It is very strange how nothing but a
genuine home can ever look homelike. They appear to be good people; a
little girl of twelve, a daughter, waits on table; and there is an elder
daughter, who yesterday answered the door-bell, looking very like a young
lady, besides five or six smaller children, who make less uproar of grief
or merriment than could possibly be expected. The husband is not
apparent, though I see his hat in the hall. The house is new, and has a
trim, light-colored interior of half-gentility. I suppose the rent, in
ordinary times, might be 25 pounds per annum; but we pay at the rate of
335 pounds for the part which we occupy. This, like all the other houses
in the neighborhood, was evidently built to be sold or let; the builder
never thought of living in it himself, and so that subtile element, which
would have enabled him to create a home, was entirely left out.
This morning, J----- and I set forth on a walk, first towards the palace
of the Arts' Exhibition, which looked small compared with my idea of it,
and seems to be of the Crystal Palace order of architecture, only with
more iron to its glass. Its front is composed of three round arches in a
row. We did not go in. . . . . Turning to the right, we walked onward
two or three miles, passing the Botanic Garden, and thence along by
suburban villas, Belgrave terraces, and other such prettinesses in the
modern Gothic or Elizabethan style, with fancifully ornamented
flower-plats before them; thence by hedgerows and fields, and through two
or three villages, with here and there an old plaster and timber-built
thatched house, among a street full of modern brick-fronts,--the
alehouse, or rural inn, being generally the most ancient house in the
village.
Pages:
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777