the modern restorer is to an ancient and beautiful church, so is the modern landscape gardener to the quaintly formal old English garden.
The house itself appeared to be deserted and shut up, so that unfortunately we were unable to obtain a glance at its interior. Some portions of the building looked very old, possibly as early as the fifteenth century, especially a large stone-mullioned window, filled—we judged from the exterior view—with some interesting specimens of ancient heraldic glass, but the other portions were of later date, and signs of nineteenth-century modernising were not wanting. We asked a man we saw if he knew how old the oldest part of the hall was, and he honestly replied that he did not; "but it be a goodish bit older nor I. You sees they don't register the birth of buildings as they does babies, so it's difficult to find out how old they be." Then the man chuckled to himself, "You sees I'se a bit of a wit in my way," but it was just what we did not see; nevertheless we put on a conventional smile just to please him, whereupon, in a confidential whisper, he informed us where we could get "as good a glass of ale as is to be had in all Lincolnshire, if not better, and I don't mind a-showing you the way there and drinking your very good health." It is rather damping to think how many of our conversations with rural folk have come to a similar ending. "Why," we rejoined in feigned surprise, "you look like a teetotaler; you surely would not be seen drinking beer in a public-house." The air of mute astonishment that pervaded his features was a study. "Well, I'm blest!"
