should be so rich, but that one consequence of his riches should be
the pulling down of the prettiest old mill that ever looked at
itself in the Loddon, with the picturesque, low-browed, irregular
cottage, which stood with its light-pointed roof, its clustered
chimneys, and its ever-open door, looking like the real abode of
comfort and hospitality, to build this huge, staring, frightful,
red-brick mill, as ugly as a manufactory, and this great square
house, ugly and red to match, just behind. The old buildings always
used to remind me of Wollett's beautiful engraving of a scene in the
Maid of the Mill. It will be long before any artist will make a
drawing of this. Only think of this redness in a picture! this
boiled lobster of a house! Falstaff's description of Bardolph's
nose would look pale in the comparison.

Here is that monstrous machine of a tilted waggon, with its load of
flour, and its four fat horses. I wonder whether our horse will
have the decency to get out of the way. If he does not, I am sure
we cannot make him; and that enormous ship upon wheels, that ark on
dry land, would roll over us like the car of Juggernaut. Really--Oh
no! there is no danger now. I should have remembered that it is my
friend Samuel Long who drives the mill team. He will take care of
us. 'Thank you, Samuel!' And Samuel has put us on our way, steered
us safely past his waggon, escorted us over the bridge and now,
having seen us through our immediate difficulties, has parted from
us with a very civil bow and good-humoured smile, as one who is
always civil and good-humoured, but with a certain triumphant
masterful look in his eyes, which I have noted in men, even the best
of them, when a woman gets into straits by attempting manly
employments. He has done us great good though, and may be allowed
his little feeling of superiority. The parting salute he bestowed