Nevertheless, not to look beyond the outside, I
never saw a prettier rural scene than was presented by this range of
contiguous huts; for in front of the whole row was a luxuriant and
well-trimmed hawthorn hedge, and belonging to each cottage was a little
square of garden-ground, separated from its neighbors by a line of the
same verdant fence. The gardens were chock-full, not of esculent
vegetables, but of flowers, familiar ones, but very bright-colored, and
shrubs of box, some of which were trimmed into artistic shapes; and I
remember, before one door, a representation of Warwick Castle, made of
oyster-shells. The cottagers evidently loved the little nests in which
they dwelt, and did their best to make them beautiful, and succeeded
more than tolerably well,--so kindly did Nature help their humble
efforts with its verdure, flowers, moss, lichens, and the green things
that grew out of the thatch. Through some of the open door-ways we saw
plump children rolling about on the stone floors, and their mothers, by
no means very pretty, but as happy-looking as mothers generally are; and
while we gazed at these domestic matters, an old woman rushed wildly out
of one of the gates, upholding a shovel, on which she clanged and
clattered with a key. At first we fancied that she intended an onslaught
against ourselves, but soon discovered that a more dangerous enemy was
abroad; for the old lady's bees had swarmed, and the air was full of
them, whizzing by our heads like bullets.
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