At its foot, where now the railway cuts through, once ran “the creek with barges gliding deep, beside the long grass,” on the banks of which Addison went bird-nesting, in search of eggs for the young Earl of Warwick. This was when he was thinking of marrying the lad’s mother, and the letters—still in existence—which he wrote from here to the little ten-year-old earl, are as genuine and charming as anything which ever came from his pen. One of them begins: “The business of this is to invite you to a concert of music, which I have found out in the neighbouring wood.” I wish space allowed me to quote more of these letters. Although they are dated simply at Sand’s End, none other than Sandford House has ever stood which can make entirely good the descriptions of that country retreat, “whereto Mr. Addison often retires in summer.” What would one not give to have been invited out there, on such an evening as Thackeray tells us of? “When the time came to leave, Esmond marched homeward to his lodgings, and met Mr. Addison on the road, walking to a cottage which he had at Fulham, the moon shining on his handsome serene face. ‘What cheer, brother?’ says Addison, laughing: ‘I thought it was a foot-pad advancing in the dark, and behold, it is an old friend. We may shake hands, Colonel, in the dark; ’tis better than fighting by daylight. Why should we quarrel because thou art a Whig and I am a Tory? Turn thy steps and walk with me to Fulham, where there is a nightingale still singing in the garden, and a cool bottle in a cave I know of. You shall drink to the Pretender, if you like. I will drink my liquor in my own way.’” [Picture: Sandford Manor House, Sand’s End]