branches of some great cedar or tall pine just show above it. One or more
streets for a space run conterminous with it--the wall on one side, the
low cottage-houses on the other, and their chimneys are below the coping.
It does not really encircle the town, yet it seems everywhere, and is the
great fact of the place.

If you wander about examining this wall, and wondering where it begins and
where it ends, and what is inside, you may perchance come upon a gateway
of noble proportions. It is open, but one hesitates to pass through,
despite the pleasant vista of trees and green sward beyond. There is a
watchman's wooden hut, and the aged sentinel is reading his newspaper in
the shadow, his breast decorated with medal and clasp, that tell of
honourable service. A scarlet-coated soldier may, too, be strolling
thereabout, and the castellated top of a barrack-like building near at
hand is suggestive of military force. You hesitate, but the warden invites
you to walk at your leisure under the old trees, and along the endless
glades. If you enter, you pass under the metal scrollwork of the iron
gates, and, above, the gilded circle of a coronet glistens in the
sunshine. These are the private demesnes of a prince and ruler of
Hodge--the very highest and most powerful of his masters in that part of
the country. The vast wall encloses his pleasure-grounds and mansion; the
broad iron gates give access to mile after mile of park and wood, and the
decorated warden or pensioner has but to open them for the free entry of
all Fleeceborough and her citizens. Of course the position of the barrack
is a mere accident, yet it gives an air of power and authority--the place
is really as open, the beautiful park as common and accessible as the
hill-top under the sky. A peer only at Westminster, here he is a prince,
whose dominions are almost co-extensive with the horizon; and this, the
capital city, is for the most part his.