ONE MORNING A FEW MONTHS AGO A foreigner under the influence of an aeroplane descended somewhat hurriedly in a broad and--as he ascertained--a soft meadow in Nethershire; and while he was picking up his matches preparatory to lighting his cigarette--he has always a cigarette in his waistcoat pocket, for a man with a Kodak may be lurking behind the nearest tree--an agricultural labourer on his way to his work looked over the hedge at him. The foreign person noticed him, and after trying him in vain with German, French, and Hungarian, fell back upon English, and in the few words of that language which he knew, inquired the name of the place. “Why, Bleybar Lane, to be sure,” replied the man, pe…
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