OUR OLD HOME. NEAR`OXFORD. ON a fine morning in September, we set out on an excursion to Blenheim,-the sculptor and myself being seated on the box of our four-horse carriage, two more of the party in the dicky, and the others less agreeably accommodated inside. We had no coachman, but two postilions in short scarlet jackets and leather breeches with top-boots, each astride of a horse, so that, all the way along, when not otherwise attracted, we had the interesting spectacle of their up-and-down bobbing in the saddle. It was a sunny and beautiful day, a specimen of the perfect English weather, just warm enough for comfort,— indeed, a little too warm, perhaps, in the noontide VOL. II. B |