e cross on the extreme summit of
the Hindhead--900 feet above sea-level--where the murderers of the
sailor were executed, and hung in chains. The view from this point,
aptly named Gibbet Hill, is quite magnificent for Surrey.

On the northern slope of Blackdown--the high ridge of hills towards the
south-east--is Aldworth House, where Tennyson resided in his latter
years.

[Illustration: THE PORTSMOUTH ROAD.

Near the highest point, where it crosses Hindhead.]

SHOTTERMILL

THE HOME OF GEORGE ELIOT

=How to get there.=--Train from Waterloo Station. L. and S.W.
Railway.
=Nearest Station.=--Haslemere (1 mile by road from Shottermill
village).
=Distance from London.=--43 miles.
=Average Time.=--From 1-1/2 to 2 hours.

1st 2nd 3rd
=Fares.=--Single 7s. 2d. 4s. 6d. 3s. 7d.
Return 12s. 6d. 8s. 0d. 6s. 8d.

=Accommodation Obtainable.=--At Haslemere--"White Horse Hotel,"
"Swan Hotel," etc. "Oakland's Mansion Private Hotel."

This lovely little village, on the slopes of Hindhead, with its breezy
uplands, its hills covered with Scotch firs and its undulating tracts of
land, so beautiful in the autumn with the glorious purple heather, was
much beloved by George Eliot, known to the whole world as the writer of
_Adam Bede_ and the _Mill on the Floss_. In 1871, while _Middlemarch_
was appearing in parts, George Eliot, who as Mr. Lewes said, "never
seemed at home except under a broad sweep of sky," spent part of the
spring and summer at Brookbank,--an old-fashioned gabled cottage in the
village (close to the church) with delightful lattice-paned
windows,--belonging to a Mrs. Gilchrist. At this time George Eliot was
in a delicate state of health and scarcely equal to finishing her new
story. One cannot call it a novel, for it had no plot. It was simply a
remarkable picture of provincial life in the first half of the
nineteenth century. George Eliot greatly enjoyed her quiet life at
Shottermill, although many of her friends thought it incomprehensible
that she could endure such a secluded life. One can scarcely read her
graphic description of the sweet beauty of a Warwickshire lane, with its
hedgerows all radiant in summer beauty, without feeling how much this
remarkable woman loved it all, and in some degree one may understand how
restful were the village surroundings. They led a most uneventful life,
but occasionally would pay a visit to Tennyson, whose house at A