Upon arriving at Great Belvern (which must be pronounced 'Bevern') I
took a trap, had my luggage put on in front, and start on my quest
for lodgings in West Belvern, five miles distant. Several addresses
had been given me by Hilda Mellifica, who has spent much time in
this region, and who begged me to use her name. I told the driver
that I wished to find a clean, comfortable lodging, with the view
mentioned in the guide-book, and with a purple clematis over the
door, if possible. The last point astounded him to such a degree
that he had, I think, a serious idea of giving me into custody. (I
should not be so eccentrically spontaneous with these people, if
they did not feed my sense of humour by their amazement.)
We visited Holly House, Osborne, St. James, Victoria, and Albert
houses, Tank Villa, Poplar Villa, Rose, Brake, and Thorn Villas, as
well as Hawthorn, Gorse, Fern, Shrubbery, and Providence Cottages.
All had apartments, but many were taken, and many more had rooms
either dark and stuffy or without view. Holly House was my first
stopping-place. Why will a woman voluntarily call her place by a
name which she can never pronounce? It is my landlady's misfortune
that she is named 'Obbs, and mine that I am called 'Amilton, but
Mrs. 'Obbs must have rushed with eyes wide open on 'Olly 'Ouse. I
found sitting-room and bedroom at Holly House for two guineas a
week; everything, except roof, extra.
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