BENEDICITE 167 



old water-wheel, whence, being delivered below, it 

 goes wandering forth, as crooked in its freedom as 

 in its woodland captivity. 



'Such a place,' I said, 'would have a name ; 

 some old, quaint name given by generations gone ; 

 and one that touched, as old names often will, the true 

 spirit of the spot.' But when I came to know that 

 none not even the oldest had ever heard it, I was 

 content to have it so. "It will have gone," I thought, 

 "with the fallen leaves and moving water; and if 

 there once was one who, in days when men lived 

 near the soil, knew the place and the name of it, it 

 may well have been that, grown old and strange 

 among his kind, he held it awhile a lingering 

 memory, then took it with him." 



Howsoever it may have been, name it now has 

 none by which one might direct a man to find it or 

 avoid it. And yet The Little Wood is a household 

 word with us. There exists a whole cosmography of 

 it, unintelligible to any save ourselves, being of purely 

 personal origin and import. It is our own by 

 knowledge and affection, a more intimate title than 

 any that law could confer. Still, at the entrance to 

 it, stands the representative of law a square-foot of 

 deal nailed to a tree, and painted white, with an 

 ancient legend inscribed thereon. Forgive us our 

 trespasses, indeed; but, lead us not into temptation, 

 we may also urge. Human nature being what it is, 

 prohibition is invitation. "Rubbish may be shot 

 here" would be a more effectual deterrent; or 

 "'Ware the bog-holes" would be final for all but a 

 few urchins who would probably get swamped. 



My "better half," or whatever he calls himself, 



