existence. Nothing stands still. So of these Old Green Lanes. In comparatively former times, before George the Third was king, they were the high track-ways from district to district the main arteries of the great heart of the metropolis. They were traversed by a string of pack horses, with their burthened backs, and their cheerful tinkling bells, and their merry-hearted drivers.* These were superseded by the heavy and cumbrous stage-waggon. Turnpikes were formed, amid riot and confusion; and people swore that the "pikes" would be the ruin of the country! Circuitous routes were intersected; -distances were shortened;-and the ancient track of the pack-horse, from time immemorial, was left as a memento of by-gone times, and now forms the Old Green Lanes of which we speak. But the process of change did not

* The remnant of the pack-horse system is to be found at the present day in the north-bringing the coals of South Durham into the Cleveland district.

This is strikingly apparent on that portion of what once was the great north road, between Stamford and Grantham, commencing at Horn Lane, and running onwards for several miles. This forms a noble green lane to South Witham, formerly called Post Witham, when Witham Common was, in fact, a roadless common.

stop here. The well-appointed stage coach and mail partly superseded the heavy waggon, and diffused intelligence and augmented business transactions to a pitch which, at that time, was a matter of astonishment and of marvel.

Still, the onward march of change and improvement was not impeded. No! The railways and the marvellous power of steam put aside the mail and the stage-coach, with their splendid blood horses, as things belonging to past generations. We are now hurried along the iron highway with the swiftness of the winds. The turnpikes are fulfilling their destiny they are daily becoming the new green lanes of old England!* And why not?

Nevertheless, putting aside these associations which will spring up in spite of one's self, there are many attractions immediately connected with these ancient track-ways, which are cheered no more with the pleasant bell of

* In proof of this it need only be mentioned, that in several parts along the centre of the Great North Road, so called from Bawtry to Doncaster, the grass is growing, leaving a track-way on each side—a fact which has given rise to the remark, on the part of what coachmen there are left, that one side of these long strips of green, is for the " up train," and the other for the "down train."

the pack-horse these Old Green Lanes. Truly are they now ways of pleasantness and paths of peace. They are marked with many peculiarities. There abounds a feeling of repose, and of stillness, and of security, unknown to the modern lines of transit-especially when compared with the rush, and the hiss, and the shriek, and the thunder of the iron highway; and as the foot presses silently onwards, the eye is gladdened with one universal green, and with the many striking objects which are presented on either hand. The turf, it is true, partakes not of that elastic character which is still to be found on the ancient common, which the ploughshare, in these changeful times, has never yet touched; and we look around in vain for those fairy, those mystic rings, "of which the ewe not bites," and which bring up the remembrance of Oberon and Titania, and all their fairy band:—

"Over hill, over dale,

Through bush, through brier,

Over park, over pale,

Through flood, through fire."

Or Puck, "that merry wanderer of the night," the Robin Goodfellow, who could "put a girdle

round about the earth in forty minutes." Yet, the little blue harebell and the wild pansy and their numerous congeners, unfold their beauty to the sunny ray, indicative of the locality of which they are the humble, yet beautiful occupants.

The hedge-rows, too, present their own peculiarity, and may freshly remind one of Hollinshed. Those which skirt each side of the turnpike road, are lopped. Here not a pollard is to be seen. The maple stands in all its fully expanded beauty, with its leaves dancing in the merry sunlight, all heart and all joyousness, making obeisance to the majesty of the breeze as it passeth onwards. The old yew and the old holly stand with a fixed and a frowning solemnity of aspect the stern anchorites of the scene - unmoved by the voice of the tempest-howl, or the glare of the lightning-flash, or the crash of the thunder-peal; while the ivy clings with a pertinacious grasp, and clothes with verdure, which the breath of winter withers not, the ruin of which it has been the cause. Here, too, stands the stunted, the gnarled oak, that, striking its roots deep into the earth, hath outlived generation after generation-seen childhood, with its merry

laugh, and its bounding roe-like step, and ample ringlets flowing in the winds of heaven, blush into the splendour and the majesty of womanhood, "the observed of all observers, the glass of fashion, and the mould of form," and witnessed the full maturity of two score years sink sadly into the withered frame-the lustreless eye-the braid of grey-the step of feebleness;-leaving not a trace behind-no frail memorial of what had been, in passion, in aspiration, in hope, in joy, or disappointment, or grief, or shroud, or pall. And yet this very oak, still green and vigorous, amid all changes, may, perhaps, be destined "o'er the world to sweep, opening new spheres of thought."

Nor the less striking component part of the scene is the old hawthorn tree, venerable, if ages could make it so, yet youthful and beautiful withal. With the prevalence, indeed, of all changes-amid the dismemberment and the separation of family and of kindred, the fearful strife of revolution, the maddening whirl of selfinterest, the havoc of death, and the engulphing influence of wealth turned in a particular, and perhaps unexpected direction, involving the extinction of many a cherished name and hon