--, some days ago, as
we were mounting our horses for an equestrian lounge. "We were pressed
for time that evening, or I should have liked to show you the interior
of the little dwelling, and to have introduced you to its worthy humble
owners, who are old friends of mine, and not the least respected on my
list. What say you, shall we take the 'Peasant's Nest' in our round
to-day?" The proposal met my willing acquiescence, and an hour's quiet
amble through a richly wooded and beautifully diversified part of the
country brought us to a short straight lane, half-embowered by luxuriant
hedges on either side, and (except a half-worn cart-track) carpeted with
the greenest and softest turf, which terminated in a gateway to a small
meadow, and in a low green wicket in the centre of a sweet-brier hedge;
behind which, and two intervening flower-knots on either side the neat
gravel-walk, stood the little dwelling which had attracted my attention
on a former day by its air of peculiar neatness and comfort, and even
rustic elegance. Its thatched roof (a masterpiece of rural art) had
just acquired the rich mellowness of tone which precedes the duller
hue of decay, and when the last rays of a golden sunset touched it
in flickering patches through the dark foliage of overhanging elms,
it harmonised, and almost blended in brilliancy of colour, with
the brightest blossoms of the buddlea, which, overtopping its
fellow-trailers, seemed aspiring to meet and dally with the sunbeams,
and almost to rival them with its topaz stars.

Moss-roses were budding round each of the wide low casements on either
side the door, over which a slight arch of rustic trellis-work supported
a mass of rich dark foliage, soon to be starred with the pale odorous
flowers so typical of virgin purity; and far along the low-projecting
eaves on one side of the cottage, ran the flexile stems and deep verdure
of the beautiful luxuriant plant, till it reached and formed a bowery
pent-house over a long open lattice, through the wire-work of which
brown glazed pans were discernible, half-filled with rich creaming milk,
and pats of neatly printed butter--yellow as the flower which gilds our
summer meadows--ranged with dairy-woman's pride on the wet slab of
whitest deal.

The master of the cottage--a respectable-looking old man--was so
intently occupied in tying up some choice pheasant-eyed pinks in one of
the flower-knots, that he had not heard the quiet pacing of our steed