“It is completely hidden from the public gaze.  Right away in the fields, to be reached only by footpath, or by strangely circuitous lane, in the parish of Ranton, there stands a little old half-timbered house, known as the Vicarage Farm.  Only a very practised eye would suspect the treasures that it contains.  Entering through the original door, with quaint knocker intact, you are in the kitchen with a fine open fire-place, noble beam, and walls panelled with oak.  But the principal treasure consists in what I have heard called ‘The priest’s room.’  I should venture to put the date of the house at about 1500—­certainly pre-Reformation.  How did it come to be there? and what purpose did it serve?  I have only been able to find one note which can throw any possible light on the matter.  Gough says that a certain Rose (Dunston?) brought land at Ranton to her husband John Doiley; and he goes on:  ’This man had the consent of William, the Prior of Ranton, to erect a chapel at Ranton.’  The little church at Ranton has stood there from the thirteenth century, as the architecture of the west end and south-west doorway plainly testify.  The church and cell (or whatever you may call it) must clearly have been an off-shoot from the Priory.  But the room:  for this is what is principally worth seeing.  The beam is richly moulded, and so is the panelling throughout.  It has a very well carved course of panelling all round the top, and this is surmounted by an elaborate cornice.  The stone mantelpiece is remarkably fine and of unusual character.  But the most striking feature of the room is a square-headed arched recess, or niche, with pierced spandrels.  What was its use?  It is about the right height for a seat, and what may have been the seat is there unaltered.  Or was it a niche containing a Calvary, or some figure?  I confess I know nothing.  Is this a unique example?  I cannot remember any other.  But possibly there may be others, equally hidden away, comparison with which might unfold its secret.  In this room, and in other parts of the house, much of the old ironwork of hinges and door-fasteners remains, and is simply excellent.  The old oak sliding shutters are still there, and two more fine stone mantelpieces; on one hearth the original encaustic tiles with patterns, chiefly a Maltese cross, and the oak cill surrounding them, are in situ.  I confess I tremble for the safety of this priceless relic.  The house is in a somewhat dilapidated condition; and I know that one attempt was made to buy the panelling and take it away.  Surely such a monument of the past should be in some way guarded by the nation.”

The beauty of English cottage-building, its directness, simplicity, variety, and above all its inevitable quality, the intimate way in which the buildings ally themselves with the soil and blend with the ever-varied and exquisite landscape, the delicate harmonies, almost musical in their nature, that grow from their gentle