Morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven [Conn.]) 1848-1894, 1893-04-22
less solace to eye and heart of those who

1883 solace 70 eye ana heart OF thoee VINO
ceaseless toll.
Therefore when the lively American
who "does' England in week tells us
that the rural England of literature Is
no more, he tells us what perhaps some
Hyde Park orator, railway station porter
or travelling salesman has told him, but
still something which he does not know;
and when the London literary dilettante
falls upon and disposes of rural England
in single breezy magazine article or
smart review, he commits for q needed
stipend of ten or twenty pounds little
short of literary crime.
Such as these, and better still, all those
who love the truly beautiful and win
somely picturesque in any land. without
seeking Quixotic quests among political
and social problems, should certainly pass
at least one summer among English vii
lagos. Hundreds can be found even along
the lines of railway. Leaving these at
any station, by coach, by trap, upon bi
cycle, or more advantageously and fuller
of elation than all, on your own good
legs, every fine old hedge-bordered high
way will furnish you an astounding reve-
lation in every half-day's drive or walk.
What wondrous journeyings into the
past are thus afforded. What splendid
pages of history are thus reopened-for it
ude DSGu III huu duOub l1nk3lsh tllAuHOc
rather than in towns that English history
has been made. What challenges are
prompted to the great and the immortal 10
come from their wraithlsnds ard walk be-
side you where they once dwelt. And
how you find that all you knew of books
has inexpressibly lacked in the true color
and feeling until you thus wed presence
and actuality with the tonelesss tale of
wordsl
The wealth of number of these olden
villages in Kent alone would confound the
Dryasdusts and the iconcclasts of rural
England. 1t is with a thrill of delight
that you wander through Saltwood, peep
ing out between leafy hills upon the glori-
Gus sea; Lymipge, mossy and still beside
the most ancient church of southern Kent,
SO ancient that in it's walls are actually
seen every specimen of ecclesisstic archi-
lecture from Saxon to Perpendicular, go
ancient still that st. Edilbergs, one of its
patron saints and daughter of the Saxon
King Ethelbert, who reigned more than a
Thousand years ago, lies buried within;
Erith with its unique old houses, it's wind
ing lanes of green, banks of chalk, shad-
owy combes and tender uplands; Gotham,
leafiest, snuggest and prettiest of all Kent
ish villages, with its lordly park, its state
ly-towered church and brasses of six hun
WV
hams and its Leather Bottle" inn made
famous in the immortal pages of Pick
wick; beautiful old Shorne, girdled with
massive elms and richest orchard bloom;
and an hundred more, set along the lane
girt down, clustering in the woody Weld,
or nesting among the Kentish orchards
and hop gardens, with their rows of cot
tages with white-washed walls, dormer
windows, matched roofs and garden fronts
each maze of fuschiss, pinks, carnations
and roses; and all of them from an hun
dred to thousand years old.
Who is there to ftly describe or paint
the droning old villages of that curious
English region vsriously known as the
"Norfolk Broads," "The Broad District"
and the "Norfolk and Suffolk Fens,"
where, as at Dilham and Ruston, many an
old daub- and waffle cottage may still be
scent 1t is q land of lsgoons, of grassy
dykes, of ghostly wind-mills as huge and
as numerous as in Holland; of rich and
low lying farm steadings interpreted by
"broads" of sedgy, shallow lakes; of
mighty herds of cattle and sheep; of duck,
wideeon, mallsrd and coot; of picturesque
inns of-call half hidden among copses of
willows; of ruined castles, abbeys and pri
cries whose ancient moats are now serving
as market gardeners canals; Of gray old
hamlets set about with clumps of pollard
oaks; and of peasantry as simple, brave
and true as in good old Sir John Fastolts
days-not Shakespeare anotious knave OF
the CHERRY Wives" but of the real Fss-
tolf who valorously fought the battle of
Herrings aud soundly drubbed the French.
The eventide pictures from some OF these
old waterside hamlet porches are worthy
the brush of Turner or a Millet. AS the
sun goes down in forests of waving eds
it flames the thatches of hsmlets on oppo-
site shore, weirdly lights the arms of the
spectral wind mill, bringing to looming
nearness the grim Norman towers of far
olden churches, or gilds the ivied top of
some medisval ruin as with gold. As 1t
sinks from sight the waters of the Brosds
are for a moment purple, then pitchy
black, when instantly the stars are shining
in the depths above and from the waters
beneath with q shimmering luster envelop-
ing all. Then the songs and chips of
myriad insects; the whirr and splash of
late hom!ng water fowl; aud the witching,
whispered soughing of the breeze In the
rushes and the reeds.
Up In Cumberland and Westmorelsnd
what loving wraiths of memory are con-
jured when basking In the glowing beauty
of slumberous verdure- clad, blossom bow
cred Keswick, Grasmere, Rydsl, Amble-
eide and Bownessi Here in old Keswick
town dwelt and sang, and lies buried in
Crossthwaite church-yaId. near the muir
murings of the Greta he SO loved, that
high-souled poet of pensive remembrance
and meditstive calm, Robert Southey.
Here, too, the unhappy Coleridge PASSED
the most fruitful, though still the most
miserable, years of his baleful slavery to
deadly drug; and with his girl wife, Hsr-
=. the nnlv hannv
hours of his unfortunate life. In ancient
Grasmere-Grasmere of ancient crush
bearing" fame; Grssmere with perhaps
the eldest and certainly the quaiutest
church in England; Grasmere where the
brave old dame soundly wslloped the
Prince of Wales for clarifying" her sheep;
Thomas De Quincy lived In his dream
life madness; and, In ST. Oswald's church
yard sleep Hartley Coleridge and William
Wordsworth, beside the Rothay, which,
lesping from sequestering meadows. gives
back along the old churoh-wall the death
less songs they sung.
That one whose memory gives to the or
gan-tones of the two cascades of Rydal
their wondrous hesrtthrilling power, who
is first and last when your eyes of fancy
penetrate the past, Is Wordsworth, who
lived on Rydal mount, above the hamlet,
LOT IOtty buuut years. Otuiuyt iOonNSieo
tic, yet true and practically Christian If
still hereto, Harriet Martineau stands
bright and clear in the picture among the
blossoms of songful Ambleside. Christie
pher North with his huge frame and be-
nign face, as if the very spirit of the love-
ly region shone from his kindly eyes,
makes these village ways SUMMER for his
strong, sure tread. With him, though
later, you will see another one, firm, calm,
tender, noble, one who through his labor
at Rugby swept forever from the British
educational system the rule Of brutality
and dread, lofty soulsd. noble DR.. Arnold
while old Bowness huddling between the
highway and the fell side is sweeter still
because you see through its tiny cottage
panes the wrath of good Felicia Hemans,
with tinge of sadness In her pallid, pa
tient face.
Pleasant indeed is a weeks idle lettering
among the villages of Surrey. Some OF
the most picturesque timbered cottages Of
England can be found among these ancient
hamlets. Sleepy old Godalming was once
| a nest of fullers' homes, and numbers Of
| these habitations are still in good preser-
vation At Shere the former home of