The approach to it, straight as a dart, runs along a wide and populous turnpike road, all alive with carts and coaches, waggons and phaetons, horse-people and foot-people, sweeping rapidly or creeping lazily up and down the gentle undulations with which the surface of the country is varied; and the borders, checkered by patches of common, rich with hedgerow timber, and sprinkled with cottages, and, I grieve to say, with that cottage pest, the beer-house,—and here and there enlivened by dwellings of more pretension and gentility,—become more thickly inhabited as we draw nearer the metropolis of the county, to say nothing of the three cottages all in a row, with two small houses attached, which a board affixed to one of them informs the passer-by is Two-mile Cross; or of these opposite neighbours, the wheelwrights and the blacksmiths, about half a mile further; or the little farm close by the pound; or the series of buildings called the Long Row, terminating at the [338] end next the road with an old-fashioned and most picturesque public-house, with painted roofs, and benches at the door and round the large elm before it—benches which are generally filled by thirsty wayfarers and waggoners watering their horses, and partaking of a more generous liquor themselves. — from Old Country Life by S. (Sabine) Baring-Gould
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