He may live without books-what is knowledge but grieving? Somewhat anxious to gather what the fates might have in store for us, we pulled up to inspect our map. Glancing over this, we noticed that till we arrived at Canterbury there was only one village marked upon it, Dorringstone by name, which as it was printed in small letters we presumed to be merely a hamlet, and if we did not find an inn there we concluded that, in all probability, we should not come across one till we reached our evening's destination. So we proceeded regretfully, wishing we had not so heedlessly passed by the comfortable-looking hostel at Elham. At length we came to Dorringstone, which proved to be a very pretty village covering a great deal of ground. Here, as we entered, we discovered a primitive inn, by no means an ideal country hostelrie that we so often picture to ourselves, indeed it was but little better than a wayside 'public'; however, it had stabling attached, and that was something. It does not do for tired travellers to be over particular; besides, what avails discontent or grumbling when it is a case of Hobson's choice? The gates leading into the stable-yard creaked noisily on their hinges as they were opened, showing little use, and the landlady (we did not see a landlord) had actually to send out for corn! Still our horses obtained a rest and a bait, which after their long and hilly journey from Folkestone they stood greatly in need 'SERMONS IN STONES' 341 of, and as for ourselves, we made a hearty meal of bread and cheese and ale, the best the inn could do for us. Our frugal repast over, the stuffy little sitting-room that was placed at our disposal did not tempt us to remain in it, so whilst our horses were enjoying their corn and repose we decided to explore the village, and, if by happy chance we could discover the clerk, to have a look over the church. Country churches seldom fail to repay a visit; they are truly sermons in stones,' replete with interest for the antiquary, archæologist, or observant traveller —that is, when the old fanes have not fallen a prey to the ravages of the restorer, and been made to look as spick and span almost as though they had just left the contractor's hands-the only thing of the past remaining to them being their history. As I have said, Dorringstone is a much-spreadout place: it is quite surprising to find how so small a collection of houses can extend themselves over the quantity of ground they do. We had not rambled far when we came upon a cosy, clean, comfortable-looking hostelrie, a pleasant change from the primitive 'public' we had put up at, and, had we only known it, five minutes' more driving would have brought us to these desirable quarters. Somehow we felt vexed with ourselves for not knowing the impossible. I do not agree with the old proverb that 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing;' indeed, as in the present case, it appears to me a little knowledge may be very profitable; surely, to quote one proverb against another, 'half a loaf is better than no loaf at all'? Wending our way up hill towards the church, whose spire acted as a guide to us, we passed by a charming old house, backed by rook-haunted elms and surrounded by delightful old-fashioned gardens, all snugly ensconced behind great high rampart-like walls supported by flanking outstanding buttresses. Even a wall thus grandly built is pleasing to look upon; such honest massive ones are not built nowadays, nor do the delightful old shaded gardens, with their broad stone terraces, tree-shaded avenues, bowling-greens, fantastic fountains, lily-grown ponds, shaped flower-beds, secluded harbours, mazes, sundials, nut-walks, and quaint conceits in curiously shaped yews, belong to our time. Oh, the charm, the peacefulness of these old English gardens! They are large, varied, and reposeful, a great tranquillity rests over them, they seem to express something of the greatness of the spacious days which brought them into being. Not alone in stately buildings did the great glory of the Elizabethan age declare itself. Arriving at the church, to our dismay we discovered the restorer there before us; we had arrived too late, our sworn enemy was in possession, so we turned sadly away. We noticed that even the tombstones and monuments around, near to the church, had been made use of to mix mortar and cut stones upon, and made likewise to do duty for benches and tables. To us it was a pitiful sight, but perhaps we are over sensitive in these matters. Sentiment is at a discount in these matter-of-fact unsentimental days, when railways, without hardly a protest, cut through churchyards heedless of the |