estrangement or he would never have sung--

"North is North and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Except in the Tube at Leicester Square or the corner of Oxford
Street."

Anyhow you will find that people living in Hampstead tend more and
more to regard themselves as dwellers in the mountains, and take
defiantly to wearing plaid shawls and big hobnail brogues, and carry
alpenstocks in the Underground with them. They acquire, moreover,
the keen steady gaze of those who live in constant communion with the
silent hills, so different from the Oriental fatalism in the eyes of
the Kensingtonite, which comes from the eternal contemplation of the
posters of _Chu Chin Chow_.

It is possible, however, to visit Hampstead, if you are sufficiently
venturous, by bus, tube, tram or train. If you are very rich the best
way is to take a taxi-cab as far as Chalk Farm, where London's milk
supply is manufactured. You cannot go further than Chalk Farm by
taxi-cab, because the driver will explain that he is afraid of turning
giddy, having no head for heights. You have then the choice of two
courses, either to purchase the cab outright and drive it yourself, or
to finish your journey by the funicular railway.

Let us suppose that you have done the latter and emerged on the final
peak which surmounts the Hampstead range. On your way upwards you will
have been charmed by the number of picturesque houses which seem to
have been thrown at the side of the hill and to have stuck there, and
also by the luxuriant groves of cocoanut palms and orange and banana
trees which the L.C.C. has thoughtfully planted to provide sustenance
for London on its Whitsuntide Bank Holiday. It is indeed a pleasant
thought that so many hard-working people are able on this day to
snatch a little leisure in the good old English fashion on the swings
and roundabouts and forsake the weary routine of watching American
films. These great crowds picnic also on the greensward, bringing
their food in paper wrappers, so that a student of such matters can
easily gauge the proportionate circulation of our principal morning
dailies by taking a walk round Hampstead Heath early on Whit-Tuesday
morning.

When you have reached the last summit you will find yourself
confronted by a frowning Gothic pile known as Jack Straw's Castle, and
a large flagstaff on which the flag is only flown when the castellan
is in residence. There is also a pond where the inhab