Ir is an axiom better known than followed among the classes who have opportunities of leisure and luxury, that it is only the really hard-working man who can truly appreciate the beauty of a holiday. To none among the highly-placed ten thousand is given the magical charm of leaving all labour behind and starting with a light heart and wallet, "on the tramp," through some lovely tracts of our beautiful though much neglected country.

I think it is "Patricius Walker" (what a thousand pities that his charming "Rambles " are not collected in some convenient form*), the prince of pedestrians, who says that the very first essential of a walking tour is that it must be undertaken alone; else it at once and infallibly degenerates into a mere protracted pic-nic. This I can, from personal experience, entirely endorse.

I have had some very enjoyable expeditions in company with one or more men, but I can always say that I have enjoyed the society of the men rather than the scenery or the surroundings.

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Alone, one loiters at the wayside, one observes the flowers, watches the habits of insects, of birds, and of that even more interesting and complex organism-MAN. When alone, one talks to the farmer concerning his crops, to the labourer about his grievances, domestic, personal, and pecuniary. Who has not found

that men will lay bare their breasts to one, when the presence of a third would hopelessly arrest confidences?

I think that the most celebrated jaunts of history have been solitary; witness the classic tour of Oliver Goldsmith, the "Rural Rides" of Cobbett, and the walks of Elihu Burritt most accomplished of blacksmiths. One glowing July afternoon, weary of work, I suddenly determined to set out for a stroll through Surrey and Hampshire; and, feeling the force of what is represented in the preceding paragraphs, I settled to alone.

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Leaving R, my first stage was Guildford, which I reached that evening without adventure. Not being a practical entomologist, I sedulously shunned the attractions of a rather pretentious hostelry, where I remembered having once passed a night, not untinctured with regret that the natural investment of our species is endowed with so much sensibility.

One of the Guildford inns, by the way, had a narrow escape of entertaining that greatest of all gossips, Mr. Pepys. He says, in the celebrated Diary: "Aug. 7, 1688.-Came at night to Guildford, where the Red Lion was so full of people, and a wedding, that the master of the house did get us a lodging over the way, at a private house, his landlord's, mighty neat and fine."

I was fortunate enough to pass a most enjoyable evening with Dr. S. and his family. Mine host was a graduate of Oxford, and happily had not forgotten some legendary lore which served to beguile the hours, whose only fault was their brevity. This gentleman's tastes were decidedly æsthetic, running much to "old blue," to bric-a-brac and high-art furniture; himself no mean artist, he had a capital collection of engravings and oil-paintings.

Early next morning found me enjoying a sunny ramble along the right bank of beauteous Wey; past the picturesque weir, past the little landing-stage for pleasure parties, where are moored some very respectable gigs. On the extreme edge of the miniature wharf, the waterman stands, with mallet in hand, and lazily drives a post into the bed of the river.

Then I saunter along the charming reach under the limestone rock, looking black in the early morn with thick foliage; past such a tempting seat under two sentinel poplars, whence you could revel in the reproduced hill lying on the clear river surface framed with a fringe of alders. Then on to the ferry under the red sandstone rock, from the foot of which bubbles a little crystal well. Here, whilst I waited for Charon, a man came sauntering down the lane, with cup in hand, to take his morning draught. He told me that the waters "had virtue," but he could not say what were their specific properties; I saw from the rusty stains under the rich green lichen that they were rich, at least, in chalybeate. Then came the old ferryman, saying, "Want to cross the river, sir ?" So I stepped on board, and was soon on the other shore, standing to admire what is left of St. Catherine's Priory, beautifully placed, its sober greys contrasting

well with the rich ochre and Indianred of the sand rock.

Through the doorless Gothic archway we may see a view worth a weary pilgrimage indeed.

Far below us winds the Wey between thick and varied foliage; at the end the vista, commanding the reach of the river, towers the great square keep of Guildford Castle; "beyond it rises the swelling line of the verdurous downs. The sparkle of the river through the deep shadows of the city, and in the background the broad waves of sunlight rolling over fair meadows and lighting up sombre masses of foliage, lend a life, a glory, and a splendour to the picture.' So says Davenport Adams, and I found no difficulty in agreeing with him.

In a niche of the rock, under the Priory, there has, I see, since my last visit to Guildford, sprung into existence a new house, having, I' am pleased to record, few of the faults of a new house. One misfortune it cannot evade, namely, that it is new; but it realises what Ruskin says about the association between gables and the sense of hospitality; it is a red-roofed, many-gabled pile, with overhanging storeys, with rich weather tiling, and all sorts of unexpected galleries and verandahs.

Leaving the iron-stained rocks behind, we strike over the level meadows, dotted with marsh-marigold, in a course at right angles to the river, through a pretty avenue of old Scotch firs, then down into the beaten road. Turning to the left, we retrace our steps to Guildford, passing this time under the shadow of the castle with its quaint herring-bone work of successive courses of ragstone, flint, and sandstone.

What changes has this same keep witnessed since Odo of Bayeux laid its first stone 800 years ago!

In the time of the barons, a stronghold of tyranny and infamous oppression; afterwards, afterwards, under the Tudors, turned into a common gaol for Surrey and Sussex, till a county prison was built at Lewes by Henry VII. Then our way leads us through Friary Place, so called from the convent that stood there, which Henry VIII., in his burning zeal for religious reform, replaced by a house for his own accommodation! In olden days Guildford knew many a regal visit. It was visited by Henry III., Queen Eleanor, Edward II., Edward IV., Henry VIII., and Edward VI. There Henry II., King John, and Edward III. elected to keep Christmas. This favoured town remained a Royal demesne until the reign of James I., when all the Crown lands became vested in Murray, Earl of Annandale, and, after many other changes, passed to their present proprietors, the Earls of Onslow. Does not this family name, in connection with Guildford, revive pleasant memories of "an unhappy nobleman" now languishing in Portland Prison?

Then up the broad and handsome High-street with its gabled fronts, quaint lattices, and curious doorways, giving it a peculiar oldworld aspect. It certainly deserves the adjective "high," if ever street did, for it seems to rise at an angle of at least forty-five degrees, and, being paved, one is reminded irresistibly, whilst watching the horses climbing up, of cats clambering Over the roof of a house.

a very quaint Guildhall, with its projecting upper storey supported by four wondrous hermaphrodite caryatides. A gorgeous clock dial (1683) of curious construction is suspended above them nearly in the centre of the road.

The Council Hall is quite worth looking at, if only for the sake of the portraits of the two Jameses, of Charles I., of William and Mary, and of two celebrated Onslows, one well-known formerly as Speaker in the House, and the other in connection with the battle of Camperdown. The first three are by Sir Peter Lely.

A little farther is Archbishop Abbot's Hospital, a stately Elizabethan building. Age has softened its outlines, rounded its angles, and stained and honeycombed its surface. The fine archway adorned by the arms of the See of Canterbury, and a curious sundial, give to the street-front a picturesque and rather imposing effect. Here live, or rather vegetate, a master presiding over "brethren and sisters," whose qualifications are that they must be natives or residents of Guildford, unmarried, sixty years old, and of good character. Here the Duke of Monmouth was confined, when pausing at Guildford on his way to London, after the memorable defeat of Sedgmoor, 1685.

Here my morning ramble came to an end at the house of my hospitable entertainer. I found his family just assembling round the breakfast table. When that serious meal and my matutinal wanderings had been both discussed, I bade them a temporary farewell, and took train to Liphook, through the pretty broken country, rendered more picturesque than sanatory by many tiny lakes of stagnant water and with luxuriant vegetation.

There is a capital inn at Liphook, the Anchor, kept by a very civil and accommodating landlord, Mr. Peake. I had received a good aceount of this hostelry, so determined to make it my temporary headquarters.

My next point was Grayshott Park, where Mr. the wellknown architect, has built himself a most tasteful habitation, and I must say, too, he has shown singular art in his selection of site. A charming irregular house, of the type only seen in these south-eastern counties, is planted at the head of a long steep valley clad thickly with trees; down the ravine, runs stream, which widens at the base into a chain of the most lovely miniature lakes, half hid by their nearly tropical foliage.

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To reach this I had a very beautiful walk; crossing the Wey-now a mere brook-a mile from the town, I turned aside from the road into a long strip of fir plantation, then by Bramshott Church, once evidently Decorated, now restored in a very painful way. The beautiful old florid windows

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to adorn a neighbouring cottage, near which are two wonderful ash trees, the trunks over twenty-five feet in girth, and the branches covering a ring nearly four hundred feet round. Hard by is a Devonshire lane, running between high sandbanks gratefully cool and shady-the walls ornamented with

huge gnarled roots and pretty ferns. Here I captured a fine stag beetle.

The house at Grayshott is an example of what decorative art, controlled by good taste, can achieve. I never was so much pleased with anything in my life as with the quiet grace of the sitting-roomsmost artistic, without sacrificing comfort and ease, and without the feeling that comes over one in so many modern drawing-rooms, that one is sitting in a kind of museum.

The eldest son of this gentleman is a Cambridge graduate-a most agreeable and well-informed man. He became my cicerone and took me to Lynchmere. The view from the churchyard, every reader of this paper should see once in his life at least.

Standing on the side of the church, near the road, you look through two opposite doors, and you become speechless with delight. The ground suddenly falls away from the kirkyard, and you look over a deep valley, whose base is invisible, to hill upon hill rising with every variety of form and colour. Outside the lich-gate was a long row of benches to accommodate fifty persons or more. The use of these puzzled me very much.

My companion suggested that they were for the people who had come too early and did not like to go in!

I returned to Liphook in the cool evening, and retired to rest about three hours before my customary time.

Next day was cloudless-brilliant sun, slight breeze, but no dust-a fine day for walking purposes.

I breakfasted early, addressed my limited luggage to Petersfield, and asked mine host to dispatch it there by rail.

Looking, of course, at the name

he returned to the room, saying, "Beg your pardon, Sir, but are you Dr. Bthe M.P.?" I explained that, though I was quite proud to admit that I was a physician, I felt equally proud at the present time to say that I was not a member! But why did he ask? Oh! he had a child in the house that had been in fits ever since its birth three months before! Would I see it?

How could I refuse? I found nothing the matter with the little one but inanition; the child had what are now known as anæmic convulsions. I explained that, as the maternal fount had run dry, the only hope was to find a fostermother. This they did, and I have since had the satisfaction to hear that the babe is better.

As for myself I felt how difficult it is to drop a profession like mine. My sensations were those of a truant schoolboy brought back perforce to his hated task!

I learned that there was actually no doctor at Liphook. Now there are many persons who entertain the most cordial feelings of detestation for our body. Such people would do well to contemplate the possibility of a removal to lovely Liphook!

Making my escape at last from anxious mother and solicitous father, I set out for Petersfield; and a more pleasant walk of eight miles, through heather and over breezy downs, has rarely fallen to my lot to enjoy.

Near Liss lives Mr. George Cole, the father of the well-known artist Vicat Cole. As I passed, there issued from the adjoining house an old gentleman driving a ponycarriage. He very politely proffered a seat beside him, which I took with pleasure, as I wished to learn something of the nature of the soil and its water-supply, &c.

He told me that one hundred

pounds an acre was asked for freehold frontage; that the water supply was good, but that it required deep boring-two to four hundred feet. He used stored rain himself, and had never run out till that very week.

I was quite sorry when the branch road to Liss deprived me of the society of this pleasant camarade. We parted with mutual regrets, which I believe were sincere on his side. I know they were on mine.

I had tried to get lunch at a wayside beerhouse, about a mile behind; but everything was so extremely dirty and unpalatable that, hungry as I was, I could not bring myself to partake.

Here, at the corner where I lost my old, yet recent, friend, was a country inn, the pink of perfection, clean as a new pin, with a civil and most obliging landlady-everything good of its kind. What a contrast!

Here I had my bread and cheese, and then pushed on towards Petersfield.

I soon came up with a gentleman in a Bath-chair, drawn by an old man, and pushed by a young serving-maid. The occupant of the chair appeared, from his vacant stare, his unkempt hair and beard, and protruding chin, at first sight to be idiotic. But, as an example of how fallible first impressions are, on entering into conversation, I found him to be a good microscopist and quite an accomplished naturalist in the way of entomology or the study of insects. His sight had been much injured by too deep devotion to the lens, and, to his sorrow, he had had to abandon his favourite pursuit. This had made him low and depressed. I did my best to cheer and encourage him, and when we came to a little villa, and a lady came out to receive him, he was certainly many degrees