d pure an air as may be found in any
place in England, and an atmosphere in the metaphorical sense--a
peculiar feeling of brightness and lightness which proclaims a favoured
suburb. Hampstead has always been celebrated for its trees, and in spite
of the great annual increase in the number of its houses these have not
been wiped out of existence. Nearly every house possesses one or more,
and some are very fine specimens. The long sinuous backbone of the
borough, beginning as Haverstock Hill, continuing as Rosslyn Hill, and
running through High Street and Heath Street to the Heath, is
tree-shaded almost all its length. The streets on either side show
vistas of irregular red brick, softened and toned down by the greenery
of trees; every road is an avenue. The main artery, indicated above, is
all uphill, not all equally steep, but collar-work throughout its
length; at the top it bifurcates, and the winding of Heath Street
reminds one of a Continental town. The steep little streets or alleys
running down into it are furnished with steps like the Edinburgh wynds.
The way is long, but the toil is forgotten at the summit in the splendid
view from the flagstaff. Here the rolling blue outlines of distant hills
are emphasized by the beautiful foreground of the West Heath. There is
none of what painters call the "middle distance"; everything is near or
far, and the near is extraordinarily beautiful, especially if it be seen
in springtime when the spray of blossom is like the spray of deep water
breaking upon rocks, and the gorse twinkles like the twinkling of
ripples in the golden sunlight. The immediate foreground is bare and
worn, but a little further away the miniature heights and hollows, the
scrubby bush and little winding paths, add that mystery which so greatly
increases delight. The pond by the Flagstaff is frequently very gay;
there are carriages and horses, children with flotillas of white-sailed
craft, and horses splashing knee-deep from end to end of the pond, an
advantage much appreciated in the hot and thirsty summer. Away to the
east stretches of rolling green form a joyous playground for all at
holiday times, but are bare and arid compared with the West Heath.

Below North End on West Heath this character is maintained, and there
are few sights in England more beautiful than the richly clothed broken
ground stretching away from the slopes below Jack Straw's Castle when
the sunlight catches the leaves of the poplars a