ing a welcome to us. And the young landlady had set another musical instrument a-going opposite, or a large music box, which, as we entered, struck up, "Over the water to Charlie," and played it with caroling fervour; and it seemed to animate the bright-faced kettle, as the two, though singing different tunes, made a cheery concert for us. Then the mistress had tidied herself up neatly and smartly, with the evident intent to do her best to make us at home, and she did it thoroughly. Beyond our expectations, she could supply us with slippers, so that we could pull off our damp shoes and sit by the bright fire with a delicious sense of rest and comfort. The copper face of the singing kettle was all aglow with its warm radiance; and, forgetting the Wrekin and its great surroundings and suggestions, we fell into a discussion of the domestic music of this harp of the hearth; how its little twittering melodies had cheered the homes of the poor for long generations back; what songs it had sung to peeled and rough-handed labour at the close of the day's toil; what it had been to sick-rooms, and tents of wounded men on the fought battle-field; what inspiration it had breathed into social life and the companionship of the morning and evening meals. Really, our thoughts radiated outward from the burnished and palpitating lid further than they did from the helmet of the Wrekin; and I pressed Capern to make them
