- Cat looking back
- Cat looking over a wall
- Cat lying on its back
- Cat sitting on a fence
- Cat sitting pretty
- Cat Sitting up
- Cat sleeping in its bed
- Cat sleeping on the wall
- Cat slinking along
- Cat stalking a bird
- Cat with its shadow
- Cat
- Cat and dogs standoff
- Cat and Shadow
- Cat cleaning itself
- Cat climbing into basket
- Cat Eating
- Cat going down stairs
- Cat having a good yawn
- Cat having a stretch
- Cat licking its paw
- Cat looking at the moon
- Dog looking out
- Dog on its pillow
- Dog on the sofa
- Dog sleeping
- Dog lifting its head up
- Dog strutting
- Dog
- Eying the basket
- Running Dog
- Sitting dog
- Two dogs
- Two dogs
- Two dogs
- Dog
- Dog
- Dog and sleeping cat
- Dog backing up
- Dog chasing a rabbit
- Dog choosing a good pillow
- Dog eating a bone
- Angora Buck
Early Importation - Angora Goat
The next importation of practical importance, although it was claimed that nine head were received about 1861, by one Stiles, was made by Israel S. Diehl, a former U.S. consul and C. S. Brown, of Newark, New Jersey, about 1868. Mr. Diehl was commissioned by the United States government to investigate the industry in Turkey, and he secured a lot of Angoras, variously estimated at from one hundred to one hundred and sixty head. Mr. C. P. Bailey furnished the money for the transportation of these goats to California. He says, "Some were fairly good and some were only ordinary. They were of medium size, and with the exception of the neck, tolerably well covered with fleece, which however had a scattering of kemp throughout. They were conceded to be the best brought to California up to that time." Some of these bucks had been tampered with and were sterile. - Floral Heading Border
- Golden Remedy
- Kondon's Catarrhal Jelly
- Sandford's Inks
- St Jacobs Oil
- Whitmore Bros & Co
- Allen's Lung Balsam
- Consumers Company
- Dr Graves' Tooth Powder
- Dr. Lindley's Golden Remedy
- El Perfecto Veda Rose Rouge
- The Old Lychgate, Penshurst
- The George Hotel, Ruislip
Round about “Riselip,” as its inhabitants call it, they grow hay, cabbages, potatoes, and other useful, if humble, vegetables; and, by dint of great patience and industry, manage to get them up to the London market. It is only at rare intervals that the villagers ever see a railway engine, for Ruislip is far remote from railways, and so the place and people keep their local character.Two or three remarkably quaint inns face the central space round which the old and new cottages are grouped, and the very large church stands modestly behind, its battlemented tower peering over the tumbled roofs and gable-ends with a fine effect, an effect that would be still finer were it not that the miserably poor “restoration” work of the plastered angles, done by that dreadful person, Sir Gilbert Scott, is only too apparent. - Milton’s Cottage, Chalfont St. Giles
Chalfont St. Giles lies down in the valley of the Misbourne, across the high road which runs left and right, and past the Pheasant Inn. It is a place made famous by Milton’s residence here, when he fled London and the Great Plague. The cottage—the “pretty cot,” as he aptly calls it, taken for him by Thomas Ellwood, the Quaker—is still standing, and is the last house on the left-hand side of the long village street. The poet could only have known it to be a “pretty cot” by repute, for he was blind. - Esher Old Church
The reflections conjured up by an inspection of Esher old church are sad indeed, and the details of it not a little horrible to a sensitive person. There is an early nineteenth-century bone-house or above-ground vault attached to the little building, in which have been stored coffins innumerable. The coffins are gone, but many of the bony relics of poor humanity may be seen in the dusty semi-obscurity of an open archway, lying strewn among rakes and shovels. To these, when the present writer was inspecting the place, entered a fox-terrier, emerging presently with the thigh-bone of some rude forefather of the hamlet in his mouth. “Drop it!” said the churchwarden, fetching the dog a blow with his walking-stick. The dog “dropped it” accordingly, and went off, and the churchwarden kicked the bone away. I made some comment, I know not what, and the churchwarden volunteered the information that the village urchins had been used to play with these poor relics. “They’re nearly all gone now,” said he. “They used to break the windows with ’em.” - Horseshoe Clump
Leaving the village behind and pursuing the Portsmouth road, the woodlands of Claremont Park are left behind as we come downhill towards Horseshoe Clump, a well-known landmark on this road. This prominent object is a semicircular grove of firs on the summit of a sandy knoll, looking over the valley of the Mole, the “sullen Mole” of the poets, flowing in far-flung loops below, on its way to join the Thames at Molesey. This is a switchback road for cyclists thus far, for the ridge on which Horseshoe Clump stands is no sooner gained than we go downhill again, and so up once more and across the level “fair mile,” to descend finally into Cobham Street, where the Mole is reached again.