISY GHOST</i></div> - -<p>Eventually the busy housewife finished her task, and the peeled potatoes -were safely put in the pot to boil. At this juncture she turned to us -and said she was free for a time and would be very pleased to show us -over the house and give us any information we wished, which was very -kind of her. We then slipped a certain coin of the realm into the hands -of her husband as a slight return for the courtesy shown to us. He -declared that there was no necessity for us to do this, as they did not -wish to make any profit out of their misfortunes, and as he pocketed the -coin with thanks said they were only too pleased to show the house to -any respectable person. The farmer certainly had an honest, frank face. -His wife, we noticed, had a dreamy, far-away look in her eyes, but she -said she did not sleep well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> which might account for this. She appeared -nervous and did not look straight at us, but this might have been -manner. First she led the way to a narrow passage, in the front of the -house, that contained the staircase. On either side of this passage was -a door, each leading into a separate sitting-room, both of which rooms -were bare, being entirely void of furniture. Then she told her own -story, which I repeat here from memory, aided by a few hasty notes I -made at the time. “Ever since we came to this house we have been -disturbed by strange noises at nights. They commenced on the very first -night we slept here, just after we had gone to bed. It sounded for all -the world as though some one were in the house moving things about, and -every now and then there was a bang as though some heavy weight had -fallen. We got up and looked about, but there was no one in the place, -and everything was just as we left it. At first we thought the wind must -have blown the doors to, for it was a stormy night, and my husband said -he thought perhaps there were rats in the house. This went on for some -weeks, and we could not account for it, but we never thought of the -house being haunted. We were puzzled but not alarmed. Then one night, -when my husband had gone to bed before me (I had sat up late for some -reason), and I was just going up that staircase, I distinctly saw a -little, bent old man with a wrinkled face standing on the top and -looking steadily down at me. For the moment I wondered who he could be, -never dreaming he was a ghost, so I rushed upstairs to him and he -vanished. Then I shook and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span> trembled all over, for I felt I had seen an -apparition. When I got into the bedroom I shut the door, and on looking -round saw the ghost again quite plainly for a moment, and then he -vanished as before. Since then I’ve seen him about the house in several -places.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CURIOUS HISTORY</i></div> - -<p>Next she showed us into the empty sitting-room to the left of the -staircase; the floor of this was paved with bricks. “It was from this -room,” she continued, “that the noises seemed to come mostly, just as -though some one were knocking a lot of things about in it. This struck -us as singular, so one day we carefully examined the room and discovered -in that corner that the flooring was very uneven, and then we noticed -besides that the bricks there were stained as though some dark substance -had been spilled over them. It at once struck me that some one might -have been murdered and buried there, and it was the ghost of the -murdered man I had seen. So we took up the bricks and dug down in the -earth below, and found some bones, a gold ring, and some pieces of silk. -You can see where the bricks were taken up and relaid. I’m positive it -was a ghost I saw. The noises still continue, though I’ve not seen the -ghost since we dug up the bones.” After this, there being nothing more -to be seen or told, we returned to the kitchen. Here we again -interviewed the farmer, and found out from him that the town of Spilsby, -with a good inn, was only a mile away. Thereupon I decided to myself -that we would drive on to Spilsby, secure accommodation there for wife -and horses for the night, and that I would come back alone and sleep in -the haunted<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span> room, if I could arrange matters. With the carriage rugs, -the carriage lamp and candles, some creature comforts from the inn, and -a plentiful supply of tobacco, it appeared to me that I could manage to -pass the night pretty comfortably; and if the ghost looked in—well, I -would approach him in a friendly spirit and, he being agreeable, we -might spend quite a festive evening together! If the ghost did not -favour me, at least I might hear the noises—it would be something to -hear a ghost! Thereupon I mentioned my views to the farmer; he made no -objection to the arrangement, simply suggesting that I should consult -the “missus” as to details; but alas! she did not approve. “You know,” -she said, addressing her husband, “the gentleman might take all the -trouble to come and be disappointed; the ghost might be quiet that very -night; he was quiet one night, you remember. Besides, we promised the -two gentlemen from the London paper that they should come first, and we -cannot break our word.” Appeals from this decision were in vain; the -wife would not hear of our sleeping the night there on any terms, all -forms of persuasion were in vain. Manifestly our presence in the haunted -chamber for the night was not desired by the wife. As entreaties were -useless there was nothing for it but to depart, which we did after again -thanking them for the courtesies already shown; it was not for us to -resent the refusal. “Every Englishman’s house is his castle” according -to English law, and if a ghost breaks the rule—well, “the law does not -recognise ghosts.” So, with a sense of disappointment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span> amounting almost -to disillusion, we departed. I feel quite hopeless now of ever seeing a -ghost, and have become weary of merely reading about his doings in -papers and magazines. I must say that ghosts, both old and new, appear -to behave in a most inconsiderate manner; they go where they are not -wanted and worry people who positively dislike them and strongly object -to their presence, whilst those who would really take an interest in -them they leave “severely alone!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>MARKET-DAY AT SPILSBY</i></div> - -<p>Arriving at Spilsby we found it to be market-day there, and the clean -and neat little town (chiefly composed of old and pleasantly grouped -buildings) looked quite gay and picturesque with its motley crowds of -farmers and their wives, together with a goodly scattering of country -folk. The womankind favoured bright-hued dresses and red shawls, that -made a moving confusion of colour suggestive of a scene abroad—indeed, -the town that bright sunny day had quite a foreign appearance, and had -it not been for the very English names and words on the shops and walls -around, we might easily have persuaded ourselves that we were abroad. To -add to the picturesqueness of the prospect, out of the thronged -market-place rose the tall tapering medieval cross of stone; the shaft -of this was ancient, and only the cross on the top was modern, and even -the latter was becoming mellowed by time into harmony with the rest. The -whole scene composed most happily, and it struck us that it would make -an excellent motive for a painting with the title, “Market-day in an old -English town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span>” Will any artist reader, in search of a fresh subject and -new ground, take the hint, I wonder?</p> - -<p>Not far from the inn we noticed a bronze statue, set as usual upon a -stone pedestal of the prevailing type, reminding us of the numerous -statues of a like kind that help so successfully to disfigure our London -streets. I must say that this statue had a very latter-day look, little -in accord with the unpretentious old-world buildings that surrounded it. -Bronze under the English climate assumes a dismal, dirty, -greeny-browny-gray—a most depressing colour. At the foot of the statue -was an anchor. Who was this man, and what great wrong had he done, we -wondered, to be memorialised thus? So we went to see, and on the -pedestal we read—</p> - -<p class="c"> -<span class="smcap">Sir John Franklin</span><br /> -Discoverer of the North West Passage<br /> -Born at Spilsby<br /> -April 1786.<br /> -Died in the Arctic Regions<br /> -June 1847.<br /> -</p> - -<p>After this we visited the church, here let me honestly confess, not for -the sake of worship or curiosity, but for a moment’s restful quiet. The -inn was uncomfortably crowded, a farmers’ “Ordinary” was being held -there. The roadways of the town were thronged; there were stalls erected -in the market square from which noisy vendors gave forth torrents of -eloquence upon the virtues of the goods they had to sell,—especially -eloquent and strong of voice was a certain seller of spectacles, but he -was hard pressed in these respects by the agent of some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>IN SEARCH OF QUIET</i></div> - -<p class="nind">wonderful medicine that cured all diseases. The country folk gathered -round them, and others listened with apparent interest to their appeals, -but so far as we could observe purchased nothing. Spilsby on a -market-day was undoubtedly picturesque, with a picturesqueness that -pleased our artistic eye, but the ear was not gratified; for once we -felt that deafness would have been a blessing! We sought for peace and -rest within the church and found it; not a soul was there, and the -stillness seemed to us, just then, profound. It is well to keep our -churches open on week days for prayer and meditation, but the -worshippers, where are they engaged till the next Sunday? To the -majority of people in the world religion is an affair of Sundays. Whilst -travelling in the Western States some years ago, I suggested meekly to -an American, who was showing me over his flourishing few-year-old city -(it is bigger and older now) with manifest pride at its rapid commercial -prosperity, that it seemed to me a rather wicked place. “Waal now,” he -said, “I’ll just grant you we’re pretty bad on week days, but I guess -we’re mighty good on Sundays; that’s so. Now you needn’t look aghast, -you Britishers are not much better than the rest of the world. I was a -sea captain formerly, and on one voyage I hailed one of your passing -ships China bound. ‘What’s your cargo, John?’ shouts I. ‘Missionaries -and idols,’ replies he. ‘Honest John!’ I shouted back.” This reminds me -of a curious incident that came under my notice in London not so very -long ago. I had an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span> old English bracket clock that I took myself to a -wholesale firm of clock-makers to be repaired. Whilst in the shop I -noticed a peculiar piece of mechanism, the purpose of which puzzled me, -so I sought for information. “Oh!” replied one of the firm, “that’s a -special order for a temple in China; it is to work an idol and make him -move.” This is an absolute fact. Presumably that clock-maker was an -excellent Christian in his own estimation. I do not know whether there -was anything in my look that he considered called for an explanation, -but he added, “Business is business, you know; you’d be astonished what -funny orders we sometimes have in our trade. Only the other day a firm -sounded us if we would undertake to make some imitation ‘genuine’ -Elizabethan clocks; they sent us one to copy. But we replied declining, -merely stating that we had so far conducted our business honestly, and -intended always to do so.” So, according to the ethics of our informant, -it is not dishonest to make clock-work intended to secretly make an idol -move, but it is dishonest to make imitation medieval clocks! Such are -the refinements of modern commerce!</p> - -<p>Now, after this over-long digression, to return to the interior of -Spilsby church, here we discovered a number of very interesting and some -curious monuments to the Willoughby family, in a side chapel railed off -from the nave. On one of the altar-tombs is the recumbent effigy of -John, the first Baron Willoughby, and Joan, his wife. The baron is -represented in full armour, with shield and sword<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CROSS-LEGGED EFFIGIES</i></div> - -<p class="nind">and crossed legs; his lady is shown with a tightly-fitting gown and -loosely-robed mantle over. This baron fought at Crecy and died three -years afterwards. On another tomb is a fine alabaster effigy of John the -second Baron, who took part in the battle of Poictiers; he is also -represented in full armour, with his head resting on a helmet, and -diminutive figures of monks support, or adorn, this tomb. There are also -other fine tombs to older warriors, but of less interest; one huge -monument has a very curious carved statue of a wild man on it, the -meaning of which is not very apparent. It used to be an accepted -tradition that when an ancient warrior was shown in effigy with his legs -crossed, he had been a Crusader, but Dr. Cox, the eminent archæologist -and antiquary, declares that this does not follow. “It is a popular -error,” he says, “to suppose that cross-legged effigies are certain -proofs that those they represented were Crusaders. In proof of this many -well-known Crusaders were not represented as cross-legged, and the habit -of crossing the legs was common long after the Crusades had terminated.” -I am sorry to find that such a poetical tradition has no foundation in -fact, and must therefore share the fate of so many other picturesque -fictions that one would fondly cling to if one could. Sometimes I wish -that learned antiquaries, for the sake of old-world romance, would keep -their doubts to themselves. Romance is not religion; one takes a legend -with a grain of salt, but there is always the bare possibility that it -may be true, unless shown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span> otherwise. It is just this that charms. Why -needlessly undo it?</p> - -<p>Now, after Dr. Cox’s dictum, whenever I see a cross-legged effigy of a -mailed warrior, I am perplexed to know why he is so shown. Will learned -antiquaries kindly explain? It is rather provoking to the inquiring mind -to say it does not mean one thing, and yet not define what else it -means. From what I know of the medieval sculptor he ever had a purpose -in his work, it was always significant. Dr. Cox likewise declares -“Whitewash on stones was not an abomination of the Reformation, but was -commonly used long before that period.” I am glad to know this for the -reputation of the Reformation.</p> - -<p>At Spilsby we consulted our map, and after much discussion about our -next stage, whether it should be to Alford or Horncastle, we eventually -decided to drive over the Wolds to the latter town and rest there for -the night. It turned out a hilly drive, as we expected; indeed, in this -respect, the road would have done credit to Cumberland. On the way we -had ample evidence that Lincolnshire was not all “as flat as a pancake,” -as many people wrongly imagine.</p> - -<p>For a mile or so out of Spilsby our road was fairly level, then it began -to climb in earnest till we reached the top of the “windy Wolds.” High -up in the world as we were here, so our horizon was high also, and, -looking back, we had a magnificent panorama presented to us. Away below -stretched the far-reaching Fenland, spread out like a mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ON THE WOLDS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">living map, with its countless fruitful fields, green meadows, -many-tinted woods touched with autumnal gold, winding waterways, deep -dykes, white roads, and frequent railways, space-diminished into tiny -threads, its mansions, villages, towns, and ancient churches. -Conspicuous amongst the last was the tall and stately tower of Boston’s -famous “stump,” faintly showing, needle-like, in the dim, dreamy -distance, and marking where the blue land met the bluer sea, for from -our elevated standpoint the far-off horizon of the land, seen through -the wide space of air, looked as though it had all been washed over with -a gigantic brush dipped in deepest indigo. It was a wonderful prospect, -a vision of vastness, stretching away from mystery to mystery. The eye -could not see, nor the mind comprehend it all at once, and where it -faded away into a poetic uncertainty the imagination had full play. It -is ever in the far-off that the land of romance lies, the land one never -reaches, and that is always dim and dreamy—the near at hand is plainly -revealed and commonplace! Of course much depends on the eye of the -beholder, but the vague and remote to conjure with have a certain charm -and undoubted fascination for most minds. It was of such a prospect as -this, it might even have been this very one, that Tennyson pictures in -verse—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Calm and deep peace on this high wold,<br /></span> -<span class="idtt">. . . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calm and still light on yon great plain<br /></span> -<span class="i3">That sweeps with all its autumn bowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And crowded farms and lessening towers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mingle with the bounding main.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">For we were now nearing the birthplace and early home of the great -Victorian poet, and he was fond of wandering all the country round, and -might well have noted this wonderful view. No poet or painter could pass -it by unregarded!</p> - -<p>On this spreading upland the light sweet air, coming fresh and free over -leagues of land and leagues of sea, met us with its invigorating breath. -After the heavy, drowsy air of the Fens it was not only exhilarating but -exciting, and we felt impelled to do something, to exert ourselves in -some manner—this was no lotus-eating land—so for want of a better -object we left the dogcart and started forth on a brisk walk. One would -imagine that all the energy of the county would be centred in the Wold -region, and that the dwellers in the Fens would be slothful and -unenergetic in comparison. Yet the very reverse is the case. The -Wolds—townless and rail-less—are given over to slumberous quietude and -primitive agriculture, its inhabitants lead an uneventful life free from -all ambition, its churches are poor and small whilst the churches of the -Fens in notable contrast are mostly fine and large, its hamlets and -villages remain hamlets and villages and do not grow gradually into -towns: it is a bit of genuine Old England where old customs remain and -simple needs suffice. A land with</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Little about it stirring save a brook!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sleepy land, where under the same wheel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The same old rut would deepen year by year.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">On the other hand, the Fenland inhabitants appear to be “full of go” -with their growing villages,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span> prosperous towns, flourishing ports, -railways, and waterways. It was energy that converted the wild watery -waste of the Fens into a land smiling with crops; it is energy that -keeps it so.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GLORIOUS UPLAND</i></div> - -<p>As we progressed we lost sight of the Fens, and soon found ourselves in -the midst of circling hills that bounded our prospect all around—hills -that dipped gently down to shady, wooded valleys, and rose above them to -bare, grassy, or fir-fringed summits, bathed in soft sunshine. Along the -sloping sides of this glorious upland we could trace the narrow white -country roads winding far away and wandering up and down till lost in -the growing grayness of the misty distance—just like the roads of -Devonshire. Indeed, in parts, the country we passed through distinctly -reminded us of Devonshire; it was as far removed from the popular -conception of Lincolnshire scenery as a Dutch landscape is from a -Derbyshire one. Indeed, a cyclist whom we met that evening at Horncastle -declared indignantly to us that he considered Lincolnshire “a fraud”; he -had been induced to tour therein under the impression that the roads -were “all beautifully level and good going.” He had just ridden over the -Wolds that day, he explained, hence his disparaging remarks—and he was -very angry!</p> - -<p>Journeying on we presently reached the lonely, picturesque, and -prettily-named village of Mavis Enderby. Its ancient church, a field’s -space away from the road, looked interesting with its hoary walls, gray -stone churchyard cross, and little sun-dial.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304">{304}</a></span> In the porch we noted a -holy-water stoup supported on four small clustered pillars; the interior -of the building we did not see, for the door was locked and we felt too -lazy to go and hunt for the key. The top of the cross is adorned with a -carving of the Crucifixion on one side, and of the Virgin Mary holding -the infant Saviour on the other. The shaft for about half its extent -upwards is manifestly ancient, the rest, including of course the -sculpturings, is as manifestly modern, though not of yesterday, for the -latter portion already shows slight signs of weathering, and has become -time-mellowed and lichen-clad. The figures at the top are effectively -but roughly carved in faithful imitation of medieval work of the same -class. So faithful in fact and spirit indeed is the copy that there is -no small danger of antiquaries in the years to come being deceived, and -pronouncing the cross to be a rare and well-preserved specimen of -fifteenth-century work. Apropos of this carefully studied copying of -ancient work it may not be uninteresting to quote here from a letter of -Lord Grimthorpe upon the restoration of St. Albans Abbey which he -carried out. “It took no small trouble to get them (new stones inserted -in the work) worked as roughly as the old ones, so as to make the work -homogeneous, and to bewilder antiquaries who pretend to be able to -distinguish new work from old; which indeed architects generally make -very easy for them.”</p> - -<p>As we were about leaving we observed an intelligent-looking man -leisurely walking on the road, the only living person we had seen in the -village by<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305">{305}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MODERN PURITAN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the way; we asked him if he knew anything about the cross,—who restored -it, and when? We were not prepared for the outburst that followed this -innocent query. “That popish thing,” he exclaimed savagely and -contemptuously, “we want another Cromwell, that’s about what’s the -matter, and the sooner he comes the better. I’m a Protestant, and my -forefathers were Protestants afore me. Now it’s bad enough to have -popery inside a church, as has crept in of late years,—lights, incense, -vestments, banners, processions; but to boldly bring their cursed popery -outside, well——” and he could find no words strong enough to express -his detestation of such proceedings, but he looked unutterable things. -“I just feel as how I’d like to swear,” he exclaimed, “only it’s -wicked.” We sympathised with him, and tried to calm his injured -feelings. We prided ourselves on our successful diplomacy; we said, -“Now, if Cromwell were only here he would soon have that cross down.” -This in no way compromised us, but it served somewhat to soothe the -stranger’s anger. “Ay! that’s true,” responded he, and regardless of -grammar went on, “mighty quick too, he’d mighty soon clear the country -of all the popish nonsense. Why, in my young days, we used to have -parsons, now we’ve got priests.” He then paused to light his pipe, at -which he drew furiously—our question never got answered after all, but, -under the circumstances, we thought perhaps it would be well not to -repeat it, we did not want a religious declamation—we were -pleasure-touring! The lighting of the pipe broke the thread of the -discourse for the moment,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306">{306}</a></span> and it seemed to us a good opportunity to -depart on our way.</p> - -<p>The fire of Puritanism, or whatever other name that erst powerful “ism” -goes under now, is not extinguished in the land but smoulders; will it -ever break out into a destroying flame again? It may; history sometimes -repeats itself! The swing of the pendulum just now appears in favour of -ritualism, strongly so, it seems to me; who can tell that it may not -swing back again? I once asked a New England Puritan of the pure old -Cromwellian stock—a refined man, a lover of art and literature—how it -was that Puritanism, in days past at any rate, was such a deadly enemy -to art? He replied, “It was so, simply of painful necessity. Freedom, -religious freedom, is more than art. Priestly tyranny had enslaved art, -bribed it into its service, and art had to pay the penalty. Nowadays art -has shaken herself free, practically free from her ancient masters, and -Puritanism and art are friends. And the Puritan lion may lie down with -the art lamb and not hurt him.” Which is a comforting thought should the -pendulum suddenly swing back again. It seems just now highly improbable, -but the improbable occasionally comes to pass. How highly improbable, -nay impossible, it would have seemed, say a century or so ago, that -incense, vestments, lighted candles on the “altar,” would find place in -the Church of England service, to say nothing of holy water being used, -and “the Angelus bell being rung at the consecration of the elements, -and the elevation of the Host,” as I read in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307">{307}</a></span> <i>Standard</i> of 29th -October 1890, was done at the dedication festival of the Church of St. -Mary, in Clumber Park, Worksop! Truly might Cromwell exclaim, were he to -come to life again and see these things, “The times are changed!”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT FIGHT</i></div> - -<p>Farther on we drove over Winceby Hill, one of the highest points of the -Wolds, and the scene of an early encounter between the forces of the -King and those of the Parliament; an encounter that is said to have -brought Cromwell into prominent notice, of which conflict we shall come -upon some relics at Horncastle anon, as well as a curious tradition -connected therewith.</p> - -<p>Leaving Winceby Hill our road began to descend; the country in front of -us, as it were, dropped down, and, far away below, we caught sight of -the red-roofed houses of Horncastle, with its gray church beyond, and -busy windmills around. It was a long descent, affording us a glorious, -far-extending view ahead over a well-wooded, watered, and undulating -country flooded with warm sunshine. It looked like a veritable land of -promise.</p> - -<p>Down we drove till at the foot of our long descent we found ourselves in -Horncastle, a quaint old town which has earned for itself more than a -local reputation on account of its yearly horse fair,—the largest and -most important, we were told, in the kingdom. We rejoiced that we had -not arrived the day of the fair; fair-days and market-days are best -avoided by the quiet-loving traveller. We had crossed a spur of the -Wolds and had touched the fringe of a charming stretch of country -agreeably<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308">{308}</a></span> diversified by heaths and fir forests to the west, where the -soil is light and sandy, in great contrast to that of the Fens and of -the chalk Wolds. Horncastle, I have said, is a quaint old town; it -struck us as a pleasant one as well, picturesque in parts, especially by -the side of the little river Bain that winds through it, and gives it -rather a Dutch-like look. The chief portion of the town is built on a -horn-shaped extent of land formed by the river. There was also a castle -there of which some slight ruins remain, hence the name Horncastle, a -bit of information I gleaned from a local paper. Consulting our old and -well-used copy of <i>Paterson</i> we noticed that the Bull Inn here was given -as the coaching and posting house, so we drove up to that old-time -hostelry confidently, for it generally holds good in country places that -the hotel mentioned in <i>Paterson</i> as the best is still the best. The -Bull too was a good old-fashioned title, suggestive of the olden days -and other ways; and within its hospitable walls we found comfortable -quarters and a most courteous landlord, who also, we discovered, during -a chat with him over our evening pipe, was like ourselves a confirmed -traveller by road. “There’s nothing like it for enjoyment and health,” -exclaimed he; “I never felt so well as when I was on the road.” -Sentiments in which we were one! Soundly we slept that night beneath the -sign of the Bull. The fresh air of the Wolds acted like a powerful -narcotic. Our long and interesting day’s drive had a pleasant ending!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309">{309}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Six hilly miles—A vision for a pilgrim—The scenery of the -Wolds—Poets’ dreams <i>versus</i> realities—Tennyson’s -brook—Somersby—An out-of-the-world spot—Tennyson-land—A -historic home—A unique relic of the past—An ancient moated -grange—Traditions. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning after breakfast we consulted our map as to the day’s -doings and wanderings. We found that we were only some six miles or so -away from Somersby, Tennyson’s birthplace,—six hilly ones they proved -to be, but this is a detail. After due consideration we decided that -being so comfortable and so much at home in our present quarters we -would “take our ease” thereat for still another night and devote the day -to exploring Tennyson-land, that is to say, the haunts of his youth. We -made out by our map that we could drive to Somersby one way, see -something of the country around and beyond, and return by another route, -a fact that would give additional interest to our explorations. It would -be a delightful little expedition, the morning was fine and sunny, our -aneroid was steady at “Fair,” the country before us was a <i>terra -incognita</i>, interesting because of its associations apart from the -possible beauty and certain freshness of its scenery.</p> - -<p>On leaving Horncastle our road at once com<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310">{310}</a></span>menced to climb the Wolds, -and as we rose the country around widened out. At the crest of the first -hill we rested a while to enjoy the prospect; looking back, our eyes -ranged over miles and miles of changeful greenery with the wide -over-arching sky above, a sky of a blue that would have done credit to -Italy. On the far-off horizon we could just discern the faint outlines -of Lincoln’s lordly minster, regnant on the hill above the city, a -vision that doubtless would have caused the pious medieval pilgrim to go -down on his knees,—I write “pious” though I am by no means sure that -all medieval pilgrims deserved that epithet. It was in those days a -cheap, comparatively safe, if uncomfortable way of travelling, the poor -man then had only to assume the garb and manners of a pilgrim to travel -and see novel sights and even foreign countries free of expense for -board or food, and he might be as lazy as he liked, provided he did not -mind a little leisurely walking and going through certain religious -observances. The modern tramp was born too late!</p> - -<p>As we drove on we had before us a sea of hills, round and green close at -hand, fading away by subtle degrees to gray, and from gray to tenderest -blue, where in the dim distance the land seemed almost to melt into the -sky. Then our road dipped down gradually into a well-wooded country, a -glorious country of leafy woods—most charming at Holbeck with its -little lakes, an ideal spot on a hot summer’s day; and from the woods -rose great grassy slopes down which the sunshine glinted in long lines -of yellow light, the golden warmth of the sunlit earth being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311">{311}</a></span> enhanced -by cool shadows of pearly-gray cast by the undulations of the land as -well as by cottage, hedge, and tree. The Wolds were very fair to look -upon that perfect September day.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE BEAUTY OF THE WOLDS</i></div> - -<p>The sun-bright air flooded the landscape with its light; an air so clear -and pure and sweet, so balmy yet so bracing, it made us exultant and our -journey a joy! Sunshine and fresh air, the fresh air of the Wolds, the -Downs, the moors, and the mountains, are as inspiriting as champagne, -and the finest cure in the world for pessimism! Whenever I feel inclined -that way I go a-driving across country and forget all about it! So we -drove on in a delightful day-dream, rejoicing that fate had led us into -the Lincolnshire highlands. The unassuming beauty of the Wolds gladdened -our hearts, there is a soothing simplicity about it that grander scenes -fail to convey; it is in no way wonderful, it is much better—it is -satisfying! It too is general, it boasts no presiding peak, no special -points of scenic importance that compel you to see them with an -irritating pretentiousness: it is not even romantic, it is merely -benign. It breathes the atmosphere of peace and homeliness, it does not -cry aloud to be admired—and surely there is a virtue in repose as well -as in assertiveness? And of the two, in this restless age, repose seems -to me the more excellent!</p> - -<p>What a wonder it is that the guide-book compilers have not discovered -Lincolnshire—and what a blessing! As a novelist once said to me, “I -grant you Lincolnshire has its charms, but there is nothing to catch -hold of in it.” Well, I am glad that such is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312">{312}</a></span> the case—one cannot -always be in the admiring or heroic mood, there is surely a virtue in -scenery that simply smiles at you and lulls you to rest. Here is a -charming and healthful holiday ground untrodden, and I can only -selfishly say that I trust it may long remain so. The beauty of the -Wolds awaits its discoverer and interpreter. Tennyson’s descriptions of -Lincolnshire, unlike those of Scott, are too vague to be popular. He is -never individual; you cannot even trace his Locksley Hall, nor his -Moated Grange. In the <i>Life of Lord Tennyson</i> his son writes, “The -localities of my father’s subject-poems are wholly imaginary.” Tennyson -also remarked to Professor Knight, “There are some curious creatures who -go about fishing for the people and searching for the places which they -fancy must have given rise to my poems. They don’t understand or believe -that I have any imagination of my own to create the people or places.” -For this reason, however much the public may admire Tennyson’s poetry, -his poems have failed to make it enthusiastic over Lincolnshire, or to -bring the tripper into the land. The tourist desires to inspect actual -places and spots, he would like to see the real Locksley Hall, the -Moated Grange, and so forth—and they are not to be found, for they are -poets’ dreams!</p> - -<p>The first hamlet we came to was curiously called Ashby Puerorum, as we -afterwards discovered, on account of its having been assigned to the -maintenance of the choir boys belonging to Lincoln Cathedral. The little -old church stands lonely on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313">{313}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE VIRTUE OF POVERTY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">an eminence from which we enjoyed a fine prospect over open wold and -sheltered dale. Fortunately, owing doubtless to the want of means, the -majority of the churches in the Wolds have not been restored but merely -repaired—a distinction with a vast difference. Said a passer-by, at -another hamlet farther on our way, “I’m afraid you’ll find our church -very old-fashioned inside, we’re too poor to restore it properly.” For -once I can exclaim, “Oh blessed poverty!”</p> - -<p>Much good ink has been spilt on the vexed question of restoration, so -many sins have been committed in its name, that the word has become -hateful to antiquaries and archæologists. There is a charm quite -incommunicable in words about an ancient fane whose walls are beautified -by the bloom of ages, and are hallowed by the oft-repeated prayers of -bygone generations of worshippers—generations who have added to its -history in stone as the years rolled by. Time has given every such -edifice a character of its own, just as it gives each human face its -special character. It has imparted an individuality to it; past -associations are gathered there, and a past atmosphere seems to be -enclosed within. Whilst without, the summer suns and winter storms and -frosts of unremembered years have left their mark, all of which give an -ancient church a pathetic look, and a poetic charm to be felt rather -than defined,—a charm that comes alone of age and old associations, and -that therefore no new building, however architecturally perfect but with -its history to make, can possibly possess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314">{314}</a></span></p> - -<p>Too often, alas! the restorer, when let loose upon an ancient church, -restores it so perfectly that he destroys nearly all past history (as -well, were it possible, might an aged man’s lined and thoughtful face be -“restored” to the sweet, though meaningless, simplicity of a baby’s). He -scrapes the walls most carefully down and makes them outwardly look like -new; he possibly restores the fabric backwards to the one period he -inclines to, obliterating as far as may be all the storied work of -intermediate generations, just in order, forsooth, to make the building -all of one style. And upon the unhappy result the grieved antiquary -gazes sadly, for its general aspect is no longer ancient, it looks like -new, its interest is gone. Sir James Picton has laid down the dictum -that the true principle of restoration is this: “Where an unsightly -excrescence has been introduced, remove it; where a stone is decayed -replace it; where the walls are covered with whitewash, clean them down. -If tracery be broken, match it with new of similar character; but spare -the antique surface. Do not touch the evidence which time has recorded -of the days gone by.” In the last sentence lies the very essence of true -restoration. A well-known architect once told me that he was -commissioned by a great man to design him a little country house wherein -he might retire and rusticate away from the trammels of State. “When you -design it,” said the nobleman to the architect, “be sure you write the -word ‘cottage’ large upon your paper.” So I would suggest to the -architect-restorer that whenever he is about to restore an ancient -building to write the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315">{315}</a></span> sentence “Do not touch the evidence which time -has recorded of the days gone by” largely in his mind. Within the church -of Ashby Puerorum we observed an interesting early sixteenth-century -brass to Richard Littlebury, his wife, and quiverful of ten children. -Also in the pavement under the communion table a fine incised marble -slab to a priest, who is shown in Eucharistic vestments.</p> - -<div class="sidenote">“<i>TENNYSON’S BROOK</i>”</div> - -<p>Then our road dipped down into a Devonshire-like lane, deep in shade, -with high hedgerows on either side, and branching trees overhead, -through the rustling foliage of which the softened sunshine shone in a -subdued golden-green, delightfully grateful and refreshing to the eye. -At the foot of the dip we crossed a little “babbling brook” on a little -one-arched bridge,—a brook that flows past the foot of Somersby rectory -garden, about half a mile away, and is locally known as “Tennyson’s -brook.” One cannot but believe that this is the exception to the rule, -and supplied the poet with the subject of his well-known poem. In this -belief the stream had a special charm for us; of itself, though pleasant -enough to look upon, it is insignificant, but the magic art of a great -poet has made it as famous as many a mighty river, such is the power of -the pen; a power that promises to rule the world, and dictate even to -dictators! We halted here a little while and watched the tiny -clear-watered stream flowing on brightly blue, sparkling and rippling in -the light, and here and there, beneath the grassy banks and bramble -bushes, showing a lovely translucent tawny tint, and again a tremulous -yellow where it glided<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316">{316}</a></span> over its sandy shallows with many musical -murmurings.</p> - -<p>Along the road we had come Tennyson in his youth must often have roamed -and tarried, for he was in love with the eldest daughter of Mr. Henry -Sellwood of Horncastle; and Dame Rumour has it that he composed many of -his early poems during those wanderings to and fro between Somersby and -that town. The pleasant stretch of country that the road traverses has -apparently little, if at all, changed since that time; so, much as it -looked to us, must it have looked to the poet, with its leafy woods, its -green meadows, its golden cornfields sloping to the sun, with the -bounding wolds around, that beautify whilst limiting the prospect.</p> - -<p>So driving on we came at last to old-world Somersby, a tiny hamlet that -has never heard the sound of the railway whistle, nor known the hand of -the modern builder, a spot that might be a hundred miles from anywhere, -and seems successfully to avoid the outer world, whilst in turn the -outer world as carefully avoids it! Most happy Somersby! We had found -Arcadia at last! In this remote nook Time itself seems to be napping, -very tenderly has it dealt with the poet’s birthplace and the scenes of -his boyhood around. Here it is always yesterday. A peace that is not of -our time broods incumbent over it, a tranquillity that has been handed -down unimpaired from ages past lingers lovingly around.</p> - -<p>On one side of the little-travelled road and a trifle back therefrom -stands the rambling rectory, with its home-like, yellow-washed walls, -and ridged<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317">{317}</a></span> and red-tiled roof; on the other stands the ancient church -hoary with age; while just beyond the rectory is a quaint old manor -house, or grange, formerly moated and now half buried in trees—and this -is Somersby. A spot worthy of being the birthplace of a great poet, “a -haunt of ancient peace.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>MILES FROM ANYWHERE</i></div> - -<p>Approaching the rectory we knocked at the door, or it may be we rang a -bell, I am not now sure which, and begged permission to be allowed to -sketch or photograph the house, which was freely granted. Emboldened by -the readiness to accede to our request we further gave a broad hint of -what a great pleasure it would give us just to take a glance within as -being the birthplace and early home of so famous a man; this favour was -also most courteously granted. It must be well for the present dwellers -in the now historic rectory that Somersby is miles from anywhere, and -that anywhere in the shape of the nearest town is not a tourist-haunted -one, or else they would have small respite from callers asking—I had -almost written demanding—to see the place. To such an extent did -Carlyle, even in his lifetime, find this tourist trespass that we are -told “the genial author of <i>Sartor Resartus</i> actually paid a labourer in -the parish £5 per annum to take admiring visitors to another farm and -pretend that it was Craigenputtock!”</p> - -<p>Entering Somersby rectory we were shown the quaint Gothic dining-room, -designed and built by the poet’s father, that somewhat resembled the -interior of a tiny church. A charming chamber, in spite of its -ecclesiastical look, for it had the stamp of individuality about it. The -oak mantelpiece here<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318">{318}</a></span> was carved by Tennyson’s father; in this there are -eleven niches, with a figure of an apostle in each—seven niches over -the centre of the fireplace and two on either side. By some error in the -design, we were informed, the reverend craftsman had forgotten to -provide a niche for the other apostle—surely a strange mistake for a -clergyman to make!</p> - -<p>In this quiet rectory, right away in the heart of the remote Wolds, -Tennyson was born in 1809, whilst still the eventful nineteenth century -was young. Under the red roof-trees at the top of the house is situated -the attic, “that room—the apple of my heart’s delight,” as the poet -called it. The rectory and garden have happily remained practically -unchanged, in all the changeful times that have passed, since those days -when the future poet-laureate sang his “matin song” there. At last the -hour came when the family had to leave the old home. Tennyson appears to -have felt the parting greatly, for he says—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We leave the well-beloved place<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Where first we gazed upon the sky:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The roofs that heard our earliest cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will shelter one of stranger race.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">But such partings are inevitable in this world; in a restless age that -prefers to rent rather than own its own home, even the plaintiveness of -such partings appeals but to the few. The modern mind rather loves -change than regrets it; the word “home” means not all it used to do in -the days ago!</p> - -<p>In the illustration of Somersby rectory, as seen from the garden, given -herewith, the room in which</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_014" style="width: 545px;"> -<a href="images/i_318fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_318fp.jpg" width="545" height="336" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>SOMERSBY RECTORY: THE BIRTHPLACE OF TENNYSON.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319">{319}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AT SOMERSBY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the poet was born is distinguished by the creeper-grown iron balcony. To -the right of the building is shown the gabled exterior of the Gothic -dining-room with the sunlight flickering over it, and the curious little -statues in the niches thereof, the carved shields built into the wall, -the grotesque heads graven on either side of the traceried windows, and -lastly, and most noticeably, the quaint gargoyles projecting boldly -forth. This addition of Dr. Tennyson to the rectory at once gives it a -welcome character, and lifts it out of the commonplace; without such -addition the house would be pleasant enough to look upon in a homely -way, but featureless. Like human beings, buildings are improved by a -little character; there is plenty of insipidity in the world in flesh -and blood as well as in bricks, or stones, and mortar.</p> - -<p>The old bird-haunted garden behind the rectory—especially beloved by -blackbirds and thrushes—with its old-fashioned flower-beds, its -summer-house, dark copper beeches, and sunny lawn sloping to the south, -remains much as when the Tennyson family were there, and a rustic gate, -just as of old, leads to the meadows and <i>the</i> brook that “runs babbling -to the plain.” For the sake of posterity it would be well if this -storied rectory, together with the little garden, could be preserved in -its original and picturesque simplicity for ever. Any day may be too -late! In the historic perspective of the centuries to come, Tennyson -will doubtless rank as the greatest poet of a great age—perchance as -one of the immortals, for some fames cannot die! and who can<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320">{320}</a></span> tell with -the growing glamour of time whether Somersby rectory, if preserved -whilst yet there is the opportunity, may not come to be a place of -pilgrimage even as is Stratford-on-Avon? The latter spot Americans love -to call “Shakespeare’s town,” as they delight to term England “the old -home”; will it ever be that Somersby will be called “Tennyson’s -village”? The best memorial of the great Victorian poet would be to -religiously preserve his birthplace intact as it now is, and was in the -poet’s youth; better, far better to do this little to his memory than to -erect statues in squares or streets, or place stained-glass windows in -cathedrals or churches—these can be produced any day! but his -birthplace, overgrown with memories and with the glamour of old -associations clinging to it, if by any chance this be lost to us it can -never be replaced, neither prayers nor money could do it. Gold cannot -purchase memories!</p> - -<p>The church of Somersby is small but it is picturesque (in my eyes at any -rate), and has the charm of unpretentiousness; you may admire a grand -cathedral, but a humble fane like this you may love, which is better. -The Christian religion was born of humbleness! The infant Saviour in the -lowly manger is ever greater than His servant, a lordly bishop in a -palace! So a simple, earnest service in such an unadorned church appeals -to me infinitely more, brings the reality of true religion nearer to my -heart, than the most elaborate ritual in the most magnificent cathedral -(which merely appeals to the senses), as though God could only be -approached<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321">{321}</a></span> through a pompous ceremonial with the aid of priestly -intercession, all of which</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Seems to remove the Lord so far away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The “Father” was so near in Jesus’ day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Ceremonial belongs properly to paganism, not to Christianity!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A TIME-WORN TOWER</i></div> - -<p>The ancient tower of Somersby church is squat and square, it boasts no -uprising spire pointing to the sky. The soft sandstone of which it is -built has crumbled away in places, and has been patched here and there -with red bricks and redder tiles. Its weather-worn walls are now -moss-encrusted and lichen-laden; tiny weeds and grasses—bird or wind -sown—find a home in many a crevice of the time-rent masonry. The tower -is a study of colour, its rugged surface shows plainly the stress and -stains of countless winter storms. Yellow and gray stones, green grasses -and vegetation, ruddy bricks and broken tiles, form a blending of tints -that go to make a harmonious whole, mellowed as they are by the magic -hand of Time. The tower stands there silently eloquent of the past, -beautiful with a beauty it had not at first, and that is the dower of -ages; it looks so pathetic in its patched and crumbling state, yet in -spite of all it is strong still. Generations will come and wither away -faster than its stones will crumble down.</p> - -<p>The most permanent feature of the English landscape is its ancient -churches. Kingdoms have waxed and waned, new empires and mighty -republics across the seas have been founded, since they first arose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322">{322}</a></span> -and still they stand in their old places, watching over the slumbering -dead around. But I am rhapsodising, and nowadays this is a literary sin. -I acknowledge my transgression and will endeavour to atone for it by -merely being descriptive for the future.</p> - -<p>On the gable of the porch of Somersby church is an old-fashioned -sun-dial—useful on sunny days to reproach laggard worshippers. This -bears the not very original motto, “Time passeth.” A better motto we -noted inscribed on an old Fenland country garden sun-dial as follows, -and which struck us as fresh:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A clock the time may wrongly tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I never, if the sun shine well.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Within the porch is a well-preserved holy-water stoup.</p> - -<p>The interior of the church unfortunately shows signs of restoration, in -a mild form truly, but still unwelcome as robbing the fabric of some of -its ancient character. Surely of all churches in the wild Wolds this one -might have been simply maintained. Possibly the poet’s wide renown has -been the cause of its undoing; well may Byron sing of “the fatal gift of -fame.” The church looks not now the same as when Dr. Tennyson preached, -and his son, who was to make the family name familiar throughout the -world, worshipped there. The obtrusive red-tiled pavement “that rushes -at you,” to employ an expressive artist’s term; the over-neat seats—of -varnished pine, if I remember aright—are clean and decent, but they -hardly harmonise with the simple<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323">{323}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote">“<i>NEW WINE IN OLD BOTTLES</i>”</div> - -<p class="nind">rustic fane. Better far, considering the associations it has acquired, -to have preserved the church as Tennyson knew it. Besides these signs of -“new wine in old bottles,” architecturally speaking, we noticed an -intruding harmonium; but this does not matter so much as it is movable, -and the eye knowing this can conveniently ignore it, no harm has been -permanently done, it is not structural. The instrument is inscribed—</p> - -<p class="c"> -To the glory of God<br /> -and in memory of<br /> -<span class="smcap">Alfred Lord Tennyson</span><br /> -September 1895.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">One cannot but feel that nothing new or mean should have been allowed to -find a place here; all the old church needed was to be repaired, that -might have been, possibly was, a painful necessity. To do more was to do -harm. In his <i>In Memoriam</i> Tennyson refers to “the cold baptismal font” -(where, according to the Somersby register, the poet was christened on -8th August 1809); this happily remains unchanged—a simple font of -shaped stone that well accords with the time-hallowed structure within -and the weather-worn walls without. That this has not been improved away -is a fact to be thankful for; we might have had some “superior carved -art” marble production in its place put there “To the glory of God, and -in memory of,” etc., the usual excuse for such innovations.</p> - -<p>In the graveyard of Somersby, close to the porch stands a genuine -medieval churchyard cross in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324">{324}</a></span> perfect condition, save for the inevitable -weathering of centuries—a sight to delight the heart of an antiquary. A -beautifully designed cross it is, in the Perpendicular style, most -gracefully proportioned, consisting of a tall octagonal shaft tapering -upwards from its base. On the top of the shaft, under an angular canopy, -is the figure of the Virgin Mary crowned on one side and a -representation of the crucifixion on the other. This cross is, I -believe, unique in England, inasmuch as it was neither destroyed by the -Puritans nor has it been restored. It only shows that then, as now, -Somersby must have been remote and out of the world, or how otherwise -can we account for this “superstitious thing” escaping their eagle eyes, -even so its escape is a marvel considering that Lincolnshire was one of -the strongholds of Puritanism. The peculiar preservation of this one -cross in all England, under the circumstances, would almost suggest some -unrecorded cause, it is a minor historical mystery! The tomb of Dr. -Tennyson is in the churchyard here. “Our father’s dust is left alone,” -pathetically exclaims the poet as he bade a reluctant farewell to the -home and scenes of his childhood to wander</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">In lands where not a memory strays,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Nor landmark breathes of other days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all is new unhallow’d ground.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We now turned to inspect the ancient and erst moated grange that stands -just beyond the rectory, the gardens of the two houses indeed adjoin. -This charming and quaint old home was naturally well known to Tennyson, -and within its time-honoured<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325">{325}</a></span> walls he and his brothers, we learn, used -to indulge their boyish pranks. It is reputed to have been designed by -Sir J. Vanbrugh; a substantial, imposing-looking building it is of -brick, and suggests a massiveness not often obtained in that material. -The parapet that runs along the top is embattled, a great doorway finds -a place in the centre of the front facing the road, the windows are -heavy and round topped, and at each corner of the house is a square -little tower that slightly projects. Though it does not wholly answer to -either description, it used to be believed by many people to be the -original of “The Moated Grange,” and by others that of “Locksley Hall.” -Now that we know that the poet himself has declared such fond -suppositions to be fallacies, the matter is settled for ever.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SOMERSBY GRANGE</i></div> - -<p>Seen from the roadway, and across the bit of wild garden, as we saw it -then, Somersby Grange, with no sign of life about it, not even smoke -from chimney, nor stray bird on roof, nor bark of dog; its sombre mass -standing darkly forth, gloomy in the shade cast down by overhanging -trees of twisted branches and heavy foliage, its weather-stained walls -gray and green with age; seen thus, the old grange impressed us greatly, -it seemed the very ideal of a haunted house, it positively called for a -family ghost. There was, as the Scotch say, an eerie look about it; the -gray, grim walls told of past days, and suggested forgotten episodes, an -air of olden romance clings thereto, mingled with something of the -uncanny. It was a picture and a poem in one—these first, then a -building!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326">{326}</a></span></p> - -<p>Now it fortunately so happened that the night before at Horncastle we -had met a Lincolnshire clergyman who took much interest in our journey, -past and to come; and, thoughtful-minded, hearing that we proposed to -explore Tennyson’s country, and knowing that we were total strangers in -the land, most kindly offered us introductions to the owners of one or -two interesting houses on our way. Somersby Grange, we found, was one of -these houses, therefore when we saw the house we felt how fortune -favoured us. So, armed with our introduction we boldly made our way to -the front door and were made welcome, the lady of the house herself -good-naturedly volunteering to show us over. Somehow it seemed on our -tour, as I believe I have remarked of a former one, that whenever we met -a stranger there we found a friend, and oftentimes, as in this instance, -a most kind friend too. This making of friends on the way is one of the -special delights of desultory travel by road.</p> - -<p>Within, Somersby Grange had quite a cheerful aspect that wholly belied -its exterior gloom,—a cheerfulness that we almost resented, for with it -all mystery vanished, and the air of romance seemed to fade away. The -front door opened directly into a well-lighted panelled hall with a -groined ceiling above. The interior was not so interesting as we -expected—but then we expected so much. The most notable objects here -were the cellars, of which there are a number all below the ground -level, so naturally dark and dismal; these tradition asserts to have -formerly been dungeons. Some of them have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327">{327}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>DUNGEONS OR CELLARS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">small arched recesses in the wall, in which, we understood, food for -prisoners was supposed to be placed. They certainly would have made -desirable dungeons, according to medieval ideas. And we were further -informed that certain antiquaries who had inspected the cellars -expressed their belief that they had been built for dungeons; possibly -the antiquaries in question were right. I always have a great respect -for the dictum of learned men, but in this instance, in spite of the -unknown authorities, and much as I dislike to differ from -well-established tradition, I still strongly incline to the opinion that -these underground places were simply intended for cellars. “Dungeons” -sounds more romantic truly, but why should such a house be provided with -dungeons? Besides, granted they were dungeons, then the difficult -question arises, “Where were the cellars?” For such a house, though it -might not need dungeons, would certainly require cellars, and bearing in -mind its date, a generous allowance thereof!</p> - -<p>We were told also that there is a tradition, handed down with the house, -according to which there is a long secret subterranean passage leading -from one of these cellars to some spot without; but I have heard so many -similar stories before of so many other places, that with respect to all -such mysterious passages I can only say, “Seeing’s believing.” The -Grange is a substantial building; its walls being three feet thick make -it delightfully cool in summer and as delightfully warm in winter. The -dweller in the modern villa, mis-termed “desirable” by its owner, knows -nothing of the luxury of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328">{328}</a></span> such thick walls, nor the saving in coal bills -entailed thereby. Somersby Grange is a house to entice the modern -speculative builder into, and having done so to point out to him the -solid substance thereof as an example of the liberal use of material -over and above that nicely calculated as the minimum required to outlast -a ground lease. Then possibly the speculative builder would justly reply -that to build houses like that to sell would mean the bankruptcy court. -These old houses were built for homes, not for one generation, but for -many. I am afraid that the changed conditions of life, owing mainly to -the cheap communication and rapid transit provided by railways, have -caused home building to become almost a lost art. Why, instead of a -family living for generations in one place, it is a matter of surprise -if they stay more therein than a few years; three appears to be a very -general and favourite term!</p> - -<p>The interior of Somersby Grange, I have to confess, disappointed us -after the promise of its romantic exterior. We failed to discover any -old-time tradition connected therewith, no picturesque elopement, no -hiding-place for fugitives, no horrible murder—no ghost. Indeed the old -home seems to have led quite a respectable and uneventful existence—it -is like a novel without a plot!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329">{329}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A decayed fane—Birds in church—An old manorial hall—Curious -creations of the carver’s brain—The grotesque <i>in excelsis</i>—The -old formal garden—Sketching from memory—The beauty of the -Wolds—Lovely Lincolnshire!—Advice heeded!—A great character—A -headless horseman—Extremes meet—“All’s well that ends well.” </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">From</span> Somersby we drove to Bag Enderby. What is the meaning of the -curious and distinguishing prefix “bag” it is difficult to divine; it -cannot be from “bog,” for the hamlet is in the hills and there are no -bogs about, nor are there likely to have been any even in the -prehistoric times. It might perhaps, but doubtfully, be derived from the -Anglo-Saxon “boc,” a beech, but this is merely unprofitable guessing. -The old church here is very picturesque, externally at any rate, but -somewhat dilapidated when we were there, and in want of repair. Like -that of Somersby its tower is scarred and weather-worn and picturesque -with the picturesqueness of strong decay; by this I mean that though the -face of the soft sandstone of which it is built has crumbled away in -places so as to give it a pathetic look of untold age, still the decay -is merely on the surface, and the softer portions of the stone-work -having suffered, the strongest and most enduring remain. The weather<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330">{330}</a></span>ing -is such as to cause a look rather than a reality of weakness, the walls -are massive enough to stand for ages yet, the old builders were -fortunately lavish of material; they built for time, if not eternity!</p> - -<p>Within, the church shows such unmistakable signs of a regular -restoration during the Churchwarden era and of having been untouched -since, that it is very interesting as an object lesson of that period of -ecclesiastical art,—so few churches being now left to us in this state. -Here we noticed the long out-of-date high-backed pews, with a large -square family one in the midst, presumably the squire’s. The woodwork of -some of these pews was worm-eaten, and the cushions thereof mostly -moth-holed. The pulpit is a two-decker affair of plain panelled deal, -such as in a few more years one may expect to find only in a museum—if -there.</p> - -<p>We noticed on looking up that where the roof joined the tower, or rather -failed to join it, we could clearly see the sky, and so on wet days the -rain must have free entry to the nave; fortunately there are no pews -immediately below! Still in spite of all, or shall I say because of all -this, the poor old church appealed to us. It was so charmingly innocent -of any attempt at “art” decoration, it happily boasted no pavement of -garish tiles suggestive of the modern villa, no Birmingham bright -brass-work, no crudely coloured stained-glass windows to offend the eye. -Take the pews and pulpit away and it would at once have been -delightfully picturesque, and even pews and pulpit sinned artistically -and architecturally solely in form, for Time had carefully toned them -down to a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331">{331}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE CHURCHWARDEN ERA</i></div> - -<p class="nind">perfectly harmless if not an actually pleasing tint. At any rate there -was no irritating pretence at misunderstood art; no imitation—a long -way off—of medievalism; no false note. The churchwarden was no artist; -but then he did not pretend to be one, so far I respect him; and he has -wrought infinitely less harm in our churches than the professional -restorer, so far I positively bless him! for he did not, of set purpose, -destroy old work to show how much better he could do it another way! -Truly he was over-fond of whitewashing walls, but this did not destroy -them, nor the ancient chiselling thereon. He was not enthusiastic about -stained glass, perhaps because it was expensive, and so he preferred -plain leaded lights through which one can see the blue sky, green trees, -and sunlit country; and certainly, though for other reasons, I prefer, -infinitely prefer, plain leaded lights to stained glass—unless the -stained glass be very good indeed, much better than ever was obtainable -in the churchwarden period. In fine, I consider that the old -art-ignorant, much-abused churchwarden has done, comparatively, but -small lasting harm to our old churches; his whitewash, that has often -preserved interesting frescoes, can be easily removed without hurt, his -pews and pulpits can almost as readily be removed. But the havoc a -“clever” and proudly opinionated restorer is oftentimes allowed to do -with impunity is beyond recall. However it may be I would much rather -have the interior of Bag Enderby church, primitive as it is, with its -ancient stone pavement in which the ancient brasses were set, than that -of Somersby church with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332">{332}</a></span> its prim and proper seats, and modern tiled -floor, both of which remind me painfully of a recently erected suburban -church raised by contract and at the lowest tender “To the glory of -God!”</p> - -<p>We found a lady in the church; who she was, or why she was there, I -cannot tell. We judged that possibly she was the rector’s wife or his -daughter; but this was pure conjecture, for we did not even know if the -rector were married. Moreover, who she was, or why there, concerned us -not. I am glad we met her, for she was most courteous in giving us all -the information it was in her power to impart. Truly, we had become -quite accustomed to such courtesies from utter strangers, but custom did -not diminish their pleasantness. By way of introduction she remarked -that “the church sadly needed some repairing.” We agreed, whether -uttered purposely or by accident, we were delighted to hear the -expression “repairing” employed instead of “restoring.” “We’re afraid,” -continued she, “that some day the roof may fall down upon us during -service.” We ventured to hope that it would fall down some other time. -We tried to be sympathetic, and endeavoured to look properly concerned -when we learnt that there were “bats in the belfry,” and that “birds -make themselves quite at home in the nave, Sundays as well as -week-days.” We were shocked to hear such bad behaviour of the -Lincolnshire birds; but, as we remarked, “birds will be birds all the -world over.”</p> - -<p>Observing an ancient brass let into the pavement in the centre of the -church, with an inscription<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333">{333}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ANCIENT BRASS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">thereon that looked interesting, we began to examine it; but the -lettering was somewhat indistinct from wear, besides being in those -puzzling straight up-and-down lines so much favoured in the fifteenth -century, and we found considerable difficulty in deciphering it in its -entirety, a difficulty enhanced by the dim light at the moment. The -strange lady was unable to help us here, but promised, if we would give -her our name and address, that she would send us a rubbing of the brass. -The kindness of strangers never seemed to fail us, for on our return -home we duly found a letter awaiting us with a careful rubbing of the -brass enclosed therein. Provided with this, all at our leisure, we read -the inscription thus:—<i>Orate p’ aīa Albini d’Enderby qui fecit fieri -istam ecclesiam cum campanile qui obiit in Vigilia sc̄i Mathie ap̄o -Āº Dn̄i MCCCCVII.</i>, which we roughly did into English: “Pray for the -soul of Albinus of Enderby, who caused to be made this church, with -bell-tower, who died in the vigil of St. Mathius the apostle, 1407.”</p> - -<p>The ancient font here is decorated with some curious devices carved in -shields; the chief of these we made out—rightly or wrongly, for I -should not like to be considered authoritative on the point—to be the -Virgin holding the dead Christ; a man, possibly David, playing on a -harp; a hart with a tree (query “the tree of life”) growing out of his -back, which tree the hart is licking with his tongue; a cross surrounded -by a crown of thorns, and others. This font was raised above the -pavement by a stone slab, a slab that, I regret to add, as is all too -plainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334">{334}</a></span> manifest, once formed a notable tombstone, for it is finely -incised with a figure and inscription, in great part now covered over by -the font! This fine slab, originally oblong in shape, has at some time -been deliberately broken in half in order to make it into a square, and -further than this, the four corners of the square thus constructed have -their ends chiselled away so as to form an octagonal base, more for the -saving of space and convenience than ornament, we imagined. This -plundering the dead in such a barefaced fashion, even when done for -religious purposes, is not a pleasant thing to contemplate.</p> - -<p>In one of the windows of the church is preserved a fragment of ancient -stained glass that possibly possesses a history, as it represents the -armorial bearings of Crowland Abbey, namely, three knives and three -scourges, and may have come from there. Amongst the tombs we noticed a -mural monument in the chancel to Andrew Gendney, Esquire, who is -represented in armour, with his wife and children. This monument, -bearing date of 1591, still shows traces of its original colouring -though over three centuries old.</p> - -<p>Near the church stands a fine elm tree with a long low projecting branch -close to the ground. This branch, we were told, was long enough to seat -all the inhabitants of the parish, which shows how extraordinarily long -the branch is, or how few the inhabitants of this remote hamlet are—we -understood the latter was the case.</p> - -<p>We next drove to “the old manorial hall” of Harrington, our road being -bordered by fine old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335">{335}</a></span> branching oaks and leafy elms, the shade of which -was very grateful; for though September, the sun shone down in a manner -worthy of the dog-days. Reaching our destination, and armed with our -introduction, we at once made our way to the rectory. Here we readily -obtained the keys both of the church and the Hall, and were provided, -moreover, with a servant to act as guide.</p> - -<p>Externally Harrington Hall is a bright, sunny-looking, red-brick -building, mostly of the Jacobean period, but much modernised, even to -the extent of sash-windows. Over the entrance is a stone slab let into -the brick-work, and carved with a coat-of-arms. By the side of this is a -sun-dial, with the date 1681 engraved thereon. On either side of the -doorway are mounting-blocks with steps, very convenient for -horse-riders, so much so that I often wonder why they have so generally -disappeared.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DESERTED HALL</i></div> - -<p>The old house was tenantless and empty, and wore a sadly forsaken look. -In one respect it was the very reverse of Somersby Grange, for while as -cheerful in outward appearance as the latter was sombre, within the -deserted hall was gloomy and ghost-like, with dismal, if large, -bed-chambers leading one into the other in an uncomfortable sort of way, -and huge cupboards like little windowless rooms, and rambling -passages—a house that had manifestly been altered from time to time -with much confusion to its geography. “A sense of mystery” hung over -all, and suggested to us that the place must be haunted. But here again, -though the very house for a ghost to disport himself in, or to be the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336">{336}</a></span> -home of a weird legend, it was unblest with either as far as we could -make out. A promise of romance there was to the eye, but no fulfilment!</p> - -<p>One old chamber, called “the oak room,” interested us greatly on account -of its exceedingly curious carvings. This chamber was panelled from -floor to ceiling. For about three-quarters of the height upwards the -panelling was adorned with “linen-pattern” work; above this, round the -top of the room, forming a sort of frieze, ran a series of most -grotesque carvings, the continuity of the frieze being only broken just -above the fireplace, which space was given over to the heraldic pride of -various coats-of-arms. Each panel that went to form the frieze had some -separate, quaint, or grotesque subject carved thereon; some of the -designs, indeed, were so outrageous as to suggest the work of a -craftsman fresh from Bedlam! There is a quaintness that overruns its -bounds and becomes mere eccentricity.</p> - -<p>The grotesque creations of the old monks, though highly improbable and -undesirable beings, still looked as though they might have actually -lived, and struggled, and breathed. The grotesque creations of the -carver of the panels in this room failed in this respect. One could -hardly, in the most romantically poetic mood, have given the latter -credit for ever existing in this or any other planet where things might -be ordered differently; they are all, or nearly all, distinctly -impossible. On one of these panels is shown a creature with the head and -neck of a swan, the body of a fish (from which body proceed scaled wings -of the prehistoric reptile kind),<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337">{337}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ECCENTRICITIES IN CARVING</i></div> - -<p class="nind">and a spreading feathered tail, somewhat like a peacock’s; the creature -had one human foot and one claw!—a very nightmare in carving, and a bad -nightmare to boot! Another nondescript animal, leaning to a dragon, was -provided with two heads, one in the usual place, and one in the tail -with a big eye, each head regarding the other wonderingly. Another -creature looked for all the world like a gigantic mouse with a long -curling tail, but his head was that of a man. Space will not allow me to -enumerate all these strange carvings in detail. It was the very room, -after a late and heavy supper such as they had in the olden times, to -make a fêted guest dream bad dreams.</p> - -<p>The gardens at Harrington Hall, though modest in extent, make delightful -wandering, with their ample walks and old-fashioned flower-beds, formal -and colourful, the colours being enhanced by a background of ivy-covered -wall and deep-green yew hedge. But what charmed us most here was a -raised terrace with a very wide walk on the top. From this we could look -down on the gardens on one hand and over the park-like meadows on the -other, the terrace doing duty as a boundary wall as well as a raised -promenade—an excellent idea. Why, I wonder, do we not plan such -terraces nowadays? they form such delightful promenades and are so -picturesque besides, with a picturesqueness that recalls many an -old-world love story and historical episode. What would the gardens of -Haddon Hall be without the famous terrace, so beloved by artists, and so -often painted and photographed? With the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338">{338}</a></span> coming of the landscape -gardener, alas! the restful past-time garden of our ancestors went out -of fashion, and with it the old garden architecture also. Formerly the -artificialness of the garden was acknowledged. The garden is still an -artificial production—Nature more or less tamed—but instead of -glorying in the fact we try to disguise it. The architect’s work now -stops at the house, so we find no longer in our gardens the quaint -sun-dial, the stone terrace, the built summer-house—a real house, -though tiny, and structurally decorative—the recessed and roomy -seat-ways that Marcus Stone so delights to paint, the fountains, and the -like; yet what pleasant and picturesque features they all are! Now we -have the uncomfortable rustic seat and ugly rustic summer-house of wood, -generally deal, and varnished, because they look more rural! Still there -are some people who think the old way best!</p> - -<p>The small church at Harrington is apparently a modern building, -containing, however, in strange contrast to its new-looking walls, a -series of ancient and very interesting tombs. I say the church is -apparently modern, for I have seen ancient churches so thoroughly -restored as to seem only just finished. But the restorer, or rebuilder, -here deserves a word of praise for the careful manner in which the -monuments of armoured warriors and others, ages ago dust and ashes, have -been cared for. These monuments are to the Harrington and Coppledike -families, and range from the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries, -supplying a good example of almost every style of sepulchral memorial to -the dead, beginning<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339">{339}</a></span> with the stone effigy, in full armour, of Sir Iohn -de Harrington, who is represented with his legs crossed; then passing -through incised slabs and brasses to the more elaborate altar-tomb; and -from this to the mural monument, where the figures are shown as -kneeling, not recumbent; and lastly, to the period when the sculptured -figures disappear altogether, and the portraits of the underlying dead -give place to mere lettering setting forth the many virtues of the -departed worthies.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A VAIN SEARCH</i></div> - -<p>Harrington Hall is another of the places that people, in a vain search -after the original of Locksley Hall, have imagined might have stood for -the poet’s picture, presumably because of its proximity to Somersby, -for, as far as the building goes, it affords no clue that “one can catch -hold of.” It is an old hall, and there the likeness appears to begin and -end! In spite of Tennyson’s disclaimer, I cannot but feel that, though -no particular spot suggested Locksley Hall to him, it is quite possible, -if not probable, that he may, consciously or unconsciously, have taken a -bit from one place, and a bit from another, and have pieced them -together so as to form a whole—a vague whole truly, but still a -tangible whole.</p> - -<p>To show how unknowingly such a thing may be done, I may mention that I -once remember painting a mountain-and-river-scape that I fondly imagined -I had evolved from my own brain. As I was at work on this an artist -friend (with whom I had often painted in North Wales, our favourite -sketching ground) chanced to look in for a smoke and a chat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340">{340}</a></span> “Hullo!” -exclaimed he, “what have you got there? Why, it’s Moel Siabod and the -Llugwy, though I don’t know the exact point of view.” For the moment I -deemed he was joking, as was his wont; but on looking again at the -canvas with fresh eyes I saw that, quite unwittingly, I had repeated the -general outline of that mountain, with even some details of the -landscape of the valley below—not by any means an accurate -representation of the scene, but sufficiently like to show how much I -was unconsciously indebted to the original for my composition. I have -still the painting by me, and on showing it to a friend well acquainted -with the district, and after so far enlightening him as to say it was a -Welsh view, he declared he knew the very spot I had painted it from! So -powerful oftentimes are impressions; for it was solely a forgotten -impression I had painted!</p> - -<p>Now, it happened that later on our journey we mentioned to a stranger -(with whom we gossiped, as we always do with interesting strangers we -come across, if they will) the fact that so struck us about Harrington -Church, its looking so new, whilst the tombs inside were so old. He -exclaimed in reply, “Well, you see the old church was pulled down and -entirely rebuilt. It was a pity, but it had to be. Its foundations had -given way so that the building was slowly sinking into the ground.” This -remark brought to our mind one of the few possible clues of subject -detail, as showing some distinct local colouring, for in “Locksley Hall -Sixty Years After,” we read:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341">{341}</a></span>—</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>COINCIDENCES</i></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yonder in that chapel, slowly sinking now into the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lies the warrior, my forefather, with his feet upon the hound.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cross’d! for once he sail’d the sea to crush the Moslem in his pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead the warrior, dead his glory, dead the cause in which he died.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">There truly in Harrington Church is the warrior with his legs crossed, -and Harrington is within an easy ramble of Somersby, so doubtless the -old church, then possibly “sinking into the ground,” with its tombs and -ancient hall, were well known to Tennyson in his youth, and doubtless -were lastingly impressed upon his romantic mind. It is just the spot -that would impress any one of a poetic temperament even now, but more so -then than now, when the church was in pathetic decay, broken down with -the burden of centuries! It will not escape notice that Tennyson clings -to the old tradition that a cross-legged effigy necessarily represents a -crusader. Perhaps it is too much to expect a poet to do otherwise, in -spite of the dictum of Dr. Cox (before mentioned) and that of other -learned authorities who can find it in their hard hearts to destroy a -pleasant bit of picturesque and purely harmless fiction.</p> - -<p>From Harrington we returned to Horncastle by a roundabout route, passing -through South Ormsby and Tetford, a route that led us through the heart -of the wild Wolds, and gave us a good insight into its varied and -characteristic scenery. A very enjoyable drive it proved, down dale and -over hill, past many-tinted woods, gorgeous in their autumn colouring, -through sleepy hamlets, and across one little ford, with a foot-bridge -at the side for pedestrians,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342">{342}</a></span> with the rounded hills bounding our -prospect on every hand. Now the hills would be a wonderful purple-gray -in cloud shadow, anon a brilliant golden green as the great gleams of -sunshine raked their sloping sides, lighting them up with a warm glory -that hardly seemed of this world, so ethereal did they make the solid -landscape look.</p> - -<p>There is a charm of form, and there is also a charm of colour, less -seldom looked for or understood; but when one can have the two at their -best combined, as in this instance, then the beauty of a scene is a -thing to be remembered, to make a mental painting of, to be recalled -with a sense of refreshment on a dreary winter’s day when the dark fog -hangs thick and heavy like a pall over smoky London. P. G. Hamerton, -who, if a poor painter, was an excellent critic, and a clever writer -upon art (for, like Ruskin, he had a message to give), remarks, “In the -Highlands of Scotland we have mountains, but no architecture; in -Lincolnshire architecture, but no mountains.” Well, I feel inclined to -retort, Lincolnshire <i>has</i> the architecture—and the Wolds. Truly, the -Wolds are not mountains, but picturesquely they will do as a background -to architecture even better than mountains. Mountains resent being -turned into a mere background to architecture; they are too big, too -important, far too assertive; the Wolds are dreamy and distant,—so the -very thing.</p> - -<p>Many years ago, when they were less known, and little thought of or -admired, I spoke of the Norfolk Broads as a land of beauty, worthy of -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343">{343}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PICTURESQUE LINCOLNSHIRE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">attention of tourists and artists. I was smiled at for my pains. Now the -painter revels in the Broads, and the tourist has discovered them. -To-day I say that Lincolnshire is a land of lovely landscapes, and that -its scenery is most paintable and picturesque to those who have eyes to -see, and this I have endeavoured to show in some of my sketches. Still I -expect to be smiled at for the assertion. “Whoever heard of Lincolnshire -being picturesque?” I can fancy people saying. The very remark was made -to me when I proclaimed the beauty of the Broads. I bide my time, and -wonder when artists will discover Lincolnshire. To be honest, however, I -have heard of one artist who has discovered it, but he is very reticent -about his “find.” Wise man he! If a landscape painter feels he is -getting “groovy,” and I fear a good many are, let him come to -Lincolnshire! Some centres in the county truly are better for his -purpose than others, but I will not particularise. I dread even the -remote chance of bringing down the cheap tripper. Once I innocently -wrote, and in enthusiastic terms, of the charms of a certain beauty-spot -that I thought was strangely overlooked and neglected. Well, I have -cause to repent my rashness, and accept the well-intentioned hint thrown -out to me by the <i>Saturday Review</i> some few years ago, thus: “Let Mr. -Hissey ponder, and in his topography particularise less in the future. -Our appeal, we know, places him in an awkward dilemma; but he can still -go on the road and write his impressions without luring the speculative -builder, etc. <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344">{344}</a></span>... if he deals delicately with his favourite -beauty-spots, and forbears now and then to give local habitation and -name.” Most excellent advice! That I have followed it to some extent is, -I think, shown by the later remarks of the same critic, who writes of a -more recent work of mine: “We are relieved to note that Mr. Hissey does -not wax eloquent concerning one of the most beautiful and unspoilt towns -in Sussex. He passes through it with commendable reticence.” It is a -pleasant experience for a critic and an author to be of one mind; for an -author to profit by a critic’s criticisms!</p> - -<p>Returning, in due course, to our comfortable quarters at Horncastle, on -dismounting from our dog-cart there we noticed an old man standing -expectantly in the yard. He was oddly dressed in that shabby-genteel -manner that reminded us very much of the out-at-elbows nobleman of the -melodrama stage, for in spite of his dress his bearing impressed us; it -was dignified. He at once came up to us and exclaimed, “I’ve got -something to show you, that I’m sure you would like to see.” I am afraid -that we were just a little heated and tired with our long drive and -day’s explorations; moreover, we were looking eagerly forward to a -refreshing cup of afternoon tea, so that we rather abruptly rejected the -advances made; but the stranger looked so disappointed that we at once -repented our brusqueness, and said we should be pleased to see what he -had to show us. Whereupon he beamed again, and pulling an envelope out -of his pocket he extracted therefrom a piece of paper, which he handed -to us for our inspection, with a smile. On this we read<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345">{345}</a></span>—</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A MAN OF MANY ACCOMPLISHMENTS</i></div> - -<p class="c"> -Marie Corelli,<br /> -with best wishes.<br /> -September 12th, 1897.<br /> -Horncastle.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="nind">“There now,” he exclaimed, “Miss Corelli, the famous novelist, wrote -that for me the other day when she was in Horncastle. I thought you -would like to see her handwriting. I’ve lots of interesting things I -could show you at my house if you like. I’ve got letters from other -great people. I’ve got Robert Burns’s—Bobbie Burns I calls -him—snuffbox, for which I have been offered £200 and refused it. I’m a -poet, too, and have composed a lot of original poems. I can sing a song -with any man. I’m a ventriloquist also, and have given entertainments -lasting two hours. I’m the oldest cricketer in England; but I won’t -detain you longer now. I could go on for an hour or more all about -myself, but I daresay you are tired with driving. Here is my name and -address,” handing us at the same time a rather dirty card. “Now, if you -would allow me, I should be pleased to show you round our town at any -time, and point out all the interesting things therein, for it is a very -interesting old place.”</p> - -<p>Manifestly we had come upon a character, curious above the general run -of characters; the man interested us, we felt glad to have met him, and -thereupon arranged that he should show us over the town in half an -hour’s time. So he departed with a smile promising to meet us in the -hotel yard in half an hour. Then we sought the ostler and asked him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346">{346}</a></span> -about the stranger. We were informed that he was a Mr. Baker, who kept a -small sweetmeat-shop in the place, and was a great antiquary. “He always -goes after strangers who come here. I expect he saw you come in -yesterday; he’s been hanging about the yard all the afternoon expecting -you back. He’s a regular character.” So we had concluded; still, -antiquarianism and selling sweetmeats did seem an odd mixture!</p> - -<p>It so happened that a day or two after this, chance threw us -unexpectedly in the company of the famous novelist, who was staying at -the same hotel in a Lincolnshire village that we stopped at, and during -the course of a conversation about many things, we told her the amusing -incident of our being shown her autograph at Horncastle. It appeared -that out of pure good-nature Miss Marie Corelli had given Mr. Baker her -signature, as he had boldly come to her and asked for it! Possibly had -he not been such a manifest character he would not have obtained it so -readily, for the autograph-hunter has become a nuisance in the land! -Somehow it has always been our fate when taking our driving expeditions -to become acquainted with at least one or more notable persons. This -tour proved no exception to the rule.</p> - -<p>We found Mr. Baker duly awaiting us at the time and place mentioned. -First he took us to the church, wherein he pointed out to us thirteen -scytheheads hanging on the north wall, three of which were mounted at -the end of poles so as to make rough but effective spears; these, he -told us, were relics of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347">{347}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A WORTHY KNIGHT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">the battle of Winceby Hill, and it was with these primitive but at the -period formidable weapons that the Lincolnshire rustics were armed who -helped materially to overthrow the King’s forces. The rusting relics of -the never-returning past interested us, and as we looked upon them the -centuries gone seemed somehow to narrow down to years; the mind is -beyond time and space! Then our guide pointed out to us the tomb of Sir -Ingram Hopton, who was slain at the fight, having previously unseated -Cromwell during the struggle. His epitaph, inscribed upon a mural -tablet, runs as follows:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -Here Lyeth ye worthy<br /> -And Honorable Kt. Sr Ingram<br /> -Hopton who paid his debt<br /> -To Nature and Duty to his King<br /> -And Country in the Attempt<br /> -Of seising ye Arch-Rebel<br /> -In the Bloody skirmish near<br /> -Winceby: Octr ye 6th. <small>A.D.</small><br /> -1643.</p> - -<p>“There is a tradition,” said Mr. Baker, “that Sir Hopton was killed by -having his head struck off at a blow, whereupon his horse rushed away -with his headless body, and did not stop till he came to the knight’s -front door at Horncastle. But I cannot answer for the truth of the -story, so you can form your own conclusions in the matter,” which we -did. Now our self-appointed guide led us to one of the side aisles, and -began to lift the matting up from the pavement, in search of a tombstone -he wished to show us, but for some inexplicable reason he could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348">{348}</a></span> not -readily find it. “It can’t surely have run away?” we exclaimed, amused -at the perplexity of the searcher; “tombstones don’t often do that.” But -the light was rapidly fading; already it was too dim to read -inscriptions on the dusky flooring, darkened further by the shadows of -the pews, so we left the tomb unseen. If I remember aright it was to the -memory of Tennyson’s parents-in-law.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baker then invited us to his house, an invitation we accepted; we -were taken there by what appeared to be a very roundabout way, in order, -we imagined, that our guide might point out to us one or two things of -interest. First we were shown the square red-brick house near the church -which was formerly the home of Mr. Sellwood, whose eldest daughter -Tennyson married. Except for this second-hand kind of fame the house is -not notable in any way; it is of a comfortable old-fashioned type, -without any architectural pretensions whatever—a type that possesses -the negative virtue of neither attracting nor offending the eye. As Mr. -Baker was a very old man (he told us he was born on 1st November 1814), -we ventured to ask him if by any chance he remembered seeing Tennyson as -a youth when living at Somersby. He told us that when he was a boy he -distinctly remembered Tennyson as a young man. “We did not think much of -him then; he used to go rambling miles away from home without his hat; -we used to think him a little strange. I have been told as how when he -was a boy he was a bit wild like, and would get on a mule and make him -go by rattling a tin box, with marbles<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349">{349}</a></span> in it, right over the animal’s -ears. He used to be very fond of going into the fields all alone, and -lying on his back on the grass smoking a pipe. He was very reserved, and -did not talk to people much; and that’s about all I know or have heard -about him. You see, sir, ‘a prophet hath no honour in his own country,’ -that’s Scripture, so it must be true.” We nodded assent.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>IN STRANGE QUARTERS</i></div> - -<p>Then Mr. Baker showed us Sir Ingram Hopton’s old home in the main -street, and going down a narrow lane pointed out some bits of rough and -ruined masonry, now built into walls and cottages; these crumbling bits -of masonry, we were told, formed portions of the old castle. I must, -however, confess that when castles come to this state of decay, they -fail to arouse my sympathies, for their history in stone is over, and -all their picturesqueness gone. After this we came to Mr. Baker’s little -sweetmeat-shop, situated in a by-street; we were ushered through the -shop into a tiny and somewhat stuffy sitting-room. Here we were bidden -to take a chair, and imagine ourselves at home; we did the former, the -latter was beyond our power, the surroundings were so unfamiliar! Then -Mr. Baker produced a parcel of letters written direct to him from sundry -more or less notable people; three of these, we observed, to our -surprise, were stamped at the top with the well-known name of an English -royal palace. They were all addressed to “Dear Mr. Baker,” and bore the -signature below of a royal personage! As we looked round the tiny humble -parlour at the back of the sweetmeat-shop imme<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350">{350}</a></span>diately after glancing at -the letters, a certain sense of the incongruity of things struck us -forcibly. Then we were handed another letter from the famous cricketer, -Mr. W. G. Grace, complimenting Mr. Baker on his old round-arm bowling! -“Maybe you would hardly think it,” remarked our host, “to look at me -now, a gray old man, but I was a great cricketer once. Why, I bowled out -at the very first ball the late Roger Iddison, when he was captain of -the All-England Eleven.” We felt inclined just then to say that we could -believe anything! So we accepted the statement as a matter of course -that the French (which one we were not told) Ambassador had been to see -Mr. Baker. After this we were allowed to gaze upon and even handle his -treasure of treasures, namely, the snuff-box of “Bobbie Burns, the great -Scotch poet,” in the shape of a small horn with a silver lid. This, we -were assured, had once belonged to Burns. It may have done; anyway, on -the lid is inscribed “R. B., 1768,” and it looks that age.</p> - -<p>Mr. Baker informed us that though he kept only a very small and -unpretending sweet-shop, his mother’s ancestors were titled, “but really -the deed makes the nobleman and I make excellent sweets. I send them -everywhere,” he said; “you must try them,” whereupon he presented us -with a tin box full of his “Noted Bull’s-Eyes.” Let me here state that -the bull’s-eyes proved to be most excellent. I make this statement on -the best authority, having given them to my children, and children -should be the best judges of such luxuries, and they pronounced<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351">{351}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>PARDONABLE IGNORANCE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">them “most delicious.” Then Mr. Baker insisted upon singing to us an old -English song; he would have added some ventriloquism, but we said that -we really could not trespass upon his valuable time and hospitality any -longer, so we took our departure, and sought the ease of our inn. We -have come upon a goodly number of characters during our many driving -tours, but I do not think that we have ever come upon a greater one than -Mr. Baker; long may he live yet! That I had never heard of him before I -arrived in Horncastle seemed genuinely to surprise him! Well, I had not, -“there are so many famous people in the world,” as I explained in -excuse, “nowadays you cannot really know of them all!” “That’s quite -true, sir,” replied he, and we parted the best of friends. I am sure I -was forgiven for my ignorance, for a little later that evening a parcel -came for me to my hotel, and I found it to contain a quantity of -gingerbread, “With Mr. Baker’s compliments!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352">{352}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A friend in a strange land—Horse sold in a church—A sport of the -past—Racing the moon!—Facts for the curious—The Champions of -England—Scrivelsby Court—Brush magic—Coronation cups—A unique -privilege—A blundering inscription—A headless body—Nine miles of -beauty—Wragby—At Lincoln—Guides and guide-books—An awkward -predicament. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">That</span> evening, whilst looking over our day’s sketches and notes in our -cosy parlour at the Bull, we had a pleasant surprise. “A gentleman to -see you,” said the be-ribboned waitress, whereupon in walked the -antiquarian clergyman whose acquaintance we had made the day before, and -who had so kindly given us introductions to the owners of Somersby -Grange and Harrington Old Hall. “I’ve just looked in,” exclaimed he, “to -hear how you have fared and enjoyed your little exploration—and for a -chat,” and we bade him a hearty welcome. It was in truth very pleasant -to find such good friends in strangers in a strange land!</p> - -<p>A very delightful evening we spent together; our friend was a mine of -information, a treasury of memories—apparently an inexhaustible mine -and treasury—to say nothing of his store of old folk-lore. As he -talked, I smoked the pipe of perfect peace—and listened, and took -copious notes, most of which,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_353" id="page_353">{353}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A HORSE-DEALING STORY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">it proved afterwards, owing to the hurry in jotting them down, I could -not make much of! One story amongst the number, however, I managed to -take down in a readable form. This relates to an incident that took -place last century at one of the great Horncastle horse fairs, a story -that we were assured was “absolutely authentic.” I grant, for an -authentic story, that the date is rather vague, but the exact one was -given us, only I cannot make out my figures beyond 17—, but this is a -detail; however, the vicar’s name is stated, which may afford a clue as -to about the year. I transcribe the story from my notebook verbatim, -just as we took it down:—Horse sold in Horncastle Church. Two dealers -at the great horse fair in 17—tried to sell a horse to the vicar, Dr. -Pennington. At their breakfast one Sunday morning the two dealers made a -bet of a bottle of wine, one against the other, that he would sell his -horse to the vicar first. Both attended divine service, each going in -separately and unknown to the other. One sat by the door, intending to -catch the vicar as he came out; the other sat close under the pulpit. As -the vicar descended from the pulpit after a learned discourse, the -dealer under the pulpit whispered, “Your reverence, I’m leaving early -to-morrow morning, you’d better secure that mare.” The vicar whispered -reply, “I’ll have her.” There is perhaps not very much in the story, but -as we were assured by our clergyman friend that it was true, it may be -repeated as showing the free and easy manners of the period, when at -sundry times rural weddings and christenings had to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_354" id="page_354">{354}</a></span> be put off from one -day to another, because the parson was going out hunting! Yet somehow -those old parsons managed to get beloved by their parishioners. They did -not preach at them too hard, nor bother the rustic heads over-much about -saints’-days, fasts, and feasts, and not at all about vestments, lights -on the altar, or incense.</p> - -<p>Bull-baiting, we learnt, used to be a favourite sport in Horncastle, and -until a few years ago the ring existed in the paved square to which the -unfortunate bull was attached. My informant knew an old woman who was -lifted on the shoulder of her father to see the last bull baited in -1812. He also related to us a story of a famous local event, “the racing -the moon from Lincoln to Horncastle,” a distance of twenty-one miles; -how that one day a man made a bet that he would leave Lincoln on -horseback as the moon rose there, and arrive in Horncastle before it -rose in that town, which apparently impossible feat may be explained -thus—Lincoln being situated on a hill, any one there could see the moon -rise over the low horizon some considerable time before it could be seen -rising at Horncastle, the latter place being situated in a hollow and -surrounded by heights. It appeared the man raced the moon, and lost by -only two minutes, which exact time he was delayed by a closed -toll-gate—and a very provoking way of losing a bet, we thought! Amongst -other minor things we were informed that the town cricket-field is still -called the “wong,” that being the Anglo-Saxon for field; also that just -outside Horncastle the spot on which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_355" id="page_355">{355}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE PICTURESQUE CARED FOR</i></div> - -<p>May Day games were held is still known as Maypole Hill. One old and -rather picturesque hostel in the town, the “King’s Head” to wit, is -leased, we learnt, on condition that it shall be preserved just as it -is, which includes a thatched roof. I would that all landlords were as -careful of the picturesque!</p> - -<p>Respecting some curious old leaden coffins that had been recently -unearthed whilst digging foundations in the outskirts of Horncastle, of -which the date was uncertain, though the orientation of the coffins -pointed to the probability of Christian burial, we were assured that if -the lead were pure they would doubtless be of post-Roman date; but, on -the other hand, if the lead contained an admixture of tin, they were -almost certain to be Roman. A fact for the curious in such things to -make note of; according to which, however, it seemed to us, it would be -needful to have ancient lead analysed in order to pronounce upon its -date. I am glad to say that my antiquarianism has not reached this -scientific point, for it turns an interesting study into a costly toil.</p> - -<p>Before leaving, our antiquarian friend said we must on no account miss -seeing Scrivelsby Court, the home of the Dymokes, the hereditary Grand -Champions of England, and lineal descendants of the Marmions. The duty -of the Grand Champion is, we understood, to be present at the coronation -on horseback, clad in a full suit of armour, gauntlet in hand, ready to -challenge the sovereign’s claims against all comers. After this the -Champion is handed a new gold goblet filled with wine, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_356" id="page_356">{356}</a></span> he has to -quaff, retaining the cup which is of considerable value. “The house is -only two miles and a half from here; you must go there, and be sure and -see the gold coronation cups. I’ll give you a letter of introduction,” -exclaimed our good friend, and thereupon he called for pen and ink and -paper, and wrote it out at once. Having written and handed us this, he -further remarked: “You’ll drive into the park through an arched gateway -with a lion on the top; the lion has his foot raised when the family are -at home, and down when they are away. But now it’s getting late, and I -really must be off.” So our good-natured and entertaining companion, -with a hearty hand-shake, departed. Verily we did not fail for friends -on the road!</p> - -<p>Early next morning we set out to drive to Scrivelsby Court; we could not -afford to wait till the afternoon to make our unexpected call—the day -was too temptingly fine for that; and moreover we had planned to be in -Lincoln that evening, where we expected to find letters from -home—Lincoln being one of our “ports of call” for correspondence and -parcels. It was a very pleasant and pretty drive from Horncastle to -Scrivelsby, the latter half of the way being wholly along a leafy and -deep-hedged lane green in shade, and having here and there a thatched -cottage to add to its picturesqueness—a bird-beloved lane of the true -Devonian type.</p> - -<p>Presently we arrived at the stone-arched gateway that gives admission to -Scrivelsby Park; here above the Gothic arch we noticed the carved -aggressive-looking lion of which we had been told, with a crown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_357" id="page_357">{357}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A “LION-GUARDED GATE”</i></div> - -<p class="nind">on his rugged head, his paw raised and tail curled, keeping silent watch -and ward around, as he has done for centuries past. The gateway at once -brought to mind one of the few descriptive lines in “Locksley Hall Sixty -Years After”—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here is Locksley Hall, my grandson, here the lion-guarded gate.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>We had, fortunately, brought our copy of Tennyson with us into -Lincolnshire, so that we were enabled to refer to it from time to time. -Driving under the gateway, and along the smooth winding road across the -park, we soon came in sight of the house, the greater part of which is -unfortunately comparatively modern, and in the Tudor style, the old -mansion having been burnt down in 1765, but happily the ancient moat -still remains, and this with the time-toned outbuildings makes a -pleasant enough picture. Driving under another arched gateway we entered -the courtyard, with an old sun-dial in the centre; before us here we -noted a charming little oriel window over the entrance porch. Again we -were reminded of certain lines in the same poem that seemed to fit in -perfectly with the scene:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here we met, our latest meeting—Amy—sixty years ago—<br /></span> -<span class="idttt">. . . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just above the gateway tower.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">and,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From that casement where the trailer mantles all the mouldering bricks—<br /></span> -<span class="idttt">. . . . . .<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I shelter’d in this archway from a day of driving showers—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peept the winsome face of Edith.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_358" id="page_358">{358}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">Now, first at Scrivelsby we have “the lion-guarded gate”; then the -second arched gateway we drove through may well be Tennyson’s “gateway -tower”; further still the “casement where the trailer mantles all the -mouldering bricks” might be the oriel window above the porch, as it is a -prominent feature from the archway. Though I may be wholly wrong, I -cannot help fancying that Scrivelsby has lent bits towards the building -up of Locksley Hall. Perhaps I may have looked for resemblances—and so -have found them; for it is astonishing how often we find what we look -for. “Trifles,” to the would-be-discoverer, are “confirmation strong as -proofs of holy writ.” Some short time ago I was calling on an artist -friend, and I observed hanging on the wall of his studio a charming -picture representing an ancient home, with great ivy-clad gables, -bell-turrets, massive stacks of clustering chimneys, mullioned windows, -and all that goes to make a building a poem. “What an ideal place,” I -promptly exclaimed; “do tell me where it is; I must see the original; -it’s simply a romance.” My friend’s reply was somewhat puzzling. “Well, -it’s in six different counties, so you can’t see it all at once!” -“Whatever do you mean?” I retorted. “Well,” he responded, “it’s a -composition, if you will know—a bit from one old place, and a bit from -another; the bell-turret is from an old Lancashire hall, that curious -chimney-stack is from a Worcestershire manor-house, that quaint window I -sketched in a Cotswold village, and so forth. I can’t locate the house, -or give it a distinguishing name, you see.” Now this incident</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_015" style="width: 552px;"> -<a href="images/i_358fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_358fp.jpg" width="552" height="332" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>SCRIVELSBY: THE HOME OF THE CHAMPIONS OF ENGLAND.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_359" id="page_359">{359}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">is an actual fact; if, therefore, an artist could create an old home -thus, why not a poet? The poet’s task would be by far the easier, for he -can so easily generalise; the painter must particularise, the latter -could not leave a “lion-guarded gate” to be imagined, he must draw it. -Both poet and painter may romance, but the painter has not nearly such a -free hand as the poet!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SCRIVELSBY COURT</i></div> - -<p>Pulling up at the front door of Scrivelsby Court we sent in our letter -of introduction, hardly, however, expecting to be admitted at that early -hour; still our usual good fortune prevailed, for not only were we -admitted, but the lady of the house herself volunteered to show us over. -We observed a few suits of armour in the hall, and some heralds’ -trumpets hung from the walls thereof with faded silken banners attached, -but much of interest was destroyed by the fire of the last century, -including the fine and famous old panelling carved with various -coats-of-arms. A number of the coronation cups were brought out for our -inspection; the majority of these were simply adorned with the initials -of the different kings, below which was the royal coat-of-arms. -Curiously enough the cup of George IV. was the most artistic by far—I -might safely say the only artistic one. On this, in place of the royal -arms in the centre, we have a figure of the Champion embossed there. He -is represented in a spirited manner mounted on a prancing charger, -holding his lance ready poised in one hand; and on the ground in front -of him lies his gauntlet as a challenge to all comers. The whole design -is enclosed in a raised<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_360" id="page_360">{360}</a></span> wreath of laurel leaves. And a very creditable -bit of decorative work it is; wonderfully so considering the time—a -fact that seems to prove we have always the artist with us, though -certain periods do not encourage him to assert himself. Like the poet, -the artist is born, not made; and he may be born out of due season in an -inartistic age. On being asked to lift one of these cups we were -astonished at its weight; so little accustomed is one to handle gold in -the mass that the heaviness of the metal is not at the moment realised.</p> - -<p>The hereditary Grand Championship of England is a privilege that goes -with the manor of Scrivelsby, and was instituted by the Conqueror; and -this brings to mind another peculiar privilege appertaining to the -family of “the fearless De Courcys,” granted as an acknowledgment of -valiant deeds done on the battlefield. The representatives of this -ancient family are entitled to the unique right of standing in the royal -presence with head covered, and when George IV. visited Ireland in 1821 -the then representative of the De Courcys claimed his privilege and -stood before the king “bonneted”:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So they gave this graceful honour<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the bold De Courcy’s race—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That they ever should dare their helms to wear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Before the king’s own face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sons of that line of heroes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To this day their right assume;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For when every head is unbonneted,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They walk in cap and plume!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>In the restored church of Scrivelsby most of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_361" id="page_361">{361}</a></span> king’s Champions rest -in peace beneath their stately altar-tombs and ancient brasses. The tomb -here of Sir Robert Dymoke, who died in 1545, and who successively -performed the duties of Champion at the coronations of Richard III., -Henry VII., and Henry VIII., is interesting to antiquaries on account of -a curious blunder in the inscription, he being termed thereon “knight -baronet” instead of “knight banneret,” as is proper—Sir Robert Dymoke, -for his services, being entitled to carry the banner of the higher order -of knighthood in place of the pennon of the ordinary knight. This -strange blunder has sadly perplexed many learned antiquaries, and many -theories have been suggested in explanation thereof. The simplest and -most probable explanation appears to me to be the quite excusable -ignorance of the engraver. It has been thought by some that the error is -due to a careless restoration, but I hardly think this to be the case, -as I imagine the inscription is the original one, unaltered. The sins of -the restorer are great enough surely without adding to them -problematically!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GRUESOME DISCOVERY</i></div> - -<p>Our good clerical and antiquarian friend at Horncastle had told us -overnight that some years ago, whilst making alterations in the flooring -of Scrivelsby church, a body was found in a coffin with a lump of clay -in the place where the head should be. This was the remains of the -Dymoke who fought against the king at the battle of Stamford, or as it -was popularly called, “Loose-Coat Field.” This Dymoke was taken prisoner -there, and afterwards beheaded, and his traitor-head was exposed on the -tower gate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_362" id="page_362">{362}</a></span>way of London Bridge. According to Drayton (<i>Polyolbion</i>, -xxii.) the men of the defeated army in this encounter</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cut off their country’s coats to haste their speed away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which “Loose-Coat Field” is called e’en to this day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Leaving storied and picturesque Scrivelsby with regret, we retraced our -road to Horncastle, and got on the old Lincoln turnpike highway there; a -splendid wide coaching road running for some miles along the top of an -elevated stretch of ground, from which we obtained glorious prospects -over a country of rolling hills (the Wolds) to our right, and over a -fine expanse of well-wooded land to our left, a sea of waving greenery -stretching away till lost in misty blue. I trust that our -coach-travelling ancestors—to whom was granted the privilege of seeing -their own country when they made a journey—enjoyed the scenery on the -way as much as we did that morning; if so their enjoyment must have been -great. But the love of scenery is of recent birth. I sadly fear that our -ancestors, from all accounts, thought far more of the comforts of their -inns than of the beauties of the landscape they passed through; as for -mountains they simply looked upon them as ugly obstructions to easy and -speedy travel, and heartily hated them accordingly!</p> - -<p>It was one of those fine, fresh, breezy days that make it a delight -simply to be out of doors; the atmosphere was life-giving. The sky above -was compounded of about equal parts of deep, pure blue and of great -white rounded clouds, that as they sailed along caused a ceaseless play -of sunshine and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_363" id="page_363">{363}</a></span> shadow over all the spreading landscape. “Well,” -exclaimed my wife, “and this is Lincolnshire; I don’t wish for a -pleasanter country to travel in!” “Nor I,” was my response.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DECAYED MARKET-TOWN</i></div> - -<p>The first place we came to was Wragby, some nine miles from -Horncastle—nine miles of beauty, if uneventful ones. It was a restful, -refreshing stage, without anything special to do or to inspect on the -way. We had seen so much of late that we rejoiced for a change in a -day-dreamy progress with nothing to disturb our quiet enjoyment of the -greenful gladness of the smiling country-side. Wragby is a little -decayed market-town, clean and wind-swept; a slumberous spot that seems -simply to exist because it has existed. The only moving thing in it when -we arrived, as far as we could see, were the great sails of one tall -windmill that stood just where the houses ceased and the fields began, -and even these sails revolved in a lazy, leisurely fashion, as though -hurry were a thing unknown in the place. We did not catch a glimpse of -the miller, perhaps because he was asleep whilst the wind worked for -him! We did not see a soul in the streets or deserted market-square, but -possibly it was the local dinner-hour. So still all things seemed; the -clatter and rumbling of our dogcart sounded so loudly in the quiet -street, that we felt as though we ought almost to apologise to the -inhabitants for disturbing their ancient tranquillity. One can hardly -realise what perfect quietude means till one has experienced it in some -somnolent rural town at dinner-hour. Such places possess a stillness -greater than that of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_364" id="page_364">{364}</a></span> country where the birds sing, the leaves of -the trees rustle in the wind, and the stream gurgles on its way—all in -the minor key truly, still noticeable—to which may be added the sounds -that proceed, and carry far, from the many farmsteads, the lowing of -cattle, the bleating of sheep, the bark of dog, the call of shepherd, -the rattle of the mowing or reaping machine. No, for perfect quietness -(or deadly dulness, if you will) commend me to some old, dreamy, decayed -market-town at mid-day!</p> - -<p>Wragby is not a picturesque place, not by any stretch of the -imagination; nor, in the usual acceptance of the term, is it in any -possible way interesting. Yet it interested us, in a mild manner, on -account of its homely naturalness, its mellow look, and the -indescribable old-world air that brooded over all. It seemed to belong -to another day, as though in driving into it we had driven into a past -century as well. There was a sense of remoteness about the spot, both of -time and space, that appealed strongly to our feelings. A mere matter of -sentiment all this, a purely poetic illusion that we gladly gave way to -for the time; it is a good thing to be able to romance, now and then, in -this most unromantic age!</p> - -<p>We drove under the archway of the drowsy and weather-beaten old inn that -faced us here, a plain structure enough, but it appealed to us as a -relic of the old coaching days. The stable-yard was deserted, erstwhile -so busy; for Wragby was an important posting place in the pre-railway -age, being the half-way house between Lincoln and Louth, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_365" id="page_365">{365}</a></span> well as -between Lincoln and Horncastle; for at this spot those two highways -meet.</p> - -<p>Having aroused some one and stabled our horses, we entered the ancient -hostelry, and were shown into a front sitting-room, where, doubtless, in -the days gone by, our forefathers feasted and made merry. The saddest -feature of this later age is the decay of joyousness in life; we travel -luxuriously certainly, but seriously, as we seem to do all else. Our -sitting-room had a look as though it had seen better times, the carpet, -curtains, and paper were worn and sun-faded, but the room was clean and -sweet, and the sunshine streaming in made it more cheerful, to me at any -rate, than certain sumptuously furnished drawing-rooms I know well, -where the inspiriting sunshine is carefully excluded by blinds, lest it -should fade the too expensive upholstering. Yet there is nothing so -decorative or so truly beautiful in a room; it is only the poor, if -expensive, modern material that fades shabbily. Good old stuff, a Turkey -or Persian carpet, old Oriental hangings, tone and improve rather by -light, their colours are simply softened down.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>HUNGRY TRAVELLERS</i></div> - -<p>“What can we have to eat?” we inquired. “Have you any cold meat?” No, -but they could perhaps get us a chop, or we could have some ham and -eggs, or bread and cheese. We were hungry, very hungry in fact, for -driving across country on a breezy, bracing day is a wonderful -appetiser; so, neglecting the counter attractions of bacon and eggs—the -standard dish of a homely country inn when other things fail—we elected -to have the certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_366" id="page_366">{366}</a></span> bread and cheese rather than wait for the doubtful -chop; besides, sometimes chops are tough, and oftentimes they are fried, -and not grilled as they should be. Presently a coarse but spotless cloth -was laid upon the table, napkins were provided, and some wild flowers in -an ugly vase made a welcome decoration—the flowers, not the vase! Even -the vase had its lowly use, it enhanced the delicate beauty of the -flowers by contrast. After all we had no cause to regret our frugal -fare, for we enjoyed some delicious home-baked bread with a sweet -flavour and a deliciously crisp crust, quite a different article from -the insipid production of the London baker, and far more to be desired, -an excellent cheese, not made abroad, and some home-brewed ale, -nut-brown and foaming, which we quaffed with much satisfaction out of a -two-handled tankard. It was truly a simple repast, but then everything -of its kind was as good as it could be, and our bill came to only two -shillings—one shilling each!</p> - -<p>Leaving Wragby we entered upon another very pleasant but uneventful -stretch of country; it was a reposeful afternoon, the wind had dropped, -and all nature was in a tranquil mood; in sympathy with her so were we. -In fact during the whole of the afternoon’s drive we neither sketched -nor photographed, nor descended once from the dogcart to see this or -that; we were content to behold the country from our comfortable seat in -a lazy sort of way; and there is a virtue in laziness sometimes. The -quiet, pastoral landscape had a drowsy aspect that was most -peace-bestowing. We drove leisurely on,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_367" id="page_367">{367}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A LAZY LAND</i></div> - -<p class="nind">satisfied simply to admire the extended and varied picture gallery that -nature presented to us free.</p> - -<p>Except the striking prospect of Lincoln that we had towards the end of -our dreamy stage, I can only now recall of it a confused memory of green -and golden fields; of shady woods, beautiful with the many tints of -autumn; of hedgerowed lanes, that in a less lazy mood we should -certainly have explored; of picturesque old cottages and rambling -time-toned farmsteads, the very picture of contentment; of silvery -gliding streams, and a vague blue distance bounding all.</p> - -<p>Passing through the long-streeted village of Langworth, a name derived, -I take it, from the Anglo-Saxon “lang” long, and “worth” a street or -place, so that it is suitably called,—the fine view of Lincoln Minster -and city aforementioned was suddenly presented to us, a view not readily -to be forgotten! There before us stood the ancient minster with its -three stately towers crowning the steep hill that rises so finely and -abruptly out of the clustering city below; the triple-towered fane -dominating the whole in a truly medieval fashion. No feudal castle ever -looked more masterful, or more lordly asserted its supremacy over the -dwellings of the people. What a change from the early days when the -Church, poor and persecuted like its Master, conquered the world by -humility! That day we beheld the Church triumphant. There is no -suggestion of poverty or humility about this majestic minster, but there -is a plentiful suggestion of dignity and Christian (?) pride. The -position of Lincoln Cathedral in stateliness is<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_368" id="page_368">{368}</a></span> unrivalled in England, -with the possible exception of that of Durham which in a like manner -stands imperial upon its rocky height above the smoky city; but Durham -is dark and sombre, whilst Lincoln is bright and clean and beautiful. It -may perhaps, though doubtfully, be conceded that Durham has the more -romantic situation, and Lincoln the more picturesque—if one can -distinguish so.</p> - -<p>Lincoln may roughly be divided into two distinct portions, the more -ancient and picturesque part being situated on the hill, and clustering -immediately around the cathedral; the other and more modern, very modern -mostly, with its railways and tram-lined streets, being situated on the -level-lying land below; the descent from the former to the latter is by -one of the steepest streets—it is called “the Steep” locally, if I -remember aright—I verily believe in all England; indeed, it seemed to -us, it could not well be much steeper without being perpendicular! In -the quaint and ancient part, with its many reminders of the long ago in -the shape of time-worn medieval buildings—from ruined castle, fortified -gateway, gray and gabled home—we found a comfortable and quiet inn, -such as befits a cathedral city; an inn standing almost under the shadow -of the stately pile, that rose upwards close by, a solemn shapely mass -of pearly-gray against the sunlit sky.</p> - -<p>Having secured quarters for the night, the first thing we did was, -naturally, to start forth and see the cathedral. Pray do not be alarmed, -kind reader, I have neither the intention nor the desire to weary<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_369" id="page_369">{369}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>GUIDES AND GUIDE-BOOKS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">you with a long detailed description of the sacred edifice. For this I -will refer you to the guide-books, of which there are many; of their -quality or utility I cannot speak, for we did not consult one ourselves, -preferring to see the cathedral in our own way, and to form our own -opinions, and to admire what most impressed us, not what the handbook -compilers assert is the most to be admired. Of course by doing this it -is quite possible that we may have missed some things of minor note, but -nothing, I think, of real importance. Personally I have always found the -constant consulting of a guide-book not only to be disturbing but -preventive of my gaining an individual impression of a place, for one is -but too apt to be influenced to a greater or lesser extent by the -opinion of others, often expressed in a most irritatingly dogmatic -manner. Some people are so annoyingly certain about the most uncertain -things in this world! Moreover, once upon a time, as the fabled stories -of childhood begin, I placed implicit faith in guide-books, but as I -grew older and knew more, my faith in them, sad to relate, grew feebler, -and this because I found that in certain things I knew well about, they -were not by any means correct, indeed, often very inexact. After which -experience I now feel less inclined than perhaps I should be to trust -them in matters of which I am ignorant or not well informed. I may also -add that, according to my experience, the personal guide is even less -reliable than the printed one; only you are enabled to cross-question -the former, and so indirectly estimate the value of the information -imparted—for a tip; the latter you cannot.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_370" id="page_370">{370}</a></span></p> - -<p>Once I got into rare trouble over a local guide-book. Armed with the -precious production I had gone over a very ancient and interesting old -church, only to find the little work sadly at fault in many particulars. -Whereupon I shut it up and placed it carefully out of harm’s way in my -pocket, at which point the clerk appeared upon the scene. He was an aged -man and talkative, to a certain extent intelligent, and he managed to -interest me, so I pulled out the guide-book and began confidentially to -expatiate to him upon its numerous failings; luckless me, I raised a -very hornets’ nest! It turned out that the clerk was the author of the -work in question, and very proud he was of his production too. He had -lived in the place all his life, “man and boy,” he indignantly informed -me, and thought he ought to know more about the church than an utter -stranger. Why, the book had been the work of his life, and was it likely -that I, who confessed to having only come there the day before, should -know better about “his” church than he did? Which was no answer to my -comments, nor was the request, almost a demand, to let him have the -guide-book at the price I had given for it. He would not condescend to -discuss the points in dispute, though he kindly confessed I might know a -little about “<i>h</i>architecture and <i>h</i>antiquities, but you know,” he -loftily exclaimed, with the self-satisfied air of a man having special -knowledge, “you know the old saying ‘a little learning is a dangerous -thing,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> and with this parting shaft he walked away. Poor old man, and -if he only knew how sorry we felt that we had so innocently hurt his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_371" id="page_371">{371}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN AMUSING INCIDENT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">feelings! This was a lesson to us never again to run down a work of any -kind before strangers, for one of them may be its author! An amusing -incident of a somewhat similar nature came under my notice at a -dinner-party. The host was a picture-lover and purchaser, not perhaps a -very discriminating one, but this is a matter aside; however, he bought -pictures and entertained artists, and his dining-room was hung round -with numerous paintings, some good, some indifferent. I believe the -personality of the artist often unconsciously influenced the host in his -purchases; if he liked the man he was biassed in favour of his work. At -one of his pleasant little parties, a lady innocently remarked, <i>sotto -voce</i>, to the gentleman who had taken her down to dinner, possibly more -to make conversation than anything else, “Do you see that picture over -there? I cannot imagine how Mr. Dash could have bought it; don’t you -think it a regular daub? I ask you as I understand you are an artist.” -It was an unfortunate speech, as the reply showed, for the gentleman -exclaimed, with an amused smile, be it confessed, “Madam, it’s bound to -be a daub, for I painted it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_372" id="page_372">{372}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">“A precious piece of architecture”—Guests at an inn—A pleasant -city—Unexpected kindness—A medieval lavatory—An honest -lawyer!—The cost of obliging a stranger—Branston—A lost -cyclist—In search of a husband!—Dunston Pillar—An architectural -puzzle—A Lincolnshire spa—Exploring—An ancient chrismatory. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Lincoln</span> Cathedral is surely, both within and without, one of the most -interesting and beautiful in England; its superb central tower is the -finest specimen of medieval building of its kind I have so far seen. -Were I inclined to be dogmatic, regardless of the possibilities of what -I have not beheld, I should proclaim it to be the most beautiful in the -world, perfect, as it appears to me to be, in proportion and decoration, -besides being so dignified. It is in just this rare, but delightful, -quality of dignity that the modern architect somehow so lamentably -fails; he may be grand by virtue of mass, he may be picturesque by -accident, but dignity he seldom achieves! The chapter house here, with -its bold flying buttresses outside and grand groined roof within, is a -notable bit of eye-pleasing architecture—but I declared I had no -intention of wearying my readers with a detailed description of this -cathedral, and already I find myself beginning to do so; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_373" id="page_373">{373}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>RUSKIN ON LINCOLN</i></div> - -<p class="nind">truly Lincoln Cathedral, above all others, should be seen, not -described. Perhaps it may not be out of place here to quote some of -Ruskin’s remarks on Lincoln and its cathedral, contained in a letter -written by the famous art critic to a local celebrity at the time of the -opening of the Lincoln School of Art. I quote this the more gladly as, -owing to the nature of the communication, it may not be generally known, -and all that Ruskin has to say should be worth preserving. Thus then he -wrote: “I have always held, and am prepared against all comers to -maintain, that the cathedral of Lincoln is out and out the most precious -piece of architecture in the British Islands, and, roughly speaking, -worth any two other cathedrals we have got. Secondly, that the town of -Lincoln is a lovely old English town, and I hope the mayor and -common-councilmen won’t let any of it (not so much as a house corner) be -pulled down to build an institution, or a market, or a penitentiary, or -a gunpowder and dynamite mill, or a college, or a gaol, or a barracks, -or any other modern luxury.” This is true Ruskinian; and fortified by -such an expression of such an authority, I feel after all inclined for -once to be dogmatic and declare that Lincoln, taking it as a whole, is -the loveliest cathedral in the land. Shielded behind Ruskin’s great -authority I venture this bold opinion; other cathedrals may be admired, -Lincoln can not only be admired, it may also be loved. It is not always -one finds grandeur thus combined with lovableness!</p> - -<p>Within the cathedral we noticed several tweed-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_374" id="page_374">{374}</a></span>clad tourists amongst the -crowd “doing” the building; these were the first regulation tourists we -had come upon during our drive, which circumstance brought to our mind -the fact, possibly not realised by the many, that our cathedrals have -become more like vast museums than places of worship devoted to God. I -have attended a cathedral service on a week-day, and have made one of a -congregation of five—all told; which seems, to me, a great waste of -clerical and choirical energy. I afterwards asked the verger if they did -not generally have more people at that particular service, and he -replied meaningly, “When the weather is wet we sometimes have fewer.” -And I could not help wondering whether it might not be possible, on -certain occasions, when the elements were especially unpropitious, that -the vergers had the elaborate service and superb singing all to -themselves! Which is magnificent! When the service in question we -attended was over, the tourists, who had been waiting outside, trooped -in hurriedly and in numbers more than I could conveniently or perhaps -possibly count. I venture to say that in our cathedrals, during the -year, the people who come merely for sight-seeing vastly outnumber those -who come purely for worship.</p> - -<p>Over the ancient fane, and its immediate surroundings, there seems to -brood the hush of centuries, a hush heightened rather than broken, when -we were there, by the cooing of innumerable pigeons that love to linger -about the hoary pile, and give a pleasant touch of life to the steadfast -masonry. Leaving the cathedral and the city on the hill<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_375" id="page_375">{375}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A SHARP CONTRAST</i></div> - -<p>(“Above Hill” it is locally called to distinguish it from the city -“Below Hill”), we descended to the more modern part. This time we -appeared not to tread back the long centuries, but to walk suddenly out -of the picturesque past into the very prosaic present, as represented by -Lincoln’s busy High Street. There we found tram-cars running and -jingling along; eager crowds on the pavement; plate-glass-fronted shops, -quite “up to date”; and a large railway station asserted its -nineteenth-century ugliness,—moreover, right across this thronged -thoroughfare was a level railway crossing of the London main line, and -when the gates of this were shut, as they were from time to time, crowds -of pedestrians and a mass of vehicles collected on either side. I have -never seen before a level crossing of an important main line situated in -the centre of a busy city High Street. I was under the impression that -such things were only allowed in America. I was mistaken. An American -gentleman, to whom I spoke of the nuisance of a certain level “railroad” -crossing in Chicago, maintained that such a thing could be found in an -English city. I stoutly maintained the contrary; he would not be -convinced, neither would I. Lincoln proves me wrong. I apologise, in -case by any remote chance these lines may catch the eye of that Chicago -citizen, whose name I have forgotten.</p> - -<p>Of most places there is generally one best view, a view that is -distinctly superior to all others; but of Lincoln this cannot be said. -The ancient city, with its towered cathedral standing sovereign on its<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_376" id="page_376">{376}</a></span> -hill, looks well from almost everywhere; each view has its special -character and charm, and no one can be said to be better than another. -As we returned to our inn and looked up the High Street, the prospect -presented to us of the cathedral raised high over the red-roofed houses, -gabled walls, and gray bits of medieval masonry peeping out here and -there, with just a touch of mystery superadded by the blue film of smoke -that floated veil-like over the lower city, was most poetic; gold and -gray showed the sentinel towers as they stood in sunshine or shadow, -softly outlined against the darkening sky. Another most effective view -of Lincoln is from “the pool,” where the river widens out; here the -foreground is changed from houses to reflective water with sleepy -shipping thereon, shipping of the homely kind that navigates inland -waters. But from almost every point “below hill,” where the cathedral -can be seen as a whole—there is a picture such as the true artist -loves; not sensational at all, but simply beautiful and benevolent, -which is more to my mind. Lincoln as a picture charms, it does not -astonish; it is supremely effective without being in the least -theatrical or unreal; unlike the architectural scenery of Italy—if I -may be allowed the term—it does not suggest the painting of a -drop-scene, nor the background of an opera!</p> - -<p>Lincoln “above hill” is not only one of the most pleasant cities in -England, it is also one of the most picturesque; it is beautiful close -at hand, it is beautiful beheld at a distance.</p> - -<p>In the evening we had evidence of having come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_377" id="page_377">{377}</a></span> back to modern -civilisation as represented by a <i>table d’hôte</i>, a luxury that we had -missed, without regret, at the homely old-fashioned hostelries wherein -we had been so comfortably entertained hitherto on the way. It was a -simple <i>table d’hôte</i>, however, with more of the name than the reality -about it, nevertheless it was “served at separate tables” in true -British insular fashion. Though the tables were separate we had one -allotted to us with a stranger, and, according to the “custom of the -country,” commenced our meal in mutual silence, neither speaking a word -to the other, both being equally to blame in this respect. At an -American hotel, under similar circumstances, such unsociability would be -considered unmannered—and it would be impossible.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>INN</i> VERSUS <i>HOTEL</i></div> - -<p>Accustomed so long to the friendliness of the old-fashioned inn, we -could not stand the freezing formality of the hotel—it depressed us. So -we endeavoured, with the usual commonplaces about the weather and so -forth, to break the oppressive silence, only to be answered in gruff -monosyllables. This was not promising; even though we might be -addressing a man of importance in fact, or solely in his own estimation, -surely it would do him no harm to make a show of civility to a stranger -that fate had brought him in close contact with at an inn. Truly, he -might be a lord or a commercial traveller, we could not tell, nor did it -matter to us; we merely wished to be sociable. By tact at last we -prevailed. There is no armour against tact and a pleasant manner that -costs nothing, and over an after-dinner<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_378" id="page_378">{378}</a></span> cigar—one of the stranger’s -cigars, by the way, which he pressed upon us as being “so much better -than what you buy at hotels”—we actually became such friends that he -gave us his card, and, learning that we were on a driving tour, actually -added a most pressing invitation for us to come and stay with him at his -place in the country, “horses and all.” I mention this incident exactly -as it occurred. No moral follows, though I could get one in nicely; but -I refrain.</p> - -<p>Not only is the view of Lincoln’s cathedral-crowned city very fine from -all around, a proper distance being granted, but the prospects from many -points within the elevated portion of the city are also exceedingly -lovely, and equally rewarding in their way, commanding, as they do, vast -stretches of greenful landscape, varied by spreading woods, and -enlivened by the silvery gleam of winding river, not to forget the -picturesque trail of white steam from the speeding trains that give a -wonderful feeling of life and movement to the view,—a view bounded to -the west and south by the faint blue, long, undulating lines of the -distant Wolds.</p> - -<p>Open to all “the four winds,” or more, of heaven, Lincoln “above hill” -can never be “stuffy,” as many medieval cities are. When we were there -the weather was warm and oppressively close in the city “below hill,” -and a gentleman driving in from the country declared that it was “the -hottest day of the year,” still in the streets around the cathedral we -found a refreshing, if balmy, breeze. Some ancient towns have the -pleasing quality of picturesqueness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_379" id="page_379">{379}</a></span> but the air in them during the -summer-time seems to stagnate. I prefer my picturesqueness, as at -Lincoln, air-flushed! Lincoln, too, is clean and sweet. Some ancient -cities, though undoubtedly romantic, unhappily possess neither of these -virtues. Dirt and evil smells, in my eyes, take a great deal away from -the glamour of the beautiful. I can never get enthusiastic over dirt. -Even age does not hallow dirt to me.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A QUAINT OLD HOME</i></div> - -<p>As we resumed our journey, a short distance from our hotel we noticed a -quaint old stone-built house with a pleasant garden in front, a garden -divided from the highroad by an iron gateway. The old house looked such -a picture that we pulled up to admire it through the open iron-work, -which, whilst making a most protective fence, also permitted the -passer-by to behold the beauties it enclosed. Most Englishmen prefer the -greater privacy afforded by a high wall or a tall oak-board fence. I am -selfish enough to do so too, though, from the traveller’s point of view, -it is very refreshing to eye and mind to be able to get such -beauty-peeps beyond the dusty roads.</p> - -<p>Observing a lady here plucking flowers in the pleasant garden, we -ventured boldly to open the gates, and, with our best bow, begged -permission to take a photograph of the picturesque old building. Our -request was readily granted, and with a smile. In fact, during the whole -of our tour it seemed to us that we had only to ask a favour to have it -granted with a smile—all of which was very pleasant. On the road it -verily seemed as though life were all sunshine, and everybody an -impersonation of good<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_380" id="page_380">{380}</a></span> nature. I know people have gone a-driving across -country and found things otherwise; but the world is as we see and make -it! They may have frowned on it, and that is a fatal thing to do.</p> - -<p>Having taken our photograph, and having expressed our thanks in our best -manner to the lady for her kindness, we were about to rejoin the -dog-cart, when the lady said, “You seem interested in old places. If you -care to step inside I think I can show you something you might like to -see.” We most gladly accepted the kind and wholly unexpected invitation; -it was what, just then, we desired above everything, but never ventured -to hope for. Again it was forcibly brought to our mind what a profitable -possession is a gracious bearing to the traveller.</p> - -<p>Entering the house, let into the wall on one side of the hall, we had -pointed out to us a carved stone lavatory of medieval date. At first -glance this looked very much like some old altar, but running the whole -length of the top we observed a sort of trench; along this in times -past, we were told, water used to flow continuously. We could not help -fancying that probably this once belonged to a monastery (a similar kind -of lavatory may still be seen in the cloisters of Gloucester Cathedral). -On the opposite side of the hall we caught sight of a genuine old -grandfather’s clock with the following motto inscribed thereon, which -was fresh to us, and so I quote it:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Good Times<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bad Times<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All Times<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pass On.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_381" id="page_381">{381}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>EPITAPHS ON LAWYERS</i></div> - -<p>Before leaving Lincoln I would call attention to a rather quaint epitaph -to be found in the churchyard of St. Mary’s-le-Wyford, which runs as -follows:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here lies one, believe it if you can,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who though an attorney, was an honest man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">This reminds me of a frequently quoted epitaph of a similar nature that -a friend of mine assured me he copied many years ago in a Norfolk -churchyard when on a walking tour. Unfortunately he was not sure of the -name of the churchyard, being a very careless man as to details; but I -have his word that he did not get it out of a book, so I venture to give -it here:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here lies an honest lawyer,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that’s STRANGE.<br /></span> -<span class="i4">——<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He never lied before.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">The praise in these epitaphs is reversed in another, that sounds rather -like an ill-natured version of the preceding; and as I copied it out of -a local magazine I came across on the road, let us hope in charity it is -not true:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here lies lawyer Dash;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">First he lied on one side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then he lied on the other,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now he lies on his back.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Just out of Lincoln, when we had escaped the streets and had entered -upon a country road, we found a stiff hill before us. From the top of -this, looking back, was another fine and comprehensive view of the -cathedral and city—a view that almost deserved the much-abused term of -romantic. Ever mindful of the welfare of our horses, who gave us so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_382" id="page_382">{382}</a></span> -much pleasure, we dismounted to ease their load. Trudging up the hill we -overtook a good-natured-looking man laden with parcels. After exchanging -civilities upon the never-failing topic of the weather with him, we -incidentally remarked that it was rather a stiff pull up for a hot day. -“That it is,” responded the stranger, as he stopped to take breath. “We -call it Steep Hill. The worst of Lincolnshire is the hills.” We noticed -that he spoke quite in earnest, and there was the hill before us much in -evidence to give point to his complaint. His remark struck us as a -curious comment to those who declare that all Lincolnshire is “as flat -as a pancake.”</p> - -<p>Then he asked us where we were going, and we told him. “Ah!” said he, -“you’ll pass through Branston, one of the prettiest villages in England, -and I say this without prejudice, being a Lincolnshire man.” Now, as -Branston is a Lincolnshire village, we did not exactly see the sequence, -but said nothing.</p> - -<p>Presently, when we had reached the top of the hill and were about to -remount the dog-cart, the stranger exclaimed, “If you see my wife on the -way, she’s coming to meet me. Would you mind telling her I’m hurrying on -as fast as I can with the good things for dinner?” We replied that we -should be most happy to oblige him, but as we had not the pleasure of -knowing his wife, it would be rather difficult for us to do as he -wished. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “there will be no difficulty in the matter. -You can’t mistake her, she’s over fifteen stone!” So, as we proceeded, -we kept an outlook for any one answering that description, and in a -mile<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_383" id="page_383">{383}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN INNOCENT BLUNDER</i></div> - -<p class="nind">or so surely enough we met a very stout party walking along. We at once -pulled up and gave her the message. Not readily shall I forget the angry -flush that came over that good woman’s face. “I daresay,” shouted she -back, “you think it a grand thing to drive about and insult unprotected -ladies. A pretty way of amusing yourselves, and I suppose you think -yourself a gentleman—a gentleman, indeed? Well, you’re not one, so -there! I haven’t got a husband, thank God!...” and so forth in -superabundance. We hurriedly drove on to escape the torrent of abuse. -Manifestly we had made a mistake, and had addressed the wrong party! We -did not think it worth while to attempt an explanation, even could we -have got a word in, as she probably would not have believed us, and we -might have made matters worse. For the moment we wished we had not been -so obliging to a stranger. Shortly after this incident we met another -stout party on the way; she might have been fifteen stone, more or less, -but with our recent experience we did not venture to address her. We -might have made another mistake—with the consequences!</p> - -<p>Branston we found to be all that it had been represented to us. A very -pretty village indeed it was, composed chiefly of stone-built cottages, -pleasantly weather-tinted, many having picturesque porches, and nearly -all possessing little flower gardens in front, gay with colour and sweet -of odour. The church, too, was aged and gray, and we noticed in the -walls some “long-and-short” work showing rude but lasting Saxon masonry -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_384" id="page_384">{384}</a></span> proving that a church was there before the Conquest. A bit of -history told in stone. The hoary fane suggested an interesting interior, -but we found the doors to be carefully locked, and we felt in no humour -to go a-clerk-hunting; the day was too temptingly fine to waste any of -it in that tiresome sport. Just beyond the village we observed a -walled-in park, the gateway piers of which were surmounted by two very -grotesque figures.</p> - -<p>Branston would have done credit to Devonshire, that county of -picturesque villages; it was of the kind that ladies love to term -“sweetly pretty.” Were Branston only in Devonshire, near some tourist -centres that there abound, I venture to say it would be much painted, -photographed, and written about in a laudatory manner, and possibly also -have its praises sung of by poets; but being only in Lincolnshire, out -of the traveller’s beat, its charms are reserved for the favoured few -whom chance may bring that way.</p> - -<p>Then driving on through a lovely, lonely country, with fine views to our -left, over a well-wooded land that faded away into a mystery of low blue -hills, we came in time to four cross-roads, where we found a lady all -alone standing beside her tricycle looking hot, tired, and dusty. We saw -no guide-post here, just where one would have been most acceptably -useful, for we felt doubtful as to our way, our map not being so clear -as we could wish—a provoking feature about maps in general, and the one -we had in particular; so, doffing our cap most politely, we asked the -lady if she would kindly direct us. “Now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_385" id="page_385">{385}</a></span> how can I possibly direct -you,” replied she, “when I don’t know the way myself?” We apologised for -troubling her, explaining that we had no idea that she was in the same -predicament as ourselves, and to propitiate her we offered her the loan -of our useless map! We thought the act looked polite, and that perhaps -she could understand it better than we could. The offer was a strategic -blunder. We realised this as soon as it was made. “If you’ve got a map,” -exclaimed she, “why don’t you consult it?” Under the circumstances our -retort was not very clear. So we wisely said nothing, but quietly -consulted between ourselves which road we should take at a venture. “I -think straight ahead looks the most travelled and direct,” I said. “The -one to the left looks much the prettiest,” remarked my wife; “let us -take it, we are in no hurry to get anywhere, and we shall eventually -arrive somewhere—we always do. Put the stupid map away, and let us -drive along the pretty road and chance where it leads.” So the -picturesque prevailed. Perhaps I may here incidentally state that when -we set out from Lincoln, Woodhall Spa was our proposed destination for -the night.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A LOST HUSBAND!</i></div> - -<p>As we were leaving the spot the cyclist manifestly relented towards us, -and exclaimed, perhaps as a sort of explanation of her brusqueness, and -perhaps in hope that we might be of service to her after all, “I’m out -on a tour with my husband and have lost him! He rode ahead of me to find -the way, and that was a good hour ago, and I’ve been waiting here for -him ever since. I’m tired and hungry—and he’s got the lunch with him! -If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_386" id="page_386">{386}</a></span> meet a man on a tricycle with a gray tweed suit on, that’s my -husband; would you mind telling him I’m here, and ask him to hurry up?” -We felt a good deal amused at this request; first we had been asked only -that morning by a husband to give a message to his wife, who was unknown -to us, and got into rare trouble over the matter; now we were asked by a -wife to give a message to her husband, who was equally unknown to -us,—should we get into further trouble if we did, we wondered? However, -strangely enough, often on our tours have we performed the service of -messenger; sometimes we have taken letters and delivered them on the -way; once we conveyed the official correspondence from a lonely -lighthouse; and once we were sent after a clergyman to take the duties -of another clergyman at service. So we have been of use on the road!</p> - -<p>Presently our road dipped down and led us to a picturesque village in a -hollow, whose name I now forget, but whose pleasantness lingers in my -memory. Driving on we noticed on the summit of the spreading uplands to -our right, a tall pillar standing alone, a very prominent object in the -view, though a long way off. We inquired of a man passing by what it -was. “That? oh, that’s Dunston Pillar,” he replied; “you can see it for -miles around in almost every direction. It used to be a lighthouse.” -“What, a lighthouse so far inland?” we exclaimed. “Yes, that’s just what -it was. It used to have a huge lantern on the top in the old days, which -was always kept lighted at night to guide belated travellers over -Lincoln Heath, a rare wild spot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_387" id="page_387">{387}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN INLAND LIGHTHOUSE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">in times gone by, I’ve heard say not much better than a trackless waste. -So you see a lighthouse could be useful inland as well as by the sea.” -We saw! On referring again to my copy of <i>Patersons Roads</i> I find the -following: “Dunston Pillar is a plain quadrangular stone shaft, of a -pyramidal shape, that rises to the height of about 100 feet. It was -erected when the roads were intricate, and the heath was an extensive -waste, and was then of great utility; but as the lands have since been -enclosed, and other improvements made, it can now only be considered as -a monument of the public spirit of the individual by whom it was -constructed.”</p> - -<p>Then after a few more miles we reached Metheringham, an -out-of-the-world, forsaken-looking little town; so out-of-the-world that -I do not find it even mentioned in my <i>Paterson</i>, and why, or how, it -existed at all was a puzzle to us. In times past it was shut away from -the world more than now by the wild extensive Lincolnshire Heath on one -side, and a narrow, though long, stretch of roadless fenland on the -other, so was not very get-at-able.</p> - -<p>In the centre of the sleepy old town, midway in the street, stand the -remains of its ancient market-cross: these consist of an upright shaft -rising from some worn and weathered steps; the place of the cross on the -top is now occupied by an ugly petroleum lamp. Even a stern Puritan -might have been satisfied with this arrangement, there is nothing in the -least superstitious about it, it is convenient but not beautiful. I only -wonder that, as the ruined cross stands so handily at the junction of -three roads,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_388" id="page_388">{388}</a></span> it has not been further utilised as a finger-post as well -as a lamp-post! I can only put down the omission to do this to an -oversight,—a wasted opportunity to add to the disfigurement of the -country-side!</p> - -<p>We baited the horses at a little inn here, and, whilst they were -resting, took a stroll round the place to see if we could find anything -of interest, but failed. So we took a glance inside the church, and -there we discovered an astonishing specimen of architectural -incongruity. The Gothic arches, we observed, were supported by purely -classical pillars. How this came about we could not say positively, but -we put it down to our old enemy the restorer. We should imagine that it -was done at the time that the classical revival was rampant in England, -when Wren was in his glory, and only want of money saved many a Gothic -building from being altered to taste. Fashions in architecture come and -go as do fashions in dress.</p> - -<p>Leaving Metheringham, a good-going road that took us through a very -pleasant country brought us quickly to the hard-featured village of -Martin, composed of brick-built cottages that came close up to the -roadway, without as much as a bit of garden in front to soften their -uncomeliness, as though land in this wild remote district were as -precious as in London, so that every possible inch of it needs must be -built on! In the street, as we passed down, we caught a sight of a brick -“steeple-house”—I use the term meaningly and of set purpose—quite in -keeping with its unprepossessing surroundings.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_016" style="width: 560px;"> -<a href="images/i_389fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_389fp.jpg" width="560" height="337" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>STIXWOLD FERRY.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_389" id="page_389">{389}</a></span></p> - -<p>I may be wrong, but I do not think a place of worship could well be made -uglier—not even if corrugated iron were employed in the endeavour, and -much unsightliness can be wrought that way!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CAUGHT IN A STORM</i></div> - -<p>At Martin we descended to a narrow stretch of fen, here almost treeless -and hedgeless, and wholly wanting the wild, weird beauty of the wider -Fenland with its magic of colour, and mystery of distance. Across this -monotonous flat, our road led us “as straight as an arrow” for three or -four miles, at a rough guess. Half-way over, where there was no possible -shelter, it suddenly began to rain, then it poured in torrents and the -wind began to blow—well, I am of opinion that you can get as wet on an -exposed fenland as anywhere! After all we were not sorry that the road -was so straight, we could the sooner get over it.</p> - -<p>Leaving the dreary fens without regret, we reached the embanked and -slothful river Witham at a spot marked “Ferry” on our map, but where we -fortunately found an iron swing-bridge. It was an ugly affair, whereas a -ferry would most possibly have been picturesque, like that of Stixwold a -little higher up the same river, which I sketched next day, and is -herewith engraved, but it was raining hard, and to ferry across, though -doubtless a more romantic proceeding, would have meant more -discomfiture, so we were glad of the bridge, nor did we begrudge the -sixpence toll demanded for the use thereof. Another mile or so of good -road brought us to Woodhall Spa, where we arrived dripping and jolly, to -find a warm welcome at our hotel. I know not how it is,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_390" id="page_390">{390}</a></span> but when one -arrives by road one seems always ensured of a hearty welcome.</p> - -<p>Woodhall Spa is about as unlike the usual run of fashionable -watering-places as one can well imagine. It is a charming health resort, -but it happily boasts of nothing to attract the purely pleasure-seeking -crowd, and on account of the absence of these attractions it appealed to -us. The country around also is equally unlike the popular conception of -Lincolnshire as it well could be; it is not tame, and it is not flat, -except to the west. Woodhall Spa is situated on a dry sandy soil where -fir trees flourish, and stretching away to the east of it are wild -moors, purple in season with heather, and aglow with golden gorse. It is -a land of health, apart from the virtues of its waters, supposed or -real. The air we found to be deliciously fragrant and bracing; I do not -think that there is a purer or a more exhilarating air to be found in -all England, or out of it for that matter. There are no large cities, -manufacturing or otherwise, within many a long mile of the district over -which the wind blows unimpeded, fresh, and invigorating from every -quarter, though sheltered to a certain extent from the east winds by the -Wolds beyond Horncastle. So unexpectedly pleased were we with the place; -with our comfortable hotel where we felt quite at home away from home; -so friendly and interesting did we find the company one and all -chance-gathered there (included amongst which was a distinguished -novelist; besides a poet not unknown to fame), that we elected to stay -at Woodhall Spa for a week though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_391" id="page_391">{391}</a></span> we had only at first intended to stop -there the night!</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A LINCOLNSHIRE SPA</i></div> - -<p>The spa, we learnt, was discovered by accident whilst boring for coal. -The water is strong in iodine, and tastes uncommonly like sea-water, it -is naturally, therefore, very disagreeable to drink; one or two invalids -we met, however, “swore by it.” Gout and rheumatism appear to be the -special diseases for which the waters are taken; though one party we met -declared the waters “tasted so horrible” that he infinitely preferred -the rheumatism! But perhaps he was only a slight sufferer. Nearly every -other invalid we spoke to declared that the waters had done them much -good; one gentleman who walked very well, and looked very well, informed -us that when he came there he was almost a cripple and could hardly walk -at all, “and now look at me,” exclaimed he, “I’m a walking testimony to -the efficacy of the waters.” Nobody, however, appeared to give the -wonderful vitalising air any credit for their cures or even aiding -thereto, yet I am by no means sure that this may not have had a great -deal to do with them; an air so dry and bracing, yet withal so soothing, -laden as it is with the soft and healing scents of the pine-woods. Good -too for over-wrought nerves, I should imagine. Simply to ramble in the -pine-woods, and over the moors at and about Woodhall, and there to -breathe the splendidly pure and light sweet air was a delight to me; it -was like inhaling nectar! When I go to a health resort, I go to breathe -the air, not to drink the waters!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_392" id="page_392">{392}</a></span></p> - -<p>Whilst lazing at Woodhall Spa—and there is a great virtue in doing -nothing successfully at times—our good-natured Horncastle friend found -us out, and kindly placed himself at our disposal for a whole day, which -he suggested we should employ in exploring the country round about; so -we arranged to drive with him where he would, and accordingly one -morning fared forth in his company for a “regular antiquarian day” as he -quaintly put it.</p> - -<p>Leaving Woodhall we soon came to a bit of open moorland, with a tall -ruined tower standing solitary on the highest point thereof, a prominent -and picturesque feature in the prospect. This is a portion of a stately -hunting-box erected by the Lord-Treasurer Cromwell towards the end of -the fifteenth century, who also built the grand Tattershall Castle, -which we shall see in due course. This ruined hunting-box is locally -known as “the Tower on the Moor,” perhaps some day this may suggest a -title to a novelist. The interesting country around is, I believe, -virgin ground to the romancer, a ground that, it seems to me, would well -repay exploiting,—possibly, however, from a hint a famous novelist gave -me, it may by this time have been exploited!</p> - -<p>Then by a pleasant lane we came to a lonely farmstead called High Rigge. -Here we pulled up for a few minutes to inspect a very fine and quite -perfect “celt” of smooth-polished greenstone that had lately been -ploughed up on one of the farm fields, and was carefully preserved in -the house, and I hope it will remain there and not be conveyed away to -enrich a private collection, as so many<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_393" id="page_393">{393}</a></span> other relics of the past have -been, and thereby lost to the public. It would be a good thing if in -each county capital there were a local museum established where such -local finds could be preserved and inspected. I feel that each county -has a right to the possession of its own antiquarian treasures; such -museums too would add greatly to the pleasure and the interest of the -tourist and traveller. County people would doubtless take a pride in and -contribute to them, so that they would soon become centres of -attraction.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A RUINED ORATORY</i></div> - -<p>From High Rigge we proceeded along a narrow country lane—with gates to -open here and there on the way—to a picturesque and interesting old -moated house known as Poolham Hall, now doing duty as a farmstead. The -house, with the wide moat around, makes a very pleasing picture, but all -the interest is external, within is nothing that calls for comment. The -moat encircles not only the farm buildings but an ample garden; indeed, -the amount of ground it encloses, we were told, was close upon two -acres, which shows that Poolham Hall was at one time a place of -considerable importance. In the garden stand the crumbling ruins of an -ancient oratory, roofless, and ivy-grown, and fast hastening to further -decay. Our friend asked where a certain tomb slab was that he remembered -seeing there some years back, but it had disappeared no one knew -whither; presumably it was the memorial of some important personage -buried in the oratory,—the master of the manor with small doubt; -however, it has apparently perished, so hard is it in this world<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_394" id="page_394">{394}</a></span> for -even “the proud and mighty” to ensure their last resting-place from -oblivion or desecration. But better this surely than the fate of certain -great Egyptian kings, lordly despots in their day, whose mummified -bodies have been exposed to the vulgar gaze, and knocked down at auction -in London to the highest bidder! But what matters it? it will all be the -same in a million years hence more or less—when this planet with others -“may roll round the sun with the dust of a vanished race!” Here in the -moat we were told was found a very curious object in decorative -earthenware, which proved to be a chrismatory, presumed to have belonged -to the oratory; the vessel is provided with two wells for the oil and -salt as used in the Roman Catholic Baptismal rite, so our learned guide -informed us. This ancient and very curious chrismatory is now carefully -preserved in Langton church by Horncastle, and, with permission of the -rector, may be seen there by the curious.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_395" id="page_395">{395}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A long discourse—The origin of a coat-of-arms—An English serf—A -witch-stone—Lincolnshire folk-lore—A collar for lunatics—St. -Mary’s thistle—A notable robbery—An architectural -gem—Coningsby—Tattershall church and castle—Lowland and -upland—“Beckingham-behind-the-Times”—Old Lincolnshire folk. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">From</span> Poolham Hall we drove on through a lovely country, remote from -railways, and pervaded by a peaceful, mellow, homelike look; bound for -the out-of-the-world hamlet of Wispington. On the way our antiquarian -friend began a long discourse; I write long advisedly because it lasted -for nearly, if not quite, four miles, and how much longer it would have -lasted I cannot say, for on arriving at a junction of roads, we broke -the thread of the discourse by inquiring which road we should take. -“Why, bless my soul,” exclaimed he, “we’ve driven two miles out of our -way, I quite forgot all about where we were going! This comes of our -very interesting conversation.” We thought “<i>our</i> very interesting -conversation” was an excellent conceit, considering that we had been -merely patient listeners all the time: however, we jokingly remarked -that the talk was worth the added miles, and after all we arrived at -Wispington with the best of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_396" id="page_396">{396}</a></span> day still before us; there we drove up -to the rectory and fortunately found the rector, an enthusiastic -antiquary like our companion, at home.</p> - -<p>First, we were taken to see the church, a modern one decorated within -with carvings in Caen stone representing the animals and birds of the -Old Testament done by a former incumbent, and containing some tombstone -slabs and brasses preserved from the ancient church it had supplanted. -In the pavement of the vestry we had pointed out to us an ancient -incised slab (broken) to the memory of John Hetsete, a priest; this was -dated 1394. The slab is of much interest as showing the priest in -vestments holding a chalice in gloved hands, tightly buttoned. I cannot -remember ever having come upon a priest represented thus with gloved -hands. I am not sufficient of an antiquary to say whether this feature -is unique, it certainly is very uncommon.</p> - -<p>A brass, now on the south wall of the church near the porch, is -inscribed to the memory of Robert Tyrwhitt; here on a shield is shown -the coat-of-arms of the family “three pewits d’or proper on a field -gules,” if that be the correct heraldic way of putting it. To this -coat-of-arms belongs a little history. We were informed that one of the -ancestors of the family after a gallant fight in battle with the Scots -(name and date unremembered) fell on the field seriously wounded. After -long search, he was found by his relations, hidden from view in a bed of -reeds, their attention having been attracted to the spot by three pewits -hovering over it, uttering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_397" id="page_397">{397}</a></span> plaintive cries the while. From this -circumstance, the family adopted three pewits as their coat-of-arms, -likewise taking the name of Tyrwhitt, the latter being supposed to -represent the cry of that bird. Thereupon—in the spirit of inquiry that -ever besets us—we wanted to know what the name of the family was before -that eventful occasion, but could obtain no information on the point. -One really should not be so exacting about pretty traditions; it is an -artistic sin for the commission of which I now, too late, repent.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>ANTIQUARIAN TREASURES</i></div> - -<p>Then we returned to the rectory, where the rector most kindly showed us -some of his valued antiquarian treasures. One of these consisted of an -old parchment document written in Latin, and very beautifully written -too, the lettering being as black and as clear as when first done long -changeful centuries ago, for the deed bears the date of 1282. The -document, which was presumably drafted in the Abbey of Bardney, and was -signed in the chapter house thereof, gives particulars of the sale of a -serf with his family. A circumstance that throws a startling sidelight -on the condition of England at the time. Curiously enough, in a further -document, the same serf appears as rector of a neighbouring parish, and -even purchases land there in 1285. The true inwardness of all this it -would be interesting to discover.</p> - -<p>Then the rector brought out a “witch-stone” from his treasure store to -show us; this he found hanging on a cottage door and serving as a charm -against all evil. It is merely a small flint with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_398" id="page_398">{398}</a></span> hole in the centre, -through which hole was strung a piece of cord to hang it up with. A -“witch-stone” hung up on, or over, the entrance door of a house is -supposed to protect the inhabitants from all harm; in the same way do -not some enlightened people nail a horse-shoe over their door “for good -luck”? To ensure this “good-luck” I understand you must find a -horse-shoe “accidentally on the road” without looking for it; to procure -a “witch-stone” you must in like manner come upon a stone (of any kind) -with a hole through the centre when you are not thinking about any such -thing.</p> - -<p>Then our host related to us a curious story that had been told to him as -true history. According to this, a certain Lincolnshire miser died (I -withhold, name, date, and place), and was duly placed in his coffin -overnight; but then a strange thing happened, next morning the body had -disappeared and its place was taken up with stones; it being presumed -that the Devil had made off with his body and had placed the stones in -the coffin in exchange. But one would have imagined that it was the -man’s spirit not his body that his Satanic Majesty desired—but there I -am always over-critical and too exacting about details. By the way this -reminds me we were told, that the Lincolnshire folk never call the Devil -openly by that familiar designation, but speak of him in an undertone, -as either “Samuel,” “Old Lad,” or “Bargus.”</p> - -<p>Then we gleaned some particulars of old Lincolnshire folk-lore. Here, -for example, is an infallible charm to get power over the Devil, I mean -“Samuel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_399" id="page_399">{399}</a></span>”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CHARMS</i></div> - -<p>On St. Mark’s Eve, precisely at twelve o’clock, hold two pewter platters -one over the other, take these to where bracken grows, hold the platters -under the plants for the seeds to drop in, then you will find that the -seeds will go right through the top platter and be caught in the one -below; upon this “Samuel” will appear riding on a pig and tell you -anything you want to know. Here is another charm. Kill a hedge-hog and -smear two thorn-sticks with his blood, place these in a hedge-bottom and -leave them there for fourteen days, if not moved meanwhile you will have -your wish. I give these two charms as a fair sample of others, and I -think they will well suffice!</p> - -<p>Leaving Wispington, we came in about half a mile to a spot where four -roads meet, a burial-place for suicides in times past, and reputed to be -the centre of Lincolnshire. Then driving on we reached Horsington. In -the register of burials here is a notice of “Bridget Hall buried in her -own garden <small>A.D.</small> 16.” She lived at Hail Farm near by, our friend told us, -and directed in her will that she should be buried in her own garden, -and that her body should be laid north and south, as she considered it -“too Popish to be buried east and west in a churchyard!” Some years ago -the then occupier of that farm, we further learnt, on digging a drain in -the same garden came upon a skeleton lying north and south; presumably -that of Bridget Hall.</p> - -<p>In the vestry of the church here, according to our informant, used to be -preserved in a box a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_400" id="page_400">{400}</a></span> strange relic of other days and ways, in the shape -of a brass collar by which poor unfortunate lunatics were chained to a -wall. Where the collar has gone no one seems to know or care; however, -it has disappeared, to the grief of antiquaries. “Though I cannot show -you the collar, I can still show you something curious and interesting,” -said our friend. Whereupon he went into the churchyard, and after some -searching plucked a thistle; this did not seem anything wonderful to us, -not being botanists, but he pointed out to us that it was peculiarly -marked with unusual gray lines all over. This, we were informed, is -called the “Holy Thistle,” or “Mary’s Thistle,” and it used to be grown -by the monks at Kirkstead Abbey a few miles away, and even until a few -years ago specimens thereof might have been found in the fields that now -surround the abbey ruins, but the farmers had rooted them all up. Arthur -Thistlewood of the Cato Street conspiracy was born here at Horsington, -we learnt, his real name being Burnet. The birthplace of still another -famous man had we come across!</p> - -<p>Next we drove on to Halstead Hall, an ancient building set back some way -from the road, showing signs of its former importance, but now, like so -many other ancient halls, converted into a pleasant farmstead. The hall -was moated, but the moat has been drained dry; the house is famous -locally for a daring and a remarkable robbery committed there in -1829,—an event that still affords subject for the country folk to talk -and enlarge about, at least we heard a good deal about it. The house, we -understood,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_401" id="page_401">{401}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN “ANTIQUARIAN DAY”</i></div> - -<p class="nind">was broken into by a band of robbers who tied up the men-servants in a -stable, first gagging them; and then locked up the family and the maids -in a store-room. After this they sat down in the hall and feasted; the -repast over, they leisurely collected all the silver plate and money -they could find, and quietly departed. Three of the band were afterwards -captured and hanged at Lincoln; one of them, a certain Timothy Brammer, -when on the scaffold, kicked off his shoes, as he declared, to falsify -the prophecy of his friends that “he would die in his shoes”; the doing -of this appeared to afford him a grim sort of satisfaction. Then by the -hamlet of Stixwold we returned to Woodhall Spa after a very interesting -“antiquarian day.”</p> - -<p>We left Woodhall Spa regretfully, and upon mounting our dogcart to -resume our tour the genial landlord of the Royal Hotel and most of the -guests thereof, whose acquaintance we had made during our too short -stay, came to the door to bid us goodbye and a prosperous journey,—yet -we had only arrived there a few days before, perfect strangers in the -land! Truly we had paid our modest bill, notwithstanding which we left -in debt to the landlord for all his kindness to us, for which no charge -was made!</p> - -<p>It was a cloudy day; the barometer was falling; the wind blew wild and -warm from the west. “You’ll have rain, and plenty of it,” prophesied one -of the party; “better stay on till to-morrow.” The temptation was great, -but if we dallied thus on the way at every pleasant spot we should -hardly get<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_402" id="page_402">{402}</a></span> home before the winter, so we hardened our hearts and drove -away. The rain did not actually come down, but we noticed great banks of -threatening gray storm-clouds in serried ranks gathered on the low -horizon that foreboded ill, with an advance guard of vast detached -masses of aqueous vapours, wind-woven into fantastic forms. The -sky-scape at any rate was interesting. “It looks stormy,” exclaimed we, -to a man, in response to a polite “Good-morning” he bade us as we passed -him by. “It do look so,” replied he, “but we won’t get any wet worth -speaking of whilst this wind keeps up.” This was reassuring. We have -generally found country folk more reliable about the immediate future of -the weather than the falling or rising of the barometer, for local -conditions are often an important factor in the case and modify the -barometer’s forecast.</p> - -<p>About a mile on our way we noticed the slight remains of the once famous -and wealthy Cistercian Abbey of Kirkstead. These consist simply of a -tall fragment of the transept and some walling, standing alone in the -midst of a wide grass field. Beyond this, in an adjoining meadow, we -espied a most beautiful little Early English chapel, perfectly pure in -style. This was enclosed in a neglected-looking graveyard, the rusty -gates of which were carefully locked, so that we were, perforce, obliged -to climb over them to inspect the building, which was also carefully -locked up, and, I regret to add, very fast going to irretrievable decay -for the want of a little timely repair. Why, I wonder, is such a rare -architectural gem as this allowed to go thus the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_403" id="page_403">{403}</a></span> way of all uncared-for -things? Is there not a “Society for the Preservation of Ancient -Buildings” of interest? Can it do nothing to preserve for us this relic -of former days?</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHANTRY CHAPEL</i></div> - -<p>At first sight it appears curious to find such a beautiful chapel in -such close proximity to a lordly abbey; manifestly, however, the -building was a chantry chapel, presumably for the benefit of the soul of -the second Lord of Tattershall, as his armoured effigy is still within -the desolated chapel, which was, doubtless, erected near to the abbey -for the convenience and certainty of priestly service.</p> - -<p>As we drove on, shortly the tall tower of Tattershall Castle stood forth -ahead of us, showing darkly gray against the stormy sky, a striking -object in the level landscape, powerfully asserting itself on the near -horizon, some three or four miles by winding road away, though possibly -a good mile less “as the crow flies.” Soon we came to the little river -Bain, which we crossed on a rather creaky wooden bridge—the scenery -about the river here is very pretty and most paintable—and found -ourselves in Coningsby, a remote Lincolnshire village, whose name, -however, has become well known from its having provided Lord -Beaconsfield with the title for his famous novel. Coningsby possesses a -fine old church, with a somewhat disappointing interior. We noticed in -the porch here a large holy-water stoup, opening both internally and -externally; above the porch is a parvise chamber of the usual type. -Within the church, at the top of a pillar of the north aisle, is a -carving of a “scold” gagged, just one of those<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_404" id="page_404">{404}</a></span> subjects that delighted -the humour of the medieval sculptor to portray.</p> - -<p>Then another mile brought us to Tattershall, a small hamlet dominated -and dwarfed by its truly magnificent church (more like a cathedral than -a village fane, and of a size out of all proportion to the present, -possibly also the past, needs of the parish) and by its stately old -castle, towering high above all around. The church we found open, but -desolate within, it being given over to workmen for much-needed repairs; -the pavement in places, we noticed, was fouled by birds and wet with -recent rain that had come in through holes in the roof. It was a -pathetic sight to behold the grand old church in its faded magnificence, -bare, cold, and colourless, robbed long ago of its glorious -stained-glass windows, that once made it the pride of the whole -countryside. Strange it seems that these splendid windows, that had -miraculously escaped the Puritan crusade, should have been allowed to be -carted away only the last century (in 1757) to enrich another church! -Truly the Puritans were not the only spoilers. Here in the north -transept is preserved a series of exceedingly fine and very interesting, -though mutilated and damaged, brasses, removed from their rightful place -in the chancel pavement some years ago, and now huddled together in a -meaningless way. One of these is of Lord-Treasurer Cromwell, the builder -of Tattershall church and castle. Another very fine brass is that of a -provost with a richly-adorned cope. These brasses will well repay -careful study.</p> - -<p>Of Tattershall, besides some insignificant and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_405" id="page_405">{405}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>TATTERSHALL TOWER</i></div> - -<p class="nind">much-ruined outbuildings, only the stately tower keep remains. A truly -magnificent specimen of medieval brick building, rectangular in shape -and embattled on the top; it is flanked on each angle by four octagonal -smaller towers. These were formerly provided with high-pitched roofs, of -which only one is now extant, though I find from an old engraving, after -a drawing by T. Allom, in my possession, that there were three of these -roofs existing in 1830. Round the top of the building runs a projecting -gallery supported by very bold and massive stone machicolations; these -give a special character to the structure, and enhance its effective -picturesqueness.</p> - -<p>For a castle keep the open Gothic windows seem strangely inconsistent. -From this fact one can hardly imagine that it was intended for serious -defence, yet, on the other hand, there are plain traces of the double -moats that once surrounded the place, and were presumably supplied by -water from the river Bain, which suggest a considerable amount of -precaution against attack. It may be that the moats formed part of a -former stronghold, and were simply retained because they were there. The -castle is built of small and very hard brick, said by tradition to have -been imported from Flanders. Externally the structure, except for its -time-toned look, sundry weather scars, and loss of its three -turret-tops, is much the same as when the ancient builders left it; -within it is a mere shell, floorless and roofless. In the walls are some -fine and well-preserved carved stone mantelpieces, some of which are -adorned with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_406" id="page_406">{406}</a></span> heraldic devices, and a representation of a full purse, -symbolic, we imagined, of the post of Lord-Treasurer held by the owner. -Over one fireplace we noticed an inscription in Norman-French, <i>Nay le -Droit</i>, which, rightly or wrongly, we translated into “Have I not the -right?”</p> - -<p>We ascended to the top of the keep, and beyond to the top of one of the -flanking turrets, by a spiral staircase of innumerable steps that is -happily complete and is contained within one of the angle towers. This -staircase is provided with a handrail ingeniously recessed in the side -wall. A Lincolnshire antiquary we afterwards met assured me that this is -the earliest handrail to a staircase known. I merely repeat what I have -been told on apparently good authority, but I must confess I should have -imagined that this convenience was of more ancient origin; however, in -this matter my antiquarian knowledge does not carry me far enough. From -the topmost tower we had a truly magnificent panorama presented to us; -we looked down upon a wide green world, enlivened by the gray gleam of -winding water-ways, and encircled by a horizon darkly, intensely blue. -Our visions ranged over vast leagues of flat Fenland and wild wold. On -one hand we could just trace the distance-dwarfed outlines of Lincoln’s -lordly minster, on the other the faint form of Boston’s famous “stump.”</p> - -<p>Before leaving Tattershall we made a sketch of the glorious old tower -that uprises so grandly from the level land around, which sketch is -engraved with this chapter, and will give a better idea of the</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_017" style="width: 346px;"> -<a href="images/i_406fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_406fp.jpg" width="346" height="572" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>TATTERSHALL TOWER.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_407" id="page_407">{407}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">stately pile than pages of printed description possibly could. It is a -truly splendid specimen of medieval brick-work, and until I saw it I -considered Layer Marney tower in Essex the finest example of brick -building of the kind in England, Hurstmonceaux Castle in Sussex coming -next; but now I have no hesitation whatever in giving the first place to -Tattershall tower.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>IN FENLAND AGAIN</i></div> - -<p>After finishing our sketch we once more resumed our pleasant pilgrimage, -and soon found ourselves traversing a wide and wild Fenland district, -over which the west wind blew fresh and strong. In a mile or so we -crossed the river Witham, here running painfully straight between its -embanked sides, more like a mighty dyke or canal than anything else, as -though it were not to be trusted to flow as it would; but this is, more -or less, the nature of nearly all the Fenland streams. Then we had a -long stretch of level road, good for cycling, which faithfully followed -for miles the side of a great “drain” (unhappy term), the road not being -more than four feet above the water. So we came to Billinghay, a sleepy, -remote, medieval-looking town, or large village, set well away from the -busy world in the heart of the Fens; it gave us a feeling that it might -be a hundred miles withdrawn from modern civilisation. A more -dreamy—dreary, if you will—spot it would be hard to find in crowded -England, and for this reason, though hardly to be termed picturesque, it -fascinated us. It had such a quaint, old-world air, suggestive of untold -rest—a peacefulness that is hardly of to-day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_408" id="page_408">{408}</a></span></p> - -<p>Passing through another stretch of level Fenland, wide and free, we -reached the pretty village of Anwick, where, as we drove through, we -noticed a charming thatched cottage with big dormer windows in the roof, -and walls so ivy-grown that we could not tell whether they were of -stone, or flint, or brick,—a picture by the way. Here also we noticed -three curious round buildings, each with a conical roof of thatch, from -the apex of which rose a circular chimney. One of these did duty as a -blacksmith’s shop. After Anwick the country gradually lost its fen-like -character, hedges took the place of dykes as fences, the streams were no -longer embanked, the land became mildly undulating, and suddenly we -found ourselves back again in “sleepy Sleaford.” Here the gray-haired -waiter recognised and welcomed us. While chatting with him as he laid -our evening meal, he told us that he had come to the inn for a day, and -had stayed on there for fifty years!</p> - -<p>We left Sleaford early the next morning bound for Beckingham, and beyond -to either Newark or Grantham. We went to Beckingham, as our antiquarian -friend we had met at Horncastle had told us that the old hall there was -full of the most beautiful and interesting art treasures, including some -priceless tapestry. “I will write to the rector of the village,” said he -in the kindness of his heart; “he is a friend of mine, and I will tell -him you are coming, and ask him to show you over the hall; you must not -miss it. And if you go home through Grantham, as I expect you will, you -really must<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_409" id="page_409">{409}</a></span> see Staunton Hall near there; it is a house with a history. -I will give you a letter of introduction to the owner in case you may be -able to use it.” And this he did thereupon! Such was an example of the -many kindnesses <i>pressed</i> upon us in the course of our tour. And to be a -little previous, I may here state that on arriving at Beckingham, the -genial rector there would not hear of our proceeding farther that day, -but good-naturedly insisted upon our staying with him for the night as -his guests, stabling our horses besides! Could kindness to utter -strangers much farther go? “You’re heartily welcome,” said the rector -smiling, and most hospitably did he entertain us. But, as I have already -remarked, I am a little previous.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>LINCOLNSHIRE UPLANDS</i></div> - -<p>Shortly after leaving Sleaford we entered upon a wild, open country, -hilly and sparsely populated, a country that reminded us forcibly of the -Cotswolds, and one as different as possible from the level lowlands we -had traversed the previous day. Once more it was brought to our minds -that Lincolnshire is a land of hills as well as of fens! We were upon a -glorious stretch of uplands that rose and fell around us in mighty -sweeps, chequered by great fields, and enlivened here and there by -comfortable-looking stone-built farmsteads, each with its rambling -colony of outbuildings and corn-ricks gathered around. These, with a -stray cottage or two for farm-labourers, saved the prospect from being -desolate. Here water seems as scarce as it is over-abundant in the Fens! -Indeed, we were afterwards told that sometimes in dry summers<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_410" id="page_410">{410}</a></span> water in -the district is a rarer article than beer! This may be a slight -exaggeration, though one gentleman who had a house in the neighbourhood -assured us, that owing to his having to fetch all the water used in his -establishment, he reckoned that in the year water was a dearer commodity -to him than ale!</p> - -<p>It was a grand drive we had over those bracing uplands, and we were -sorry when this portion of our stage came to an end, and we found -ourselves descending from them through a deep rocky cutting, overhung -with shady trees, into the very charming village of Leadenham, that -struck us as being clean, neat, and picturesque, a dreamy spot yet not -dull. The houses there are well built of stone, and most of them have -pleasant gardens, and all of them look cheerful. In the church we -noticed some rather curious stained glass, but nothing else of special -interest.</p> - -<p>Beyond Leadenham we entered upon a rich, level, and purely agricultural -country, the most notable feature of which was the large size of the -fields. A short drive brought us to Brant Broughton, another very -charming village, with an old church remarkable for the beauty and -richness of its interior decorations. In the porch of this we were -attracted by some curious lettering that we could make nothing of, -except two dates 1630 and 1636. The church is glorious with gilt and -colour, stained glass, and carvings; it looks all very Catholic and -artistic, and should please those who like an ornate place of worship. -Not only is the church beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_411" id="page_411">{411}</a></span> here, but the churchyard is well kept. -These two things should ever go together, but, alas! such is the rare -exception.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A DISAPPOINTMENT</i></div> - -<p>Then we had an uneventful drive on to Beckingham, where, as already -related, we received a hearty welcome. But the hall which we had been -sent here to see was bare! This was a disappointment as we had been led -to expect so much of it. The house itself was plain and of no -architectural merit whatever, not worth crossing even a road to see. The -rector informed us that the property was left by the late squire to the -second son of his eldest son, failing him to the second son of his -second son; and there has never been a second son to either of them. The -last squire but one was, according to report, somewhat of a character, -for on winter evenings he used to go the round of the village at eight -o’clock and act the part of the Curfew, calling out to the cottagers as -he went by that it was time to go to bed and put the fires out! What the -cottagers thought of this proceeding we did not learn.</p> - -<p>The church of Beckingham is of no special interest, though, like most -ancient churches, it possesses some curious features, and contains a -quaint old Elizabethan clock in the tower, still keeping, more or less, -faithful time. In 1810, the then rector, we were told, used to pay his -workmen’s wages on a Sunday morning, and the village shops were kept -open on that day. Amongst the Entry of Marriages here, the following is -perhaps worthy of a passing note:—“Under the Directory for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_412" id="page_412">{412}</a></span> Public -Worship of God, 1645, Robert Parker and Anne Vicars were married on the -24th of May 1647, according to the Directory.” Amongst the Entry of -Burials we made a note of the following:—“Thomas Parker was buried in -his mother’s garden, April 15, 1681.” It seems to have been not a very -uncommon thing at the period for persons to be buried in gardens, burial -in a churchyard being considered by some as flavouring too much of -Popery! This was the second record of such an interment we had come upon -within a week. Beckingham, we learnt, was five miles from a railway; it -looked a thousand to us, though when we came to think of it we had to -confess that we had never been so far from a railway in our lives, -except when on the mid-Atlantic! It used to be called -“Beckingham-behind-the-Times,” the rector said. Well, it does not look -as though it were much ahead of them now! It is a primitive place, -without the virtue of being picturesque.</p> - -<p>Next morning our kind host with thoughtful intent took us out to call on -some of his oldest parishioners, the youngest of whom was eighty-two, in -case we might gather something of interest from their conversation. One -old man we visited was eighty-nine, and his wife was eighty-five. His -father and grandfather had lived and died in Beckingham, he told us, and -though close upon ninety he still managed to do all the work on a garden -of over an acre. He had only travelled in a train once, and that was to -London; he had only smoked once, and then he smoked five ounces of -tobacco right<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_413" id="page_413">{413}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>CHATS WITH ANCIENT FOLK</i></div> - -<p class="nind">off, and his tongue was sore for weeks afterwards; he could see no -pleasure in smoking. When he was a young man he used generally to walk -to Lincoln and back on Sundays, a distance of twenty-nine miles, besides -doing his regular work as a farm-labourer on week-days, for which he was -paid the exorbitant wage of from 7s. to 9s. a week, out of which he -actually managed to pay rent for a cottage and brought up a family of -twelve children. “My hours of toil were from six o’clock in the morning -till six o’clock in the evening, and I had to start from my home at five -and got back at seven.” We thought the expression “my hours of toil” -much to the point; but he did not appear to consider that his life had -been a particularly hard one, indeed he remarked that he could not -understand the present generation—“they can neither work nor walk,” and -he praised God that he could still work!</p> - -<p>Then we visited a Mrs. Sarah Watson, who said she was born in 1805. When -she was a girl she saw a man hanging on a gibbet at Harby in -Lincolnshire, which stood on the spot where he committed a murder. She -used to go out to the gibbet with friends to watch which of the -murderer’s bones would fall off next! “Ah! them were the good old days,” -she exclaimed, “life were exciting then. Now I cannot walk; but I’m fond -of reading. I’ve read the Bible through from the first page to the last, -all save the hard names, and I’ve begun it afresh but have not got -through it again yet. I’ve read <i>Pilgrims Progress</i>; that <i>is</i> an -interesting book, I did enjoy it.” There was some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_414" id="page_414">{414}</a></span>thing very pathetic in -our talks with these poor and patient old folk, and I could moralise -here were I inclined that way, but I prefer to leave my readers to do -this for themselves. I give the text and spare the sermon!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_415" id="page_415">{415}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A cross-country road—A famous hill—Another medieval inn—“The -Drunken Sermon”—Bottesford—Staunton Hall—Old family deeds—A -chained library—Woolsthorpe manor-house—A great inventor!—Melton -Mowbray—Oakham—A quaint old manorial custom—Rockingham -Castle—Kirby. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">From</span> “Beckingham-behind-the-Times” we drove on to the old historic town -of Grantham, a town that still retains much of its ancient -picturesqueness though it is certainly not slothful, but rather -pleasantly progressive. Our road led us through a very pretty country, -but the way was rather hard to find as the turnings were many, the -guide-posts few, and some of the few illegible. As we drove on, the -distance showed clearly defined and darkly blue, we could plainly see -the spire of Claypole church on the horizon, rising sharply into the air -over wood and field; now there is a local saying at Beckingham that -“when you cannot see Claypole church spire, it is sure to be fine,” if -the converse of this meant rain we ought to have had it, for besides the -barometer was low and falling, and the sky cloudy, so the road being -good, though narrow, we sped along with what haste we could.</p> - -<p>At Fenton, the first hamlet we came to, we pulled up a few minutes in -spite of the threatening<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_416" id="page_416">{416}</a></span> weather, to inspect a picturesque and -interesting old manor-house, a little off the wayside, a house somewhat -modernised, and apparently turned into a farmstead. Just above one of -the windows of this was a stone inscribed “1507—R. L.,” and in front of -it separated by a little garden, which erst doubtless formed a -courtyard, stood a gray old Jacobean gateway, with a coat-of-arms boldly -engraved on the top. Just beyond this time-toned manor-house was the -ancient church, worn and gray; the hoary church and old-time home with -its quaint gateway made a very effective picture; a genuine bit of old -England. Manifestly the country about here is not one given to change, -it all bears a mellow, peaceful look that comes of contented abiding, -and is so soothing to the eye, wearied with the ugliness of modern -towns, and the architectural eyesores of the modern builder.</p> - -<p>Then proceeding in due course, we passed through Stubton, a little -hamlet in no special way noteworthy, with its churchyard by the -roadside, a goodly portion of the latter being taken up with a -yew-enclosed tomb. We needs must carry our dignity down to the -grave—but how of the humble dead who lie beneath their grass-grown -graves un-monumented?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forget not Earth, thy disappointed Dead!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget not Earth, thy disinherited!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget not the forgotten! keep a strain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of divine sorrow in sweet undertone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all the dead who lived and died in vain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imperial Future when in countless train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The generations lead thee to thy throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget not the forgotten and unknown!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_417" id="page_417">{417}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>LINCOLNSHIRE HILLS</i></div> - -<p>In another mile or two we reached the charming village of Brandon -situated in a wooded valley, backed by a long line of church-dotted -hills; a line of hills stretching far away to the right and left that -form the backbone of Lincolnshire, and are known locally by the curious -title of “the Cliff.” From this pleasant rural spot an excellent going -road brought us to another pretty village with a grand and very -interesting-looking church, in the quiet God’s acre of which was a -quaint sun-dial raised on the top of a tall stone pillar; the church -doors were carefully locked, so we did not see inside. As at Fenton, so -here, close by the church, stands an old manor-hall, a pleasant bit of -past-century building.</p> - -<p>Soon after this we struck upon the old Great North Road and began to -mount the long and stiff Gonerby Hill, famous in the old coaching days -as the worst “pitch” on the road between London and Edinburgh. It is a -striking fact that the worst hill on the old main high-road, close upon -four hundred miles in length, should be in Lincolnshire, a county -supposed to be so flat! It may be remembered that Scott, who frequently -travelled this road, makes mention of this hill in <i>The Heart of -Midlothian</i>. Jeanie Deans, on leaving the Saracen’s Head at Newark, -bound for Grantham, was assured, “It was all plain road, except a high -mountain called Gunnerby Hill about three miles from Grantham, which was -her stage for the night. ‘I’m glad to hear there’s a hill,’ said Jeanie, -‘for baith my sight and my very feet are weary o’ sic tracts o’ level -ground—it looks a’ the way between this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_418" id="page_418">{418}</a></span> and York as if a’ the land had -been trenched and levelled, whilk is very wearisome to my Scotch -een....’ ‘As for the matter of that, young woman,’ said mine host, ‘an -you be so fond o’ hill, I carena an thou couldst carry Gunnerby away -with thee in thy lap, for it’s a murder to post-horses.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>From the top of Gonerby Hill or Gunnerby (according to the old maps) we -had a long run down into Grantham, where we sought “shelter and a -night’s lodging” beneath the sign of the “Angel,” one of the few -medieval hostelries left to us; at the moment I can only call to memory -six others in England, but there may be more.</p> - -<p>A most interesting old building is the Angel at Grantham, with its -weather-worn and time-stained front of stone facing the street and -giving it quite a special character; nor do you come upon so aged and -historic an hostelry every day. At the end of the drip mouldings on -either side of the central archway that gives access to the building, -are sculptured heads representing those of Edward III. and Philippa his -Queen; at least so we were told, we had no other means of knowing whom -the heads were intended for. One has to take many things on faith in -this world! Over the archway projects a fine oriel window ornamented -with carvings, the window being supported on a corbel composed of an -angel with outspread wings. It was in this very building—according to -our landlord who had naturally studied the history of his old -house—that King John held his Court on 23rd February 1213<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_419" id="page_419">{419}</a></span> (a fairly -long time to date back to); and Richard III. signed the death-warrant of -the Duke of Buckingham on 19th October 1483, in a room still called the -“King’s Chamber.” We found that we had this very chamber allotted to us -as our bedroom—a room that surely should be haunted, if ever a room -were; but we slept soundly there, and if any ghost did appear he did not -disturb us; anyway we were far too sleepy, after our long drive in the -open air, to trouble about such trifles as ghosts! I verily believe if -one had appeared that we should simply have turned lazily over, and have -told him angrily not to bother us! A driving tour begets iron nerves and -dreamless slumbers.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A STORIED HOSTELRY</i></div> - -<p>Here in this ancient and storied hostelry we latter-day travellers were -made exceedingly comfortable; we were even provided with the wholly -unexpected, and, be it confessed, undesired, luxury of the electric -light—which indeed appeared far too anachronistic for its surroundings. -So comfortable were we made, that, remembering our letter of -introduction, and finding that Staunton Hall was some nine miles away, -we determined to drive there and back on the morrow, and stay on at the -“Angel” over another day, though we required no excuse to do so.</p> - -<p>During the evening, whilst making sundry small purchases at a shop, we -overheard one of a party of purchasers ask another if he had heard the -drunken sermon? The question sounded to us like a bit of local scandal, -and though we much dislike all scandal, still in this case curiosity got -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_420" id="page_420">{420}</a></span> better of our dislikes, and when his customers had gone, we -ventured to ask the shopman what the scandal was. “Bless you, sir,” -replied he, “there’s no scandal at all; we’re far too good in Grantham -to have any scandals.” We were delighted to hear this, and thereupon -thought what a delightful place Grantham must be to live in! It was -explained to us that, according to an ancient will of a certain Michael -Solomon, the tenant of the “Angel” has to pay a sum of two guineas every -year to the vicar, in return for which the vicar has to preach a sermon -against drunkenness, which he does annually on the first Sunday after -the mayor’s election. And this sermon is known locally as the “drunken -sermon.” I only devoutly wish that all scandals were so readily -explained away, for then the world would be a much pleasanter place to -live in!</p> - -<p>Early next morning we set off for Staunton Hall. Soon after getting free -of the town we had a fine, though distant, view of Belvoir Castle, -rising prominently and picturesquely out of the woods to our left, with -the misty hills of Leicestershire forming an effective background. -Passing on through a pleasant stretch of country we reached the pretty -village of Bottesford, where we forded a little river, hence doubtless -the name. Here we observed the steps and base of the shaft of a -market-cross. The church chanced to be open, so we took a glance inside -and found there a number of grand monuments to the Lords of Belvoir. A -portion of the inscription on the magnificent tomb of the sixth Earl of -Rutland we copied as showing the strange<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_421" id="page_421">{421}</a></span> faith in sorcery held at the -period even in the highest ranks of society, and this is it: “In 1608, -he married ye Lady Cecilia Hungerford by whom he had two sonnes both -w̄ch died in their infancy by wicked practise and sorcerye.” -Monumental inscriptions are oftentimes curious reading, and frequently -throw interesting sidelights on the superstitions and manners of bygone -days.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>THE KEY OF STAUNTON TOWER</i></div> - -<p>There was nothing further noteworthy on our way till we reached Staunton -Hall, an ancient home set away in a tree-shaded park, and here our -letter of introduction ensured us a welcome; not only did the lady of -the house very kindly offer to show us over it herself, but also most -courteously granted us the highly appreciated privilege of inspecting -several of the old family documents, some of which were of exceeding -interest. Amongst the treasures preserved here is the gold key of the -Staunton tower and the Royal apartments at Belvoir Castle. During the -Parliamentary wars, it appears Colonel Staunton, of Staunton Hall, held -and defended Belvoir Castle for the King. As a recognition for this act, -the head of the Staunton family are privileged to go to Belvoir Castle -when any member of the Royal family is about to visit there, and to -present to such member the gold key which nominally gives access to the -Royal apartments.</p> - -<p>We noticed, as we drove up, over the entrance doorway the date 1573, -inscribed below a coat-of-arms, but this, we were told, only relates to -the doorway which was a later addition to the building; the year of the -erection of the hall being actually a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_422" id="page_422">{422}</a></span> earlier, namely in 1554, -as shown cut in a stone let into one of the chimney stacks. The great -and original heavy oak door is still <i>in situ</i>; indented and in places -pierced with shots and bullets that were fired at it during the siege of -the house by the Parliamentary forces; during which attack the house was -bravely defended by the wife of Colonel Staunton, who, just before it -was captured, made her escape with her children. On the door over these -records of that struggle is cut the date thereof, 1642. The ancient and -historic door is preserved by an inner one of oak attached thereto.</p> - -<p>Amongst the very interesting family documents is a deed in old Latin, -temp. 1323, relating to the bearing of the Cross in the Holy Land on -behalf of William de Staunton, to which is attached a translation; this -latter we copied, and it runs as follows—</p> - -<div class="blockquott"><p>To all people about to see or hear this letter, I, William de -Staunton give greeting. Know ye that in consideration of high -esteem and for the safety of my own soul, and those of my ancestors -and successors have made free Hugo Travers, the son of Simon of -Alurington in which place he assumed the Cross for me, and have -quit claimed for myself and my heirs for ever, himself and his -possessions from all terrene service and exaction, and have yielded -him with all his possessions or property to the Lord and the Church -of St. Mary of Staunton, whereby I desire and grant that he and his -property may remain free for ever under the protection of the Lord -and St. Mary, and the restored church of Staunton. Witness hereof, -Witto, priest of Kidvington, Radulpho de St. Paul. Walter de Hou. </p></div> - -<p>And many others, the date following. Which document is food for thought, -and seems to show how easily, according to the Church of those days, -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_423" id="page_423">{423}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>HISTORIC DEEDS</i></div> - -<p class="nind">soul of a rich man, his ancestors, and descendants could be saved by -vicarious deed.</p> - -<p>Then we were shown a signed authority from Charles I. for “Colonell” -Staunton to raise a regiment of 1200 foot in the king’s service. The -next document taken in due chronological order ran thus:—</p> - -<div class="blockquott"> -<p class="c">CHARLES R.</p> - -<p>Our express will and pleasure therefor is that you presently uppon -the receipt of this our orders draw all your Regiment out of our -Garrison of Newark and with them to march into Tuxford and go -forward under the order of Lt. Generall Villiers. This you are -punctually to obey, and for your so doing this shall be your -warrant.</p> - -<p>Given at our Court at Welbeck this 16 of August 1645. To our trusty -and welbeloved</p> - -<p class="c"> -Colonell Staunton at Newark<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By his Majesty’s Commands</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">E. W. W. Wather.</span><br /> -</p></div> - -<p>For the time, the spelling of this is exceptionally correct. Then we -were shown another document signed by Oliver Cromwell, that explains -itself sufficiently.</p> - -<div class="blockquott"><p>June 1646. A Licence to Mrs. Ann Staunton, or whom she should -appoint, to look into and oversee the repairs of the Manor House of -Staunton in the County of Nottingham, late belonging to Colonel -Staunton, a Delinquent to the Parliament Service, and there to -remain during such time as the said house shall be repairing.</p> - -<p class="c"> -Oliver Cromwell.<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>There were other interesting documents we inspected, but alas! space -forbids my giving any more here.</p> - -<p>On our way back to Grantham we pulled up at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_424" id="page_424">{424}</a></span> the little village of -Sedgebrook, attracted by the fine and interesting-looking church there, -and also in search of any quaint epitaph. We found the rector, -manifestly an ardent antiquary, in the church, which was being lovingly -repaired under his skilled supervision. He did not know of any -noteworthy epitaph in the churchyard, but he could give us one he copied -at Shipley in Derbyshire, if we cared to have it. We did, and here it -is:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God saw good as I lopped off wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I fell from the top of a tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I met with a check that broke my neck<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so God lopped off me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Sedgebrook church is very interesting, I could easily enlarge upon it to -the extent of a whole chapter did the exigencies of space permit. Here -is the Markham chapel in which the “Upright Judge,” Chief Justice -Markham of the King’s Bench, 1462, is buried, or is supposed to be; his -tomb has been destroyed. There is a hazy local tradition that only his -effigy is buried here and not his body; also the same tradition has it -that the judge, on being deprived of his office by the king, took -sanctuary in the church and was fed there by his daughter, whose incised -slab representing her head resting on a pillow now finds a place on the -wall of the chapel. “Now,” said the rector, “some clever people come -here and when they see that, they at once take the pillow for a -head-dress, and one gentleman even went so far as to call attention to -it in a publication as a unique example of a head-dress of the period!” -Of course the slab was intended to be laid flat on<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_425" id="page_425">{425}</a></span> the floor, when the -effect of the pillow, a little out of drawing by the way, would have -been more natural. After this, we hastened back again to our comfortable -medieval hostelry at Grantham, well satisfied with our day’s wanderings.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHAINED LIBRARY</i></div> - -<p>Early next morning, before starting on the road, we paid a visit to the -grand parish church of the town, whose splendid tower is one of the -finest in the kingdom, besides being one of the earliest, ranking, -according to some architectural authorities, second only to that of -Salisbury Cathedral. But what interested us most in this glorious old -church, with its broad aisles and general feeling of spaciousness, was -its library of chained books of rare medieval works; this is contained -in a large parvise chamber over the south porch. The books are curiously -placed on their shelves with their backs to the wall, their titles being -written on their front pages. We noticed that many of the works suffered -from iron-mould owing to the chain fastenings and damp.</p> - -<p>We left Grantham in a mist that inclined to rain; what the country we -passed through at first was like I cannot say, but half seen through the -veil of mist, the hills around loomed vague and vast, poetically -mysterious; even the near fields and hedgerows were only dimly -discernible, and the trees by the roadside dripped with moisture that -was almost as wetting as an honest rain, but it in no way damped our -spirits. We enjoyed the mist, it left so much to our imagination, and it -allowed us to picture the scenery much as we wished it to be;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_426" id="page_426">{426}</a></span> thus the -possibly commonplace assumed, in our eyes, the romantic. So, driving on -through a land half real, half the creation of our fancy, we reached -Great Ponton, a tiny hamlet with an ancient church, solemn with the -duskiness of centuries. Close to the hoary fane stood, pathetic in -neglect, a quaint, old-time, stone-built home with “stepped gables,” -whose weather-worn aged-toned walls were broken by mullioned window’s -rounded at the top, and without transoms. A home of the past, full of -character. Without, the stone gateway pillars still stand, gray and -desolate, that used to give access to the mansion; the space between -them now being barred merely by broken hurdles, and in the fore-court -grasses and nettles flourished exceedingly. The building somehow -involuntarily called to our mind Hood’s famous poem of “The Haunted -House.”</p> - -<p>Then passing through a pleasant country of woods, we suddenly found -ourselves in the old-fashioned village of Colsterworth, where at the -“White Lion” we baited our horses and refreshed ourselves; after which -we set out on foot across the fields to find Woolsthorpe Manor-house -where Sir Isaac Newton was born, which we made out from our map to be -about a mile and a half distant, though it took us a good two miles to -get there all through asking our way; for we got directed to the “Sir -Isaac Newton” public-house instead of to his birthplace! At last, -however, we found the modest old manor-house, a small but pleasant -enough looking home, whose stone walls are ivy-draped, but, though -substantially built, the place has no particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_427" id="page_427">{427}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S BIRTHPLACE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">architectural merit; in front of it is an orchard, just as in the days -of old, and it was in this orchard that Newton saw the historic apple -fall. We should imagine that the house and surroundings generally, -except possibly the ugly cart-shed at the back, are but little altered -since the famous philosopher’s time. We at once set to work to make a -sketch of the old house, reproduced herewith; in doing this we observed, -just over the doorway, where one often finds a coat-of-arms, a stone -carved with the representation of two “cross-bones” in a shield, and -below this gruesome device we read the following inscription:—</p> - -<p class="c"> -In this Manor House<br /> -Sir Isaac Newton Knt<br /> -Was born 25th December<br /> -<small>A.D.</small> 1642.<br /> -</p> - -<p>After finishing our sketch, we ventured to knock at the front door and -politely asked if it would be possible for a perfect stranger just to -take a glance at the room in which Newton was born. A pleasant-faced -woman opened it, presumably the lady of the house, and with a smile she -said, “Certainly, if it would interest you to see it.” We replied, with -many thanks for the unexpected courtesy, that it would very much -interest us to see it, whereupon we were taken upstairs to a comfortable -old-fashioned chamber, in no way remarkable for size or quaintness, -unless a fireplace in the corner can be considered the latter. The -position of this room is shown by the upper front mullioned window to -the left of the house in the picture, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_428" id="page_428">{428}</a></span> window to the side being -built up. In a corner of this chamber is a small marble tablet let into -the wall and inscribed:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sir Isaac Newton (Son of Isaac Newton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord of the Manor of Woolsthorpe) was born<br /></span> -<span class="i0">in this room December 25th 1642.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God said, “Let Newton be” and all was light.<br /></span> -<span class="i18"><span class="smcap">Pope.</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Then we were taken to see Newton’s tiny study, situated upstairs and on -the same floor. Here is hung a drawing of the very tree from which -Newton saw the apple fall. It is a curious-looking old gnarled tree, and -I have taken the artist’s license of introducing it in the foreground of -my sketch, in place of a very ordinary tree of the same kind that really -was growing on that spot. I seldom take such liberties, but in this -exceptional case I thought a likeness of the famous old tree might be of -interest, and, accompanied by an explanation, allowable. Though the -original tree is dead, a graft, we were informed, was made from it, -which is growing now in the orchard in the very spot that the old one -grew; strangely enough it greatly resembles its historic predecessor.</p> - -<p>Then we made our way back to Colsterworth, crossing the river Witham by -a foot-bridge, the road traversing it by a ford. The bottom of the -stream, we noticed, was paved with flat stones, so that the carts in -driving through should not sink in the mud, an arrangement that I do not -remember to have noted elsewhere. Before returning to our</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_018" style="width: 567px;"> -<a href="images/i_428fp.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_428fp.jpg" width="567" height="343" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p>WOOLSTHORPE MANOR-HOUSE: THE BIRTHPLACE OF SIR ISAAC -NEWTON.</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_429" id="page_429">{429}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A HAPPY CONCEIT</i></div> - -<p class="nind">hotel we took a look at the church, as it was on our road, and the door -happened to be open. We descended into the building down two or three -steps, from which we concluded, rightly as we discovered, that it was -dedicated to John the Baptist. As the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, the famous -Cornish vicar, says, “Every church dedicated to John the Baptizer is -thus arranged. We go down into them, as those about to be baptized of -John went down into the water.” The church is well worth inspection; but -what chiefly interested us in it was a stone sun-dial let into the north -wall with the following inscription below:—“Newton, aged nine years, -cut with his penknife this dial.” Above, one of the corbels is carved -with the likeness of Sir Isaac Newton, a delightful conceit that pleased -us greatly. An old body we spoke to in the church amused us not a little -by exclaiming, “Yes, he were a wonderful man Sir Isaac to invent -gravitation!” “Ah!” we replied, “however did the world get on before he -invented it?” But our satire fell harmless. “Oh, very well,” she -responded; “it b’aint no good of to nobody as far as I can see.” And -with this we took our departure, and returned to our inn.</p> - -<p>After a hurried glance at our map before starting, we decided to drive -across country to Melton Mowbray, and to stop there the night. On -inquiring about the way we were informed that we could not miss it, as -it was well “sign-posted,” a fresh expression to us. Just as we started -the rain came down. Lincolnshire had greeted our coming with sunny -smiles, and now<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_430" id="page_430">{430}</a></span> she bade us good-bye in tears,—that was the poetical -way of looking at the unpromising state of the weather! Of the road on -to Melton Mowbray I cannot say much, as it rained the whole way -persistently. In spite of this the country struck us as being distinctly -pretty in parts, especially at one spot where we dipped down through -woods to a ford over a shallow but fairly wide river, across which was a -very Welsh-like bridge for pedestrians. On a fine day this would have -been an ideal spot to make a sketch or to take a photograph of. Even -seen through the rain its picturesqueness impressed itself so on us that -during the evening we made a very fair memory-sketch of the quiet nook.</p> - -<p>It rained all that night at Melton Mowbray, at least the ostler said it -did, and we took his word for it, as we were fast asleep. Anyhow it was -raining in the morning when we awoke; and though we waited till eleven -o’clock before resuming our journey, the weather had not the grace to -improve, so we set forth in the rain bound for Oakham on our way to -Uppingham. As we drove on the weather improved. Now and again the sun -struggled out for a time, and the cloud-scapes above and the strong play -of light and shade on the hilly landscape below were very effective. The -country was wild and beautiful, with a beauty of hill and dale, of wood, -and hedgerowed lane that called Devonshire to remembrance. The only -place we passed through on the way of any importance was the straggling -and very pretty village of Langham. Shortly after this we found -ourselves in Oakham,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_431" id="page_431">{431}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CURIOUS TOLL</i></div> - -<p class="nind">which struck us as a clean, neat little town with thatched and -slab-roofed houses in its streets, and a charming old butter-cross set -away in a quiet corner, with a sun-dial on the top and the ancient -stocks below. Near to the butter-cross stands the banqueting-hall of -Oakham Castle, all that now remains of that stronghold. Within, the -walls of this hall are hung round with a number of gigantic horse-shoes, -some gilt, and nearly all with the names of titled people painted on -them. On inquiring the wherefore of this, we were told that the custom -of the Lord of the Manor anciently exerted to show his authority, and -still maintained, is to claim a horse-shoe from every peer who passes -through the town for the first time. Instead of real horse-shoes, in -every instance but one, large imitation shoes to hang up have been -purposely made. The one real horse-shoe is that of Lord Willoughby -d’Eresby, dated 1840. The oldest shoe is that of Queen Elizabeth. -Certainly the custom is a curious one, and it would be interesting to -trace its origin.</p> - -<p>From Oakham we had a delightful drive of six miles on to Uppingham. The -weather had cleared up, and the sun was shining quite cheerfully again. -There was a freshness and a fragrance in the air that was very grateful -to us. Our road was level at first, then we had a stiffish climb up to -Manton-on-the-Hill, a forsaken-looking village of stone-built houses set -on a height and grouped around an ancient church that looked so -pathetically old. Most of the houses there were gray with age and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_432" id="page_432">{432}</a></span> -picturesque besides, with porches, mullioned windows, and moulded -gables, one of the latter being surmounted by a quaint sun-dial. We just -took a glance at the interior of the crumbling church which was -interesting; but an old woman we discovered there sweeping the floors -interested us even more, for humanity, <i>when characteristic</i>, is ever -better worth study than mere inert matter. She concluded her long life’s -story by saying that she was seventy-two, and cleaned the church and -blew the organ, as it was a little help towards living, her husband -being paralysed, “and he’s only seventy-seven.” Just as though it were a -reproach to him his being helpless at that early age!</p> - -<p>A “give and take” road with more takes than gives, it seemed to us, -brought us to Uppingham, where we found a comfortable hotel. Here, while -the daylight lasted, we took a stroll round the town, and admired the -new school buildings in the course of erection. Then we went into one or -two shops to make a few purchases. At the first of these we remarked to -the shopman, “You’ve got a fine school here.” His reply rather took us -aback. “Yes, we have,” said he. “It’s all school here now and no town; -we’re as school-ridden as Spain is priest-ridden,” and he spoke like a -man who was sorely vexed in his soul about something; but he would not -condescend to any explanations, so we left him and went to a stationer’s -shop for some trifle. Here we saw a photograph of a fine ruined mansion -that attracted us from its manifest former importance, so we inquired -where it was. “Oh, that’s Kirby,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_433" id="page_433">{433}</a></span>” we were told; “it’s near Rockingham, -and some seven miles from here. It’s well worth seeing. It was once -nearly purchased for a residence for George III. It’s a grand old place -all falling to ruin, as you see.” Upon this we purchased the photograph, -and determined to visit Kirby the next day, as we found we could take it -on our way by a slight detour.</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A CHARMING VILLAGE</i></div> - -<p>It was a grand drive over a wild open country to Rockingham, a charming -village nestled at the foot of a wooded hill, which was crowned by a -modernised feudal castle known locally as “the Windsor Castle of the -Midlands.” Here, with our usual good-fortune, we were permitted to see -the gardens and the interior of the castle. We entered the courtyard -through a great arched gateway, guarded on either hand by two massive -round towers built in the Edwardian age, and as strong and substantial -now as then. First we strolled round the old garden enclosed by a high -stone wall. Alongside of this wall runs a broad terrace, from which -elevated position looking down we had a glorious and space-expressing -prospect over the wild Welland valley, bounded to the north by the -wilderness of Lincolnshire hills showing green, gray, and faintly blue.</p> - -<p>The interior of the castle is interesting. This, with the treasures -stored therein, would need pages of description to do them justice. On -the roofbeam of the entrance-hall we noticed the following motto -painted:—“This Howse Shall Be Preserved And Never Will Decaye Wheare -The Almightie<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_434" id="page_434">{434}</a></span> God Is Honored And Served Daye By Daye, 1579.” Here is an -iron treasure-chest that once belonged to King John. In the old -Elizabethan gallery are a number of interesting paintings by Van Dyke, -Sir Joshua Reynolds, and other famous artists. Here also was pointed out -to us a portrait supposed by some authorities to represent Queen -Elizabeth when an infant, but it is of doubtful authenticity. Want of -space unfortunately prevents my giving further particulars of this old -historic pile set in its romantic park, rich in wood and charmingly -varied by rugged hill and deep dale.</p> - -<p>We had a stiff climb out of Rockingham when we reached high ground, and -turning to our left gradually descended to a well-wooded valley. In the -heart of this we espied the ruined mansion of Kirby, situated low in a -wild and desolate-looking park, and some half mile or so from the public -road. Driving under the time-grayed gateway here, we had presented to us -a vision of picturesque and pathetic decay. The vast mass of ruins -attests the former grandeur of the place. When we were there cows were -feeding in its grass-grown courtyards, portions of the structure were -roofless, and the mullioned windows glazeless, birds wandered in and out -of its deserted chambers, and weeds found lodgment in the crevices of -its weather-beaten walls. It was a scene of desolation. But what struck -us amongst the decay of roof, floor, panel, and window was the enduring -quality of the stone-work. The masonry appeared little injured by mere -age or weathering, it being damaged chiefly by the tumb<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_435" id="page_435">{435}</a></span>ling down of -roofs and floors; the fine carvings on the stones being almost as sharp -as when first chiselled centuries now ago. It would be interesting to -learn where this splendid stone was quarried; it is manifestly -magnificent building material. Architects might do worse than study this -question. There is no doubt as to the designer of this stately mansion, -for John Thorpe’s plans of it are preserved in the Soane Museum, -endorsed in his handwriting, “Kirby, whereof I layd the first stone, -1570.”</p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE PROVERB</i></div> - -<p>We were now in Northamptonshire that, according to the proverb, has</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">More spires and more squires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More bells and more wells<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="nind">than any other county.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_436" id="page_436">{436}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">A well-preserved relic—An old English home—Authorities -differ—Rooms on the top of a church tower—A medieval-looking -town—A Saxon tower—Bedford—Bunyan’s birthplace—Luton—The end -of the journey. </p></div> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Leaving</span> Kirby we soon reached the very pretty village of Deene, on -passing through which we noticed a picturesque creeper-covered little -hostel with the sign of “The Sea-horse,” though it was so far inland. -Then our road led us round Deene Park, shady with branching beeches and -leafy elms, just giving us a glance of the interesting old Tudor mansion -peeping through the woods, and so by the side of a little lake to -another picturesque village called Great Weldon, some of the houses -wherein are quaintly built and worthy of study. A stone district seems -to breed good architecture, even in cottages. After this we had an open -stretch of country on to Geddington where we found, to our delight, a -Queen Eleanor Cross, little damaged, either by the hand of man, or time. -It was a pleasure to come unexpectedly upon this well-preserved relic of -the vanished long ago.</p> - -<p>Shortly after this our road brought us to Boughton Park, a fine demesne -with a large and rather ugly mansion set therein. What interested<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_437" id="page_437">{437}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>A GRAND HOBBY</i></div> - -<p class="nind">us here was the arrangement of wide avenues of elms, extending from the -house in every direction, rising and falling with the varying -undulations of the ground. The effect, though formal, is fine in the -sense that it gives a feeling of great expanse by leading the eye far -away into the distant country on all sides. It is magnificent, but it is -too apparently artificial to be commended; a formal garden is all very -well, and very charming; a garden is confessedly Nature tamed, to a -greater or less extent, but one does not desire a whole country-side -tamed! These stately avenues, we learnt afterwards, were planted by the -second Duke of Montague, from which grand hobby he justly earned the -title of “the planter Duke.” Soon after this we entered the busy and -thriving town of Kettering, where we fortunately discovered a very -comfortable hotel with a most obliging landlord.</p> - -<p>We resumed our journey early the next morning; we left our hotel and -worthy landlord with regret, and the busy town with pleasure; and glad -we were to get into the quiet country again. We had a rather hilly road -at first, with charming woodland prospects opening out ever and again; -in about two miles we reached the small hamlet of Barton Seagrave,—here -we noticed more avenues of elms radiating from the ancient church, -possibly part of the scheme of “the planter Duke.” Then driving on we -came to the large village of Burton Latimer, where to the left of our -road we espied a lovely old English home of many gables, great chimney -stacks and mullioned windows, with a gray-green slab<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_438" id="page_438">{438}</a></span>stone roof broken -above by dormers. On one chimney was a sun-dial, and on one gable we -noticed a very quaint weather-vane, whilst in the forecourt stood an -ancient pigeon-cote. A charming home of past days, that with its -old-fashioned gardens looked as though it had stepped out of some -picture, an artist’s ideal realised. You do not frequently set your eyes -upon such a delightful actuality in this commonplace age!</p> - -<p>The next village on our way was Finedon, a straggling place; here by the -roadside we noticed a monument gray with years, and without any -inscription that we could find. So we asked a man the meaning of it; he -replied that it was erected by a gentleman whose horse had fallen dead -on the spot after being driven hard by his master to catch the -mail-coach. Another man who was listening to the conversation declared -positively that our informant was all wrong, and that it was put up as a -memorial of somebody who was drowned at sea. So hard is it to arrive at -facts in this world! Then the first man got in a rage with the second -man and called him bad names, and said he knew “nought about it,” and as -the argument was already heated and promised to be prolonged, we -politely thanked both parties for their trustworthy information and -departed. As we drove away each man shouted after us that he was right; -and we shouted back pleasantly we were quite sure of it!</p> - -<p>The next point of interest on our way was the long-named little town of -Irthlingborough, with its ancient market-cross and fine old church. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_439" id="page_439">{439}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>AN ARCHITECTURAL PUZZLE</i></div> - -<p class="nind">church tower, detached from the main building, is surmounted by a tall -and quaint octagonal structure that gives it a strangely -unecclesiastical appearance, and a very original one too. Well, -originality that escapes eccentricity is pleasing. Our church towers and -spires, however architecturally good in themselves, too often lack -individuality, in that they resemble one another over much; even a -beautiful form by too frequent repetition may become monotonous. For a -wonder we found the clerk in the church; he told us that the tower had -been rebuilt, as we could see, but it was, externally, an exact -reproduction of the old one. The interior was not quite the same, as -there was a stone staircase up the tower, whilst in the old one you had -to get up by ladders. The octagonal structure at the top, now mere -enclosed space, used to consist, we were told, of three stories, with a -room in each provided with a fireplace, but what the use of these rooms -was, the clerk did not know. The fireplaces showed that they were -intended to be lived in, yet dwelling-rooms right on the top of a tall -church tower seemed singular; at any rate the chambers must have had a -plentiful supply of fresh air! We wondered if they could have been -intended for a priest’s home. But whatever their purpose, dwelling rooms -in such a position are surely unique.</p> - -<p>A little farther on we crossed the silvery winding river Nene by a gray -and ancient bridge, and had before us, set pleasantly on the top of a -hill the picturesque old town of Higham Ferrers looking quite romantic -with its old-time irregular-roofed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_440" id="page_440">{440}</a></span> houses, and grand church spire, -strongly silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Higham Ferrers struck -us as a most interesting little town, with its fine old fane, around -which are clustered gray crumbling buildings of the medieval age, in the -shape of a bede-house, a school, a vicarage, and a Decorated stone -cross; all in the Gothic style, with many traceried windows, and -supporting buttresses to the walls. We owe this effective group of -buildings to the good Archbishop Chicheley, who was born in the town, -and when he became great and famous raised them in honour of his -birthplace. He also erected a college here, of which only a great -archway remains, and some decayed walls with broken mullioned windows; -this faces the main street of the town, and when we were there simply -enclosed a dirty farmyard. Within, the church is most interesting, and -possesses some exceedingly fine old brasses, many of the fifteenth -century; amongst the number a brass to a priest is noteworthy, as are -also the royal arms of England sculptured in relief, on the side panels -of a very beautiful altar-tomb placed under a stone canopy, suggesting -the possibility of its having been prepared for royalty, though probably -never used; the place where the recumbent effigy should be is now taken -up by a brass that manifestly was intended for the floor. There are also -some quaint medieval tiles before the altar, ornamented with curiously -figured animals in yellow on a red ground. Altogether the interior of -this splendid and ancient church affords a mine of good things for the -antiquary or ecclesiologist.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_441" id="page_441">{441}</a></span></p> - -<div class="sidenote"><i>SAXON MASONRY</i></div> - -<p>Leaving Higham Ferrers we had a pleasant drive, mostly downhill, to the -hamlet of Bletsoe, where we came in sight again of the slow-gliding -Ouse, the valley of which we followed on to Bedford. Some short way -beyond Bletsoe we passed through Clapham, unlike its ugly London -namesake, a pretty rural village by the river-side. Here we noticed the -striking-looking Saxon tower of the church, more like a castle keep than -an ecclesiastical structure. It forms quite a feature in the landscape, -and asserts itself by its peculiarity.</p> - -<p>On arriving at Bedford it began to rain, and it was raining again in the -morning; but about mid-day the steady downpour changed to intermittent -showers. So, early in the afternoon, we started off for a twenty-mile -drive on to Luton, which we did in one stage. In a little over a mile we -found ourselves passing through a very pretty village, and on inquiring -the name thereof discovered it to be Elstow, the birthplace of John -Bunyan, a spot that does not seem to have changed much to the eye since -that event, for, if the expression be allowed, it looks still “genuinely -Old English.”</p> - -<p>After Elstow we had a fine open country before us, bounded ahead by a -low range of wooded hills, hills that showed softly blue under the -shadow of a passing cloud, a golden green in the transient gleams of -sunshine, and were sometimes lost altogether or half hidden by the mist -of a trailing shower. Then driving on in due course we reached the hills -and had a stiff climb up them, followed by a long and glorious run down -through fragrant-<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_442" id="page_442">{442}</a></span>scented pine-woods with open spaces here and there -given over to a little forest of waving bracken, green, red, and yellow, -in all the loveliness of their autumn tints. At the foot of the descent -we found a charming little hamlet set in woods, past which a clear -stream purled peacefully; crossing this stream we had another climb -succeeded by a level winding elm-bound road, with an uneventful -landscape on either hand, of flat fields stretching far away to a misty -horizon. Now the rounded chalk hills loomed up finely in front of us, -the clouds stooping to their low summits, so that it was hard to tell -where the land ended and the sky began; and in the fast-fading light a -sense of mystery and the majesty of space pervaded the prospect. Our -road eventually led us along the sides of these hills and into the -gathering gloom, then we dropped down into the cheerful lamp-lighted -streets of busy Luton. From Luton we drove through picturesque Harpenden -to historic St. Albans, with its much-restored abbey, and from St. -Albans by Elstree and Edgeware we made our way back to London again. And -so ended our most enjoyable wanderings on the pleasant old roads. Ours -was purely a pleasure jaunt. We set forth on it determined, come what -would, to enjoy ourselves, and we succeeded! Now, kind reader, the time -has come when I must, perforce, bid you farewell.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of all the words the English tongue can tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hardest one to utter is “Farewell.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the fond hope that we may meet again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Relieves that word of more than half its pain.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_443" id="page_443">{443}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="APPENDIX" id="APPENDIX"></a>APPENDIX</h2> - -<p class="c">ITINERARY OF JOURNEY</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="pdd"> </td><td class="c">Day’s</td><td class="c">Total</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"> </td><td class="c">Stages</td><td class="c">Distance</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"> </td><td class="c">in Miles.</td><td class="c">in Miles.</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">London to Stevenage</td><td class="rt">31</td><td class="rt">31</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Stevenage to St. Neots</td><td class="rt">25</td><td class="rt">56</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">St. Neots to Huntingdon 11</td><td class="rt">21</td><td class="rt">77</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Huntingdon to St. Ives and back 10</td><td class="rt">21</td><td class="rt">77</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Huntingdon to Stamford <i>through Stilton</i></td><td class="rt">25½</td><td class="rt">102½</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Stamford to Spalding <i>over the Fens and by Crowland</i></td><td class="rt">25½</td><td class="rt">128</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Spalding to Bourn</td><td class="rt">12</td><td class="rt">140</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Bourn to Sleaford</td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">158</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Sleaford to Boston <i>by Swineshead and Frampton</i></td><td class="rt">25</td><td class="rt">183</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Boston to Wainfleet <i>across the Marshes</i></td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">201</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Wainfleet to Horncastle <i>by Spilsby and over the Wolds</i></td><td class="rt">20</td><td class="rt">221</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Round about Tennyson-land</td><td class="rt">20</td><td class="rt">241</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Horncastle to Scrivelsby and back 5</td><td class="rt">26</td><td class="rt">267 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_444" id="page_444">{444}</a></span></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Horncastle to Lincoln 21</td><td class="rt">26</td><td class="rt">267</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Lincoln to Woodhall Spa <i>over Lincoln Heath</i></td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">285</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Round about Woodhall Spa</td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">303</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Woodhall Spa to Sleaford <i>by Tattershall Castle</i></td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">321</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Sleaford to Beckingham <i>over “the Cliff”</i></td><td class="rt">15</td><td class="rt">336</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Beckingham to Grantham</td><td class="rt">15</td><td class="rt">351</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Grantham to Staunton Hall and back by Bottesford</td><td class="rt">18</td><td class="rt">369</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Grantham to Melton Mowbray <i>by Colsterworth</i></td><td class="rt">21</td><td class="rt">390</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Melton Mowbray to Uppingham <i>through Oakham</i></td><td class="rt">16</td><td class="rt">406</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Uppingham to Kettering <i>by Rockingham and Kirby</i></td><td class="rt">22</td><td class="rt">428</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Kettering to Bedford <i>through Higham Ferrers</i></td><td class="rt">25</td><td class="rt">453</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Bedford to Luton</td><td class="rt">20</td><td class="rt">473</td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd">Luton to London <i>through St. Albans</i></td><td class="rt">28</td><td class="rt">501</td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_445" id="page_445">{445}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_446" id="page_446">{446}</a></span> </p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="ill_019" style="width: 339px;"> -<a href="images/i_444fp_1.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_444fp_1.jpg" width="339" height="539" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"> - -<p> -ROUTE BETWEEN<br /> -LONDON & LINCOLNSHIRE.<br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_447" id="page_447">{447}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;"> -<a href="images/i_444fp_2.jpg"> -<img src="images/i_444fp_2.jpg" width="340" height="539" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p> -OVER FEN AND WOLD<br /> -IN LINCOLNSHIRE.<br /> -</p></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_448" id="page_448">{448}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_449" id="page_449">{449}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX</h2> - -<p class="nind"> -<span class="smcap">Abbeys</span>, Cathedrals, and Churches—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ashby Puerorum, <a href="#page_312">312-315</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bag Enderby, <a href="#page_329">329-334</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bardney Abbey, <a href="#page_397">397</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Barton Seagrave, <a href="#page_437">437</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beckingham, <a href="#page_411">411</a>, <a href="#page_412">412</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Benington, <a href="#page_259">259</a>, <a href="#page_260">260</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Biggleswade, <a href="#page_59">59</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boston, <a href="#page_251">251</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bottesford, <a href="#page_420">420</a>, <a href="#page_421">421</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bourn, <a href="#page_202">202</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Brampton, <a href="#page_82">82</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Branston, <a href="#page_383">383</a>, <a href="#page_384">384</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Buckden, <a href="#page_76">76-79</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Clapham, <a href="#page_441">441</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Claypole, <a href="#page_415">415</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Colsterworth, <a href="#page_428">428</a>, <a href="#page_429">429</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Coningsby, <a href="#page_403">403</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cowbit, <a href="#page_181">181</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Crowland Abbey, <a href="#page_151">151</a>, <a href="#page_163">163</a>, <a href="#page_164">164</a>, <a href="#page_172">172-176</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Falkingham, <a href="#page_215">215-220</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fenton, <a href="#page_416">416</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frampton, <a href="#page_243">243</a>, <a href="#page_244">244</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Grantham, <a href="#page_425">425</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Gidding, <a href="#page_245">245</a>, <a href="#page_246">246</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Great Ponton, <a href="#page_426">426</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harrington, <a href="#page_338">338-341</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Heckington, <a href="#page_235">235</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Higham Ferrers, <a href="#page_440">440</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Horncastle, <a href="#page_346">346-348</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Horsington, <a href="#page_399">399</a>, <a href="#page_400">400</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Irthlingborough, <a href="#page_438">438</a>, <a href="#page_439">439</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kirkstead Abbey, <a href="#page_402">402</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kirkstead Chapel, <a href="#page_402">402</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Leadenham, <a href="#page_410">410</a>, <a href="#page_411">411</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lincoln Minster, <a href="#page_367">367</a>, <a href="#page_368">368</a>, <a href="#page_372">372-374</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mavis Enderby, <a href="#page_303">303</a>, <a href="#page_304">304</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Metheringham, <a href="#page_388">388</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Osbournby, <a href="#page_223">223-225</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">St. Leonard’s Priory, <a href="#page_152">152</a>, <a href="#page_153">153</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Scrivelsby, <a href="#page_360">360</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Silk Willoughby, <a href="#page_228">228-230</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sleaford, <a href="#page_233">233</a>, <a href="#page_234">234</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Somersby, <a href="#page_320">320-324</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spalding, <a href="#page_189">189-193</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Spilsby, <a href="#page_297">297-299</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Swineshead, <a href="#page_239">239-241</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tattershall, <a href="#page_404">404</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Welwyn, <a href="#page_28">28</a>, <a href="#page_29">29</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wispington, <a href="#page_395">395-397</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrangle, <a href="#page_264">264</a>, <a href="#page_265">265</a></span><br /> - -Alconbury Hill, <a href="#page_103">103</a>, <a href="#page_104">104</a><br /> - -Anwick, <a href="#page_408">408</a><br /> - -Aslackby, <a href="#page_207">207</a>, <a href="#page_208">208</a><br /> - -Astwick, <a href="#page_55">55-58</a><br /> - -<br /> -Bag Enderby, <a href="#page_329">329-334</a><br /> - -Baldock, <a href="#page_47">47-52</a><br /> - -Barholm, <a href="#page_155">155</a><br /> - -Barnet, <a href="#page_13">13-17</a>, <a href="#page_21">21</a><br /> - -“Barnett Wells,” <a href="#page_17">17</a>, <a href="#page_18">18</a><br /> - -Barton Seagrave, <a href="#page_437">437</a><br /> - -Beckingham, <a href="#page_408">408</a>, <a href="#page_409">409</a>, <a href="#page_411">411-415</a><br /> - -Bedford, <a href="#page_441">441</a><br /> - -Benington, <a href="#page_259">259</a>, <a href="#page_260">260</a><br /> - -Biggleswade, <a href="#page_58">58-60</a><br /> - -Birthplaces of Notable People—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bunyan, John, <a href="#page_441">441</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cromwell, Oliver, <a href="#page_97">97</a>, <a href="#page_98">98</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Franklin, Sir John, <a href="#page_296">296</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ingelow, Jean, <a href="#page_254">254</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Newton, Sir Isaac, <a href="#page_426">426-428</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pepys, Samuel, <a href="#page_80">80-82</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tennyson, Lord, <a href="#page_316">316-320</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thistlewood, Arthur, <a href="#page_400">400</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Young, Dr., <a href="#page_29">29</a></span><br /> - -Bletsoe, <a href="#page_441">441</a><br /> - -Boston, <a href="#page_246">246-255</a>, <a href="#page_301">301</a><br /> - -Bottesford, <a href="#page_420">420</a>, <a href="#page_421">421</a><br /> - -Boughton Park, <a href="#page_436">436</a>, <a href="#page_437">437</a><br /> - -Bourn, <a href="#page_198">198-204</a><br /> - -Brampton, <a href="#page_80">80</a>, <a href="#page_82">82</a><br /> - -Brandon, <a href="#page_417">417</a><br /> - -Branston, <a href="#page_383">383</a>, <a href="#page_384">384</a><br /> - -Brant Broughton, <a href="#page_410">410</a><br /> - -Buckden, <a href="#page_75">75</a><br /> - -Burleigh Park, <a href="#page_131">131-133</a>, <a href="#page_135">135</a><br /> - -Burton Latimer, <a href="#page_437">437</a><br /> - -<br /> -Castles and Towers—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Belvoir, <a href="#page_420">420</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hussey Tower, <a href="#page_255">255</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kyme Tower, <a href="#page_258">258</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oakham, <a href="#page_431">431</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rockingham, <a href="#page_433">433</a>, <a href="#page_434">434</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stamford, <a href="#page_149">149</a>, <a href="#page_150">150</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tattershall, <a href="#page_392">392</a>, <a href="#page_407">407</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Tower on the Moor,” Woodhall, <a href="#page_392">392</a></span><br /> - -Clapham, <a href="#page_441">441</a><br /> - -Colsterworth, <a href="#page_426">426</a>, <a href="#page_428">428</a>, <a href="#page_429">429</a><br /> - -Coningsby, <a href="#page_403">403</a><br /> - -Cowbit, <a href="#page_181">181</a><br /> - -Crowland, <a href="#page_163">163-176</a><br /> - -<br /> -Deene, <a href="#page_436">436</a><br /> - -Deeping St. James, <a href="#page_156">156</a>, <a href="#page_157">157</a><br /> - -Dunston Pillar, <a href="#page_386">386</a>, <a href="#page_387">387</a><br /> - -<br /> -Eaton Socon, <a href="#page_69">69</a><br /> - -Edgeware, <a href="#page_442">442</a><br /> - -Elstow, <a href="#page_441">441</a><br /> - -Elstree, <a href="#page_442">442</a><br /> - -<br /> -Falkingham, <a href="#page_213">213-221</a><br /> - -Fenton, <a href="#page_415">415</a><br /> - -Finedon, <a href="#page_438">438</a><br /> - -Frampton, <a href="#page_243">243</a>, <a href="#page_244">244</a><br /> - -<br /> -Geddington, <a href="#page_436">436</a><br /> - -Girtford, <a href="#page_65">65</a><br /> - -Godmanchester, <a href="#page_94">94</a>, <a href="#page_95">95</a><br /> - -Gonerby Hill, <a href="#page_417">417</a>, <a href="#page_418">418</a><br /> - -Grantham, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_418">418-420</a>, <a href="#page_425">425</a><br /> - -Graveley, <a href="#page_38">38</a>, <a href="#page_39">39</a><br /> - -Great Ponton, <a href="#page_426">426</a><br /> - -Great Weldon, <a href="#page_436">436</a><br /> - -<br /> -Hadley, <a href="#page_22">22</a>, <a href="#page_23">23</a><br /> - -Halstead Hall, <a href="#page_400">400</a>, <a href="#page_401">401</a><br /> - -Halton Holgate, <a href="#page_275">275</a>, <a href="#page_278">278-280</a>, <a href="#page_285">285</a><br /> - -Harpenden, <a href="#page_442">442</a><br /> - -Harrington Hall, <a href="#page_334">334-339</a><br /> - -Hatfield, <a href="#page_23">23-27</a><br /> - -Heckington, <a href="#page_234">234</a>, <a href="#page_235">235</a><br /> - -Hemingford Grey, <a href="#page_92">92-94</a><br /> - -Higham Ferrers, <a href="#page_439">439-441</a><br /> - -High Rigge, <a href="#page_392">392</a>, <a href="#page_393">393</a><br /> - -Hinchinbrook, <a href="#page_83">83</a><br /> - -Holbeck, <a href="#page_310">310</a><br /> - -Horncastle, <a href="#page_307">307</a>, <a href="#page_308">308</a>, <a href="#page_344">344-355</a>, <a href="#page_362">362</a><br /> - -Horsington, <a href="#page_399">399</a><br /> - -Huntingdon, <a href="#page_83">83-86</a>, <a href="#page_95">95-100</a><br /> - -<br /> -Irby, <a href="#page_284">284</a><br /> - -Irthlingborough, <a href="#page_438">438</a>, <a href="#page_439">439</a><br /> - -<br /> -Kenulph’s Stone, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -Kettering, <a href="#page_437">437</a><br /> - -Kirby, <a href="#page_434">434-436</a><br /> - -Knight’s Mill, <a href="#page_92">92</a><br /> - -<br /> -Langham, <a href="#page_430">430</a><br /> - -Langworth, <a href="#page_367">367</a><br /> - -Leadenham, <a href="#page_410">410</a><br /> - -Lincoln, <a href="#page_368">368-381</a><br /> - -Lincoln Heath, <a href="#page_386">386</a>, <a href="#page_387">387</a><br /> - -Little Stukeley, <a href="#page_101">101</a>, <a href="#page_102">102</a><br /> - -Luton, <a href="#page_441">441</a>, <a href="#page_442">442</a><br /> - -<br /> -Market Deeping, <a href="#page_155">155</a>, <a href="#page_156">156</a><br /> - -Martin, <a href="#page_388">388</a>, <a href="#page_389">389</a><br /> - -Mavis Enderby, <a href="#page_303">303-305</a><br /> - -Melton Mowbray, <a href="#page_429">429</a>, <a href="#page_430">430</a><br /> - -Metheringham, <a href="#page_387">387</a>, <a href="#page_388">388</a><br /> - -<br /> -Norman Cross, <a href="#page_119">119</a><br /> - -<br /> -Oakham, <a href="#page_430">430</a>, <a href="#page_431">431</a><br /> - -Osbournby, <a href="#page_223">223-225</a><br /> - -<br /> -Peakirk, <a href="#page_158">158</a><br /> - -Poolham Hall, <a href="#page_393">393-395</a><br /> - -<br /> -Rivers—<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ivel, <a href="#page_60">60</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nene, <a href="#page_119">119</a>, <a href="#page_129">129-131</a>, <a href="#page_439">439</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ouse, <a href="#page_68">68</a>, <a href="#page_69">69</a>, <a href="#page_74">74</a>, <a href="#page_86">86</a>, <a href="#page_87">87</a>, <a href="#page_91">91-95</a>, <a href="#page_441">441</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Steeping, <a href="#page_274">274</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Welland, <a href="#page_150">150</a>, <a href="#page_159">159</a>, <a href="#page_161">161</a>, <a href="#page_183">183</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Witham, <a href="#page_389">389</a>, <a href="#page_407">407</a>, <a href="#page_428">428</a></span><br /> - -Rockingham, <a href="#page_433">433</a>, <a href="#page_434">434</a><br /> - -<br /> -St. Albans, <a href="#page_442">442</a><br /> - -St. Guthlak’s Cross, <a href="#page_159">159</a><br /> - -St. Ives, <a href="#page_87">87-91</a><br /> - -St. Neots, <a href="#page_69">69-73</a><br /> - -Scrivelsby Court, <a href="#page_356">356-360</a><br /> - -Silk Willoughby, <a href="#page_226">226-230</a><br /> - -Sleaford, <a href="#page_231">231-234</a>, <a href="#page_408">408</a><br /> - -Somersby, <a href="#page_309">309</a>, <a href="#page_315">315-329</a><br /> - -Somersby Grange, <a href="#page_324">324-328</a><br /> - -Somersby Rectory, <a href="#page_316">316-320</a><br /> - -South Ormsby, <a href="#page_341">341</a><br /> - -Spalding, <a href="#page_183">183-194</a><br /> - -Spilsby, <a href="#page_293">293-300</a><br /> - -Stamford, <a href="#page_83">83</a>, <a href="#page_119">119</a>, <a href="#page_133">133-151</a><br /> - -Staunton Hall, <a href="#page_409">409</a>, <a href="#page_420">420-424</a><br /> - -Stevenage, <a href="#page_31">31-36</a><br /> - -Stilton, <a href="#page_39">39</a>, <a href="#page_107">107-117</a><br /> - -Stixwold, <a href="#page_401">401</a><br /> - -Stixwold Ferry, <a href="#page_389">389</a><br /> - -Stubton, <a href="#page_416">416</a><br /> - -Swineshead, <a href="#page_236">236-241</a><br /> - -<br /> -Tallington, <a href="#page_155">155</a><br /> - -Tattershall, <a href="#page_404">404</a><br /> - -Tempsford, <a href="#page_66">66-68</a><br /> - -Tetford, <a href="#page_341">341</a><br /> - -Treckingham, <a href="#page_222">222</a><br /> - -<br /> -Uffington, <a href="#page_154">154</a><br /> - -Uppingham, <a href="#page_430">430-433</a><br /> - -<br /> -Wainfleet, <a href="#page_271">271-275</a><br /> - -Walcot, <a href="#page_222">222</a><br /> - -Wansford, <a href="#page_129">129-131</a><br /> - -Water Newton, <a href="#page_119">119-128</a><br /> - -Welwyn, <a href="#page_27">27-30</a><br /> - -Whetstone, <a href="#page_12">12</a><br /> - -Winceby Hill, <a href="#page_307">307</a>, <a href="#page_347">347</a><br /> - -Wispington, <a href="#page_395">395-399</a><br /> - -Wolds, the, <a href="#page_300">300-307</a>, <a href="#page_310">310-342</a>, <a href="#page_362">362</a><br /> - -Woodhall Spa, <a href="#page_389">389-392</a>, <a href="#page_401">401</a><br /> - -Woolsthorpe Manor-House, <a href="#page_426">426-428</a><br /> - -Wothorpe, <a href="#page_139">139</a>, <a href="#page_140">140</a><br /> - -Wragby, <a href="#page_363">363-367</a><br /> - -Wrangle, <a href="#page_261">261-265</a><br /> -</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END<br /><br /><small> -<i>Printed by</i> <span class="smcap">R. & R. 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