of ours, the Ancient Mariner, set sail on a wonderful voyage. Do
you remember?

"'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.'

"That was the kirk to which he looked back as he sailed away to an
unknown country."

"But, father," said Dorothea, "the Ancient Mariner was not a real
person. He was only a character!"

"Are you quite sure," said I, "that a character isn't a real person? At
all events, it was here that Coleridge, walking from Nether Stowey to
Dulverton, saw the old sailor-man. And since Coleridge saw him, I
reckon he lived, and still lives. Are we ever going to forget what he
has told us?

"'He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.'"

Just then a most enchanting little boy and his sister, not more than
five years old, came sauntering down the gray street, hand in hand.
They were on their way to school, at least an hour late, round and
rosy, careless and merry, manifest owners of the universe. We stopped
them: they were dismayed, but resolute. We gave each of them a penny;
they radiated wonder and joy. Too happy for walking, they skipped and
toddled on their way, telling everyone they met, children and grown-up
people, of the good fortune that had befallen them. We could see them
far down the street, pausing a moment to look in at the shop-windows,
or holding up their coppers while they stopped some casual passer-by
and made him listen to their story--just like the Ancient Mariner.

By this time the dog-cart was ready. The landlord charged me eighteen
shillings for the drive to Bridgewater, nineteen miles away, stopping
where we liked, and sending back the cart with the post-boy that
evening. By the look on his face I judge that he thought it was too
much. But I did not. So we climbed to the high seat, Dorothea took the
reins and the whip, and we set forth for a day of unguide-booked
pleasure.

What good roads they have in England! Look at the piles of broken stone
for repairs, stored in little niches all along the way; see how
promptly and carefully every hole is filled up and every break mended;
and you will understand how a small beast can pull a heavy load in this
country, and why the big draught-horses wear long and do good work. A
country with a fine system of roads is like a man with a good
circu