Some fifteen years ago the Londoners might have had water from us; and I was one of those who did my best to get it for them:  but the water companies did not choose to take it; and now this part of England is growing so populous and so valuable that it wants all its little rainfall for itself.  So there is another leaf torn out of the Sibylline books for the poor old water companies.  You do not understand:  you will some day.  But you may comfort yourself about London.  For it happens to be, I think, the luckiest city in the world; and if it had not been, we should have had pestilence on pestilence in it, as terrible as the great plague of Charles ii.’s time.  The old Britons, without knowing in the least what they were doing, settled old London city in the very centre of the most wonderful natural reservoir in this island, or perhaps in all Europe; which reaches from Kent into Wiltshire, and round again into Suffolk; and that is, the dear old chalk downs.

Why, they are always dry.

Yes.  But the turf on them never burns up, and the streams which flow through them never run dry, and seldom or never flood either.  Do you not know, from Winchester, that that is true?  Then where is all the rain and snow gone, which falls on them year by year, but into the chalk itself, and into the greensands, too, below the chalk?  There it is, soaked up as by a sponge, in quantity incalculable; enough, some think, to supply London, let it grow as huge as it may.  I wish I too were sure of that.  But the Commission has shown itself so wise and fair, and brave likewise—­too brave, I am sorry to say, for some who might have supported them—­that it is not for me to gainsay their opinion.

But if there was not water enough in the chalk, are not the Londoners rich enough to bring it from any distance?

My boy, in this also we will agree with the Commission—­that we ought not to rob Peter to pay Paul, and take water to a distance which other people close at hand may want.  Look at the map of England and southern Scotland; and see for yourself what is just, according to geography and nature.  There are four mountain-ranges; four great water-fields.  First, the hills of the Border.  Their rainfall ought to be stored for the Lothians and the extreme north of England.  Then the Yorkshire and Derbyshire hills—­the central chine of England.  Their rainfall is being stored already, to the honour of the shrewd northern men, for the manufacturing counties east and west of the hills.  Then come the lake mountains—­the finest water-field of all, because more rain by far falls there than in any place in England.  But they will be wanted to supply Lancashire, and some day Liverpool itself; for Liverpool is now using rain which belongs more justly to other towns; and besides, there are plenty of counties and towns, down into Cheshire, which would be glad of what water Lancashire does not want.  And last come the Snowdon mountains,