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A Romance of Exmoor
If anybody cares to read a simple tale told simply, I, John Ridd, of the parish of Oare, in the county of Somerset, yeoman and churchwarden, have seen...
If any man came to me, and said, "You are going to tell your tale, good sir, without knowing how to handle it," I should look at him first with some s...
The sins of the fathers upon the children, unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me. These are the words that have followed me always...
What means your finch? "Being well aware that he cannot sing like a Nightingale, He flits about from tree to tree, and twitters a little tale." Albeit...
A romance with a mystery which turns out to be a hoax. Scenes of rural life in eastern Devon before 1832....
Westward of that old town Steyning, and near Washington and Wiston, the lover of an English landscape may find much to dwell upon. The best way to enj...
On the very day when Charles I. was crowned with due rejoicings—Candlemasday, in the year of our Lord 1626—a loyalty, quite as deep and perhaps ev...
The little village of Beckley lies, or rather lay many years ago, in the quiet embrace of old Stow Wood, well known to every Oxford man who loves the ...
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Far from any house or hut, in the depth of dreary moor-land, a road, unfenced and almost unformed, descends to a rapid river. The crossing is called t...