{"id":"01KG8AKVQ8A3D9P4EGJKARENCA","cid":"bafkreiabaankkxbzqcq5hee4z4u2arhobrivou5wuwbbs2yy2ypej5bjem","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":8424,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":8346,"text":"I came to a green bank, deliriously shaded by a fine old tree with\r\nbroad branching arms, that stretched themselves over the road, like a\r\nhen gathering her brood under her wings. Down on the green grass I\r\nthrew myself and there lay my head, like a last year’s nut. People\r\npassed by, on foot and in carriages, and little thought that the sad\r\nyouth under the tree was the great-nephew of a late senator in the\r\nAmerican Congress.\r\n\r\nPresently, I started to my feet, as I heard a gruff voice behind me\r\nfrom the field, crying out—“What are you doing there, you young\r\nrascal?—run away from the work’us, have ye? Tramp, or I’ll set Blucher\r\non ye!”\r\n\r\nAnd who was Blucher? A cut-throat looking dog, with his black\r\nbull-muzzle thrust through a gap in the hedge. And his master? A sturdy\r\nfarmer, with an alarming cudgel in his hand.\r\n\r\n“Come, are you going to start?” he cried.\r\n\r\n“Presently,” said I, making off with great dispatch. When I had got a\r\nfew yards into the middle of the highroad (which belonged as much to me\r\nas it did to the queen herself), I turned round, like a man on his own\r\npremises, and said— “Stranger! if you ever visit America, just call at\r\nour house, and you’ll always find there a dinner and a bed. Don’t\r\nfail.”\r\n\r\nI then walked on toward Liverpool, full of sad thoughts concerning the\r\ncold charities of the world, and the infamous reception given to\r\nhapless young travelers, in broken-down shooting-jackets.\r\n\r\nOn, on I went, along the skirts of forbidden green fields; until\r\nreaching a cottage, before which I stood rooted.\r\n\r\nSo sweet a place I had never seen: no palace in Persia could be\r\npleasanter; there were flowers in the garden; and six red cheeks, like\r\nsix moss-roses, hanging from the casement. At the embowered doorway,\r\nsat an old man, confidentially communing with his pipe: while a little\r\nchild, sprawling on the ground, was playing with his shoestrings. A\r\nhale matron, but with rather a prim expression, was reading a journal\r\nby his side: and three charmers, three Peris, three Houris! were\r\nleaning out of the window close by.\r\n\r\nAh! Wellingborough, don’t you wish you could step in?\r\n\r\nWith a heavy heart at his cheerful sigh, I was turning to go, when—is\r\nit possible? the old man called me back, and invited me in.\r\n\r\n“Come, come,” said he, “you look as if you had walked far; come, take a\r\nbowl of milk. Matilda, my dear” (how my heart jumped), “go fetch some\r\nfrom the dairy.” And the white-handed angel did meekly obey, and handed\r\n_me—me,_ the vagabond, a bowl of bubbling milk, which I could hardly\r\ndrink down, for gazing at the dew on her lips.\r\n\r\nAs I live, I could have married that charmer on the spot!\r\n\r\nShe was by far the most beautiful rosebud I had yet seen in England.\r\nBut I endeavored to dissemble my ardent admiration; and in order to do\r\naway at once with any unfavorable impressions arising from the close\r\nscrutiny of my miserable shooting-jacket, which was now taking place, I\r\ndeclared myself a Yankee sailor from Liverpool, who was spending a\r\nSunday in the country.\r\n\r\n“And have you been to church to-day, young man?” said the old lady,\r\nlooking daggers.\r\n\r\n“Good madam, I have; the little church down yonder, you know—a most\r\nexcellent sermon—I am much the better for it.”\r\n\r\nI wanted to mollify this severe looking old lady; for even my short\r\nexperience of old ladies had convinced me that they are the hereditary\r\nenemies of all strange young men.\r\n\r\nI soon turned the conversation toward America, a theme which I knew\r\nwould be interesting, and upon which I could be fluent and agreeable. I\r\nstrove to talk in Addisonian English, and ere long could see very\r\nplainly that my polished phrases were making a surprising impression,\r\nthough that miserable shooting-jacket of mine was a perpetual drawback\r\nto my claims to gentility.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS9YFR12YJKJHFN968XA","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKVQ8AFBM0YFB5TWX6PDV","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKWFZTN1AAPV7H45SP6G7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.152Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:32.010Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}