your friend seems to curl into a smile, and his eyes twinkle merrily.  Relapse into gloom and despondency, and the smile dies away from the picture.  Often in youth, when about to carry out some design or other, I used to glance at my late father’s portrait, and never failed to notice a look of approval or condemnation on the face which left its mark on the memory for a considerable time.  The countenance of the grim old gentleman in the portrait on the stairs ("AETATIS SUAE 92. 1614 A.D.”) wore a distinct air of satisfaction to-night as I passed by on my way to bed; he always looks pleased after there has been a good day with the hounds, and likewise in the summer when the may-fly is up.

[Illustration:  Burford Priory. 194.png]

CHAPTER IX.

BURFORD, A COTSWOLD TOWN.

Burford and Cirencester are two typical Cotswold towns; and perhaps the first-named is the most characteristic, as it is also the most remote and old-world of all places in this part of England.  It was on a lovely day in June that we resolved to go and explore the ancient priory and glorious church of old Burford.  A very slow train sets you down at Bampton, commonly called Bampton-in-the-Bush, though the forest which gave rise to the name has long since given place to open fields.

There are many other curious names of this type in Gloucestershire and the adjoining counties.  Villages of the same name are often distinguished from each other by these quaint descriptions of their various situations.  Thus: 

     Moreton-in-the-Marsh distinguishes from More-ton-on-Lug. 
     Bourton-on-the-Water distinguishes from Bourton-on-the-Hill. 
     Stow-on-the-Wold distinguishes from Stowe-Nine-Churches.

Then we find

     Shipston-on-Stour and Shipton-under-Whichwood. 
     Hinton-on-the-Green and Hinton-in-the-Hedges. 
     Aston-under-Hill and Aston-under-Edge.

It may be noted in passing that the derivation of the word “Moreton-in-the-Marsh” has ever been the subject of much controversy.  But the fact that the place is on the ancient trackway from Cirencester to the north, and also that four counties meet here, is sufficient reason for assigning Morton-hen-Mearc (=) “the place on the moor by the old boundary” as the probable meaning of the name.

We were fortunate enough to secure an outside seat on the rickety old “bus” which plies between Bampton and Burford, and were soon slowly traversing the white limestone road, stopping every now and then to set down a passenger or deposit a parcel at some clean-looking, stone-faced cottage in the straggling old villages.

It was indeed a glorious morning for an expedition into the Cotswolds.  The six weeks’ drought had just given place to cool, showery weather.  A light wind from the west breathed the fragrance of countless wild flowers and sweet may blossom from the leafy hedges, and the scent of roses and honeysuckle was wafted from every cottage garden.  After a month spent amid the languid air and depressing surroundings of London, one felt glad at heart to experience once again the grand, pure air and rural scenery of the Cotswold Hills.