Magna Charta Island is something of a shock at first sight; it is so exceptionally well cared for and so pretty. One pictures a tangle of wild trees, a mass of rushes, osiers perhaps, and general grimness. The osiers are confined to a fraction of the island; on the remainder is a prettily-built house of a fair size, with the very best sort of river-lawn, on which grow various fine and regular trees. Many are the evergreens; and the bosky holm oak, the dignified stone pine, and the flourishing walnut, seen in conjunction with the beautifully kept turf and bright flower-beds, are altogether unlike one's conception of the place.

It is true that, though the island has the name of it, it is now generally supposed that the actual signing of our great charter of liberties took place on the mainland. John had delayed, and played false, and postponed the issue for long, but he knew now that all was up, and he was cornered. A truce was declared, and from Windsor he agreed to meet his barons and "concede to them the laws and liberties which they asked." The fifteenth of June was fixed for the day, and Runney Mead, or Runnymede, for the place. With the barons were almost the whole of the English nobility; with John, certain ecclesiastical powers, namely, the Archbishops of Canterbury and Dublin, and seven bishops, as well as some earls and barons. It is quite obvious that the barons could have had no idea of the vast consequences of their act. They would have been astonished could they have foreseen that it would become the basis of the English constitution. They merely wanted to bind down a particular king who had outraged their liberties.

One can hardly imagine a better place for the assembling of a great body of armed men than these meadows by the river. The land is as flat as a platform, and sheltered to the south by the heights of Cooper's Hill, which rise like the tiers in an amphitheatre. The Long Mead, with the exception of the road now running across it, must have looked very much then as it does now. Runney Mead is more altered, because it is shut in by hedges. We know not if the day were fine or overcast when the great charter was signed; but when the deed was done John, in a rage, retired to Windsor. The barons remained on the meads for about ten days, during which the place must have been like a fair.

It is very hot on this part of the river on a sunny day. The trees growing on the banks are all on the north side, and consequently give little shade. They border Ankerwyke Park, and grow so close to the water that many of their roots are in it. The swallows dart to and fro, and clouds of gnats dance like thistledown in the air. Near the banks grow many flowers. The spotted knotweed or persicaria, with its bright flesh-coloured flowers, is sometimes in water, sometimes on the land; the common forget-me-not can be seen peeping up with its bright blue eyes; the pink willow herb flourishes; and the yellow iris and the purple loosestrife are also to be seen. And when there is no wind the scent of the meadow-sweet and the dog-roses becomes almost overpowering.

Ankerwyke was once a priory. It was appropriated by Henry VIII., who is said to have carried on the courtship of Anne Boleyn under the mighty chestnuts for which it was even then famous:

A bit of doggerel just about worthy of the occasion!

A more interesting association, though one that leads us rather far from the river, is Milton's residence at Horton. He lived here with his parents for five years after leaving Cambridge, and no doubt his rambles over country which would not then be hedged in and cut up as it is now, often led him in the direction of the river. It was this scenery, noted at those deeply impressionable years, that he could still see when earthly sight was gone.

Lycidas and Comus were both written in the next four or five years, and in

we have a touch of real nature breaking through the conventional allusions to vines and wild thyme; also:

Not very far below Ankerwyke, the river Coln runs into the Thames near Bell Weir Lock, and a little bit above Staines is London Stone, standing in a meadow close by the water. It marked the former jurisdiction of the Lord Mayor of London over the river, but these rights are now vested in the Thames Conservators. Staines does not make the most of itself, or sufficiently endeavour to veil those unsightlinesses incidental to a town. The large gasometers opposite London Stone are not the only blemishes. Standing on the bridge and looking up-stream there are many ugly, yellow-brick, manufacturing buildings to be seen; while the screen of willows does not hide piles of untidy stones, rusty old iron and other uglinesses. Even the very passable island in the centre does not atone. Down stream things are a little better, though the want of architectural beauty in the new church by the river and the "plastered-on" pinnacles of the parish church are both eyesores.

From Staines, however, one may pass rapidly to a fascinating corner at Penton Hook.