grassy flood-bank for a mile or two, to the tiny decayed village of
Mepal, with a little ancient church, where an old courtier lies, an
Englishman, but with property near Lisbon, who was a gentleman-in-
waiting to James II. in his French exile, retired invalided, and
spent the rest of his days "between Portugal and Byall Fen"--an odd
pair of localities to be so conjoined!

And what of the life that it is possible to live in my sequestered
grange? I suppose there is not a quieter region in the whole of
England. There are but two or three squires and a few clergy in the
Isle, but the villages are large and prosperous; the people
eminently friendly, shrewd and independent, with homely names for
the most part, but with a sprinkling both of Saxon appellations,
like Cutlack, which is Guthlac a little changed, and Norman names,
like Camps, inherited perhaps from some invalided soldier who made
his home there after the great fight. There is but little
communication with the outer world; on market-days a few trains
dawdle along the valley from Ely to St. Ives and back again. They
are fine, sturdy, prosperous village communities, that mind their
own business, and take their pleasure in religion and in song, like
their forefathers the fenmen, Girvii, who sang their three-part
catches with rude harmony.

Part of the charm of the place is, I confess, its loneliness. One
may go for weeks together with hardly a caller; there are no social
functions, no festivities, no gatherings. One may once in a month
have a chat with a neighbour, or take a cup of tea at a kindly
parsonage. But people tend to mind their own business, and live
their own lives in their own circle; yet there is an air of
tranquil neighbourliness all about. The inhabitants of the region