uare house, ugly and red to match, just behind. The old
buildings always used to remind me of Wollett's beautiful engraving of
a scene in the Maid of the Mill. It will be long before any artist will
make a drawing of this. Only think of this redness in a picture! this
boiled lobster of a house! Falstaff's description of Bardolph's nose
would look pale in the comparison.

Here is that monstrous machine of a tilted waggon, with its load of
flour, and its four fat horses. I wonder whether our horse will have the
decency to get out of the way. If he does not, I am sure we cannot make
him; and that enormous ship upon wheels, that ark on dry land, would
roll over us like the car of Juggernaut. Really--Oh no! there is no
danger now. I should have remembered that it is my friend Samuel Long
who drives the mill team. He will take care of us. 'Thank you, Samuel!'
And Samuel has put us on our way, steered us safely past his waggon,
escorted us over the bridge and now, having seen us through our
immediate difficulties, has parted from us with a very civil bow and
good-humoured smile, as one who is always civil and good-humoured, but
with a certain triumphant masterful look in his eyes, which I have
noted in men, even the best of them, when a woman gets into straits by
attempting manly employments. He has done us great good though, and
may be allowed his little feeling of superiority. The parting salute he
bestowed on our steed, in the shape of an astounding crack of his huge
whip, has put that refractory animal on his mettle. On we go! past the
glazier's pretty house, with its porch and its filbert walk; along the
narrow lane bordered with elms, whose fallen leaves have made the road
one yellow; past that little farmhouse with the horse-chestnut trees
before, glowing like oranges; past the whitewashed school on the other
side, gay with October roses; past the park, and the lodge, and the
mansion, where once dwelt the great Earl of Clarendon;--and now the
rascal has begun to discover that Samuel Long and his whip are a mile
off, and that his mistress is driving him, and he slackens his pace
accordingly. Perhaps he feels the beauty of the road just here, and
goes slowly to enjoy it. Very beautiful it certainly is. The park paling
forms the boundary on one side, with fine clumps of oak, and deer in all
attitudes; the water, tufted with alders, flowing along on the other.
Another turn, and the water winds away, succeeded by a low hedge,