I believe that most of the readers of "The Channings" will not like this story less because its scene is laid in the same place, Helstonleigh.  
I to you, as you may have already discovered, a great deal of truth: of events that have actually happened, combined with fiction. I can only do this from my own personal experience, by taking you to the scenes and places where I have lived. Of this same town, Helstonleigh, I could relate to you volumes. No place in the world holds so green a spot in my memory. Do you remember Longfellow's poem—"My Lost Youth"?
 
"Often I think of the beautiful town,
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'
"I remember the gleams and glooms that
Across the schoolboy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'
"There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'
"Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'
"And Deering's woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were
I find my lost youth again.
And the music of that old song
in my memory still:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'"
Those are some of its verses, and what "Deering" is to Longfellow, "Helstonleigh" is to me.
 
The Birmingham stage-coach came into Helstonleigh one summer's night, and stopped at its destination, the Star-and-Garter Hotel, bringing with it some London passengers. The direct line of rail to Helstonleigh from London was not then opened; and this may serve to tell you how long it is ago. A lady and a little girl stepped from the inside of the coach, and a gentleman and three boys got down from the outside. The latter were soaking. Almost immediately after leaving Birmingham, to which place the rail had conveyed them, the rain had commenced to pour in , and those outside received its full benefit. The coach was , inside and out, but with the other passengers we have nothing to do. We have with these; they were the Halliburtons.
 
For the town which Mr. Halliburton had been desirous to remove to, the one in which his cousin, Mrs. Dare, resided, was no other than Helstonleigh.
 
Mrs. Halliburton drew a long face when she set eyes on her husband's condition. "Edgar! you must be wet through and through!"
 
"Yes, I am. There was no help for it."
 
"You should have come inside when I wanted you to do so," she cried, in a voice of . "You should indeed."
 
"And have suffered you to take my place outside? Nonsense, Jane!"
 
Jane looked at the hotel. "We had better remain here for the night. What do you think?"
 
"Yes, I think so," he replied. "It is too wet to go about looking after anything that might be less expensive. Inquire if we can have rooms, Jane, whilst I see after the luggage."
 
Mrs. Halliburton went in, leading Janey, and was confronted by the barmaid, a smart young woman in a smart cap. "Can we sleep here to-night?" she inquired.
 
"Yes, certainly. How many beds?"
 
"I will go up with you and see," said Mrs. Halliburton. "Be so kind as not to put us in your more expensive rooms," she added, in a lower tone.
 
The barmaid looked at her from top to toe, as it is much in the habit of barmaids to do when such a request is preferred. She saw a lady in a black silk dress, a cashmere shawl, and a plain straw , trimmed with white. Simple as the was, quiet as was the demeanour, there was that about Mrs. Halliburton, in her voice, her accent, her bearing altogether, which proclaimed her the gentlewoman; and the barmaid to be civil.
 
"I have nothing to do with the rooms," she said; "I'll call the chambermaid. My goodness! You had better get those wet things off, sir, unless you want to be laid up with cold."
 
The words were uttered in surprise, as her eyes encountered Mr. Halliburton. He looked taller, and thinner, and handsomer than ever; but he had a hollow cough now, and his cheek was , and he was certainly wet through.
 
The chambermaid them rooms. Mr. Halliburton, after rubbing himself dry with towels, got into a warmed bed, and had warm drink supplied to him. Jane, after what would be wanted for the night, returned to the , to which her children had been shown. A good-natured maid, seeing the boys' clothes were damp, had lighted a fire, and they were kneeling round it, having been provided with bread and butter and milk. Intelligent, , good-looking boys they were, with clear skins and bright, honest eyes, and open . Janey had fallen asleep on a chair, her flaxen curls making her a pillow on its elbow. The boys crowded to one side of the fireplace when their mother came in, leaving the larger space for her; and William rose and gave her a chair. Mrs. Halliburton sat down, having laid on the table a Book of Common Prayer, which she had brought in her hand.
 
"Mamma, I hope papa will not be ill!"
............