XII.

The two exiles, so nearly united in fortune and interest, took a lodging together; where, at their first leisure, they began to reflect on the numberless misfortunes and vexations of their life past, and could not tell to what failure in their conduct they ought to impute them; when, after some recollection, they called to mind the copy of their father's will, which they had so happily recovered. This was immediately produced, and a firm resolution taken between them to alter whatever was already amiss, and reduce all their future measures to the strictest obedience prescribed therein. The main body of the will (as the reader cannot easily have forgot) consisted in certain admirable rules about the wearing of their coats; in the perusal whereof the two brothers at every period duly comparing the doctrine with the practice, there was never seen a wider difference between two things; horrible, downright transgressions of every point. Upon which they both resolved, without further delay, to fall immediately upon reducing the whole exactly after their father's model.

XIII.

Cromwell, now Lord Protector of England, Scotland and Ireland, set to work to carry out Edward the First's idea of a union of England and Scotland. This union was agreed to in the year 1654. It was then settled that Scotland should be represented by thirty members in the English Parliament. Free trade was established between the two countries. Great changes were also made in the Church government. The assembly was closed, and the power of the Church courts was done away with. The country was divided into five districts, and the care of providing ministers to the different parishes was laid upon a certain number of ministers to be chosen from these districts. In order to improve the state of the people, all feudal dues were taken away. A fixed rent in money was substituted for all the services and restrictions

to which the land had hitherto been liable. The Highlands were kept in order by the founding of garrisoned forts. The Protector, whose conquest had made Scotland prosperous, died September 3, 1658. His son Richard succeeded him in office, but he was not strong enough to keep order, as his father had done. A time of great confusion followed, which ended in the recall and restoration of Charles.

XIV.

As the desolation became greater during those terrible times, so the amazement of the people increased; and a thousand unaccountable things they would do in the violence of their fright, as others did the same in the agonies of their distemper. And this part was very affecting; some went roaring and crying and wringing their hands along the street; some would go praying and lifting up their hands to heaven, calling upon God for mercy. I cannot say, indeed, whether this was not in their distraction; but be it so, it was still an indication of a more serious mind, when they had the use of their senses, and was much better, even as it was, than the frightful yellings and cryings that every day, and especially in the evenings, were heard in some streets. I suppose the world has heard of the famous Solomon Eagle, an enthusiast; he, though not infected at all, but in his head, went about denouncing of judgment upon the city in a frightful manner; sometimes quite naked, and with a pan of burning charcoal on his head. What he said, or pretended, indeed, I could not learn.

XV.

It is certain that the improvement of our houses of public entertainment has by no means kept pace with the improvement of our roads and of our conveyances. Nor is this strange, for it is evident that the inns will be best where the means of moving are worst. The quicker the rate of travelling the less important it is that there should be numerous

agreeable resting places for the traveller. A hundred and sixty years ago, a person who came up to the capital from a remote county, generally required twelve or fifteen meals, and lodging for five or six nights by the way. If he were a great man he expected the meals and lodging to be comfortable and even luxurious. At present we fly from York or Exeter to London by the light of a single winter's day. At present, therefore, a traveller seldom interrupts his journey merely for the sake of rest and refreshment. The consequence is that hundreds of excellent inns have fallen into utter decay. In a short time no good houses of that description will be found, except at places where strangers are likely to be detained by business or pleasure.

XVI.

Our hero turned to a little oaken wicket-door, well clenched with iron nails, which opened in the court-yard wall at its angle with the house. It was only latched, notwithstanding its fortified appearance, and, when opened, admitted him into the garden, which presented a pleasant scene. The southern side of the house, clothed with fruittrees, and having many evergreens trained upon its walls, extended its irregular yet venerable front along a terrace, partly paved, partly gravelled, partly bordered with flowers and choice shrubs. This elevation descended by three several flights of steps, placed in its centre and at the extremities, into what might be called the garden proper, and was fenced along the top by a stone parapet with a heavy balustrade, ornamented from space to space with huge grotesque figures of animals seated upon their haunches, among which the favourite bear was repeatedly introduced. Placed in the middle of the terrace, between a sashed-door opening from the house and the central flight of steps, a huge animal of the same species supported on its head and forepaws a sun-dial of large circumference, inscribed with more diagrams than Edward's mathematics enabled him to decipher.

XVII.

As the progress of this improvement is a true picture of sublunary vicissitude, I could not help calling up my imagination, which, as I walked pensively along, suggested the following reverie: As I was turning my back upon a beautiful piece of water enlivened with cascades and rockwork, and entering a dark walk, by which runs a prattling brook, the genius of the place appeared before me, but more resembling the god of Time than him more peculiarly appointed to the care of gardens. Instead of shears he bore a scythe; and he appeared rather with the implements of husbandry, than those of a modern gardener. Having remembered this place in its pristine beauty, I could not help condoling with him on its present ruinous situation. I spoke to him of the many alterations which had been made, and all for the worse; of the many shades which had been taken away, of the bowers that were destroyed by neglect, and the hedgerows that were spoiled by clipping. The genius with a sigh received my condolement, and assured me that he was equally a martyr to ignorance and taste, to refinement and rusticity.

XVIII.

Of all situations for a constant residence, that which appears to me most delightful is a little village far in the country; a small neighbourhood, not of fine mansions finely peopled, but of cottages and cottage-like houses, “ tenements,” as a friend of mine calls such ignoble and nondescript dwellings, with inhabitants whose faces are as familiar to us as the flowers in our garden; a little world of our own, close packed and insulated like ants in an ant-hill, or bees in a hive, or sheep in a fold, or nuns in a convent, or sailors in a ship; where we know every one, are known to every one, interested in every one, and authorised to hope that every one feels an interest in us. How pleasant it is to slide into these fine-hearted feelings from the kindly and unconscious

influence of habit, and to learn to know and to love the people about us, with all their peculiarities, just as we learn to know and to love the nooks and turns of the shady lanes and sunny commons that we pass every day. Even in books I like a confined locality. Nothing is so tiresome as to be whirled half over Europe at the chariot wheels of a hero, to go to sleep at Vienna, and awaken at Madrid; it produces a real fatigue, a weariness of spirit.

XIX.

The whole view is shut in by a range of chalky hills, and over every part of the picture trees are so profusely scattered that it appears like a woodland scene, with glades and villages intermixed. The trees are of all kinds and all hues, chiefly the fine-shaped elm of the deepest and brightest green, the tips of whose high outer branches drop down with a crisp and garland-like richness, and the oak, whose stately form is splendidly adorned by the sunny colouring of the young leaves. Turning again up the hill, we find ourselves on that peculiar charm of English scenery, a green common divided by the road; the right side fringed by hedgerows and trees, with cottages and farmhouses irregularly placed, and terminated by a double avenue of noble oaks; the left prettier still, dappled by bright pools of water, and islands of cottages and cottage gardens, and sinking gradually down to cornfields and meadows, and an old farmhouse with pointed roofs and clustered chimneys looking out from its blooming orchard, and backed by woody hills. The common is itself the prettiest part of the prospect; half covered with low furze, whose golden blossoms reflect intensely the last beams of the setting sun, and alive with cows and sheep, and two sets of cricketers.

XX.

In a rude state of manners, as among the lower people in all ages, woman has not full scope to display those fascinating