IN ENGLAND
a tepid shower, among the stems of broom with its yellowish blossom and russet heather which stippled the light ferns; and there was nothing but the sky and round hillocks, for the houses with their inmates are tucked away amid the trees, from which a meal in preparation wafts a cheerful cloudlet. 
I recall you, good old house with the raftered ceiling and the huge fireplace in which is an oaken table, and tasty is the Guildford beer in clay tankards and the gossip of cheery people over their English bacon and cheese. Once again I thank you and must now pass on.
I ambled like a wood-nymph across the
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