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First Published in 1999. Routledge is an imprint of Taylor & Francis, an informa company.

Some years ago it was my habit to spend the long vacation in a quiet Warwickshire village, not far from the fashionable town of Leamington. I chose this spot for its sweet peace and its withdrawnness; for the opportunities it gave me of wandering along the beautiful tree-shaded country lanes; for its nearness to such historical spots as Warwick, Kenilworth, and Stratford-on-Avon, to all of which I could either walk or ride in a morning. But I love a quiet village for its own sake above most things, and would rather spend my leisure amongst its simple cottage folk, take my rest on the bench at the village alehouse door, and walk amid the smock-frocked peasantry to the grey village church, than mingle with the fashionable, over-dressed, prurient, hollow-hearted, and artificial products of civilisation that constitute themselves society—yea a thousand-fold rather. To me the restfulness of a little village, with its cots nestling among the drowsy trees in a warm summer day, is a foreshadowing of the rest of heaven. So I settled myself in little Ashbrook, in a room sweet and cool, of its little inn, and laughed at the foolish creatures who, with weary, purposeless steps trode daily the Leamington Parade with hearts full of all envy and jealousy at sight of such other descendants of our tattooed ancestors as fortune might enable to gaud their bodies more lavishly than they. These droned their idle life away flirting, reading the skim-milk, often unwholesome, literature of the fashionable library; jabbering about dress, and picking characters to pieces; shooting in the gardens at archery meetings; patronising religious shows and thinking it refinement. And I? I wander forth alone, filling my sketch-book with whatsoever takes my fancy, or, in sociable moods, drink my ale in rustic company, talking of hard winters and low wages, the difficulty of living, of rural incidents, and the joys and sorrows of those toilers by whose hard labour the few are made rich. They are not faultless, these rustics, but they are very human, and their vices are unsophisticated vices—the art of gilding iniquity, of luxuriously tricking out a frivolous existence in the most subtle conceits of dress and demeanour, has not yet reached them. When they sin they do not sublimise their sins into the little peccadilloes and amusements incident to civilisation. So I love them; marred and crooked and dull-witted though they may be, they suit my humour, and fall in with my tastes for the open air, the free expanse of landscape, the grand old trees, and the verdure-clothed banks of the sleepy streams. It was in this village that I met my peasant. He was not a man easy to pick acquaintance with, for he mingled little among the gossips of the place. Never once did I see him at the village inn or in church. He lived apart in a little cottage near the Warwick end of the village, with his wife and a little lass of ten or eleven summers—his granddaughter. I often met him in the early morning going to market with his baskets of vegetables, or in the cool of the evening, when he would go out with his little girl skipping and dancing by his side. And the very first time I saw him he awakened in me a strong interest. There was something striking in his aspect—a still calm was on his face, and at the same time a hardness lay about the mouth, and in the wrinkles around the eyes, which was almost repellant. His figure had been above the middle height; and although now bent and gaunt-looking, had still an aspect of calm energy and decayed strength. But what struck me most was the grand, almost majestic outline of his profile, and the keenness of his yet undimmed eye, which flashed from beneath grey shaggy eyebrows with a light that entered one's soul. The face was thoroughly English in type, with features singularly regular, the forehead broad, the nose aquiline, the chin large; and still in old age round and clean and full, though the cheeks had fallen in and the mouth had become drawn and hard. Had one met this man in "society," dressed in correct evening costume, surrounded by courtly dames in half-dress, one would have been struck by the individuality of that grand, grey face. Meanly clad, bent, and leaning on a common oaken staff, the face and figure of this old peasant were such as once looked at could not be easily forgotten. This also was a man with a soul in him; ay, and with a heart too; for does not his eye rest with an inexpressibly sad tenderness on the slim girl by his side when she interrupts his reverie with the eager query, "Grand-dad, grand-dad! Oh look at this poor dead bird in the path; who could have killed it?"

In this book, Anne Alexander examines the grounds for considering the 'dream-country' approach to Hardy's fiction. She shows how the 'dream-country' environment may suggest the awakening of unconscious thoughts and feelings and how Hardy uses this to suggest the extent to which these unconscious thoughts and feelings affect the behavior of individual characters as well as the relationships between men and women.

In his fascinating book "Thomas D'Arcy McGee", Alexander Brady delves into the life and legacy of the influential Irish-Canadian politician and writer, providing a comprehensive examination of his contributions to literature and politics. Brady skillfully weaves together historical facts with insightful analysis, giving readers a deep understanding of McGee's impact on both Irish and Canadian identity. Written in a scholarly yet accessible style, the book provides a nuanced portrayal of McGee's complex character and the turbulent times in which he lived. By exploring McGee's role in Irish nationalism and his later efforts in Canadian Confederation, Brady sheds light on the interconnected history of these two nations. Through meticulous research and engaging storytelling, Brady offers a compelling narrative that will captivate both history enthusiasts and literature lovers alike. With its rich detail and thought-provoking insights, "Thomas D'Arcy McGee" is a must-read for anyone interested in understanding the life and influence of this important figure in Canadian and Irish history.

Reprint of the original, first published in 1840.

Lambeth and Manning's 1913 work provides a unique perspective on Thomas Jefferson. Rather than concentrating on his political life, they instead investigate his intellectual pursuits as an architect and designer of landscapes.