“Those,” said the old gentleman, “are the ruins of a chapel, dedicated to the Holy Ghost, which is said to have been erected in the reign of Edward IV., and to which a school was formerly attached; but the school was shut up during the Civil Wars, and the building reduced to the state in which you now see it.” “It is a fine ruin,” said Mrs. Merton. “Yes,” returned the old gentleman; “and there is some fine carving about it, (if you were near enough to see it,) which was added in the reign of Henry VIII.” “Was it not at Basingstoke,” asked Mr. Merton, “that Basing-House stood, so celebrated for its defence against Cromwell?” “That was at Old Basing,” replied Mr. Bevan, “which was formerly a town, and a larger place than this: the word stoke signifying a hamlet. But things are reversed now; for Old Basing has become a hamlet, and Basingstoke a town.” Agnes was very much interested in this conversation; as she had seen Mr. Charles Landseer’s beautiful painting of the taking of Basing house; and she now found how much a little knowledge of the subject adds to the interest you feel in a picture. “Is the population of Basingstoke large?” asked Mr. Merton. “There are about four thousand inhabitants, I think,” said the old gentleman, “rather less than more.” He then added, “I believe we are now only about thirty miles from Southampton.” “Only thirty!” The distance is nothing on a rail-road,—an affair of about an hour or so; but how different it would be to a feeble mother, carrying a heavy child! How different to an exhausted wanderer, struggling to reach his longed-for home! Then, indeed, a distance of thirty miles would seem an undertaking almost heart-breaking, and scarcely to be accomplished; but time and space are always relative, and, in measuring them, we are apt to judge by our feelings, rather than by the reality.