CHAPTER XXII

THE KEY OF STAUNTON TOWER

There was nothing further noteworthy on our way till we reached Staunton Hall, an ancient home set away in a tree-shaded park, and here our letter of introduction ensured us a welcome; not only did the lady of the house very kindly offer to show us over it herself, but also most courteously granted us the highly appreciated privilege of inspecting several of the old family documents, some of which were of exceeding interest. Amongst the treasures preserved here is the gold key of the Staunton tower and the Royal apartments at Belvoir Castle. During the Parliamentary wars, it appears Colonel Staunton, of Staunton Hall, held and defended Belvoir Castle for the King. As a recognition for this act, the head of the Staunton family are privileged to go to Belvoir Castle when any member of the Royal family is about to visit there, and to present to such member the gold key which nominally gives access to the Royal apartments.

We noticed, as we drove up, over the entrance doorway the date 1573, inscribed below a coat-of-arms, but this, we were told, only relates to the doorway which was a later addition to the building; the year of the erection of the hall being actually a littleearlier, namely in 1554, as shown cut in a stone let into one of the chimney stacks. The great and original heavy oak door is stillin situ; indented and in places pierced with shots and bullets that were fired at it during the siege of the house by the Parliamentary forces; during which attack the house was bravely defended by the wife of Colonel Staunton, who, just before it was captured, made her escape with her children. On the door over these records of that struggle is cut the date thereof, 1642. The ancient and historic door is preserved by an inner one of oak attached thereto.

Amongst the very interesting family documents is a deed in old Latin, temp. 1323, relating to the bearing of the Cross in the Holy Land on behalf of William de Staunton, to which is attached a translation; this latter we copied, and it runs as follows—

To all people about to see or hear this letter, I, William de Staunton give greeting. Know ye that in consideration of high esteem and for the safety of my own soul, and those of my ancestors and successors have made free Hugo Travers, the son of Simon of Alurington in which place he assumed the Cross for me, and have quit claimed for myself and my heirs for ever, himself and his possessions from all terrene service and exaction, and have yielded him with all his possessions or property to the Lord and the Church of St. Mary of Staunton, whereby I desire and grant that he and his property may remain free for ever under the protection of the Lord and St. Mary, and the restored church of Staunton. Witness hereof, Witto, priest of Kidvington, Radulpho de St. Paul. Walter de Hou.

And many others, the date following. Which document is food for thought, and seems to show how easily, according to the Church of those days, the

HISTORIC DEEDS

soul of a rich man, his ancestors, and descendants could be saved by vicarious deed.

Then we were shown a signed authority from Charles I. for “Colonell” Staunton to raise a regiment of 1200 foot in the king’s service. The next document taken in due chronological order ran thus:—

CHARLES R.Our express will and pleasure therefor is that you presently uppon the receipt of this our orders draw all your Regiment out of our Garrison of Newark and with them to march into Tuxford and go forward under the order of Lt. Generall Villiers. This you are punctually to obey, and for your so doing this shall be your warrant.Given at our Court at Welbeck this 16 of August 1645. To our trusty and welbelovedColonell Staunton at NewarkBy his Majesty’s CommandsE. W. W. Wather.

CHARLES R.

Our express will and pleasure therefor is that you presently uppon the receipt of this our orders draw all your Regiment out of our Garrison of Newark and with them to march into Tuxford and go forward under the order of Lt. Generall Villiers. This you are punctually to obey, and for your so doing this shall be your warrant.

Given at our Court at Welbeck this 16 of August 1645. To our trusty and welbeloved

Colonell Staunton at NewarkBy his Majesty’s CommandsE. W. W. Wather.

For the time, the spelling of this is exceptionally correct. Then we were shown another document signed by Oliver Cromwell, that explains itself sufficiently.

June 1646. A Licence to Mrs. Ann Staunton, or whom she should appoint, to look into and oversee the repairs of the Manor House of Staunton in the County of Nottingham, late belonging to Colonel Staunton, a Delinquent to the Parliament Service, and there to remain during such time as the said house shall be repairing.Oliver Cromwell.

Oliver Cromwell.

There were other interesting documents we inspected, but alas! space forbids my giving any more here.

On our way back to Grantham we pulled up atthe little village of Sedgebrook, attracted by the fine and interesting-looking church there, and also in search of any quaint epitaph. We found the rector, manifestly an ardent antiquary, in the church, which was being lovingly repaired under his skilled supervision. He did not know of any noteworthy epitaph in the churchyard, but he could give us one he copied at Shipley in Derbyshire, if we cared to have it. We did, and here it is:—

God saw good as I lopped off woodI fell from the top of a tree,I met with a check that broke my neckAnd so God lopped off me.

Sedgebrook church is very interesting, I could easily enlarge upon it to the extent of a whole chapter did the exigencies of space permit. Here is the Markham chapel in which the “Upright Judge,” Chief Justice Markham of the King’s Bench, 1462, is buried, or is supposed to be; his tomb has been destroyed. There is a hazy local tradition that only his effigy is buried here and not his body; also the same tradition has it that the judge, on being deprived of his office by the king, took sanctuary in the church and was fed there by his daughter, whose incised slab representing her head resting on a pillow now finds a place on the wall of the chapel. “Now,” said the rector, “some clever people come here and when they see that, they at once take the pillow for a head-dress, and one gentleman even went so far as to call attention to it in a publication as a unique example of a head-dress of the period!” Of course the slab was intended to be laid flat onthe floor, when the effect of the pillow, a little out of drawing by the way, would have been more natural. After this, we hastened back again to our comfortable medieval hostelry at Grantham, well satisfied with our day’s wanderings.

A CHAINED LIBRARY

Early next morning, before starting on the road, we paid a visit to the grand parish church of the town, whose splendid tower is one of the finest in the kingdom, besides being one of the earliest, ranking, according to some architectural authorities, second only to that of Salisbury Cathedral. But what interested us most in this glorious old church, with its broad aisles and general feeling of spaciousness, was its library of chained books of rare medieval works; this is contained in a large parvise chamber over the south porch. The books are curiously placed on their shelves with their backs to the wall, their titles being written on their front pages. We noticed that many of the works suffered from iron-mould owing to the chain fastenings and damp.

We left Grantham in a mist that inclined to rain; what the country we passed through at first was like I cannot say, but half seen through the veil of mist, the hills around loomed vague and vast, poetically mysterious; even the near fields and hedgerows were only dimly discernible, and the trees by the roadside dripped with moisture that was almost as wetting as an honest rain, but it in no way damped our spirits. We enjoyed the mist, it left so much to our imagination, and it allowed us to picture the scenery much as we wished it to be;thus the possibly commonplace assumed, in our eyes, the romantic. So, driving on through a land half real, half the creation of our fancy, we reached Great Ponton, a tiny hamlet with an ancient church, solemn with the duskiness of centuries. Close to the hoary fane stood, pathetic in neglect, a quaint, old-time, stone-built home with “stepped gables,” whose weather-worn aged-toned walls were broken by mullioned window’s rounded at the top, and without transoms. A home of the past, full of character. Without, the stone gateway pillars still stand, gray and desolate, that used to give access to the mansion; the space between them now being barred merely by broken hurdles, and in the fore-court grasses and nettles flourished exceedingly. The building somehow involuntarily called to our mind Hood’s famous poem of “The Haunted House.”

Then passing through a pleasant country of woods, we suddenly found ourselves in the old-fashioned village of Colsterworth, where at the “White Lion” we baited our horses and refreshed ourselves; after which we set out on foot across the fields to find Woolsthorpe Manor-house where Sir Isaac Newton was born, which we made out from our map to be about a mile and a half distant, though it took us a good two miles to get there all through asking our way; for we got directed to the “Sir Isaac Newton” public-house instead of to his birthplace! At last, however, we found the modest old manor-house, a small but pleasant enough looking home, whose stone walls are ivy-draped, but, though substantially built, the place has no particular

SIR ISAAC NEWTON’S BIRTHPLACE

architectural merit; in front of it is an orchard, just as in the days of old, and it was in this orchard that Newton saw the historic apple fall. We should imagine that the house and surroundings generally, except possibly the ugly cart-shed at the back, are but little altered since the famous philosopher’s time. We at once set to work to make a sketch of the old house, reproduced herewith; in doing this we observed, just over the doorway, where one often finds a coat-of-arms, a stone carved with the representation of two “cross-bones” in a shield, and below this gruesome device we read the following inscription:—

In this Manor HouseSir Isaac Newton KntWas born 25th DecemberA.D.1642.

After finishing our sketch, we ventured to knock at the front door and politely asked if it would be possible for a perfect stranger just to take a glance at the room in which Newton was born. A pleasant-faced woman opened it, presumably the lady of the house, and with a smile she said, “Certainly, if it would interest you to see it.” We replied, with many thanks for the unexpected courtesy, that it would very much interest us to see it, whereupon we were taken upstairs to a comfortable old-fashioned chamber, in no way remarkable for size or quaintness, unless a fireplace in the corner can be considered the latter. The position of this room is shown by the upper front mullioned window to the left of the house in the picture, thewindow to the side being built up. In a corner of this chamber is a small marble tablet let into the wall and inscribed:—

Sir Isaac Newton (Son of Isaac NewtonLord of the Manor of Woolsthorpe) was bornin this room December 25th 1642.Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in nightGod said, “Let Newton be” and all was light.Pope.

Sir Isaac Newton (Son of Isaac NewtonLord of the Manor of Woolsthorpe) was bornin this room December 25th 1642.

Nature and Nature’s laws lay hid in nightGod said, “Let Newton be” and all was light.Pope.

Then we were taken to see Newton’s tiny study, situated upstairs and on the same floor. Here is hung a drawing of the very tree from which Newton saw the apple fall. It is a curious-looking old gnarled tree, and I have taken the artist’s license of introducing it in the foreground of my sketch, in place of a very ordinary tree of the same kind that really was growing on that spot. I seldom take such liberties, but in this exceptional case I thought a likeness of the famous old tree might be of interest, and, accompanied by an explanation, allowable. Though the original tree is dead, a graft, we were informed, was made from it, which is growing now in the orchard in the very spot that the old one grew; strangely enough it greatly resembles its historic predecessor.

Then we made our way back to Colsterworth, crossing the river Witham by a foot-bridge, the road traversing it by a ford. The bottom of the stream, we noticed, was paved with flat stones, so that the carts in driving through should not sink in the mud, an arrangement that I do not remember to have noted elsewhere. Before returning to our

WOOLSTHORPE MANOR-HOUSE: THE BIRTHPLACE OF SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

A HAPPY CONCEIT

hotel we took a look at the church, as it was on our road, and the door happened to be open. We descended into the building down two or three steps, from which we concluded, rightly as we discovered, that it was dedicated to John the Baptist. As the late Rev. R. S. Hawker, the famous Cornish vicar, says, “Every church dedicated to John the Baptizer is thus arranged. We go down into them, as those about to be baptized of John went down into the water.” The church is well worth inspection; but what chiefly interested us in it was a stone sun-dial let into the north wall with the following inscription below:—“Newton, aged nine years, cut with his penknife this dial.” Above, one of the corbels is carved with the likeness of Sir Isaac Newton, a delightful conceit that pleased us greatly. An old body we spoke to in the church amused us not a little by exclaiming, “Yes, he were a wonderful man Sir Isaac to invent gravitation!” “Ah!” we replied, “however did the world get on before he invented it?” But our satire fell harmless. “Oh, very well,” she responded; “it b’aint no good of to nobody as far as I can see.” And with this we took our departure, and returned to our inn.

After a hurried glance at our map before starting, we decided to drive across country to Melton Mowbray, and to stop there the night. On inquiring about the way we were informed that we could not miss it, as it was well “sign-posted,” a fresh expression to us. Just as we started the rain came down. Lincolnshire had greeted our coming with sunny smiles, and nowshe bade us good-bye in tears,—that was the poetical way of looking at the unpromising state of the weather! Of the road on to Melton Mowbray I cannot say much, as it rained the whole way persistently. In spite of this the country struck us as being distinctly pretty in parts, especially at one spot where we dipped down through woods to a ford over a shallow but fairly wide river, across which was a very Welsh-like bridge for pedestrians. On a fine day this would have been an ideal spot to make a sketch or to take a photograph of. Even seen through the rain its picturesqueness impressed itself so on us that during the evening we made a very fair memory-sketch of the quiet nook.

It rained all that night at Melton Mowbray, at least the ostler said it did, and we took his word for it, as we were fast asleep. Anyhow it was raining in the morning when we awoke; and though we waited till eleven o’clock before resuming our journey, the weather had not the grace to improve, so we set forth in the rain bound for Oakham on our way to Uppingham. As we drove on the weather improved. Now and again the sun struggled out for a time, and the cloud-scapes above and the strong play of light and shade on the hilly landscape below were very effective. The country was wild and beautiful, with a beauty of hill and dale, of wood, and hedgerowed lane that called Devonshire to remembrance. The only place we passed through on the way of any importance was the straggling and very pretty village of Langham. Shortly after this we found ourselves in Oakham,

A CURIOUS TOLL

which struck us as a clean, neat little town with thatched and slab-roofed houses in its streets, and a charming old butter-cross set away in a quiet corner, with a sun-dial on the top and the ancient stocks below. Near to the butter-cross stands the banqueting-hall of Oakham Castle, all that now remains of that stronghold. Within, the walls of this hall are hung round with a number of gigantic horse-shoes, some gilt, and nearly all with the names of titled people painted on them. On inquiring the wherefore of this, we were told that the custom of the Lord of the Manor anciently exerted to show his authority, and still maintained, is to claim a horse-shoe from every peer who passes through the town for the first time. Instead of real horse-shoes, in every instance but one, large imitation shoes to hang up have been purposely made. The one real horse-shoe is that of Lord Willoughby d’Eresby, dated 1840. The oldest shoe is that of Queen Elizabeth. Certainly the custom is a curious one, and it would be interesting to trace its origin.

From Oakham we had a delightful drive of six miles on to Uppingham. The weather had cleared up, and the sun was shining quite cheerfully again. There was a freshness and a fragrance in the air that was very grateful to us. Our road was level at first, then we had a stiffish climb up to Manton-on-the-Hill, a forsaken-looking village of stone-built houses set on a height and grouped around an ancient church that looked so pathetically old. Most of the houses there were gray with age andpicturesque besides, with porches, mullioned windows, and moulded gables, one of the latter being surmounted by a quaint sun-dial. We just took a glance at the interior of the crumbling church which was interesting; but an old woman we discovered there sweeping the floors interested us even more, for humanity,when characteristic, is ever better worth study than mere inert matter. She concluded her long life’s story by saying that she was seventy-two, and cleaned the church and blew the organ, as it was a little help towards living, her husband being paralysed, “and he’s only seventy-seven.” Just as though it were a reproach to him his being helpless at that early age!

A “give and take” road with more takes than gives, it seemed to us, brought us to Uppingham, where we found a comfortable hotel. Here, while the daylight lasted, we took a stroll round the town, and admired the new school buildings in the course of erection. Then we went into one or two shops to make a few purchases. At the first of these we remarked to the shopman, “You’ve got a fine school here.” His reply rather took us aback. “Yes, we have,” said he. “It’s all school here now and no town; we’re as school-ridden as Spain is priest-ridden,” and he spoke like a man who was sorely vexed in his soul about something; but he would not condescend to any explanations, so we left him and went to a stationer’s shop for some trifle. Here we saw a photograph of a fine ruined mansion that attracted us from its manifest former importance, so we inquired where it was. “Oh, that’s Kirby,” we were told; “it’s near Rockingham, and some seven miles from here. It’s well worth seeing. It was once nearly purchased for a residence for George III. It’s a grand old place all falling to ruin, as you see.” Upon this we purchased the photograph, and determined to visit Kirby the next day, as we found we could take it on our way by a slight detour.

A CHARMING VILLAGE

It was a grand drive over a wild open country to Rockingham, a charming village nestled at the foot of a wooded hill, which was crowned by a modernised feudal castle known locally as “the Windsor Castle of the Midlands.” Here, with our usual good-fortune, we were permitted to see the gardens and the interior of the castle. We entered the courtyard through a great arched gateway, guarded on either hand by two massive round towers built in the Edwardian age, and as strong and substantial now as then. First we strolled round the old garden enclosed by a high stone wall. Alongside of this wall runs a broad terrace, from which elevated position looking down we had a glorious and space-expressing prospect over the wild Welland valley, bounded to the north by the wilderness of Lincolnshire hills showing green, gray, and faintly blue.

The interior of the castle is interesting. This, with the treasures stored therein, would need pages of description to do them justice. On the roofbeam of the entrance-hall we noticed the following motto painted:—“This Howse Shall Be Preserved And Never Will Decaye Wheare The AlmightieGod Is Honored And Served Daye By Daye, 1579.” Here is an iron treasure-chest that once belonged to King John. In the old Elizabethan gallery are a number of interesting paintings by Van Dyke, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and other famous artists. Here also was pointed out to us a portrait supposed by some authorities to represent Queen Elizabeth when an infant, but it is of doubtful authenticity. Want of space unfortunately prevents my giving further particulars of this old historic pile set in its romantic park, rich in wood and charmingly varied by rugged hill and deep dale.

We had a stiff climb out of Rockingham when we reached high ground, and turning to our left gradually descended to a well-wooded valley. In the heart of this we espied the ruined mansion of Kirby, situated low in a wild and desolate-looking park, and some half mile or so from the public road. Driving under the time-grayed gateway here, we had presented to us a vision of picturesque and pathetic decay. The vast mass of ruins attests the former grandeur of the place. When we were there cows were feeding in its grass-grown courtyards, portions of the structure were roofless, and the mullioned windows glazeless, birds wandered in and out of its deserted chambers, and weeds found lodgment in the crevices of its weather-beaten walls. It was a scene of desolation. But what struck us amongst the decay of roof, floor, panel, and window was the enduring quality of the stone-work. The masonry appeared little injured by mere age or weathering, it being damaged chiefly by the tumbling down of roofs and floors; the fine carvings on the stones being almost as sharp as when first chiselled centuries now ago. It would be interesting to learn where this splendid stone was quarried; it is manifestly magnificent building material. Architects might do worse than study this question. There is no doubt as to the designer of this stately mansion, for John Thorpe’s plans of it are preserved in the Soane Museum, endorsed in his handwriting, “Kirby, whereof I layd the first stone, 1570.”

A NORTHAMPTONSHIRE PROVERB

We were now in Northamptonshire that, according to the proverb, has

More spires and more squiresMore bells and more wells

than any other county.

A well-preserved relic—An old English home—Authorities differ—Rooms on the top of a church tower—A medieval-looking town—A Saxon tower—Bedford—Bunyan’s birthplace—Luton—The end of the journey.

LeavingKirby we soon reached the very pretty village of Deene, on passing through which we noticed a picturesque creeper-covered little hostel with the sign of “The Sea-horse,” though it was so far inland. Then our road led us round Deene Park, shady with branching beeches and leafy elms, just giving us a glance of the interesting old Tudor mansion peeping through the woods, and so by the side of a little lake to another picturesque village called Great Weldon, some of the houses wherein are quaintly built and worthy of study. A stone district seems to breed good architecture, even in cottages. After this we had an open stretch of country on to Geddington where we found, to our delight, a Queen Eleanor Cross, little damaged, either by the hand of man, or time. It was a pleasure to come unexpectedly upon this well-preserved relic of the vanished long ago.

Shortly after this our road brought us to Boughton Park, a fine demesne with a large and rather ugly mansion set therein. What interested

A GRAND HOBBY

us here was the arrangement of wide avenues of elms, extending from the house in every direction, rising and falling with the varying undulations of the ground. The effect, though formal, is fine in the sense that it gives a feeling of great expanse by leading the eye far away into the distant country on all sides. It is magnificent, but it is too apparently artificial to be commended; a formal garden is all very well, and very charming; a garden is confessedly Nature tamed, to a greater or less extent, but one does not desire a whole country-side tamed! These stately avenues, we learnt afterwards, were planted by the second Duke of Montague, from which grand hobby he justly earned the title of “the planter Duke.” Soon after this we entered the busy and thriving town of Kettering, where we fortunately discovered a very comfortable hotel with a most obliging landlord.

We resumed our journey early the next morning; we left our hotel and worthy landlord with regret, and the busy town with pleasure; and glad we were to get into the quiet country again. We had a rather hilly road at first, with charming woodland prospects opening out ever and again; in about two miles we reached the small hamlet of Barton Seagrave,—here we noticed more avenues of elms radiating from the ancient church, possibly part of the scheme of “the planter Duke.” Then driving on we came to the large village of Burton Latimer, where to the left of our road we espied a lovely old English home of many gables, great chimney stacks and mullioned windows, with a gray-green slabstone roof broken above by dormers. On one chimney was a sun-dial, and on one gable we noticed a very quaint weather-vane, whilst in the forecourt stood an ancient pigeon-cote. A charming home of past days, that with its old-fashioned gardens looked as though it had stepped out of some picture, an artist’s ideal realised. You do not frequently set your eyes upon such a delightful actuality in this commonplace age!

The next village on our way was Finedon, a straggling place; here by the roadside we noticed a monument gray with years, and without any inscription that we could find. So we asked a man the meaning of it; he replied that it was erected by a gentleman whose horse had fallen dead on the spot after being driven hard by his master to catch the mail-coach. Another man who was listening to the conversation declared positively that our informant was all wrong, and that it was put up as a memorial of somebody who was drowned at sea. So hard is it to arrive at facts in this world! Then the first man got in a rage with the second man and called him bad names, and said he knew “nought about it,” and as the argument was already heated and promised to be prolonged, we politely thanked both parties for their trustworthy information and departed. As we drove away each man shouted after us that he was right; and we shouted back pleasantly we were quite sure of it!

The next point of interest on our way was the long-named little town of Irthlingborough, with its ancient market-cross and fine old church. The

AN ARCHITECTURAL PUZZLE

church tower, detached from the main building, is surmounted by a tall and quaint octagonal structure that gives it a strangely unecclesiastical appearance, and a very original one too. Well, originality that escapes eccentricity is pleasing. Our church towers and spires, however architecturally good in themselves, too often lack individuality, in that they resemble one another over much; even a beautiful form by too frequent repetition may become monotonous. For a wonder we found the clerk in the church; he told us that the tower had been rebuilt, as we could see, but it was, externally, an exact reproduction of the old one. The interior was not quite the same, as there was a stone staircase up the tower, whilst in the old one you had to get up by ladders. The octagonal structure at the top, now mere enclosed space, used to consist, we were told, of three stories, with a room in each provided with a fireplace, but what the use of these rooms was, the clerk did not know. The fireplaces showed that they were intended to be lived in, yet dwelling-rooms right on the top of a tall church tower seemed singular; at any rate the chambers must have had a plentiful supply of fresh air! We wondered if they could have been intended for a priest’s home. But whatever their purpose, dwelling rooms in such a position are surely unique.

A little farther on we crossed the silvery winding river Nene by a gray and ancient bridge, and had before us, set pleasantly on the top of a hill the picturesque old town of Higham Ferrers looking quite romantic with its old-time irregular-roofedhouses, and grand church spire, strongly silhouetted against the bright blue sky. Higham Ferrers struck us as a most interesting little town, with its fine old fane, around which are clustered gray crumbling buildings of the medieval age, in the shape of a bede-house, a school, a vicarage, and a Decorated stone cross; all in the Gothic style, with many traceried windows, and supporting buttresses to the walls. We owe this effective group of buildings to the good Archbishop Chicheley, who was born in the town, and when he became great and famous raised them in honour of his birthplace. He also erected a college here, of which only a great archway remains, and some decayed walls with broken mullioned windows; this faces the main street of the town, and when we were there simply enclosed a dirty farmyard. Within, the church is most interesting, and possesses some exceedingly fine old brasses, many of the fifteenth century; amongst the number a brass to a priest is noteworthy, as are also the royal arms of England sculptured in relief, on the side panels of a very beautiful altar-tomb placed under a stone canopy, suggesting the possibility of its having been prepared for royalty, though probably never used; the place where the recumbent effigy should be is now taken up by a brass that manifestly was intended for the floor. There are also some quaint medieval tiles before the altar, ornamented with curiously figured animals in yellow on a red ground. Altogether the interior of this splendid and ancient church affords a mine of good things for the antiquary or ecclesiologist.

SAXON MASONRY

Leaving Higham Ferrers we had a pleasant drive, mostly downhill, to the hamlet of Bletsoe, where we came in sight again of the slow-gliding Ouse, the valley of which we followed on to Bedford. Some short way beyond Bletsoe we passed through Clapham, unlike its ugly London namesake, a pretty rural village by the river-side. Here we noticed the striking-looking Saxon tower of the church, more like a castle keep than an ecclesiastical structure. It forms quite a feature in the landscape, and asserts itself by its peculiarity.

On arriving at Bedford it began to rain, and it was raining again in the morning; but about mid-day the steady downpour changed to intermittent showers. So, early in the afternoon, we started off for a twenty-mile drive on to Luton, which we did in one stage. In a little over a mile we found ourselves passing through a very pretty village, and on inquiring the name thereof discovered it to be Elstow, the birthplace of John Bunyan, a spot that does not seem to have changed much to the eye since that event, for, if the expression be allowed, it looks still “genuinely Old English.”

After Elstow we had a fine open country before us, bounded ahead by a low range of wooded hills, hills that showed softly blue under the shadow of a passing cloud, a golden green in the transient gleams of sunshine, and were sometimes lost altogether or half hidden by the mist of a trailing shower. Then driving on in due course we reached the hills and had a stiff climb up them, followed by a long and glorious run down through fragrant-scented pine-woods with open spaces here and there given over to a little forest of waving bracken, green, red, and yellow, in all the loveliness of their autumn tints. At the foot of the descent we found a charming little hamlet set in woods, past which a clear stream purled peacefully; crossing this stream we had another climb succeeded by a level winding elm-bound road, with an uneventful landscape on either hand, of flat fields stretching far away to a misty horizon. Now the rounded chalk hills loomed up finely in front of us, the clouds stooping to their low summits, so that it was hard to tell where the land ended and the sky began; and in the fast-fading light a sense of mystery and the majesty of space pervaded the prospect. Our road eventually led us along the sides of these hills and into the gathering gloom, then we dropped down into the cheerful lamp-lighted streets of busy Luton. From Luton we drove through picturesque Harpenden to historic St. Albans, with its much-restored abbey, and from St. Albans by Elstree and Edgeware we made our way back to London again. And so ended our most enjoyable wanderings on the pleasant old roads. Ours was purely a pleasure jaunt. We set forth on it determined, come what would, to enjoy ourselves, and we succeeded! Now, kind reader, the time has come when I must, perforce, bid you farewell.

Of all the words the English tongue can tellThe hardest one to utter is “Farewell.”But the fond hope that we may meet againRelieves that word of more than half its pain.

ITINERARY OF JOURNEY

ROUTE BETWEENLONDON & LINCOLNSHIRE.

OVER FEN AND WOLDIN LINCOLNSHIRE.

Abbeys, Cathedrals, and Churches—Ashby Puerorum,312-315Bag Enderby,329-334Bardney Abbey,397Barton Seagrave,437Beckingham,411,412Benington,259,260Biggleswade,59Boston,251Bottesford,420,421Bourn,202Brampton,82Branston,383,384Buckden,76-79Clapham,441Claypole,415Colsterworth,428,429Coningsby,403Cowbit,181Crowland Abbey,151,163,164,172-176Falkingham,215-220Fenton,416Frampton,243,244Grantham,425Great Gidding,245,246Great Ponton,426Harrington,338-341Heckington,235Higham Ferrers,440Horncastle,346-348Horsington,399,400Irthlingborough,438,439Kirkstead Abbey,402Kirkstead Chapel,402Leadenham,410,411Lincoln Minster,367,368,372-374Mavis Enderby,303,304Metheringham,388Osbournby,223-225St. Leonard’s Priory,152,153Scrivelsby,360Silk Willoughby,228-230Sleaford,233,234Somersby,320-324Spalding,189-193Spilsby,297-299Swineshead,239-241Tattershall,404Welwyn,28,29Wispington,395-397Wrangle,264,265Alconbury Hill,103,104Anwick,408Aslackby,207,208Astwick,55-58Bag Enderby,329-334Baldock,47-52Barholm,155Barnet,13-17,21“Barnett Wells,”17,18Barton Seagrave,437Beckingham,408,409,411-415Bedford,441Benington,259,260Biggleswade,58-60Birthplaces of Notable People—Bunyan, John,441Cromwell, Oliver,97,98Franklin, Sir John,296Ingelow, Jean,254Newton, Sir Isaac,426-428Pepys, Samuel,80-82Tennyson, Lord,316-320Thistlewood, Arthur,400Young, Dr.,29Bletsoe,441Boston,246-255,301Bottesford,420,421Boughton Park,436,437Bourn,198-204Brampton,80,82Brandon,417Branston,383,384Brant Broughton,410Buckden,75Burleigh Park,131-133,135Burton Latimer,437Castles and Towers—Belvoir,420Hussey Tower,255Kyme Tower,258Oakham,431Rockingham,433,434Stamford,149,150Tattershall,392,407“Tower on the Moor,” Woodhall,392Clapham,441Colsterworth,426,428,429Coningsby,403Cowbit,181Crowland,163-176Deene,436Deeping St. James,156,157Dunston Pillar,386,387Eaton Socon,69Edgeware,442Elstow,441Elstree,442Falkingham,213-221Fenton,415Finedon,438Frampton,243,244Geddington,436Girtford,65Godmanchester,94,95Gonerby Hill,417,418Grantham,83,418-420,425Graveley,38,39Great Ponton,426Great Weldon,436Hadley,22,23Halstead Hall,400,401Halton Holgate,275,278-280,285Harpenden,442Harrington Hall,334-339Hatfield,23-27Heckington,234,235Hemingford Grey,92-94Higham Ferrers,439-441High Rigge,392,393Hinchinbrook,83Holbeck,310Horncastle,307,308,344-355,362Horsington,399Huntingdon,83-86,95-100Irby,284Irthlingborough,438,439Kenulph’s Stone,159Kettering,437Kirby,434-436Knight’s Mill,92Langham,430Langworth,367Leadenham,410Lincoln,368-381Lincoln Heath,386,387Little Stukeley,101,102Luton,441,442Market Deeping,155,156Martin,388,389Mavis Enderby,303-305Melton Mowbray,429,430Metheringham,387,388Norman Cross,119Oakham,430,431Osbournby,223-225Peakirk,158Poolham Hall,393-395Rivers—Ivel,60Nene,119,129-131,439Ouse,68,69,74,86,87,91-95,441Steeping,274Welland,150,159,161,183Witham,389,407,428Rockingham,433,434St. Albans,442St. Guthlak’s Cross,159St. Ives,87-91St. Neots,69-73Scrivelsby Court,356-360Silk Willoughby,226-230Sleaford,231-234,408Somersby,309,315-329Somersby Grange,324-328Somersby Rectory,316-320South Ormsby,341Spalding,183-194Spilsby,293-300Stamford,83,119,133-151Staunton Hall,409,420-424Stevenage,31-36Stilton,39,107-117Stixwold,401Stixwold Ferry,389Stubton,416Swineshead,236-241Tallington,155Tattershall,404Tempsford,66-68Tetford,341Treckingham,222Uffington,154Uppingham,430-433Wainfleet,271-275Walcot,222Wansford,129-131Water Newton,119-128Welwyn,27-30Whetstone,12Winceby Hill,307,347Wispington,395-399Wolds, the,300-307,310-342,362Woodhall Spa,389-392,401Woolsthorpe Manor-House,426-428Wothorpe,139,140Wragby,363-367Wrangle,261-265

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