ON SURREY HILLS. 



o' these 'ere gates an' go furder afield. Ye doan't 

 paint no picturs here. Come to heel, Wapse ; come 

 to heel, Jerry ! They be goin'." 



As the round-frocked pig-feeder and his two wolfish 

 lurchers passed out of sight, the tongues of the painters 

 were loosened, and all that could be said was said. 

 Some time has elapsed since that expedition, but if 

 one of the pair happens to meet the other, and says, 

 " I wun't hev it painted ! " the other grows eloquent 

 on the subject of gorillas endowed with the gift of 

 speech. Usually he is one of the most even-tempered 

 men I know, but he has often expressed his great 

 regret that he could not have had ten minutes inter- 

 course with that surly farmer — with his coat off, — 

 always supposing the dogs to have been first got 

 rid off. 



We have made three-parts of the circuit of these 

 thinly peopled uplands, which I have called No Man's 

 Land, and before we go down the hill — it is all hill 

 and hollow — we look round. Sussex and the weald 

 are in front of us. In descending we pass spots high 

 up on the hillsides where you could get bogged up 

 to your waist if you were not careful. These are the 

 breeding-places of plovers, woodcock, and snipe. We 



