(Number 22, by Anonymous)
I LOOK back with much pleasure to the visit I had from my friend Mr. Woodnott, the Bristol Merchant I before spoke of.
 |
| The Oxford Fathers |
He stayed with me some days, and we had many agreeable rambles and discussions together, which were to me peculiarly interesting, from the wide experience he had had of men and things, and of places too, as he had been often abroad, in Switzerland, in Turkey, and on different parts of the American Continent, where he had spent some years.
Two or three days after our meeting with Richard Nelson, as stated before, we took our walk (it being a pleasant evening to wards the end of August,) along the side of a little stream, which we traced for a mile or two down the valley, returning by a kind of natural terrace, which terminated in my favourite beech-walk. The sun was low when we got here; and we stood still, (it was not far from Nelson’s garden hedge,) to admire its rich glow on the opposite side of the valley. I was pointing out to my friend a bold and almost mountainous outline of hills rising in the distance, far to the west in Lancashire, Pendle-hill, as I fancied, and other lofty tracts in the neighbourhood of Clitheroe; and we were speculating on the distance they might be from us.
"Sir," said a voice, which startled me, from my not observing that any one was near, "Pendle-hill must be full fifty miles off; what you see is most likely some of the high ground beyond Halifax."
"Why, Richard," said I, "what are you doing down there?" for I could scarcely see more than his head—"you seem to be making a strong entrenchment round your castle."
"I dare say, Sir," he answered, "you may wonder what I am about; but at this time of year, when the springs are low, I generally spend an hour, when I have leisure in an evening, in repairing the garden-mound, that it may be fit to stand against the assaults of what I call my two winter enemies."
"What can they be?" I asked; "I did not know that you had any enemies."
"Yes, Sir, I have," he replied; "at least my garden had two, land-floods, and Scotch ponies. Almost every winter, once, if not twice, there is a violent land-flood from the high-ground behind the house; and if this ditch were not kept clear, to take the water off immediately, the garden would not recover the damage all the next year. To be sure, this kind of flood does not commonly last many hours; but that is long enough, you know, Sir, to spoil the labour of weeks and months." (more)
+++
