272 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



conditions were enjoyable ; you were — anyway, 

 I was — at the same time gifted to appreciate the 

 goods thrown in your way — which is mine — and 

 I thought Burnham a very fine place indeed to 

 pitch your tent in. 



Burnham, is, or was, the word right enough, 

 but I suppose that I ought to have sort of broken 

 it to you and not sprung the name without 

 introduction. Let me go back and begin again. 

 In the first place, answering the question, which 

 Burnham ? let me explain that my Burnham on 

 this occasion was not anywhere near the Beeches, 

 an old favourite of mine, which I always associate 

 most with the conscientious informant who gave me 

 miles of directions how to make my way thence to 

 Farnham Royal ; he made a turn to the right or 

 left of every bend in the winding road. Neither 

 was it the place with the marching wood spoken 

 of by the late Mr Macbeth, nor Burnham-on- 

 Crouch, whence Rule, the old Mr Rule, who used 

 to reign in Maiden lane, in a low-pitched shop of 

 a very small old house, used to procure his most 

 excellent oysters — a shilling half a dozen with 

 bread-and-butter and a glass of stout, was the 

 price I first paid Rule pere. Further, I may put 

 out of this argument Burnham Market, a rare 

 healthy corner out King's Lynn way. The 

 Burnham I mean is on the estuary of the Parret 

 and Brue, and away down in Somersetshire, just 

 this side of Bridgwater, and on the sea-edge of 

 Sedgemoor. Now, concerning what I write of 

 holiday notes round about Burnham, Somerset, 

 please understand this : that I was so well 

 disposed towards everybody and everything, 

 because of getting strong air to breathe and 

 bright light down on my eyes, mid a hot sun on 



