322 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



schooling fences at Cranborne, which is a village 

 some distance from his stables — these last being 

 a goodish step from the gallops — that I, following, 

 as I always do, the Inimitable's philosophy, went 

 to see the Medway, as Mrs Micawber did when 

 her family perceived in the coal trade on that 

 river an opening for Mr Micawber's talents to be 

 turned to account. The first thing, said I, is to 

 see my Medway, the fences, and, as I have 

 indicated, these do take a lot of getting at if you 

 start from London. The South- Western's fast 

 service gets you down to Salisbury in fine style ; 

 there you switch yourself on to another line, the 

 one that follows the Avon's course more or less to 

 Bournemouth, or, I should say Christchurch, 

 which is next door like, and, as I have sampled 

 it, gives one leisure to view the land at ease. If 

 I had to go any distance there is one means of 

 progression I could not profitably adopt, and that 

 is walking, for every time I could get near that 

 beautiful hurrying, clear river I should be loitering 

 and hanging about. I can waste my time for 

 hours at a stretch looking at a bit of a brook, so 

 you can by the aid of a very simple sum in pro- 

 portion arrive at the idling to be got out of a 

 fast-flowing, fishy stream like the Hampshire 

 Avon, which adorns other counties, and was for 

 the most part of the run observable from the 

 railroad in Wiltshire, and when I left it not so far 

 from the Dorsetshire borders. 



To return to our muttons, in which flock is 

 the sun, a bit of a black sheep this time because 

 he would not do what was wanted, and that was 

 just to turn the light on. Instead of which, we 

 had one of the coldest southerly winds I ever 

 experienced. Throughout the low land, full of 



