While passing through the town a trifling incident illustrated the value and power of photography as a detective agency. Really the sun sets, if not the mark of Cain, at least such a mark of individuality and identification on one as a rogue could no more escape than his shadow. It was the first time that I was ever in the town, and I was in such travelling gear as I had never faced a camera in. Still. I was recognized and spoken to by a person on the side-walk who had seen some photograph of my face somewhere. Let no one fancy that it was a fellow-feeling that made me think of rogues and the difficulties of their pursuit of freedom from arrest, with their faces chasing them up and down the world in such a fashion. It might be an interesting exercise to those given to such economics, to compute how many "special constables" the sun has added to the constabulary forces of Christendom through photography. The road was a good specimen of an English turnpike, the like of which not ten consecutive miles can yet be found in the United States. The country was rolling and wooded picturesquely, making a new and delightful scenery, varying in surface and aspect at every turning. We passed Stourton Castle, the residence of W. O. Foster. Esq., a gentleman who ought to inherit the Iron Crown and wear it on state occasions. He is one of the largest ironmasters in the world, employing
