redicament of the men of Gotham than are ready to acknowledge the
similitude.

_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ I am afraid I am too matter-of-fact to
sympathise very clearly with this form of aestheticism; but here is a
charming bit of forest scenery. Look at that old oak with the deer
under it; the long and deep range of fern running up from it to that
beech-grove on the upland, the lights and shadows on the projections and
recesses of the wood, and the blaze of foxglove in its foreground. It is
a place in which a poet might look for a glimpse of a Hamadryad.

_Mr. Falconer._ Very beautiful for the actual present--too beautiful for
the probable future. Some day or other the forest will be disforested;
the deer will be either banished or destroyed; the wood will be either
shut up or cut down. Here is another basis for disappointment. The more
we admire it now, the more we shall regret it then. The admiration of
sylvan and pastoral scenery is at the mercy of an Enclosure Act, and,
instead of the glimpse of a Hamadryad, you will some time see a large
board warning you off the premises under penalty of rigour of law.

_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ But, my dear young friend, you have yourself
enclosed a favourite old resort of mine and of many others. I did not
see such a board as you speak of; but there is an effective fence which
answers the purpose.

_Mr. Falconer._ True; but when the lot of crown land was put up for
sale, it was sure to be purchased and shut up by somebody. At any rate,
I have not interfered with the external picturesque; and I have been
much more influenced by an intense desire of shutting up myself than of
shutting up the place, merely because it is my property.

About half-way from their respective homes the two new friends
separated, the doctor having promised to walk over again soon to dine
and pass the night.

The doctor soliloquised as he walked.

'Strange metamorphosis of the old tower. A good dining-room. A good
library. A bedroom between them: he did not show it me. Good wine:
excellent. Pretty waiting-maids, exceedingly pretty. Two of seven
Vestals, who maintain the domestic fire on the hearth of the young Numa.
By the way, they had something of the Vestal costume: white dresses with
purple borders. But they had nothing on their heads but their own hair,
very gracefully arranged. The Vestals had head-dresses, which hid their
hair, if they had any. They were shaved on admission. Perhaps the hair
was