112 THE LIFE OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



houses and ricks of what was once a hamlet, have a 

 dejected and demorahzed air of defeat by the city. At 

 Tolworth Court Farm, some way beyond, there is a good 

 row of conical corn-ricks, and a tiled barn with pigeons 

 above, and a reedy pond, where the Ewell road bends 

 just before crossing the Hogsmill River by an elm- 

 shaded bridge. Farther still are long woods on the left, 

 having rooks' nests in their oaks ; and out from the green 

 leaves dashes the lofty chariot of a superb American, 

 sounding a horn that sets his half-dozen carriage-hounds 

 capering, and his horses going ten miles an hour — a 

 magnificent Old English display. There are still two 

 fords through the bright Hogsmill close by — one near 

 Ruxley Farm, one at the ' Bones Gate ' turning ; one is 

 mentioned in ' Footpaths,' an essay in ' Nature near 

 London.' Squares of plough-land, mangolds, grass, 

 stubble, and mustard succeed one another in the autumn. 

 Beyond, south-east, are Banstead Downs ; south-west, 

 the woods of Barwell Court, of Esher Common, Oxshott 

 and Fairmile. Except on a few Saturdays and Sundays 

 this is a deep, quiet country even now. The American's 

 horn shatters the quiet into fragments that reassemble 

 most easily ; but in Jefferies' day it had still more rural 

 elements left. 



In his first spring there he was ' astonished and de- 

 lighted ' by the richness of the bird-life ; he never knew 

 so many nightingales. He saw herons go over, and a 

 teal. Magpies were common, and he records ten together 

 on September 9, 1881, within twelve miles of Charing 

 Cross. There were the same happy greenfinches — his 

 favourite birds — which ' never cease love-making in the 

 elms.' The beautiful white bryony grew over the hedges. 

 ' Birds,' he notes, ' care nothing for appropriate sur- 

 roundings.' He was awakened by the workmen's trains 

 in the March mornings, yet when he saw the orange- 

 tinted light upon the ceiling, ' something in the sense of 

 morning lifted the heart up to the sun.' Almost at his 

 door was a copse of Scotch and spruce fir, hornbeam, 



