"It cannot be my beauty," she said; "for he must see
that I have none; and it cannot be my wit; for he has not enough to know
that I have any." Whatever the attraction may have been, he made her
Countess of Dorchester and gave her Ham House, and she very prudently
married David Colyear, first Lord Portmore. The gates of her park
survive her; the house has disappeared.

One great estate still remains, and on its hill the oldest settlement of
the neighbourhood. The generosity of the Egerton family throws open to
the public, in the woods of St. George's Hill, some hundreds of acres of
pine forest and heather. On the summit of the hill stands a large
prehistoric camp, where neolithic Wey-siders in Wey beaver-fur and
buckskin entrenched their wives and their cattle. There are fifteen or
sixteen of these ancient British camps in Surrey or just over the
border; this is the largest, and the height and strength of its
earthworks are admirable. It is more than three-quarters of a mile in
circumference, and since it is obviously a camp, has naturally been set
down as Caesar's. But that is the fate of anything old which looks like a
fortification--part of the traditional method of assigning otherwise
inexplicable phenomena to their proper agents. Camps are all Caesar's,
Cromwell made all the ruins, and all geological wonders belong to the
devil.

St. George's Hill, or rather the low-lying ground on the Cobham side of
it, was once the scene of a curious agricultural experiment. In the late
days of the Parliamentary wars the Levellers sent some thirty men, under
leaders named Everard and Winstanley, to seize part of the common land
and plant roots and beans. Fairfax sent two troops of horse after them,
and the captured Everard made him a speech, in which he claimed that he
had had a vision instructing him to dig and plough the earth for the
benefit of the poor, and that his mission was to help his oppressed
fellow-Israelites back to their rights over all landed and other
property. The Digger-Socialist did not give Fairfax much more trouble,
for the irate commoners, refusing to be delivered from bondage, drove
the Levellers from their common and pulled up the roots and beans.

The Levellers have their poet, and he made them a song with a fine lilt.
Here are the first three stanzas:

You noble Diggers all, stand up now, stand up now,
You noble Diggers all, stand up now,
The wast land to maintain, seeing Cavaliers b