Lavengro by George Borrow

And when I was between six and seven years of age we were once more at D -- -- , the place of my birth, whither my father had been despatched on the recruiting service. I have already said that it was a beautiful little town -- at least it was at the time of which I am speaking; what it is at present I know not, for thirty years and more have elapsed since I last trod its streets. It will scarcely have improved, for how could it be better than it then was? I love to think on thee, pretty, quiet D -- -- , thou pattern of an English country town, with thy clean but narrow streets branching out from thy modest marketplace, with thine old-fashioned houses, with here and there a roof of venerable thatch, with thy one half-aristocratic mansion, where resided thy Lady Bountiful [23] -- she, the generous and kind, who loved to visit the sick, leaning on her golden-headed cane, whilst the sleek old footman walked at a respectful distance behind. Pretty, quiet D -- -- , with thy venerable church, in which moulder the mortal remains of England's sweetest and most pious bard. [24]

[23]: Lady Bountiful: Dame Eleanor Fenn (1743-–-1813). -- Knapp ↩︎