this county. Black ignores it, Murray knows nothing about it, and
Bradshaw is silent on the subject.

_Happy Thought._--While at Our Mansion write a Guide to Hertfordshire.

Arrived at the station we inquire for Blackmeer Hall. Six or seven miles
to drive. I ask if this distance isn't against it? I am met by the
unanimous answer, "Not at all."

Chilvern points out the beauties of the road as we go along. We become
silent, not liking to have things perpetually pushed under our notice,
as if we couldn't see them for ourselves.

"There's a fine bit," he says, pointing to a gate. We nod. "Aren't the
colours of the trees lovely?" he asks. We agree with him. For the sake
of argument, I observe that I've seen finer. "Where?" he inquires. I
don't know at this moment _where_, but, being on my mettle, I am certain
that I _have_ seen finer.

_Happy Thought._--In Derbyshire.

He pooh-poohs the notion of Derbyshire. Then he continues giving us bits
of useful information, like a disjointed lecture.

"There's a tree for you!" he exclaims. Then, "There's a queer old roof,
eh?" No notice being taken of this, he continues, "Fine beech that!"
"Beautiful view, isn't it?" Presently, "Just look at the sky _now_!" and
so on.

Cazell begins to resent it, so does Boodels.

Chilvern says, pointing left and right, "Ah, these fields are the place
for mushrooms."

Boodels says that his own fields in Essex are better.

"Not better than this," says Chilvern.

Boodels returns that they are, and that _he_, Boodels, _ought_ to know.

Chilvern pauses to allow the subject to stand and cool, as it were; then
he begins again.

"That's a fine cow there. This is a great place for cows. It's where all
the celebrated cheeses are made."

"Ah, my dear fellow," cries Boodels, "you should see the cows in
Gloucestershire. They _are_ cows."

Cazell agrees with him, but caps it with, "Yes, but I'll tell you what
_you_ ought to do," to Chilvern: "you ought to go to the Scilly Islands,
and see the cows there."

Milburd says if it's a question of going to islands, why not to the Isle
of Wight and see Cowes there? I laugh, slightly; as it doesn't do to
encourage Milburd too much. The others, who are warming with their
conversation, treat the joke with silent contempt.

"There's a larch for you," cries Chilvern, in admiration of a gigantic
fir-tree.

"That!" exclaims Cazell. "My dear fellow"--whenever he is getting
nettled in discussion, he always