in the world, as long as you keep them; and if you're tired of them,
always fetch double their price."

After Minchampstead, the rail leaves the sands and clays, and turns up
between the chalk hills, along the barge river which it has rendered
useless, save as a supernumerary trout-stream; and then along Whit,
now flowing clearer and clearer, as we approach its springs amid the
lofty clowns. On through more water-meadows, and rows of pollard
willow, and peat-pits crested with tall golden reeds, and still
dykes,--each in summer a floating flower-bed; while Stangrave looks
out of the window, his face lighting up with curiosity.

"How perfectly English! At least, how perfectly un-American! It is
just Tennyson's beautiful dream--"

'On either side the river lie
Long fields, of barley and of rye,
Which clothe the wold and meet the sky,
And through the field the stream runs by,
To many towered Camelot.'

"Why, what is this?" as they stop again at a station, where the board
bears, in large letters, "Shalott."

"Shalott? Where are the

'Four grey walls, and four grey towers,'

which overlook a space of flowers?"