abolished. "Was very old, and broke off its
hinges about twelve months ago, and there ain't
to be a gate no more!" is her answer, and one
more evidence of boundary and proof of the
separate existence of the forest is swept away.
Here's a small enclosure belonging to a gentleman
whom I've often had the pleasure of hearing
speak. A poor-law guardian of a large East-
end parish, a fervent advocate of Magna Charta;
I've known him quite eloquent upon the superiority
of this free country to imperial France: the
culminating point of such superiority being a local
elective system capable of producing his enlightened
self. This patch of ground came to him,
they say, through a relative who paid something
to the lord, and then took it. As a matter of
course, there's no title; and our guardian being
a shrewd business man in everything relating to
his own interests, doesn't build the snug little
country box he'd promised himself, just yet.
Every year his right of ownership is undisputed,
will strengthen his claim, until long
usance and custom will create what he thinks is
sufficient title, and then I suppose he'll build.
It's the same story everywhere. That fine farm
you see down yonder was taken years ago. There
was some fuss, and an action was brought at the
assizes; but just before the trial came on, a
compromise was effected, and undisturbed possession
allowed. It's not difficult, they say, to
induce men to give way on points they've no
direct interest in upholding. There are no
fences, you'll remark, in the field opposite,
and there's a sort of superstition in these parts
(how originated it's impossible to say) that if
an enclosure is under four feet high, it is not
so flagrant a violation of the law as if it were
over four feet high.

"Is Mr. Take at home, my man?" "No, sir,
he's left here, and I've got the farm." "Bought
it of him?" "No, I rent it of him, it's his freehold,
you know, and I pay him so much a year."
"How came it to be his freehold?" "Why, he
bought it of the lord, to be sure; I thought
everybody knew that." Mark the phrase,
"his freehold," as if it were thought expedient
to drag the precise nature of the assumed
ownership forward at every opportunity; and
then look at that monster brick-field just made
on the left. The contractor for a great
public undertaking is the man responsible for
this; and having, I suppose, quietly arranged
terms with the lord of the manor, has proceeded
to enclose, and then dig holes, and make bricks.
A very short time ago, neither those ugly yawning
chasms now filled with water, nor the clay
mounds and dirt heaps, existed. All was green
smooth turf; and the fifty or sixty acres thus
appropriated, were played on and marched over
without let or hindrance, like the remainder of
the space near. Now we come to what is called
"The Groves;" and here you see the enclosure
system in its first stage. Rough low railings,
over which any one can climb; gates to
preserve the right of way; men, women, and
children, roaming to and fro as now. But twelve
months ago that little Swiss cottage, now fenced
off, was a regular place of resort for hot water
for tea-making; and the beautifully wild ground
before you was dotted with merry groups
every fine holiday. Yet, we repeat, you are now
only a few miles from the very worst parts of
Babylon; there is neither railway nor omnibus
fare to pay for the majority of the poor
frequenters, who just trudge here from their
homes and back again. Of course, they'll
be allowed their old privileges for this
summer. It would not do to brave popular
indignation all at once. So the railings will stand
quietly for a time, as an advanced guard, and
then the regular army of cottages, villas, and
mansions will follow in their wake. Up the
lane, and turning the corner by the old entrance
to Warlock Park, where a handsome residence
stands on one side, and another is rapidly
approaching completion on the other, we come
upon a huge black board with "Stoley Park
Estate. Building lots to be let or sold. For
terms, apply to Messrs. Bone."

All common-land a few months since. All
the property of the disreputable people who
enjoy fresh air and sunshine upon Sundays.
It does not seem a difficult mode of acquiring
valuable estates! Some stout palings and a
big board, and the thing's done. "Of course
my lord won't charge you anything like the
true value of the land, Mr. Builder. You
know all about the little hitch respecting
title; and if you're willing to take the risk
and invest your money, you won't find us
hard as to the terms upon which you can have
a good long building lease. Scruples? Pooh!
look at the Pawnington Park estate a little
further on. A new road made there, sir; great
benefit to the community. New houses on
each side, let as soon as built; plan of the
estate, and building lots in the regular way.
Genteel little colony of the higher class of
tradesmen, professional people, and government
clerks, is planted there; and yet it was all
forest-land, such as this is, a few months back.
Enclosed by consent of the Homage, there's
the fun of it, each member of the Homage
getting a bit, and the lord, of course, taking the
lion's share. Legal? It's quite legal enough
for our purpose; for we've been letting off the
land like smoke, until that meddlesome
COMMONS PRESERVATION SOCIETY began to interfere,
and succeeded in frightening some people
concerning their want of title. At Pawnington
Park, builders have been bold enough to
put up houses; and at Stoley Park they've
held back; that's the only difference. The
mode of action is simplicity itself. A London
lawyer or two, and a few others personally
interested, have met together by appointment,
keeping the room door open to maintain the
show of legal form. A man has been hired
to say mildly, "Oh yes! oh yes!" in the old
Saxon style, before the masquerading business
began; and then every necessary respect and
attention having been paid to the commoners
and the public, the little party has set to
work with map and compasses, and declared