PREFACE. 



On several occasions I have been taken, or (as I would 

 fain hope) mistaken, for a lunatic. On the last occa- 

 sion I had wandered forth with the twofold object of 

 escaping for a time from the din and turmoil of our 

 British Babylon, and of enjoying a "ramble in search 

 of shells." 



Pursuing a path that led across some meadows, I 

 came upon a little band of working men, who, seated 

 under a hedge, were spending their Saturday afternoon 

 holiday in the full enjoyment of the " fragrant weed," 

 and of an occasional " pull " at a soda-water bottle 

 containing a liquid not unlike water in colour, and 

 very like " Old Tom " in fragrance. 



After passing the happy group, a very few paces 

 brought me to a likely-looking spot wherein to find 

 some of the objects of my search, to wit, a deep and 

 tolerably dry ditch ; so down I went into it and dis- 

 appeared. I well knew what would follow ; the men 

 who had witnessed the mad-like act followed and 

 peered at me as I " grubbed " about the bottom of the 

 ditch. 



After a few moments of awful silence, one of the 



