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SAXON MASONRY

441

Leaving Higham Ferrers we had a pleasant drive, mostly downhill, to the hamlet of Bletsoe, where we came in sight again of the slow-gliding Ouse, the valley of which we followed on to Bedford. Some short way beyond Bletsoe we passed through Clapham, unlike its ugly London namesake, a pretty rural village by the river-side. Here we noticed the striking-looking Saxon tower of the church, more like a castle keep than an ecclesiastical structure. It forms quite a feature in the landscape, and asserts itself by its peculiarity.

On arriving at Bedford it began to rain, and it was raining again in the morning; but about midday the steady downpour changed to intermittent showers. So, early in the afternoon, we started off for a twenty-mile drive on to Luton, which we did in one stage. In a little over a mile we found ourselves passing through a very pretty village, and on inquiring the name thereof discovered it to be Elstow, the birthplace of John Bunyan, a spot that does not seem to have changed much to the eye since that event, for, if the expression be allowed, it looks still "genuinely Old English."

After Elstow we had a fine open country before us, bounded ahead by a low range of wooded hills, hills that showed softly blue under the shadow of a passing cloud, a golden green in the transient gleams of sunshine, and were sometimes lost altogether or half hidden by the mist of a trailing shower. Then driving on in due course we reached the hills and had a stiff climb up them, followed by a long and glorious run down through fragrant

scented pine-woods with open spaces here and there
given over to a little forest of waving bracken,
green, red, and yellow, in all the loveliness of their
autumn tints. At the foot of the descent we found
a charming little hamlet set in woods, past which a
clear stream purled peacefully; crossing this stream
we had another climb succeeded by a level winding
elm-bound road, with an uneventful landscape on
either hand, of flat fields stretching far away to a
misty horizon. Now the rounded chalk hills loomed
up finely in front of us, the clouds stooping to their
low summits, so that it was hard to tell where the
land ended and the sky began; and in the fast-
fading light a sense of mystery and the majesty of
space pervaded the prospect. Our road eventually
led us along the sides of these hills and into the
gathering gloom, then we dropped down into the
cheerful lamp-lighted streets of busy Luton. From
Luton we drove through picturesque Harpenden to
historic St. Albans, with its much-restored abbey,
and from St. Albans by Elstree and Edgeware we
made our way back to London again.
And so
ended our most enjoyable wanderings on the
pleasant old roads. Ours was purely a pleasure
jaunt. We set forth on it determined, come what
would, to enjoy ourselves, and we succeeded!
Now, kind reader, the time has come when I must,
perforce, bid
you farewell.

Of all the words the English tongue can tell
The hardest one to utter is "Farewell."
But the fond hope that we may meet again
Relieves that word of more than half its pain.

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