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redshanks here, the parent birds flying
round and round, piping mournfully, almost within reach of my hand.
A little further down, not many months ago, there was observed a great
commotion in the stream, as of some big beast swimming slowly; the
level was netted, and they hauled out a great sturgeon, who had
somehow lost his way, and was trying to find a spawning-ground.
There is an ancient custom that all sturgeon, netted in English waters,
belong by right to the sovereign; but no claim was advanced in this
case. The line between Ely and March crosses the level, further north,
and the huge freight-trains go smoking and clanking over the fen all
day. I often walk along the 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 respect one's taste in choosing so homely and serene a
region for a dwelling-place, and they know that whatever motive one
may have had for coming, it was not dictated by a feverish love of
society. I have never known a district--and I have lived in many parts
of England--where one was so naturally and simply accepted as a part
of the place. One is greeted in all directions with a comfortable
cordiality, and a natural sort of good-breeding; and thus the life comes
at once to have a precise quality, a character of its own. Every one is
independent, and one is expected to be independent too. There is no
suspicion of a stranger; it is merely recognised that he is in search of a
definite sort of life, and he is made frankly and unostentatiously at
home.
And so the days race away there in the middle of the mighty plain. No
plans are ever interrupted, no one questions one's going and coming as
one will, no one troubles his head about one's occupations or pursuits.
Any help or advice that one needs is courteously and readily given, and
no favours asked or expected in return. One little incident gave me
considerable amusement. There is a private footpath of my own which
leads close to my house; owing to the house having stood for some
time unoccupied, people had tended to use it as a short cut. The kindly
farmer obviated this by putting up a little notice-board, to indicate that
the path was private. A day or two afterwards it was removed and
thrown into a ditch. I was perturbed as well as surprised by this,
supposing that it showed that the notice had offended some local
susceptibility; and being very anxious to begin my tenure on
neighbourly terms, I consulted my genial landlord, who laughed, and
said that there was no one who would think of doing such a thing; and
to reassure me he added that one of his men had seen the culprit at
work, and that it was only an old horse, who had rubbed himself
against the post till he had thrown it down.
The days pass, then, in a delightful monotony; one