Nothing In Architecture Can Be
Conceived More Beautiful Than The Principal Entrance, Which Fronts
The West, And Which, At The Time We Saw It, Was Gilded With The
Rays Of The Setting Sun.
After having strolled about the edifice surveying it until we were
weary, we returned to our inn, and after taking an excellent supper
retired to rest.
At ten o'clock next morning we left the capital of the meads. With
dragon speed, and dragon noise, fire, smoke, and fury, the train
dashed along its road through beautiful meadows, garnished here and
there with pollard sallows; over pretty streams, whose waters stole
along imperceptibly; by venerable old churches, which I vowed I
would take the first opportunity of visiting: stopping now and
then to recruit its energies at places, whose old Anglo-Saxon names
stared me in the eyes from station boards, as specimens of which,
let me only dot down Willy Thorpe, Ringsted, and Yrthling Boro.
Quite forgetting everything Welsh, I was enthusiastically Saxon the
whole way from Medeshamsted to Blissworth, so thoroughly Saxon was
the country, with its rich meads, its old churches and its names.
After leaving Blissworth, a thoroughly Saxon place by-the-bye, as
its name shows, signifying the stronghold or possession of Bligh or
Blee, I became less Saxon; the country was rather less Saxon, and I
caught occasionally the word "by" on a board, the Danish for a
town; which "by" waked in me a considerable portion of Danish
enthusiasm, of which I have plenty, and with reason, having
translated the glorious Kaempe Viser over the desk of my ancient
master, the gentleman solicitor of East Anglia.
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