You've heard of the Pusey horn, which King Canute gave to the Puseys of that day, and which the gallant old squire, lately gone to his rest (whom Berkshire freeholders turned out of last Parliament, to their eternal disgrace, for voting according to his conscience), used to bring out on high days, holidays, and bonfire nights.

And the splendid old cross church at Uffington, the Uffingas town.

How the whole countryside teems with Saxon names and memories! And the old moated grange at Compton, nestled close under the hillside, where twenty Marianas may have lived, with its bright water-lilies in the moat, and its yew walk, "the cloister walk," and its peerless terraced gardens.

There they all are, and twenty things beside, for those who care about them, and have eyes.

And these are the sort of things you may find, I believe, every one of you, in any common English country neighbourhood.
Will you look for them under your own noses, or will you not?
Well, well, I've done what I can to make you; and if you will go gadding over half Europe now, every holidays, I can't help it.