Growing London.--Cigars by Dulwich Valley.--Edward Allen, Actor, Bear-baiter, Dog-fancier and Founder of a College.--Godd's Guift.--Dulwich buttercups.--Dr. Johnson.--A Prayer in a Library.--Merton.--Wimbledon Camp.--A Miser's grave.--An opportunity for a duel.--Groans for George Ranger.--Memories of the Windmill. Nothing is more capricious than a vast town pushing out into the country. No law binds it; no power can resist it; it will not be tempted, or denied; only one future can certainly be prophesied for it, that where it comes it will remain. Looking at London and its surroundings on a new map and an old, it is an arresting thing to trace--almost to watch--the growth of the inexorable black ink on what a decade or two before was inviolate white. There is nothing orderly about it, nothing mathematical. London does not grow as the circles spread from a splash in a pond, nor regularly and certainly as geologists say stones grow in the soil--a fascinating and rather dreadful secret of growth. London grows suddenly by fits and starts. Once, perhaps, the town crept out quietly, a field at a time, a new road in a twelvemonth. Now it catches great parks and manors. But which way it will go out to catch them you cannot guess. It may walk threateningly, and it may leave alone, as it has left the deepest of hayfields alone in Kent much nearer London than in Surrey. One rule, perhaps, it keeps relentlessly; it will never leave country between London old and London new. The Londons join at once.