ght I, with much complacency, "and Clarke's a man to transplant
Windsor forest without withering a leaf. We'll have him to-morrow."

The same good disposition continued after I entered the house. And when
left alone in the echoing empty breakfast-room, with only one shutter
opened, whilst Dame Wheeler was guiding the companion of my survey to
the stableyard, I amused myself with making in my own mind, comparisons
between what had been, and what would be. There she used to sit, poor
Mrs. Norris, in this large airy room, in the midst of its solid handsome
furniture, in a great chair at a great table, busily at work for one of
her seven small children; the table piled with frocks, trousers,
petticoats, shirts, pinafores, hats, bonnets, all sorts of children's
gear, masculine and feminine, together with spelling books, copy books,
ivory alphabets, dissected maps, dolls, toys, and gingerbread, for the
same small people. There she sat a careful mother, fretting over their
naughtiness and their ailments; always in fear of the sun, or the wind,
or the rain, of their running to heat themselves, or their standing
still to catch cold: not a book in the house fit for a person turned of
eight years old! not a grown up idea! not a thought beyond the nursery!
One wondered what she could have talked of before she had children. Good
Mrs. Norris, such was she. Good Mr. Norris was, for all purposes of
neighbourhood, worse still. He was gapy and fidgetty, and prosy and
dosy, kept a tool chest and a medicine chest, weighed out manna and
magnesia, constructed fishing-flies, and nets for fruit-trees, turned
nutmeg-graters, lined his wife's work-box, and dressed his little
daughter's doll; and had a tone of conversation perfectly in keeping
with his tastes and pursuits, abundantly tedious, thin, and small. One
talked down to him, worthy gentleman, as one would to his son Harry.
These were the neighbours that had been. What wonder that the hill was
steep, and the way long, and the common dreary? Then came pleasant
thoughts of the neighbours that were to be. The lovely and accomplished
wife, so sweet and womanly; the elegant and highly-informed husband, so
spirited and manly! Art and literature, and wisdom and wit, adorning
with a wreathy and garlandy splendour all that is noblest in mind and
purest in heart! What wonder that Hatherden became more and more
interesting in its anticipated charms, and that I went gaily about the
place, taking note o