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368 queenly ladies on the other, all of the same general race, but so widely sundered by cultivation.

Returning from this excursion, we stopped at a little village church, which, with its surroundings, was the very beau-ideal that you are looking for in a country drive or walk. Here was a winding street of one-story houses thatched with straw, each with a long, narrow yard in front, full of the simple flowers of the poor, cheaply grown, hardy and ruddy-cheeked, like the poor man's children in healthy air. Opposite the church was the village inn, one-story, thatched, neat, comfortable and quiet; looking, for all the world, as if it sold more milk than beer. The carriage with the guests was standing with the liveried driver and footman on the opposite side of the road by the church, while the Earl went to the inn for a glass of milk for the ladies. It was a pleasant sight to see his tall, venerable form emerging from the low door which he had to stoop on entering. The setting sun was flooding the hamlet with its blandest illumination, which, tinted by the sunflowers and hollyhocks the nearest cottage yards, blended with the benevolent radiance of his countenance, and made him a living picture which Correggio would have delighted to copy. In this little quiet church, which one might almost take for the crickets' cathedral, are the monuments of men who have won great names in English history. Here lies entombed the