In the middle of the 19th century, Arthur Gibbs gives a Victorian view of dream of escaping London.

London is becoming miserably hot and dusty; everybody who can get away is rushing off, north, south, east and west, some to the seaside, others to pleasant country houses. Who will fly with me westwards to the land of golden sunshine and silvery trout streams, the land of breezy uplands and valleys nestling under limestone hills, where the scream of the railway whistle is seldom heard and the smoke of the factory darkens not the long summer days?