106 MY LIFE 



bearer smoked too. It therefore occurred to me that I might 

 as well learn the art, and for a few days tried a few whiffs. 

 Then, going a little too far, I had such a violent attack of 

 headache and vomiting that I was cured once and for ever 

 from any desire to smoke, and although I afterwards lived for 

 some years among Portuguese and Dutch, almost all of whom 

 are smokers, I never felt any inclination to try again. 



Three miles north of Barton was the small village of Silsoe 

 adjoining Wrest Park, the seat of Earl Cowper, whose agent, 

 Mr. Brown, was known to my brother, and had, I think, ob- 

 tained from him the parish survey we were engaged upon. A 

 young gentleman three or four years older than myself who 

 was, I think, a pupil of Mr. Brown's, was sent by him to learn 

 a little land-surveying with us, and was a pleasant companion 

 for me, especially as we were often left alone, when my 

 brother was called away on other business, sometimes for a 

 week at a time. Although the country north of Barton was 

 rather flat and uninteresting, to the south it was very pictur- 

 esque, as it was only about half a mile from the range of the 

 North Downs, which, though only rising about three hundred 

 feet above Barton, yet were very irregular, jutting out into fine 

 promontories or rounded knolls with very steep sides and with 

 valleys running up between them. The most charming of these 

 valleys was the nearest to us, opening behind the church. It 

 was narrow, with abundance of grass and bushes on the sides 

 of a rapid-flowing streamlet, which, about a quarter of a mile 

 further, had its source in a copious spring gushing out from the 

 foot of the chalk-hill. On the west side of this valley the steep 

 slope was thickly covered with hazel and other bushes, as well 

 as a good many trees, forming a hanging wood full of wild 

 flowers, and offering a delightful shade in the heat of the 

 afternoon. About a mile to the east there was an extensive 

 old British earthwork called Ravensburgh Castle, beyond 

 which was another wooded valley; between these was a toler- 

 ably level piece of upland where the villagers played cricket 

 in the summer. 



My friend, whose name I forget (we will call him Mr. A.), 

 was a small-sized but active young fellow, very good-looking, 



