urgatory_; but
those poor girls!--could they be expected to hold to the same belief
under such a test?

I was told that they could get up lace so cheap that the people of
the town frequently cover their gooseberry bushes with it to keep
off the insects. Spider-webbing is a scarcely more gossamer-like
fabric. Sixteen square yards of this lace only weigh about an
ounce! If the negroes on one of the South Carolina Sea-island
plantations could have been shut into that dressing-room for two
whole minutes, with the mercury at 120 degrees, they would have
rolled up the whites of their eyes in perfect amazement and made a
rush for "Dixie" again.

From Nottingham I made an afternoon walk to Mansfield. The weather
was splendid and the country in all the glory of harvest. On
reaching Newstead Abbey, I found, to my regret, that the entree to
the public had been closed by the new proprietor, one, I was told,
of the manufacturing gentry of the Manchester school. Not that he
was less liberal and accommodating to sight-seers than his
predecessors, but because he was making very extensive and costly
improvements in the buildings and grounds. I have seen nothing yet
in England to compare, for ornate carving, with the new gate-way he
is making to the park. It is of the finest kind of arabesque work
done in stone that much resembles the Caen. This prevention barred
me from even a distant view of the once famous residence of Lord
Byron, as it could not be seen from the public road.

Within about three miles of Mansfield, I came to a turnpike gate,--a
neat, cozy, comfortable cottage, got up in the Gothic order. I
stopped to rest a moment, and noticing the good woman setting her
tea-table, I invited myself to a seat at it, on the inn basis, and
had a pleasant meal and chat with her and an under-gamekeeper of the
Duke of Portland, who had come in a little before me. The stories
he told me about the extent of the Duke's possessions were
marvellous, more especially in reference to his game preserves. I
should think there must be a larger number of hares, rabbits and
partridges on his estate than in the whole of New England. As I sat
engaged in conversation with the woman of the house and this
accidental guest, an unmistakable American face met my eyes, as I
raised them to the opposite wall. It was the familiar face of a
Bristol clock, made in the Connecticut village adjoining the one in
which I was born. It wore the same hone