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 but the air in them during the summer-time seems to stagnate. I prefer my picturesqueness, as at Lincoln, air-flushed! Lincoln, too, is clean and sweet. Some ancient cities, though undoubtedly romantic, unhappily possess neither of these virtues. Dirt and evil smells, in my eyes, take a great deal away from the glamour of the beautiful. I can never get enthusiastic over dirt. Even age does not hallow dirt to me.

As we resumed our journey, a short distance from our hotel we noticed a quaint old stone-built house with a pleasant garden in front, a garden divided from the highroad by an iron gateway. The old house looked such a picture that we pulled up to admire it through the open iron-work, which, whilst making a most protective fence, also permitted the passer-by to behold the beauties it enclosed. Most Englishmen prefer the greater privacy afforded by a high wall or a tall oak-board fence. I am selfish enough to do so too, though, from the traveller's point of view, it is very refreshing to eye and mind to be able to get such beauty-peeps beyond the dusty roads.

Observing a lady here plucking flowers in the pleasant garden, we ventured boldly to open the gates, and, with our best bow, begged permission to take a photograph of the picturesque old building. Our request was readily granted, and with a smile. In fact, during the whole of our tour it seemed to us that we had only to ask a favour to have it granted with a smile—all of which was very pleasant. On the road it verily seemed as though life were all sunshine, and everybody an impersonation of good