st
centuries, he would feel first unmitigated astonishment, then horror,
at the position in which he would find himself placed. What now appears
to him so desirable would make him miserable, and he would be driven to
despair at the loss of all the advantages of that civilization which he
at present so little appreciates.

Let a German proprietor endeavour to realize to himself the position
of one of his ancestors in the year 1559. Instead of the house he
has now, built in the old German style, surrounded by its English
pleasure-grounds, he would find himself shut up in a gloomy, dirty, and
comfortless building, placed either on a height destitute of water, and
exposed to the cutting blasts of the wind, or else surrounded by the
f[oe]tid smells of stagnant ditches. It is true that three generations
back dim panes had been added to the small windows,[1] and large stoves
of Dutch tiles, which were fed with logs from the neighbouring forest,
kept the cold out of the sitting-rooms; but the accommodation was
limited, as it was occasionally necessary to defend the house against
attacks from the citizens of the nearest town, roving bands of
marauders, or reckless soldiers bent on revenge because they had been
cheated of half their pay by the neighbouring prince.

Comfortless and dirty is the house, for it is occupied by many others
beside the family of the owner: younger brothers and cousins, with
their wives and children, numberless servants, amongst them many of
doubtful character, men-at-arms, labourers, and in 1559, mercenaries,
may be added. In the court-yard, from the dung-heap is heard the cry of
children quarrelling, and from round the kitchen fire the no less
inharmonious sound of wrangling women. The children of the house grow
up amongst horses, dogs, and servants; they receive scanty instruction
in the village school; the boys keep the geese[2] and poultry for their
mother, or they go with the village people to the wood to collect wild
pears and mushrooms, which are dried for the winter meal; the lady of
the castle is housekeeper, head cook, and doctor of the establishment,
and is well accustomed to intercourse with lawless men and to the
ill-treatment of her drunken husband. She is faithful, a thorough
manager, proud of her escutcheon, of the gold chains and brocades
belonging to the family; she looks suspiciously on the dress and finery
of the wives of the counsellors of the town, who she considers have no
right