to high buildings on both sides of it, but affording a pleasant peep to fields and gardens beyond.

After passing under the bridge, the river flowed on among houses and workshops, and was again dammed up to supply another mill about half a mile away, and to form the river Lea navigation. There was also, in my time, a small lateral stream carried off to pump water to the top of a wooden water-tower to supply part of the town, so that about half a mile from the middle of the town there were four distinct streams side by side, though not parallel, which I remember used to puzzle me very much as to their origin. In addition to these there was another quite distinct river, the Beane, which came from the north-west till it was only a furlong from the Lea at the town bridge, when it turned back to the north-east, and entered that river half a mile lower down, enclosing between the two streams the fine open space of about thirty acres called Hartham, which was sufficiently elevated to be always dry, and which was at once a common grazing field and general cricket and playground, the turf being very smooth and good, and seldom requiring to be rolled. The county cricket matches were played here, and it was considered to be a first-rate ground.

Here, too, in the river Beane, which had a gentle stream with alternate deep holes and sandy shallows, suitable for boys of all ages, was our favourite bathing place, where not long after our coming to Hertford, I was very nearly being drowned. It was a place called Willowhole, where those who could swim a little would jump in, and in a few strokes in any direction reach shallower water. I and my brother John and several schoolfellows were going to bathe, and I, who had undressed first, was standing on the brink, when one of my companions gave me a sudden push from behind, and I tumbled in and went under water immediately. Coming to the surface half dazed, I splashed about and went under again, when my brother, who was four and a half years older, jumped in and pulled me out. I do not think I had actually lost consciousness, but I had swallowed a good deal of water, and I lay on the grass for some time before I got

strength to dress, and by the time I got home I was quite well. It was, I think, the first year, if not the first time, I had ever bathed, and if my brother had not been there it is quite possible that I might have been drowned. This gave me such a fright that though I often bathed here afterwards, I always went in where the water was shallow, and did not learn to swim, however little, till several years later.

Few small towns (it had then less than six thousand inhabitants) have a more agreeable public playground than Hartham, with the level valley of the Lea stretching away to Ware on the east, the town itself just over the river on the south, while on the north, just across the river Beane, was a steep slope covered with scattered fir trees, and called the Warren, at the foot of which was a footpath leading to the picturesque little village and old church of Bengeo. This path along the Warren was a favourite walk of mine, either alone or with a playmate, where we could scramble up the bank, climb up some of the old trees, or sit comfortably upon one or two old stumpy yews, which had such twisted branches and stiff spreading foliage as to form delightful seats. This place was very little frequented, and our wanderings in it were never interfered with.

In the other direction the river Beane, as already stated, flows down a picturesque valley from the north, but I do not remember walking much beyond Bengeo. A little way beyond Hartham, toward Ware, another small stream, the Rib, came from the north, with a mill-stream along the west side of Ware Park, but this also was quite unexplored by us. Just out of the town, to the south-west, the river Mimram joined the Lea. This came through the village of Hertingfordbury, about a mile off, and then through the fine park of Panshanger, about two miles long and containing about a thousand acres. This park was open to the public, and we occasionally went there to visit the great oak tree which was, I believe, one of the finest grown large oaks in the kingdom. It was one of the sights of the district.

About three-quarters of a mile from the centre of the town, going along West Street, was a mill called Horn's Mill, which

was a great attraction to me. It was an old-fashioned mill for grinding linseed, expressing the oil, and making oil-cake. The mill stood close by the roadside, and there were small low windows always open, through which we could look in at the fascinating processes as long as we liked. First, there were two great vertical millstones of very smooth red granite, which shone beautifully from the oil of the ground seeds. These were fixed on each side of a massive vertical wooden axis on a central iron axle, revolving slowly and silently, and crushing the linseed into a fine oily meal. A curved fender or scoop continually swept the meal back under the rollers with an eccentric motion, which was itself altogether new to us, and very fascinating; and, combined with the two-fold motion of the huge revolving stones, and their beautiful glossy surfaces, had an irresistible attraction for us which never palled.

But this was only one part of this delightful kind of peepshow. A little way off an equally novel and still more complex operation was always going on, accompanied by strange noises always dear to the young. Looking in at other windows we saw numbers of workmen engaged in strange operations amid strange machinery, with its hum and whirl and reverberating noises. Close before us were long erections like shop counters, but not quite so high. Immediately above these, at a height of perhaps ten or twelve feet, a long cylindrical beam was continually revolving with fixed beams on each side of it, both higher up and lower down. At regular intervals along the counter were great upright wooden stampers shod with iron at the bottom. When not in action these were supported so that they were about two feet above the counter, and just below them was a square hole. As we looked on a man would take a small canvas sack about two feet long, fill it quite full of linseed meal from a large box by his side, place this bag in a strong cover of a kind of floorcloth with flaps going over the top and down each side. The sack of meal thus prepared would be then dropped into the hole, which it entered easily. Then a thin board of hard wood, tapered to the lower edge, was pushed down on one side of it, and outside this again another wedge-shaped piece was inserted.

The top of this was now just under the iron cap of the heavy pile or rammer, and on pulling a rope, this was freed and dropped on the top of the wedge, which it forced halfway down. In a few seconds it was raised up again, and fell upon the wedge, driving it in a good deal further, and the third blow would send it down level with the top of the counter. Then when the rammer rose up, another rope was pulled, and it remained suspended; a turn of a handle enabled the first wedge to be drawn out and a much thicker one inserted, when, after two or three blows, this became so hard to drive that the rammer falling upon it made a dull sound and rebounded a little; and as the process went on the blows became sharper, and the pile would rebound two or three times like a billiard ball rebounding again and again from a stone floor, but in more rapid succession. This went on for hours, and when the process was finished, the meal in the sack had become so highly compressed that when taken out it was found to be converted into a compact oilcake. In this mill there were, I think, three or four counters parallel to each other, and on each, perhaps, six or eight stamps, and when all these were at work together, but rebounding at different rates and with different intensities of sound, the whole effect was very strange, and the din and reverberation almost deafening, but still at times somewhat musical. During this squeezing process the oil ran off below through suitable apertures, but was never seen by us. I believe these old stamping-mills are now all replaced by hydraulic presses, which get more oil out and leave the cake harder, but the process would be almost silent and far less picturesque.

A very interesting and beautiful object connected with the water-supply of the neighbourhood was the New River Head or Chadwell Spring, the source of the original New River brought to London by Sir Hugh Myddleton. It is about two-thirds of the distance from Hertford to Ware, and is situated in a level meadow not far from the high-road, and about a quarter of a mile from the main river. As I knew it, it was a circular pond nearly a hundred feet in diameter, filled

with the most crystal clear water, and very deep in the centre, where the springs were continually bubbling upward, keeping up a good stream which supplied a considerable part of the water in the New River. But its chief beauty was, that the centre was filled with great flocculent masses of green confervæ, while the water in the centre appeared to have a blue tint, producing exquisite shades of blue and green in evervarying gradations, which were exceedingly beautiful. In fact, only once have I seen another spring which equalled it in beauty, in the little island of Semau, near Timor, and that was by no means equal in colour-effects, but only in the depth and purity of the water and the fine rock-basins that contained it. I am informed that now this beautiful Chadwell Spring has been entirely destroyed by the boring of deep wells in the neighbourhood, which have drawn off the springs that supplied it, and that it is now little more than a mud-hole, the whole New River supply being drawn from the river Lea or pumped up from deep wells near Ware. Thus does our morbid civilization destroy the most beautiful works of nature. This spring was, I believe, unequalled in the whole kingdom for simple beauty.

While the country to the north and west of the town was characterized by its numerous streams, mills, and rich meadows, that to the east and south was much higher and drier, rising gradually in low undulations to about four hundred feet and upwards at from four to five miles away. This district was all gravelly with a chalk subsoil, the chalk in many places coming up to the surface, while in others it was only reached at a depth of ten or twenty feet. In the total absence of any instruction in nature-knowledge at that period, my impression, and that of most other boys, no doubt, was, that in some way chalk was the natural and universal substance of which the earth consisted, the only question being how deep you must go to reach it. All this country was thickly dotted with woods and coppices, with numbers of parks and old manor houses; and as there were abundance of lanes and footpaths, it offered greater attractions to us boys than the more culti