A SURREY RIVER. 133 



When I threw in my line with expectancy high 

 As to perch in my basket, and eels in a pie. 



The first of my doggerel breathings was there — 

 'Twas the hope of a poet, ' An Ode to Despair.' 



Beautiful streamlet, I dream of thee still, 



Of thy pouring cascade and thy tic-tac-ing mill ; 



Thou livest in mem'ry, and wilt not depart. 



For thy waters seem blent with the stream of my heart 



» 



And in " The Old Water-Mill " she laments— 



" The mill is in ruins. No welcoming sound 

 In the mastiffs gruff bark and the wheels dashing round ; 

 The house, too, untenanted — left to decay — 

 And the miller, long dead : all I loved passed away.'' 



More Place, Betchworth, is quaint and beautiful in 

 itself, as well as in all its surroundings. The river 

 flows calmly by Betchworth House to the weir, and 

 from the weir to Brockham, or, as it was named in 

 olden times, Brocksholm — the haunt of the badger. 

 There is a real old English green there, surrounded 

 by pleasant rustic cottages and pretty houses, with 

 the village church. 



The Mole and its banks have great interest for the 

 naturalist ; animal and bird life thrive vigorously 



