When my talkative plasterer left the subject of local politics, he took up
that of the moon. Like all country people, whether in France or in England,
he had the strongest faith in the influence of the moon upon the weather.
He, moreover, maintained that moonbeams had a very corrosive and
destructive action upon zinc. This fact, he said, had come under his
observation scores of times in his business, which was that of roofing as
well as plastering.
Thus talking, we came to the bridge, or, rather, its sole remaining arch,
now almost completely hidden by ivy, briars, and other vegetation, by
which it has been gradually overgrown. The plasterer had a sense of the
picturesque, and he had not over-rated the beauty of this spot. A little
below the early Gothic arch, from which the briars reached down to the
water, was an old mill, in the shadow of a high, overleaning rock, and
great trees made a vaulting over the grassy lane, at the end of which the
turning-wheel could be seen, with just a sparkle of evening sunshine upon
the dropping water.
The inn where I put up that night was a substantial hostelry, containing
all that was needful for the entertainment of man and beast.
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