a
beautiful country on a fine clear day in June. There was no dust--the
sun was not too hot--the hedges were in full leaf, and no drawback to
our felicity except a preternatural dread of stone heaps by the
roadside, on the part of our steed, which: kept us on the alert to try
and pull in the proper direction the moment he shied to the side. All
other objects in nature or art it passed with the equanimity of a
sage; tilted waggons with the wind flapping their canvass coverings
with a sound and motion that would justify a little tremor in the
heart of Bucephalus--stagecoaches, loaded with men and luggage,
rushing down-hill at fifteen miles an hour, and apparently determined
to force their way over our very heads. Against all these it showed
the most unflinching courage; but if it came to a heap of stones,
large or small, broken or entire, it lost its presence of mind in a
moment, and would have jumped for safety into the ditch at the other
side of the road, if not restrained by a pull at the rein, and a good
cut of the whip scientifically applied. Even the milestone was an
object of great alarm; and as there were twelve of them on the way,
and the cowardly creature never by any chance missed seeing them,
however deep they were sunk in hedges, or buried in grassy banks, we
never required to distinguish the figures on the stones, but
calculated the progress we made by the number of starts and struggles.
After a dozen of these debates, which created great amusement among
the juveniles of the party, we arrived at the clean delightful town of
Monmouth--and here let us make amends for the disparaging mention of
this place in our former narrative of House-Hunting in Wales. The
weather on that occasion was very bad, and the inn we lunched at a
very poor and uncomfortable one. When a person's principal
acquaintance with a town consists in his experience of its wet streets
and tough beef steaks, it is no wonder that his impressions are not of
the most agreeable kind. On the present occasion we drove to the
Beaufort Arms, and, in imitation of the Marquis of Exeter, "we pulled
at the bell with a lordly air." The hostler and his curates rushed
zealously from the further end of the yard, and received us with
astonishing command of face--not a grin was visible, even the waiters
stood with decorous solemnity, while child after child was lifted
down, and all out of one gig. They rather looked on with the pleased
expression we have seen on