e rays of the sun, or which is perhaps more fashionable, a
Gothic cottage, with steep roof, rustic pillars, fantastic barge-boards,
and numerous pinnacles painted brown, with oak-stained doors. This style
looks well in the situation we have described; the absence of trees
bringing out more fully the beauties of the architecture. It is attended
with one or two inconveniences; scarcely however, worth mentioning: Gothic
windows always leak, and the sloping roof makes the second story a little
_ovenish_ in temperature, and _garrety_ in smell. Whichever of the two
styles you adopt, you must not fail to refer your plans to some bustling
little architect, who will be sure to write articles about himself in one
of the weeklies, and will probably give a drawing of your house, and call
you the 'intelligent, gentlemanly, and high-minded proprietor.' After you
have removed the stones, manured the ground, and planted grass, you will
have a lawn; and after you have dug deep holes and set out tall thin
consumptive trees, you have a wood. Secure the whole with white fences;
throw rustic bridges over the _impassable_ streams; sprinkle red dahlias
and tiger-lilies here and there; buy a bull-dog to set on any small child
who may be reckless enough to trespass; and lo! you have a country-seat as
well as a town-house, and can invite your city friends to fill your one
spare room in regular rotation.

In the important matter of a name, you must decide for yourself; but
surely with Walter Scott and Lord Byron and the innumerable
_What-d'ye-call-'em_ dales, _Thingumbob_ brooks, and _So-and-so_ woods, to
choose from, you can have no difficulty in fixing upon a suitable one.

But, says an amateur rustic, I have no fondness for floriculture,
horticulture, or agriculture; what am I to do? Buy a horse, and take a
gallop of some twenty miles or so, and if the horse does not shy you off,
or bolt you off, or kick you off, and you do not fall off, or he does not
fall under you, you will probably arrive at home safe; but as you walk
from the stable to the house, you will quote from George Colman's parody
of the Lady of the Lake:

'Hunter rest, for thou must own
_Leather lost_ and empty belly,' etc.

Have you a fondness for fire-arms? Then procure a gun and dog, and sally
forth before day-light. Walk five miles through swamp and thicket without
starting a bird. Sky cloudless; heat intense. Suddenly dog's tail begins
to beat half-seconds; up whirrs