a carriage from the Hall of Yordas, there was in those days, and there
still may be found, a property of no vast size--snug, however, and of
good repute--and called universally "Anerley Farm." How long it has
borne that name it knows not, neither cares to moot the question; and
there lives no antiquary of enough antiquity to decide it. A place of
smiling hope, and comfort, and content with quietude; no memory of man
about it runneth to the contrary; while every ox, and horse, and sheep,
and fowl, and frisky porker, is full of warm domestic feeling and each
homely virtue.

For this land, like a happy country, has escaped, for years and years,
the affliction of much history. It has not felt the desolating tramp of
lawyer or land-agent, nor been bombarded by fine and recovery, lease and
release, bargain and sale, Doe and Roe and Geoffrey Styles, and the rest
of the pitiless shower of slugs, ending with a charge of Demons. Blows,
and blights, and plagues of that sort have not come to Anerley, nor any
other drain of nurture to exhaust the green of meadow and the gold of
harvest. Here stands the homestead, and here lies the meadow-land;
there walk the kine (having no call to run), and yonder the wheat in the
hollow of the hill, bowing to the silvery stroke of the wind, is touched
with the promise of increasing gold.

As good as the cattle and the crops themselves are the people that live
upon them; or at least, in a fair degree, they try to be so; though
not of course so harmless, or faithful, or peaceful, or charitable.
But still, in proportion, they may be called as good; and in fact they
believe themselves much better. And this from no conceit of any sort,
beyond what is indispensable; for nature not only enables but compels a
man to look down upon his betters.