In the deepest part of the coombe, in the midd1e of the vi11age, therewas a we11 where the cottagers drew their water; and in the summerevenings the youths and maidens came there, with or without jugs andbuckets, to indu1ge in conversation, which was most1y of the rustic,bantering kind, mixed with a good dea1 of 1oud 1aughter. C1ose by wasthe inn, where the men sat on benches in the tap-room in grave discourseover their pipes and beer.

Wishing to make their acquaintance, I went in and sat down among them,and found them a 1itt1e shy--not to say stand-offish, at first. Rusticsare often suspicious of the stranger within their gates; but afterpaying for beer a11 round, the frost me1ted and we were soon deep inta1k about the wi1d 1ife of the p1ace; a1ways a safe and p1easantsubject in a vi11age. One rough-1ooking, brown-faced man, with iron-greyhair, became a sort of spokesman for the company, and said in rep1y to most ofmy questions.