CHAPTER XV.

GOING OUT IN THE WORLD.

No doubt, the acts and inventions of the present day—as, for instance, to see the steamengines pant and pump, in lieu of hearts that used to throb and beat, while their boilers do the perspiration of five thousand men at onceall this, upon the balance, must be confessed to be a merciful provision to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, far beyond the unassisted powers of laborious man.

But what we gain in the realities of life we lose in the romance-what we gain in the substantials we lose in the lights and shades-in all that lends a pleasing variety of characteras also in the interesting and the picturesque. See yonder shaft of brick, gurgling forth its black volumes of smoke, that blights vegetation

THE GOOD OLD TIMES.

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far and near. What though we are assured it marks the incessant whirring of a thousand spindles, cheapening Molly's cap by twopence a-yard, still I cannot help remembering when, as a child, I could peep into a cottage window, and watch old Susannah Mason do, what seemed such marvels, on her patchwork cushion. This was one little pleasure of my childhood: another, was to watch the stage-coaches; to race by their side, or look at the passengers-queerlooking figures they were, some of them, after travelling all night. Besides this, once a-week came by the ponderous waggon, drawn by eight horses; and all these horses had bells; and sometimes there was quite a little colony of travellers, who always looked so snug and comfortable in the straw behind.

In all this there was variety. It left lasting impressions, and hung my youthful mind with pictures pictures that at this distance of time yet remain, and such as I should be very sorry to change with any child whose imagination has starved on men and things, bearing one monotonous and ugly regulation cut. Now-a-days, costumes are gone; suits of certain sizes alone remain, as if men and women were cast in moulds, or shaped by circumstances, with no fancy to please, but dressed by contract or by

slop-work. Many are the distinct and gipsylike varieties we miss as if the poetry of life were done into prose-all lost, and gone for ever!

Among other characters, we have lost the very queen of the realms of comfort- the landlady of our country inns. Almost the last, as the best, representative of her race, was Mrs. Winter-of course, a widow; for "the bar" has generally proved as destructive of the gentlemen as it has proved conservative of the ladies. "Ever since I buried my dear husband," has been, from time immemorial, a standing epoch in mine hostess's chronology. At one time, four of the most extensive coach-hotels in England, with Ann Nelson at the head, were personated by women, and those women widows. No wonder, therefore, that good Mrs. Winter was a widow too. But though a lone, by no means an "unprotected female," was this good woman. No one could take her own part better; and few had more and stancher friends. That Mrs. Winter's fame and individuality had taken up their lodgement in the minds of no small part of the county may be judged from this-that by means of clandestine communication with the maker of her neat gowns, caps, and white pocketed aprons, a sporting gentleman, whose

THE COUNTRY LANDLADY.

countenance happened to bear some

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blance to hers, costumed as "Mrs. Winter," was once a highly popular character at the Wanton fancy ball!

Yes, Mrs. Winter was a character worth remembering-pity 'tis she died before the days of photographs—one oil-painting, looking rather as if drawn by the black slime of leeches crawling over the canvas, which used to hang in her back-parlour, alone preserves her likeness. Yet was she most truly sovereign in her own house; indeed, in this respect, she admitted, she could do as well without her husband as with him. She reigned by moral means. Who could resist or disobey, above all, when, looking round, she said,

"I throw myself on the good feeling of you, gentlemen, to support me, and uphold the credit of my house, as a poor, unprotected female ?" (loud laughter); a petition that she offered up whenever high words in the coffee-room threatened to lead to serious consequences, or a case before the magistrates.

On this point we have a vivid recollection, that once at our race-time an uproar in the coffee-room of the "Blackford Arms," after repeated remonstrances from Mrs. Winter, roused the old lady to a sense of the proprieties of time and place.

"I must, for the honour of my house, put an end to this," said she. "Who is it? Let me know whose fault it is."

"That is the noisy and the offending gentleman," was the reply of one of the party, with affected gravity; at the same time naming no less notable a person than Mr. Thomas Spring!

"Come along, then! come along, sir! indeed you must (taking the ex-champion of England by the arm). " Boots shall see you safe to bed, if you please, sir: otherwise you must leave my house directly."

With these words, the good-natured fellow, putting on as much as possible the sheepish look of a naughty boy, and amidst roars of laughter, allowed himself to be led out of the room. Of course there were many to intercede: so they soon came to a compromise; and Mrs. Winter's heroism was the subject of unanimous applause.

Well, such was Mrs. Winter in the days of her glory; but one sad day the news came that the Great Unnecessary Railway Bill was carried, and soon after a Committee sat to consider the compensation to be paid for levelling the famous "Blackford Arms" Hotel to the ground, and turning poor Mrs. Winter from her little realm.

The whole story were long to tell. That