316 Mms ot tbe 1bunting*3Fiel& 



'sumptuous collation,' and have a crust of bread and 

 cheese and a glass of ale at some neighbouring road- 

 side inn. It seemed to him that to accept anything at 

 the hands of one of whom it was his duty to write 

 without bias was wrong. He must be absolutely free to 

 write exactly what he thought, whether favourable or 

 unfavourable, or else he would not write at all. And it 

 was this fact which gave his expressed opinions the 

 weight and value which they never failed to carry. 



There was, indeed, much of the Spartan about Henry 

 Hall Dixon. He took a grim delight in acts of endur- 

 ance and self-denial, which even hardy athletes would 

 have felt justified in shirking, unless necessity demanded 

 such a sacrifice of personal comfort. For example, on 

 one occasion he walked from Swindon Junction to 

 Marlborough College, a distance of fourteen miles over 

 the steep rises and falls of the downs with a large port- 

 manteau on his shoulder^ to pay a visit to the then Head- 

 master, his old schoolfellow Dr Bradley, now Dean of 

 Westminster ! It was a rule with him to incur no 

 expense which could possibly be avoided, even at the 

 cost of considerable personal discomfort, for he was too 

 conscientious a husband and father to spend upon him- 

 self what he knew to be needed at home. And, besides, 

 he delighted in the open air. There was something 

 intensely exhilarating to him in swinging along the 

 country roads, or over the crisp grass of the downs, or 

 through the woodland paths with that long elastic 

 stride of his, — a sense of freedom and absolute com- 

 munion with Nature which none but your genuine 

 walker knows. I question whether any one gets so 

 much enjoyment out of Nature as the man who loves 

 walking — the man who can do his steady four miles an 



