haunted wood in unblenched purity, or
Sabrina fair,—

          In twisted braids of lilies knitting
          The loose train of her amber-dropping hair.

How great was the loss of our forefathers
daring the last century, when all the glorious
poetry of our elder bards was cast aside
for formal essays in heroic verse, and
namby-pamby songs about Corydon and Phillis,
and Damon and Chloe! Well educated people
of those days quoted Mr. Pope, and patronised
the Gentleman's Magazine, and some of
them, we know, had the poems of the
celebrated John Milton,—but who read him? As
for our excursionists, they took pleasant walks,
all by the river's side, or down in the meadows
—perhaps wondering they did not find
shepherdesses in flowered brocade, and marvelling
greatly at the un-Corydon-like looks of the
shepherds and swains.

Meanwhile the writer of the journal, who
was of a philosophic turn of mind, amused
himself with visiting a paper-mill and an
iron-foundry in the neighbourhood. With
great minuteness he details the whole progress
of the iron manufacture, and much wonder is
expressed at the water-power, which turns a
large wheel employed to keep the huge
bellows continually blowing. What would he
have said of the mighty power of the same
element in vapour? but steam was as yet
confined to its cradle, the tea-kettle.

After a pleasant sojourn at Ludlow our
good company prepared to depart. Again the
lumbering landau and four made its appearance,
attended by the three equestrians, together
with cousins John and Walter, as guides, and
thus they proceeded to Leominster. The
landau was overturned by the way; but
happily in such a gentle manner that no
inconvenience was sustained beyond the fright.
After dinner, having got into a turnpike
road, they traversed Dinmore hill with safety
—something worth recording in seventeen
hundred and forty-eight—and arrived at
Hereford, which completed the day's journey.
Hereford cathedral having been visited, they
took leave of cousins John and Walter, and
set out for Ross; but, coming to a place where
three roads met, and not having taken
sufficient directions, they chose the wrong road.
Soon after, meeting a traveller, he directed
them to turn back. Again they set out, but
the road was narrow, and here they met a
loaded waggon; so they were compelled to
draw the landau up a steep bank, to the
evident risk of overturning, and then the
waggon, having passed, they resumed their
progress and arrived at Ross.

Although Ludlow, as we have seen, afforded
no associations to them, it was very different
with Ross. This town had been celebrated,
our diarist remarks, by the greatest poet of
the age; so they visited the church, and
surveyed the prospects, " which are so
fine and beautiful that we all acknowledge
the post had sufficient matter to
work upon." Having dined agreeably,
they again set forth, but again to encounter
all manner of travelling annoyances. Twice
the linchpin of the off fore-wheel flew off;
then there was jolting along roads that seem
to have rivalled the Canadian corduroy; and
lastly, a scuffle with a waggoner who refused
to turn back, and whom, therefore, cousin
Sam had to bring to reason by the unanswerable
argument of his riding whip. The fellow
was drunk, it is remarked, and probably
to this circumstance cousin Sam owed his
triumph over the burly Herefordshire
waggoner. But we cannot help fancying
the distress of the ladies at so un-Arcadian
a scene, and their admiration of the bravery
of the train-band captain, who, not with his
sword—for that was left at home, hanging
by its sword-knot a trophy in the best room
—but with a mere riding-whip, had won the
victory. They now journeyed on, and soon
came to Gloucester, where a couple of roast
chickens, lamb, peas, and tarts solaced them
after the annoyances of the day.

In the morning the lions of Gloucester were
visited; and the rich tracery of the choir of
the cathedral excited a passing tribute of
admiration, even from one brought up to
consider nothing worthy of notice either in
literature or art that was not classical. But the
party visited with more interest the bishop's
palace; for this had been fitted up in the
newest style, and one room was hung
with blue silk mohair, which alone cost
one hundred pounds, and another with
yellow silk damask, while the private
chapel was wainscoted with cedar. Doctor
Benson was the then bishop,—a prelate
who really deserves a passing notice, since
being unmarried he spent the greater portion
of his income in repairs of the cathedral and
the palace, and, strange to relate, declared on
his election to the see, that he would never
accept farther preferment; what is stranger
still, he actually kept his word. After a good
dinner, the party set off for Newport, full of
gloomy apprehensions about the road. In this
case they were agreeably disappointed; for,
with only a few joltings, they got safely to
their destination. Here, however, a new
trouble awaited them; a gentleman, with an
equipage and five servants, had arrived
previously, and monopolised the best accommodation.
" We were excluded from the best rooms,
had indifferent lodging, and worse food, while,
as the climax, the gentleman's servants
occupied the parlour, and left us none for ourselves."
Those of our readers who are acquainted with
the popular literature of this period, will
remember the offensive insolence that characterised
gentlemen's servants, and acknowledge
this was a real annoyance.

They departed early in the morning, therefore,
breakfastless, and along a good road
soon forgot their vexation, and a rural " tread
was unexpectedly provided for us; for,
being sufficiently hungry, we alighted at a