There was Ottley Down on the right. By springing across the fly I was just in time to see the chimneys of Little Ottley House, and, to their left, the White Poplars at the lower end of the water. Here the horse's head got in my way, and in order to catch my first glimpse of the Little Ottley Chalk Pit, I had to tread once more upon my wife's feet, only as they were by this time curled up on the seat beside her, I didn't. In taking my head in from viewing the chalk-pit, so that I might get over to where I could obtain a sight of the Hanging Wood, I knocked my hat off into the mud and the fly had to halt. I recovered my hat, sadly bewrayed, and as I climbed in, "Never mind," said I to my wife, "I won't want it for three months, thank Heaven!" With these words I sat down on the Spanish Jug.
This utensil should have been mentioned in my list. But it is too late now. I give it a place to itself.
14. A Spanish Jug.
The history of the Spanish Jug.
In the Spring of this present year my wife told me that I wished to write a novel whose theatre should be Spain. I was very glad to hear this, because I knew how much she desired to visit that country.
After an interval we were in Madrid.
