Nostalgic November.

So placed, the front is from intrusion free;

Three rooms above let wife and children claim,

One only needful for the widow’d dame;

Threfh’d ftraw no more fupplies a covering fit,

By torturing engine mangled, cruft’d, and fplit;

A roof of tile must now the walls o’erspread,

Whiche’er beft pleafes, brindled, blue, or red,

A cottage fill should but a cottage be,

Nor ape the fembulance of gentility;

Plain, fimple, honeft, -as fhould be the man

Who dwells within it, -both in ftyle and plan.-

Some interlope, plain brickwork to conceal,

Sliced planks of fawn attenuated deal;

Such lime and lath some think the eye will cheat,-

A timber building in their own conceit!

Panel and plank, alternate black and white,

The painted gew-gew then perfection quiet!

Of all the errors which vile tafte has nurfed

Old brick defaced with whitewafh is the worft,

When time-stain’d wall the fweeping lime-brufh fmears,

And each warm tint that clothed it difapears;



” A melancholy instance of this may be seen in that once interesting specimen of an old Cheshire house; Holford Hall. One day’s white washing sufficed utterly to destroy the effect of the brickwork which had stood untouched for two centuries and a half.”

Make T.H.E. call