“Is it long since your honour was in Durham county?”
“A good long time. A matter of forty years.”
“Forty years!—why that’s the life of a man. That’s longer than I have been out of the county myself. I suppose your honour can’t remember much about the county.”
“Oh yes, I can! I remember a good deal.”
“Please, your honour, tell me what you remember about the county. It would do me good to hear it.”
“Well, I remember it was a very fine county in more respects than one. One part of it was full of big hills and mountains, where there were mines of coal and lead, with mighty works with tall chimneys spouting out black smoke, and engines roaring, and big wheels going round, some turned by steam, and others by what they call forces, that is, brooks of water dashing down steep channels. Another part was a more level country, with beautiful woods, happy-looking farm-houses well-filled fields and rich, glorious meadows, in which stood stately, with brown sides and short horns, the Durham ox.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” said my companion. “Ah! I see your honour knows everything about Durham county. Forces? none but one who had been in Durham county would have used that word. I haven’t heard it for five-and-thirty years. Forces! there was a force close to my village. I wonder if your honour has ever been in Durham city?”
“Oh yes! I have been there.”
“Does your honour remember anything about Durham city?”
“Oh yes! I remember a good deal about it.”