muddy watercourses. To have lived in the house at all it must have
been rebuilt, and even then nothing could have made it a cheerful place
of residence. There was no water-supply that I could discover, unless
half a dozen butts that took the drippings of the roof represented it.
The orchard had long ago gone back to barbarism. It appeared that the
place had been deserted for half a dozen years. I did not wonder. The
only wonder was that it had ever been inhabited.

'Ah,' repeated my driver, 'there's a-many as comes an' looks, an' they
all be uncommon glad to get away agen.'

I subscribed to the common sentiment. Never did that infinite diapason
which we call the roar of London sound so sweet, never did those long,
lighted, busy streets seem so habitable, as on that night when I
returned from my casual inspection of Dawes' farm.

The memory of Dawes' farm taught me that if I was to live in the
country some charm of outlook was indispensable to my content.
Mountains, a lake, a wood, a running river--some delicate effect of
scenery, some concourse of elements, either in themselves or in their
combination beautiful--these I must have if I would be happy. They
were as necessary to me as my daily bread. But here I made a second
disquieting discovery; there was not a part of England which could be
justly described as beautiful that was not already occupied in the
degree of its accessibility. I thought of Surrey; I visited it and
found myself in a superior Cockney Paradise. Half a dozen men of
genius had in an inadvertent moment advertised the pure air of the
Surrey highlands, and by the time I came upon the scene trim villas had
sprung up by hundreds, and wealth was already in possession. The
merest cottage in this favoured district provoked keen contest in the