The man with a new idea is a crank until the idea succeeds.
-- Pudd'nhead Wilson's New Calendar.
I T was Junior England all the way to Christchurch --in fact, just a garden. And Christchurch is an English town, with an English-park annex, and a winding English brook just like the Avon--and named the Avon; but from a man, not from Shakespeare's river. Its grassy banks are bordered by the stateliest and most impressive weeping willows to be found in the world, I suppose. They continue the line of a great ancestor; they were grown from sprouts of the willow that sheltered Napoleon's grave in St. Helena. It is a settled old community, with all the serenities, the graces, the conveniences, and the comforts of the ideal home-life. If it had an established Church and social inequality it would be England over again with hardly a lack.
In the museum we saw many curious and interesting things; among others a fine native house of the olden time, with all the details true to the facts, and the showy colors right and in their proper places. All the details: the fine mats and rugs and things; the elaborate and wonderful wood-carvings--wonderful, surely, considering who did them--wonderful in design and particularly in execution, for they