nks of the river. There is the boat-house at the foot of the
garden. What delightful hours we have spent gliding up and down the
bends and reaches of the tranquil stream, watching the reflections in
the water, and picnicking under the willows on its grassy banks! How
the children love to come down here and feed the swans as the graceful
creatures glide proudly hither and thither, seeming to be conscious
that their beauty richly deserves all the homage that is paid to it!
The fishing, too! The whirr of the line, and the bend of the rod, and
the splash of the trout; why, there was more concentrated excitement in
some of those tremendous moments than in all the politics and battles
since the world began! And the bathing! On those hot summer days when
the very air seemed to scorch the skin, how exquisite those swirling
waters seemed! Am I to give up all this enjoyment because, once in
five years perhaps, the swollen stream floods my cellar and drowns my
hens? That is the question, and it is a live question too.

Now the trouble is a little deeper than appears on the surface. For if
I persuade myself that it is my duty to bounce off down to the owner of
the house and give him notice to quit, I shall soon find myself
spending a considerable proportion of my time in waiting upon my
landlords. In the next house to which I go I shall not only miss the
boating and fishing and bathing, but I shall within six months discover
other disadvantages quite as grave as the occasional flooding of my
riverside cellar. And then I shall have to move again. And moving
will become a habit with me. And, on the whole, it is a bad habit. It
may be good for the hens; but there are other things to be considered
besides hens. The solar system is not kept in operation solely for the
benefit of the hens in the cellar. There are the children, and, with
all respect for the fowl-yard, children are as much worthy of
consideration as chickens. It is not good for children to be
everlastingly moving. It is good for them to have sacred and beautiful
memories of the home of their childhood. It is good for them to feed
the swans, and play under the willows, year in and year out, and to
retain the swans and the willows as part of the background with which
memory will always paint the picture of their infancy. It is good for
children to feel a certain fixity and stability about home and school
and friends.

George Gissing pathetically tells ho