{"id":"01KG8AKVQ8AFBM0YFB5TWX6PDV","cid":"bafkreihglquxcebfxkwszzdv6el2zrpya44n6fhur3w5g6pec3z2dxxj7q","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":8353,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.842Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 2","source_file":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","start_line":8266,"text":"Next, I came to a hawthorn lane, leading down very prettily to a nice\r\nlittle church; a mossy little church; a beautiful little church; just\r\nsuch a church as I had always dreamed to be in England. The porch was\r\nviny as an arbor; the ivy was climbing about the tower; and the bees\r\nwere humming about the hoary old head-stones along the walls.\r\n\r\nAny man-traps here? thought I—any spring-guns?\r\n\r\nNo.\r\n\r\nSo I walked on, and entered the church, where I soon found a seat. No\r\nIndian, red as a deer, could have startled the simple people more. They\r\ngazed and they gazed; but as I was all attention to the sermon, and\r\nconducted myself with perfect propriety, they did not expel me, as at\r\nfirst I almost imagined they might.\r\n\r\nService over, I made my way through crowds of children, who stood\r\nstaring at the marvelous stranger, and resumed my stroll along the\r\nLondon Road.\r\n\r\nMy next stop was at an inn, where under a tree sat a party of rustics,\r\ndrinking ale at a table.\r\n\r\n“Good day,” said I.\r\n\r\n“Good day; from Liverpool?”\r\n\r\n“I guess so.”\r\n\r\n“For London?”\r\n\r\n“No; not this time. I merely come to see the country.”\r\n\r\nAt this, they gazed at each other; and I, at myself; having doubts\r\nwhether I might not look something like a horse-thief.\r\n\r\n“Take a seat,” said the landlord, a fat fellow, with his wife’s apron\r\non, I thought.\r\n\r\n“Thank you.”\r\n\r\nAnd then, little by little, we got into a long talk: in the course of\r\nwhich, I told who I was, and where I was from. I found these rustics a\r\ngood-natured, jolly set; and I have no doubt they found me quite a\r\nsociable youth. They treated me to ale; and I treated them to stories\r\nabout America, concerning which, they manifested the utmost curiosity.\r\nOne of them, however, was somewhat astonished that I had not made the\r\nacquaintance of a brother of his, who had resided somewhere on the\r\nbanks of the Mississippi for several years past; but among twenty\r\nmillions of people, I had never happened to meet him, at least to my\r\nknowledge.\r\n\r\nAt last, leaving this party, I pursued my way, exhilarated by the\r\nlively conversation in which I had shared, and the pleasant sympathies\r\nexchanged: and perhaps, also, by the ale I had drunk:—fine old ale;\r\nyes, English ale, ale brewed in England! And I trod English soil; and\r\nbreathed English air; and every blade of grass was an Englishman born.\r\nSmoky old Liverpool, with all its pitch and tar was now far behind;\r\nnothing in sight but open meadows and fields.\r\n\r\nCome, Wellingborough, why not push on for London?— Hurra! what say you?\r\nlet’s have a peep at St. Paul’s? Don’t you want to see the queen? Have\r\nyou no longing to behold the duke? Think of Westminster Abbey, and the\r\nTunnel under the Thames! Think of Hyde Park, and the ladies!\r\n\r\nBut then, thought I again, with my hands wildly groping in my two\r\nvacuums of pockets—who’s to pay the bill?—You can’t beg your way,\r\nWellingborough; that would never do; for you are your father’s son,\r\nWellingborough; and you must not disgrace your family in a foreign\r\nland; you must not turn pauper.\r\n\r\nAh! Ah! it was indeed too true; there was no St. Paul’s or Westminster\r\nAbbey for me; that was flat.\r\n\r\nWell, well, up heart, you’ll see it one of these days.\r\n\r\nBut think of it! here I am on the very road that leads to the\r\nThames—think of _that!—_here I am—ay, treading in the wheel-tracks of\r\ncoaches that are bound for the metropolis!—It was too bad; too bitterly\r\nbad. But I shoved my old hat over my brows, and walked on; till at last\r\nI 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","title":"Chunk 2"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJS9YFR12YJKJHFN968XA","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1GP71YDJ60P8SRH97MF","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKVQBQJ3CBF6R4X45JR85","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKVQ8A3D9P4EGJKARENCA","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:18.152Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:31.959Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}