It is strange that in times within the memory of the writer the villages closely surrounding London were so countrified. Hampstead, Highgate, Acton, Fulham, Barnes, Kew, Richmond, Bow, Stratford, Bromley were quite separated from the metropolis and surrounded by pleasant fields, approached by lanes shaded by elms and tall hawthorn hedges, full of good old-fashioned houses shut in with lofty red brick walls, over which fruit trees might be seen, laden in autumn, with ruddy apples, golden pears or purple plums, offering a temptation to the passer-by. Fields of cabbages or fragrant beans, (can anything surpass the scent of a bean-field in full bloom with the sun upon it?) market gardens, orchards, and acres of more delicate vegetables, cucumbers, etc., grown under glass; great waggons laden with the produce of the land jolting and jingling along the road or stopping for refreshment for man and beast in front of some well-shaded wayside inn. A four-wheeled cab might be seen occasionally, when folks would look at one another, and say, “What can be the matter? Here's a cab going to the Smiths'. Can it be a lawyer going to draw up the old man's will, or has his son, after so many years, come back again from India?” See the neighbourhoods now with their huge warehouses, manufactories or smart suburban streets and rows of shops, omnibuses, motor cars, etc. How few years, comparatively speaking, it has taken to effect these changes, and one wonders whether any country at all will be left in the days of our grandchildren. [Illustration: VILLAGE FORGE AT ACTON.] (_To be continued._) VARIETIES. A FABLE FOR CRITICS. A lamb strayed for the first time into the woods, and excited much discussion among the other animals. In a mixed company, one day, when he became the subject of a friendly gossip, the goat praised him. “Pooh!” said the lion, “this is too absurd. The beast is a pretty beast enough, but did you hear him roar? I heard him roar, and, by the manes of my fathers, when he roars he does nothing but cry ba--a--a!” And the lion bleated his best in mockery, but bleated far from well. “Nay,” said the deer, “I do not think so badly of his voice. I liked him well enough until I saw him leap. He kicks with the hind legs in running, and with all his skipping gets over very little ground.” “It is a bad beast altogether,” said the tiger. “He cannot roar, he cannot run, he can do nothing--and what wonder? I killed a man yesterday, and, in politeness to the new-comer, offered him a bit, upon which he had the impudence to look disgusted and say, ‘No, sir, I eat nothing but grass.’” So the beasts criticised the lamb, each in his own way; and yet it was a very good lamb nevertheless. TAKING DOWN THE CLOTHES-LINE. “We had at one time in our service,” says a modern housekeeper, “a very simple young woman, who came to us through one of the registry offices in our town.