to be passing into a district so thinly populated that for miles I rarely met a human being. The road was very charming, rising and falling, apple and pear trees frequently growing on the sides of the road. Now and then I came to a solitary cot, or perhaps a couple, probably having their origin in some roadside encroachment.
Alcester is a sleepy town lying on the banks of the Alne, just at its junction with the Arrow. There is a considerable manufacture of needles carried on in the place; but the neighbourhood is purely agricultural, and contains some pretty hamlets, where the cottages are mostly surrounded by good-sized gardens, well stocked with fruit-trees.
In one village, however, which I visited, about two miles from Alcester, I saw no such gardens, and the cots were extremely old. But if those of its inhabitants with whom I talked were not singular exceptions, it was a garden in a higher sense.
Sitting down by the roadside to sketch, I saw a comely, sweet-faced old dame come trudging up the lane. She had a warm kerchief over her shoulders, and looked as clean as a new pin. She was, indeed, a picture of health and happiness, and never spoke but a merry smile played over her lips. And yet she had only two shillings a week and a loaf to live upon, eked out by the proceeds of her little garden. Doubtless she got some help from her children and neighbours; but this was all she had to rely on, and out of this she had to pay her "rent. How she managed to live, and withal to look so blooming and happy and clean, was rather marvellous. But she evidently had a secret source of joy which the world could neither give nor take away. The Lord, she gave me to understand, was always with her, making her happy. Some of the healthiest little ones I ever saw came running up to her; she said they were her grandchildren. With warm affection she dwelt on the memory of her husband, who had been her guide and companion in every sense. It was refreshing to meet so bright and joyous a spirit in such circumstances, and she more than realized Cowper's picture:—
"Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay."
Entering a cottage, a poor wretched place, full of fierce
