“1800 The crops of this year were very deficient, but corn of all sort sold at an extraordinary high price.  I made of my tithes and living this year clear L1,200; from the dearness of labourers the outgoing expenses amounted to L900 in addition.”

The worst year seems to have been 1766, when the parson only got L360 clear of all expenses; but even this was not bad for those days.

The architecture of the Cotswold barns is often very beautiful.  The pointed windows, massive buttresses, and elaborate pinnacles are sufficient indications of their great age and the care bestowed on the building.  Some of the interiors of these Gothic structures have fine old oak roofs.

The cottages, too, though in a few instances sadly deficient in sanitary improvements and internal comfort, are not only picturesque, but strong and lasting.  Many of them bear dates varying from 1600 to 1700.

It is evident that in everything they did our ancestors who lived in the Elizabethan age fully realised that they were working under the eye of “a great taskmaster.”  This spirit was the making of the great men of that day, and in great part laid the foundation of our national greatness.  The glorious churches of Cirencester, Northleach, Burford, and Bibury, and the ancient manor houses scattered throughout the Cotswolds are fitting monuments to the men who laboured to erect them.  Would that space allowed a detailed account of all these old manor houses!  Enough has been said, at all events, to show that there are places little known and little cared for in England where you may still dwell without, every time you go out of doors, being forcibly reminded of the utilitarian spirit of the age.

[Illustration:  Cotswold Cottages. 057.png]

CHAPTER III.

VILLAGE CHARACTERS.

     “If there’s a hole in a’ your coats,
        I rede ye tent it;
      A chiel’s amang ye takin’ notes,
        And, faith, he’ll prent it.”

      R. BURNS.

Every village seems to possess its share of quaint, curious people; but I cannot help thinking that our little hamlet has a more varied assortment of oddities than is usually to be met with in so small a place.

First of all there is the man whom nobody ever sees.  Although he has lived in robust health for the past twenty years in the very centre of the hamlet, his face is unknown to half the inhabitants.  Twice only has the writer set eyes on him.  When a political contest is proceeding, he becomes comparatively bold; at such times he has even been met with in the bar of the village “public,” where he has been known to sit discussing the chances of the candidates like any ordinary being.  But an election is absolutely necessary if this strange individual is to be drawn out of his hiding-place.  The only other occasion on which we have set eyes on him was on a lovely summer’s