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

Then

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 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.

fair

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!

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

a

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.

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

serve

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

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. B, the 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

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

brighter. How great is the power of human sympathy!

Another mile brought me to the outskirts of Petersfield. Here I encountered a boys' school, each scholar equipped with a towel for bathing. They were going to the river Rother for their plunge, the stream which gives its name to Robertsbridge on the Hastings line -once Rother's Bridge. I told them the way to dive, and how to keep under water merely by depressing the chin on the chest, till they wished to rise. Away they started to try this new

idea. I doubt whether the head

master, who came up at this juncture, blessed me when he found all his boys doing their best to drown themselves, as it would doubtless appear to him!

The

Petersfield is the type of a country town-a fine large paved square, surrounded by good shops which seem to have everything in the world but customers; in the centre a railed space with an equestrian statue of William III., erected by William Jolliffe, Esq: church, a very plain building, and not highly interesting; it has some memorials of this same Jolliffe family, evidently the great people of the neighbourhood. I now bent my steps to the station, and the dusty highway having made me thirsty, I turned in to a rather fine refreshment-bar close to the railway, and asked for a glass of milk. The invariable reply, "Anything else you like, sir, but we have no milk;" but I would have nothing else, and, as I left, a white-bearded gentleman left with me, saying, "Now what a pity that these people do not keep more stimulating drinks." Yes," I I said, "by selling beer at twopence a glass, and asking sixpence for tea, coffee, or lemonade, they handicap virtue, whilst they favour vice." 66 'Well," he rejoined, “I

non

have just been persuading a number of labouring men to drink oatmealwater instead of beer in the hayfield ;" and with that he pulled out of his pocket a little blue book which turned out to be a work by Parkes, the late accomplished Professor of Hygiene at Netley, entitled "On Personal Care of Health," and read from it the following sentence: "When you have any heavy work to do, do not take either beer, cider, or spirits. By far the best drink is thin oatmeal and water, with a little sugar, boiled together, &c. It is quite a mistake to suppose that spirits give strength; they give a spurt to a man, but that goes off, and if more than a certain quantity is taken they lessen the power of work."

On looking at the book, I found it to be a capital little work, treating on all matters connected with personal well-being; it had to me a sad interest, for it was the last work of one of the most charming men who ever occupied a chair in my Alma Mater, University College. A little note at the back of the title-page announces that the book was passing through the press when its lamented and gifted author was called away from his labours. He had read the proof-sheets but a few weeks before his death, and, at his own request, the work was finally revised by the editorial secretary, S.P.C.K.

I had the pleasure of the society of the owner of the book as far as my next stage, Havant; he turned out to be the sanitary inspector of M. On the road I had some interesting and instructive conversation relative to the convection of water and of sewage.

I had often wished to see Hayling Island. On booking, I discovered that there are two stations on the little single line that runs