they saw me, and viewed the animal with wonder. I found them a gentlemanly set of men, however, and could not have passed my time more to my satisfaction than in their company. The room was filled with a cloud of smoke, and each person had either a glass of gin and hot water, or ale, and long pipe, supplied with adulterated tobacco. Each paid for what he drank, and none considered it a mark of disrespect to a friend, or meanness in himself, to call for a pipe, or liquor, and not invite others to join him, it being the custom of the country for each individual to pay for his own drink. To me there was an appearance of sordidness in the habit of pushing out two or three pennies for a glass of gin far from creditable or worthy of imitation. And drinking hot water in their liquor did not strike me as in character with the English rule of avoiding mixed food! But certain people are over-particular in some things, and not particular enough in others, and John Bull is eminently so. He faints at the idea of eating fried ham, and yet swallows cheese and ale together before going to bed, and drinks sweetened gin and hot water with commendable national vanity, swearing by his troth there's naught so healthful.

My companions of the evening were of different professions, including lawyers, commercial travellers, tradesmen, and farmers, most of whom were tolerably informed respecting their own county, but not so of other parts of England. The farmers-and when I speak of them I make no allusion whatever to the rustics, but confine myself entirely to what are known as gentlemen farmers, or renters of large tracts of land, which they cultivate by means of the peasantry-although gentlemen in dress, are the most ignorant, stupid set, who have pretensions to respectability and position, of any men I met in England; and of the many whom I came in contact with, there was but one who was a well-informed man, and he was originally a cutler at Sheffield. The balance were by no means refined. They were mostly hospitable, but not cultivated.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

FUN AND FOGS-SALISBURY AND ITS CATHEDRAL-A WALK TO STONEHENGE OVER SALISBURY PLAIN.

READER, have you ever been in an English fog? a real unadulterated penetrator, that chills a man to the heart's core if he happens to be exposed to it for half an hour? If you have not, then may you never be obliged to endure a ride of twenty odd miles through one so dense as to prevent your seeing ten feet ahead of the four horses attached to the stage-coach. To look at the bleared sun through the misty veil, from a cheerful parlor window, does very well, and you may derive an inward delight in trying to trace from such a point of sight the dim outline of the houses on the opposite side of the street, or the phantom-like figures of the almost invisible creatures who pass before you; but to grope your way, or ride through, it is enduring, and not alone seeing. The walk is not so bad as the ride, for in that you navigate yourself, and roll along like a ship in a veil of mist at sea, and when a fellow-mortal heaves in sight, and you trace his outline through the vapor, you shape your course to steer clear of him, and in nautical phrase "give him a wide berth." You see a gas-light occasionally to cheer you, its dull rays glimmering like a beacon on a dreary cliff to guide the lonely mariner, and if you choose you can come to anchor along-side a shop-window, or the door of a chop-house, where you can recruit your energies, make observations, get your latitude and longitude, and renew your journey with a prospect of completing it satisfactorily. But the ride is a different thing; muffled up on a stage-coach and enveloped by fog, you soon become chilled and cheerless. You look at your neighbors, and see their hair and whiskers white with accumulating frost; each one is as cold and comfortless as yourself, and the keen air cuts your face with its damp breath as you move through it. The houses are moving phantoms; there's no sky; no road; no sun; no fence; no houses; no fields; nothing but fog, thick and impenetrable. When you come to a hill, the driver tells you to hold on and not be alarmed, for the stage may escape being upset by a special Providence, but the chances are in favor of going over. You are going; but where to is the question. To upset? Yes, just as likely as not. But you escape that, and thump your feet on the footboard to get them warm, and put your blood in circulation, until you are tired; and then you probably will try to see the beauties of the charming country through which you are passing so agreeably. Yes! magnificent landscape it is, too! All fog-banks; all so beautifully misty; so admirably obscured; so dreamy; so like Melville Island, Spitzbergen, or some other equally splendid northern land of fairies and fogs! You enjoy it so, and, if blest with a happy imagination, you can build such airy castles, and have so much material to form them of, all ready to your mind. The cottages, the parks, the mansions are all before you, and all totally beyond your vision, but still before you; and decorate them to your own satisfaction, in such colors as your fancy may supply. But while you are thinking of these things, something goes wrong, and a reality surely enough rouses you to cold matter-of-fact things. What's up now? 0, only run into the fence; soon all will be right. You don't like the idea of backing out while on the coach, and descend until the horses are extricated. They are speedily put into the road; you mount again, and start, but do not get far on your journey before the driver "believes that the horses have been turned completely round, and we are going back again." Here's a pretty mess, indeed. Don't know where you are. The whip swears; the passengers don't pray; but the stage does stand still, and what's to be done? comes from every mouth. Go back and see whether the coach really was turned; you can tell by the marks of the wheels in the road. Away goes the driver, and with him a passenger, to learn the truth. They soon return out of breath, declare we are wrong, turn the horses, and pursue the journey. After considerable trouble, a good deal of grumbling, and a thorough chilling, you at last reach your destination, fully satisfied with your ride in the fog, and pretty sure you won't readily forget it. My return trip from Wells to Bath was nearly as above described, and when I reached the city of warm springs, I was shaking like an ague patient. A good fire soon made me comfortable, and I once more mounted on the top of a stage-coach, but not for Wells. The sun had by this time conquered the fog; the landscape was gay, and my companions good fellows. There were five of us, with the driver; and we were as merry a set of wanderers as ever sailed over the sea, or climbed a high hill. One was an Englishman, who had been in Russia; another a Scottish gentleman, connected with the Oriental Steamship Company, who had been wrecked in the Indian Ocean, crossed the deserts of Arabia, stood on the pyramid of Cheops, and traversed the mighty Ganges; the other had been in Rome and Venice; and I could tell of the Mississippi, Niagara Falls, the great lakes, and the boundless prairies of the west. We made a glorious company, and right merrily did the hours and miles go past together as we dashed over Salisbury Plain and on to the city of New Sarum.

Our ride, after leaving Bath, was through a greatly diversified country, and along a most beautiful little valley, through which wound two canals and a small, transparent stream. As we progressed further to the south, the country became level and chalky, chalk being the main geological feature of the famous Salisbury Plain. The villages on the route were small, but clean; and the town of Warminster, where we made an hour's stay, presented great activity and bustle. It was a fair day, and the marketspace was filled with rustic humanity and Wiltshire cheese. The usual amusements attendant upon a country fair in England were to be found in the town, and every species of buffoonery was going forward, from Punch-and-Judy shows to negro serenaders; canvas tents were numerous, and men stood at the entrance to each, proclaiming, in loud voices, the merits of the respective exhibitions. One establishment contained wax figures of the royal family, and the walking and talking advertisement was trying to persuade the public to go in and see "Er Majesty and the Prince of Wales, for sixpence." Another was an itinerant circus, and the clown, with his deathly pallid face, stood on a raised platform outside the doors, pleading to the crowd to patronize the wonderful performances within. One was a theatre, one a menagerie, and one the dwelling of a seer, where "young ladies were shown the faces of their future husbands." Nor were these all. There were booths for the sale of every description of trumpery wares, and stands from which auctioneers were disposing of their goods. Two of the sons of the hammer amused me much. They both dealt in clothes, and as they were on opposite sides of the street, facing each other, they entertained the bystanders with a choice selection of doubtful compliments to themselves, and extravagant stories respecting the articles they had for sale. "Ere's a splendid waistcoat; cost me six shillings; sell it for eighteen pence; fit for Prince Halbert's wear; let me show you how it will fit; made in the best style; excellent goods; I'll take one shilling-one shilling only; five goold buttons, and all for one shilling; buy it for a wedding-vest, young man-I know you'll marry that lass soon;" and he turned his head towards a silly clown, near by, who was standing along-side a rosy-faced, coarse-looking country girl. The salesman threw his own coat and vest off, put on the one he had to sell, and talked like an exhorting parson. The fellow on the other side of the street was not one whit behind his antagonist, and they soon fell abusing each other roundly. "The buttons is brass; don't buy that thing; 'ere's yer waistcoat, young man ; this 'ere's yer wedding waistcoat; only nine pence;" and they almost frightened the clown out of his senses, with their appeals to buy. The maiden's face was like a full moon, and the poor girl did not know which way to look. Her "sweetheart" was dumfounded, and wondered how they found out he was about to be married. The mob laughed and shouted; the auctioneers abused each other more and more; the rustics were ready to cry, and in the midst of the confusion, the band of one of the exhibitions-a drum, cymbal, and fife-broke forth with its thunders, and caused me to think "chaos had come again." My companions and self roared with laughter at the scene; and after looking at the mounds of cheese, the rosy-faced maidens, the motley crowd, and the old town, we ascended to our seats on the stage,