Sat the Druid hoary chief.”
and while I fancied I could still hear his low chanting, my mind wandered off to reflect that this neighbourhood is sacred to a real modern “druid.” There was a celebrated school at Twyford and among its pupils was Pope. His satiric talent brought, as usual, disgrace, for he was sent away for writing a squib on the master, who had become a Roman Catholic.
Returning to the church, I regained the high road, and immediately on my right saw a large red-brick house, which had an air of old-fashioned importance. I was anxious to find Shipley House, where Franklin, as a guest of Bishop Shipley, wrote his life. I could find no one to inquire from, but soon a labouring man came along, and I asked him if this was Shipley House.
“No, sir,” he replied, “this is Twyford House. Shipley House is nearly a mile further on.”
I was surprised to hear this.
“Is it an old house?” I said.
“Oh yes, sir—it was built in 1860.”
This then was not the object of my search, and I found that the mansion I was looking at was the old Shipley House.
