200 ON SURREY HILLS. 



they mind me o' sheep in lots o' ways ; and if one 

 on 'em breaks bounds, an' there's sheep about, he's 

 sure to find 'em out an' feed with 'cm." 



I know this is so ; for one deer was out for weeks, 

 lying up in a wood some distance from sheepfolds, 

 but he joined the sheep at night to feed. 



By the time this episode — the killing of that 

 offending stag — has passed through my mind, we have 

 gone by the mansion and are out on the highroad 

 again. Another mile will bring us to the little inn 

 where we propose to pass the night. Great changes, 

 so called modern improvements — modern destruction 

 rather — have been at work here. The land I knew 

 so well remains as usual, but a railway runs close 

 past it, and the pleasant old-time hamlet is in a state 

 of transition. We find the change not one for the 

 better. The homely talk and homely country ways 

 are giving place to more restless habits and modes of 

 thinking. Nothing is more irritating than to see 

 folks whom we have known jog on nicely apd com- 

 fortably all their lives, wakened up and trying to ape 

 the speech, manners, and dress of town-bred people. 



As we reach the little inn it is comforting to 

 see that it has not been improved out of knowledge 



