that Souffered on the Crosse for them as worship Him," and in the panelling is fixed one of those handsome carved bed-heads that are still found sometimes in these old houses. The floors and stairs are all of slippery dark oak, and on a great long oaken table is a cannon ball which was found embedded in the wall, so probably some little unrecorded skirmish here took place.

Just a short scramble up the big chimney in the hall and there is a hiding-hole, where refugees might have a warm time while their pursuers were vainly hunting for their human prey. Outside the wall, and near by, we nearly tumbled down some steep stone steps that were hidden by the luxuriant growth of the beautiful lemoncoloured corydalis. On the tennis lawn a turkey-hen has nine fledged turkey poults, and a black hen yellow fluffy Cochin chickens. It is another of the homes of England we are kindly shown round, and still the wonder grows, how unnumbered and how beautiful they are "o'er all the pleasant land."

LEMSTER-EARDISLAND BOSBURY

DORMINGTON

N arriving at Hereford this summer our first business was to photograph the Red-Coat Hospital, that I had found in the preceding autumn when left alone wandering about the city in slippers early on the Sunday morning. The "ancient servitors, clad in ginger fustian," made haste to get into their red coats when they found their pictures were going to be taken. Corporal Williams, the commanding officer, was helpless without his missus, for his hands were as delicate as a child's, excepting for the knobs and swollen joints. We thought his white hair would take better than the red coat which he was anxious to struggle into. The latter was stiff enough to outwear dozens of its temporary tenants. shown in the centre of the picture, page 147.

He is

One step from the modern street, through the old stone archway into the creeper-clad court, with its quaint pump in the centre, its birds in cages, and cats, the pets of the inmates, would charm many who never heard of this Home of Rest. Beyond, again, are the allotment gardens and the renovated preaching cross, a relic of other days and manners.

Then, with a peep at the bishop's palace and garden, we go down that narrow, steep Pipe Lane, where Nell Gwyn was born. Pretty, witty Nelly Gwyn! if "the Merry Monarch" could care for any one perhaps he cared for her; and, if she did any wrong, her grandson was a bishop and that would make it right. On one

of the few signs in the lane is the name of Carless, the name of the man who was up in the oak with the King. Names of streets and names of men conjure up the memories of history. Garrick's birthplace we had passed.

We returned to Lemster to note that curious old house, the Grange, which was once the Market-Hall, and has fortunately been preserved as a private house, when so many of the fine old timber-built public halls are gone. Under the projections above the first storey of this one is the following inscription in compartments. The last lines may be read in the photograph. Where it is in Latin, a translation is given.

Vive Deo gratus.
Toti mundo tumulatus.
Crimini mundatus.
Semper transire paratus.
Where Justice rule.
There vertu flow.
Vive ut post vivas.
Sat cito si sat bene.

Like collummes doo upprop.
The Fabrik of a building.
So noble Gentri doo support.
The Honor of a Kingdom.
In memoria aeterna.

Erit Justus. 1633

Live grateful to God.
To all the world buried.
Free from reproach.
Always ready to go.

Live that thou mayest live after.
Quickly enough if well enough.

In eternal memory.
The just shall be.

Fancy putting up that humbug about noble gentry in a market-place, where every one should be encouraged to make the best bread and butter they could make, see the eggs were fairly fresh, and pay promptly. It reminds me of the old lines:

"Let wealth and commerce, laws and learning die,
But leave us still our old nobility."

We have to hurry past the beautiful Priory Church and seek the open country, for in the neighbourhood is Eardisland, which we have been told is the prettiest

A GOOD LUNCH FOR THREEPENCE 165

village in England, and is near to Weobley, which is the prettiest we have seen. We have to dodge the showers and shelter, and linger over lunch, where bread and cheese and butter are all good. X says I am too much of a connoisseur in those simple articles of food, but they are the staff of life, and good home-made is none too plentiful anywhere. Here they are all good, and we enjoy them, helping ourselves. Then comes

the settling. "Would you think threepence too much, and threepence for a quart of cider?" Oh these unsophisticated rustics! If we could earn sixpence a day here we could live on it. Or we could get as drunk as lords on sixpence. But we refrain, and go out to photograph in the wet, when X spends as much in plates in half-an-hour as would keep him a week.

Eardisland is a pretty, uncommon-looking village. There are two streams of water, probably a mill dam and the river Arrow. Two roads are close to the