assy lanes and
fragrant hedgerows,--that most delightful land which has been called,
and very rightly, "The Garden of England."

It was thus, as has been said, upon a fair August morning, that Bellew
set out on what he termed "a walking tour." The reservation is necessary
because Bellew's idea of a walking-tour is original, and quaint. He
began very well, for Bellew,--in the morning he walked very nearly five
miles, and, in the afternoon, before he was discovered, he accomplished
ten more on a hay-cart that happened to be going in his direction.

He had swung himself up among the hay, unobserved by the somnolent
driver, and had ridden thus an hour or more in that delicious state
between waking, and sleeping, ere the waggoner discovered him, whereupon
ensued the following colloquy:

THE WAGGONER. (_Indignantly_) Hallo there! what might you be a doing of
in my hay?

BELLEW. (_Drowsily_) Enjoying myself immensely.

THE WAGGONER. (_Growling_) Well, you get out o' that, and sharp about
it.

BELLEW. (_Yawning_) Not on your life! No sir,--'not for Cadwallader and
all his goats!'

THE WAGGONER. You jest get down out o' my hay,--now come!

BELLEW. (_Sleepily_) Enough, good fellow,--go to!--thy voice offends
mine ear!

THE WAGGONER. (_Threateningly_) Ear be blowed! If ye don't get down out
o' my hay,--I'll come an' throw ye out.

BELLEW. (_Drowsily_) 'Twould be an act of wanton aggression that likes
me not.

THE WAGGONER. (_Dubiously_) Where be ye goin'?

BELLEW. Wherever you like to take me; Thy way shall be my way,
and--er--thy people--(Yawn) So drive on, my rustic Jehu, and Heaven's
blessings prosper thee!

Saying which, Bellew closed his eyes again, sighed plaintively, and once
more composed himself to slumber.

But to drive on, the Waggoner, very evidently, had no mind; instead,
flinging the reins upon the backs of his horses, he climbed down from
his seat, and spitting on his hands, clenched them into fists and shook
them up at the yawning Bellew, one after the other.

"It be enough," said he, "to raise the 'Old Adam' inside o' me to 'ave a
tramper o' the roads a-snoring in my hay,--but I ain't a-going to be
called names, into the bargain. 'Rusty'--I may be, but I reckon I'm good
enough for the likes o' you,--so come on down!" and the Waggoner shook
his fists again.

He was a very square man, was this Waggoner, square of head, square of
jaw, and square of body, with twinkling blue eyes, and a pleasant,