A very English sight indeed you will say. Yes, certainly if we were in some of the northern localities of this mineral-saturated island of ours, but strange in its isolated appearance among the bucolic characteristics of the southern portion of it, and moreover here, at least, a development in its way peculiarly modern. The antient 'staple' of the district is the very primeval one of the manufacture of woolen cloth, which has existed for centuries, is still considerably followed, and enjoys all its olden reputation as being 'West of England,' a pass-word for excellence and purity of fabric, untainted by the admixture of 'shoddy,' characteristic of north-country production. Westbury in company with her sister towns is largely interested in the industry. Our wandering to-day is not in quest of manufactured products iron or woolen, but of a nature that lends a clue to our thoughts which takes us back to the far past strife of the Red and White Roses, and era of Bosworth, and of the heart-burning that inspired the distich, "The Rat, the Cat, and Lovell our Dog, Rule all England under the Hog," for the writing of which and presumed sympathy with the Red Rose, be it remembered, a Wiltshire knight, Sir William Collingbourn of Lydiard by name, was by the vindictive Richard "caused to be abbreviated shorter by the head, and to be divided into four quarters,"--and to search for traces of one of the principal actors, who played a conspicuous part in the turmoil, for he was probably born, or had his original habitation close by. Yonder is the town of Westbury with its factory chimneys and massive church tower in their midst,--below us the busy railway-station, and immense iron-stone quarry,--in front the great furnaces. Nothing very suggestive in all this as to our expedition to find the old home of Willoughby in these parts; he of the famed circle of the Garter, and first Baron by a name taken from the little rill of Brooke or Broke, that, outlasting his name and fame, still flows past the house that he occupied while in the flesh. Yet it cannot be very far off. These are our thoughts as we look from the parapet of the bridge that carries the highway over the railroad below, our steps lead us northward, and although our local geography ends here, our usual luck for further guidance is at hand. An old stone-breaker by the wayside stays his hammer as we pass, to give us the morning's salutation, and to our respond we add the interrogatory as to our path to an old house or place called Brooke or Broke, somewhere near. "Brooke-_Hall_ you mean" said he, with special emphasis on the affix, "I know it well, follow on for nearly a mile until the road leads into the brook; then turn into the gate on your right, go through two meadows and you will see Brooke Hall before you. It is an old antient place, and I have heard was a grand one once, but it is only a farm-house now."