Laughter Springs From The Lawless Part Of

Lovers Of The Town Have Been Content, For The Most Part, To Say They Loved It. They Do Not Brag About Its Uplifting Qualities. They Have None Of The Infernal Smugness Which Makes The Lover Of The Country Insupportable.

There Was No Escape From The Letter-writer Who, A Hundred Or A Hundred And Twenty-five Years Ago, Captured A Coveted Correspondent. It Would Have Been As Easy To Shake Off An Octopus Or A Boa-constrictor.

There Is A Vast Deal Of Make-believe In The Carefully Nurtured Sentiment For Country Life, And The Barefoot Boy, And The Mountain Girl.

English Civilization Rests Largely Upon Tea And Cricket, With Mighty Spurts Of Enjoyment On Derby Day, And At Newmarket.

Tea Had Come As A Deliverer To A Land That Called For Deliverance; A Land Of Beef And Ale, Of Heavy Eating And Abundant Drunkenness; Of Gray Skies And Harsh Winds; Of Strong-nerved, Stout-purposed, Slow-thinking Men And Women. Above All, A Land Of Sheltered Homes And Warm Firesides - Firesides That Were Waiting - Waiting For The Bubbling Kettle And The Fragrant Breath Of Tea.