confined by man. Our English brook, after its uneventful
childhood, made its stolid matter-of-fact way into an equally dull
little river which crawled inertly along to its destiny somewhere
down by the docks. I know so many people whose whole lives are
like that of that particular English brook.

We lived then in London at Chesterfield House, South Audley
Street, which covered three times the amount of ground it does at
present, for at the back it had a very large garden, on which
Chesterfield Gardens are now built. In addition to this it had two
wings at right angles to it, one now occupied by Lord Leconfield's
house, the other by Nos. 1 and 2, South Audley Street. The left-
hand wing was used as our stables and contained a well which
enjoyed an immense local reputation in Mayfair. Never was such
drinking-water! My father allowed any one in the neighbourhood to
fetch their drinking-water from our well, and one of my earliest
recollections is watching the long daily procession of men-
servants in the curious yellow-jean jackets of the "sixties," each
with two large cans in his hands, fetching the day's supply of our
matchless water. No inhabitants of Curzon Street, Great Stanhope
Street, or South Audley Street would dream of touching any water
but that from the famous Chesterfield House spring. In 1867 there
was a serious outbreak of Asiatic cholera in London, and my father
determined to have the water of the celebrated spring analysed.
There were loud protests at this:--what, analyse the finest
drinking-water in England! My father, however, persisted, and the
result of the analysis was that our incomparable drinking-water
was found to contain thirty per cent. of organic matter. The
analyst reported that fifteen per cent. of the water must be pure
sewage. My father had the spring sealed and bricked up at once,