160 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



semicircle with a diameter drawn from Ripley 

 to Leatherhead. Finely varied country this, its 

 borders trenching on the devious flow of the 

 Mole, a river rendered harder and harder of 

 access by reason of a gradual progress in shut- 

 ting up old footpaths and rights of way. A funny 

 chap is this Mole, well-named, as Refereaders 

 are aware, because of his burrowing habits and 

 hidings in sinks or swallows, subterranean hollows 

 accounting for a bed, dry superficially, with run- 

 ning water on each side. Each side, I say, not 

 on each edge. No other river in the South of 

 England so quickly gets into flood or empties 

 itself to normal level — if the Thames will allow 

 it. Occasionally, you know, the Mole cannot 

 get out at Molesey, because the big river shuts 

 the other's mouth up and does serious damage, 

 otherwise a comparison of the two streams' goings 

 on in the neighbourhood of the Mole's outlet can 

 be quite comical. 



To get away from our birds for a bit, Ripley, 

 a very slightly altered typical Surrey village, is, 

 I think, looking up again a little, but the motors 

 have driven off very much of the cyclists' custom 

 and stopped nearly all the walkers who like to 

 take their tikes with them. There are two things 

 impossible to do with satisfaction to yourself and 

 other people. One is to back your horses at S.P. 

 and go on to the course without being fixed up 

 between giving your business away and giving 

 other people away. The just-mentioned walking 

 with your dogs on a motory road or by the side 

 of it, is another, if you are going to get pleasure 

 out of it. Thank goodness, we have yet to 

 experience the dog-followed motor. I should 

 very much like to see it once, and have the dog 



