been asked to be body-guard, and if asked
I would never have done it. Some of them cried that the King must be
mazed, not to keep me for his protection, in these violent times of
Popery. I could have told them that the King was not in the least afraid
of Papists, but on the contrary, very fond of them; however, I held my
tongue, remembering what Judge Jeffreys bade me.

In church, the whole congregation, man, woman, and child (except,
indeed, the Snowe girls, who only looked when I was not watching),
turned on me with one accord, and stared so steadfastly, to get some
reflection of the King from me, that they forgot the time to kneel down
and the parson was forced to speak to them. If I coughed, or moved
my book, or bowed, or even said "Amen," glances were exchanged which
meant--"That he hath learned in London town, and most likely from His
Majesty."

However, all this went off in time, and people became even angry with
me for not being sharper (as they said), or smarter, or a whit more
fashionable, for all the great company I had seen, and all the wondrous
things wasted upon me.

But though I may have been none the wiser by reason of my stay in
London, at any rate I was much the better in virtue of coming home
again. For now I had learned the joy of quiet, and the gratitude for
good things round us, and the love we owe to others (even those who must
be kind), for their indulgence to us. All this, before my journey, had
been too much as a matter of course to me; but having missed it now I
knew that it was a gift, and might be lost. Moreover, I had pined so
much, in the dust and heat of that great town, for trees, and fields,
and running waters, and the sounds of country life, and the air
of country winds, that never more could I grow weary of those soft
enjoyments; or at least I thought so then.

To awake as the summer sun came slanting over the hill-tops, with hope
on every beam adance to the laughter of the morning; to see the leaves
across the window ruffling on the fresh new air, and the tendrils of the
powdery vine turning from their beaded sleep. Then the lustrous meadows
far beyond the thatch of the garden-wall, yet seen beneath the hanging
scollops of the walnut-tree, all awaking, dressed in pearl, all amazed
at their own glistening, like a maid at her own ideas. Down them troop
the lowing kine, walking each with a step of character (even as men and
women do), yet all alike with toss of horns, and spread of