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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/6981-h.zip b/6981-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d831475 --- /dev/null +++ b/6981-h.zip diff --git a/6981-h/6981-h.htm b/6981-h/6981-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..93c9710 --- /dev/null +++ b/6981-h/6981-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7057 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> +<TITLE>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Open Air, by Richard Jefferies</TITLE> +<META HTTP-EQUIV="content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +</HEAD> +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Air, by Richard Jefferies + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Open Air + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Posting Date: January 25, 2013 [EBook #6981] +Release Date: November, 2004 +First Posted: February 19, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN AIR *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1 align="center">THE OPEN AIR</h1> +<h2 align="center">RICHARD JEFFERIES</h2> + +<br> +<br> + +<p>NOTE</p> +<p>For permission to collect these papers my thanks are due to the +Editors of the following publications: <br> +<i>The Standard</i>, <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, +<i>Longman's Magazine</i>, <i>St. James's Gazette</i>, +<i>Chambers's Journal</i>, <i>Manchester Guardian</i>, <i>Good Words</i>, +and <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.<br> + R.J.</p> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<p><a href="#1">SAINT GUIDO</a></p> +<p><a href="#2">GOLDEN-BROWN</a></p> +<p><a href="#3">WILD FLOWERS</a></p> +<p><a href="#4">SUNNY BRIGHTON</a></p> +<p><a href="#5">THE PINE WOOD</a></p> +<p><a href="#6">NATURE ON THE ROOF</a></p> +<p><a href="#7">ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS</a></p> +<p><a href="#8">THE MODERN THAMES</a></p> +<p><a href="#9">THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN</a></p> +<p><a href="#10">THE HAUNT OF THE HARE</a></p> +<p><a href="#11">THE BATHING SEASON</a></p> +<p><a href="#12">UNDER THE ACORNS</a></p> +<p><a href="#13">DOWNS</a></p> +<p><a href="#14">FOREST</a></p> +<p><a href="#15">BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY</a></p> +<p><a href="#16">OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY</a></p> +<p><a href="#17">HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING</a></p> +<p><a href="#18">OUTSIDE LONDON</a></p> +<p><a href="#19">ON THE LONDON ROAD</a></p> +<p><a href="#20">RED ROOFS OF LONDON</a></p> +<p><a href="#21">A WET NIGHT IN LONDON</a></p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="1">SAINT GUIDO</a></h3> +<p>St. Guido ran out at the garden gate into a sandy lane, and down +the lane till he came to a grassy bank. He caught hold of the +bunches of grass and so pulled himself up. There was a footpath on +the top which went straight in between fir-trees, and as he ran +along they stood on each side of him like green walls. They were +very near together, and even at the top the space between them was +so narrow that the sky seemed to come down, and the clouds to be +sailing but just over them, as if they would catch and tear in the +fir-trees. The path was so little used that it had grown green, and +as he ran he knocked dead branches out of his way. Just as he was +getting tired of running he reached the end of the path, and came +out into a wheat-field. The wheat did not grow very closely, and +the spaces were filled with azure corn-flowers. St. Guido thought +he was safe away now, so he stopped to look.</p> +<p>Those thoughts and feelings which are not sharply defined but +have a haze of distance and beauty about them are always the +dearest. His name was not really Guido, but those who loved him had +called him so in order to try and express their hearts about him. +For they thought if a great painter could be a little boy, then he +would be something like this one. They were not very learned in the +history of painters: they had heard of Raphael, but Raphael was too +elevated, too much of the sky, and of Titian, but Titian was fond +of feminine loveliness, and in the end somebody said Guido was a +dreamy name, as if it belonged to one who was full of faith. Those +golden curls shaking about his head as he ran and filling the air +with radiance round his brow, looked like a Nimbus or circlet of +glory. So they called him St. Guido, and a very, very wild saint he +was.</p> +<p>St. Guido stopped in the cornfield, and looked all round. There +were the fir-trees behind him—a thick wall of +green—hedges on the right and the left, and the wheat sloped +down towards an ash-copse in the hollow. No one was in the field, +only the fir-trees, the green hedges, the yellow wheat, and the sun +overhead, Guido kept quite still, because he expected that in a +minute the magic would begin, and something would speak to him. His +cheeks which had been flushed with running grew less hot, but I +cannot tell you the exact colour they were, for his skin was so +white and clear, it would not tan under the sun, yet being always +out of doors it had taken the faintest tint of golden brown mixed +with rosiness. His blue eyes which had been wide open, as they +always were when full of mischief, became softer, and his long +eyelashes drooped over them. But as the magic did not begin, Guido +walked on slowly into the wheat, which rose nearly to his head, +though it was not yet so tall as it would be before the reapers +came. He did not break any of the stalks, or bend them down and +step on them; he passed between them, and they yielded on either +side. The wheat-ears were pale gold, having only just left off +their green, and they surrounded him on all sides as if he were +bathing.</p> +<p>A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating +along the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was +a little higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly +was inclined to settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the +butterfly, forgetting his secret in his desire to touch it. The +butterfly was too quick—with a snap of his wings disdainfully +mocking the idea of catching him, away he went. Guido nearly +stepped on a humble-bee—buzz-zz!—the bee was so alarmed +he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even then +knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido +kept quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that +he should not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that +humble-bees have stings though people often say they have not, and +the reason people think they do not possess them is because +humble-bees are so good-natured and never sting unless they are +very much provoked.</p> +<p>Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller +than the great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were +not golden but coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, +and he nearly tumbled—it was a bine of bindweed which went +twisting round and round two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding +them together as if some one had wound string about them. There was +one ear of wheat which had black specks on it, and another which +had so much black that the grains seemed changed and gone leaving +nothing but blackness. He touched it and it stained his hands like +a dark powder, and then he saw that it was not perfectly black as +charcoal is, it was a little red. Something was burning up the corn +there just as if fire had been set to the ears. Guido went on and +found another place where there was hardly any wheat at all, and +those stalks that grew were so short they only came above his knee. +The wheat-ears were thin and small, and looked as if there was +nothing but chaff. But this place being open was full of flowers, +such lovely azure cornflowers which the people call +bluebottles.</p> +<p>Guido took two; they were curious flowers with knobs surrounded +with little blue flowers like a lady's bonnet. They were a +beautiful blue, not like any other blue, not like the violets in +the garden, or the sky over the trees, or the geranium in the +grass, or the bird's-eyes by the path. He loved them and held them +tight in his hand, and went on, leaving the red pimpernel wide open +to the dry air behind him, but the May-weed was everywhere. The +May-weed had white flowers like a moon-daisy, but not so large, and +leaves like moss. He could not walk without stepping on these mossy +tufts, though he did not want to hurt them. So he stooped and +stroked the moss-like leaves and said, "I do not want to hurt you, +but you grow so thick I cannot help it." In a minute afterwards as +he was walking he heard a quick rush, and saw the wheat-ears sway +this way and that as if a puff of wind had struck them.</p> +<p>Guido stood still and his eyes opened very wide, he had +forgotten to cut a stick to fight with: he watched the wheat-ears +sway, and could see them move for some distance, and he did not +know what it was. Perhaps it was a wild boar or a yellow lion, or +some creature no one had ever seen; he would not go back, but he +wished he had cut a nice stick. Just then a swallow swooped down +and came flying over the wheat so close that Guido almost felt the +flutter of his wings, and as he passed he whispered to Guido that +it was only a hare. "Then why did he run away?" said Guido; "I +should not have hurt him." But the swallow had gone up high into +the sky again, and did not hear him. All the time Guido was +descending the slope, for little feet always go down the hill as +water does, and when he looked back he found that he had left the +fir-trees so far behind he was in the middle of the field. If any +one had looked they could hardly have seen him, and if he had taken +his cap off they could not have done so because the yellow curls +would be so much the same colour as the yellow corn. He stooped to +see how nicely he could hide himself, then he knelt, and in a +minute sat down, so that the wheat rose up high above him.</p> +<p>Another humble-bee went over along the tips of the +wheat—burr-rr—as he passed; then a scarlet fly, and +next a bright yellow wasp who was telling a friend flying behind +him that he knew where there was such a capital piece of wood to +bite up into tiny pieces and make into paper for the nest in the +thatch, but his friend wanted to go to the house because there was +a pear quite ripe there on the wall. Next came a moth, and after +the moth a golden fly, and three gnats, and a mouse ran along the +dry ground with a curious sniffling rustle close to Guido. A shrill +cry came down out of the air, and looking up he saw two swifts +turning circles, and as they passed each other they +shrieked—their voices were so shrill they shrieked. They were +only saying that in a month their little swifts in the slates would +be able to fly. While he sat so quiet on the ground and hidden by +the wheat, he heard a cuckoo such a long way off it sounded like a +watch when it is covered up. "Cuckoo" did not come full and +distinct—it was such a tiny little "cuckoo" caught in the +hollow of Guido's ear. The cuckoo must have been a mile away.</p> +<p>Suddenly he thought something went over, and yet he did not see +it—perhaps it was the shadow—and he looked up and saw a +large bird not very far up, not farther than he could fling, or +shoot his arrows, and the bird was fluttering his wings, but did +not move away farther, as if he had been tied in the air. Guido +knew it was a hawk, and the hawk was staying there to see if there +was a mouse or a little bird in the wheat. After a minute the hawk +stopped fluttering and lifted his wings together as a butterfly +does when he shuts his, and down the hawk came, straight into the +corn. "Go away!" shouted Guido jumping up, and flinging his cap, +and the hawk, dreadfully frightened and terribly cross, checked +himself and rose again with an angry rush. So the mouse escaped, +but Guido could not find his cap for some time. Then he went on, +and still the ground sloping sent him down the hill till he came +close to the copse.</p> +<p>Some sparrows came out from the copse, and he stopped and saw +one of them perch on a stalk of wheat, with one foot above the +other sideways, so that he could pick at the ear and get the corn. +Guido watched the sparrow clear the ear, then he moved, and the +sparrows flew back to the copse, where they chattered at him for +disturbing them. There was a ditch between the corn and the copse, +and a streamlet; he picked up a stone and threw it in, and the +splash frightened a rabbit, who slipped over the bank and into a +hole. The boughs of an oak reached out across to the corn, and made +so pleasant a shade that Guido, who was very hot from walking in +the sun, sat down on the bank of the streamlet with his feet +dangling over it, and watched the floating grass sway slowly as the +water ran. Gently he leaned back till his back rested on the +sloping ground—he raised one knee, and left the other foot +over the verge where the tip of the tallest rushes touched it. +Before he had been there a minute he remembered the secret which a +fern had taught him.</p> +<p>First, if he wanted to know anything, or to hear a story, or +what the grass was saying, or the oak-leaves singing, he must be +careful not to interfere as he had done just now with the butterfly +by trying to catch him. Fortunately, that butterfly was a nice +butterfly, and very kindhearted, but sometimes, if you interfered +with one thing, it would tell another thing, and they would all +know in a moment, and stop talking, and never say a word. Once, +while they were all talking pleasantly, Guido caught a fly in his +hand, he felt his hand tickle as the fly stepped on it, and he shut +up his little fist so quickly he caught the fly in the hollow +between the palm and his fingers. The fly went buzz, and rushed to +get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed again, and just told +the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and everything knew in a +moment, and Guido never heard another word all that day. Yet +sometimes now they all knew something about him, they would go on +talking. You see, they all rather petted and spoiled him. Next, if +Guido did not hear them conversing, the fern said he must touch a +little piece of grass and put it against his cheek, or a leaf, and +kiss it, and say, "Leaf, leaf, tell them I am here."</p> +<p>Now, while he was lying down, and the tip of the rushes touched +his foot, he remembered this, so he moved the rush with his foot +and said, "Rush, rush, tell them I am here." Immediately there came +a little wind, and the wheat swung to and fro, the oak-leaves +rustled, the rushes bowed, and the shadows slipped forwards and +back again. Then it was still, and the nearest wheat-ear to Guido +nodded his head, and said in a very low tone, "Guido, dear, just +this minute I do not feel very happy, although the sunshine is so +warm, because I have been thinking, for we have been in one or +other of these fields of your papa's a thousand years this very +year. Every year we have been sown, and weeded, and reaped, and +garnered. Every year the sun has ripened us and the rain made us +grow; every year for a thousand years."</p> +<p>"What did you see all that time?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"The swallows came," said the Wheat, "and flew over us, and sang +a little sweet song, and then they went up into the chimneys and +built their nests."</p> +<p>"At my house?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"Oh, no, dear, the house I was then thinking of is gone, like a +leaf withered and lost. But we have not forgotten any of the songs +they sang us, nor have the swallows that you see to-day—one +of them spoke to you just now—forgotten what we said to their +ancestors. Then the blackbirds came out in us and ate the creeping +creatures, so that they should not hurt us, and went up into the +oaks and whistled such beautiful sweet low whistles. Not in those +oaks, dear, where the blackbirds whistle to-day; even the very oaks +have gone, though they were so strong that one of them defied the +lightning, and lived years and years after it struck him. One of +the very oldest of the old oaks in the copse, dear, is his +grandchild. If you go into the copse you will find an oak which has +only one branch; he is so old, he has only that branch left. He +sprang up from an acorn dropped from an oak that grew from an acorn +dropped from the oak the lightning struck. So that is three oak +lives, Guido dear, back to the time I was thinking of just now. And +that oak under whose shadow you are now lying is the fourth of +them, and he is quite young, though he is so big.</p> +<p>"A jay sowed the acorn from which he grew up; the jay was in the +oak with one branch, and some one frightened him, and as he flew he +dropped the acorn which he had in his bill just there, and now you +are lying in the shadow of the tree. So you see, it is a very long +time ago, when the blackbirds came and whistled up in those oaks I +was thinking of, and that was why I was not very happy."</p> +<p>"But you have heard the blackbirds whistling ever since?" said +Guido; "and there was such a big black one up in our cherry tree +this morning, and I shot my arrow at him and very nearly hit him. +Besides, there is a blackbird whistling now—you listen. +There, he's somewhere in the copse. Why can't you listen to him, +and be happy now?"</p> +<p>"I will be happy, dear, as you are here, but still it is a long, +long time, and then I think, after I am dead, and there is more +wheat in my place, the blackbirds will go on whistling for another +thousand years after me. For of course I did not hear them all that +time ago myself, dear, but the wheat which was before me heard them +and told me. They told me, too, and I know it is true, that the +cuckoo came and called all day till the moon shone at night, and +began again in the morning before the dew had sparkled in the +sunrise. The dew dries very soon on wheat, Guido dear, because +wheat is so dry; first the sunrise makes the tips of the wheat ever +so faintly rosy, then it grows yellow, then as the heat increases +it becomes white at noon, and golden in the afternoon, and white +again under the moonlight. Besides which wide shadows come over +from the clouds, and a wind always follows the shadow and waves us, +and every time we sway to and fro that alters our colour. A rough +wind gives us one tint, and heavy rain another, and we look +different on a cloudy day to what we do on a sunny one. All these +colours changed on us when the blackbird was whistling in the oak +the lightning struck, the fourth one backwards from me; and it +makes me sad to think that after four more oaks have gone, the same +colours will come on the wheat that will grow then. It is thinking +about those past colours, and songs, and leaves, and of the colours +and the sunshine, and the songs, and the leaves that will come in +the future that makes to-day so much. It makes to-day a thousand +years long backwards, and a thousand years long forwards, and makes +the sun so warm, and the air so sweet, and the butterflies so +lovely, and the hum of the bees, and everything so delicious. We +cannot have enough of it."</p> +<p>"No, that we cannot," said Guido. "Go on, you talk so nice and +low. I feel sleepy and jolly. Talk away, old Wheat."</p> +<p>"Let me see," said the Wheat. "Once on a time while the men were +knocking us out of the ear on a floor with flails, which are sticks +with little hinges—"</p> +<p>"As if I did not know what a flail was!" said Guido. "I hit old +John with the flail, and Ma gave him a shilling not to be +cross."</p> +<p>"While they were knocking us with the hard sticks," the Wheat +went on, "we heard them talking about a king who was shot with an +arrow like yours in the forest—it slipped from a tree, and +went into him instead of into the deer. And long before that the +men came up the river—the stream in the ditch there runs into +the river—in rowing ships—how you would like one to +play in, Guido! For they were not like the ships now which are +machines, they were rowing ships—men's ships—and came +right up into the land ever so far, all along the river up to the +place where the stream in the ditch runs in; just where your papa +took you in the punt, and you got the waterlilies, the white +ones."</p> +<p>"And wetted my sleeve right up my arm—oh, I know! I can +row you, old Wheat; I can row as well as my papa can."</p> +<p>"But since the rowing ships came, the ploughs have turned up +this ground a thousand times," said the Wheat; "and each time the +furrows smelt sweeter, and this year they smelt sweetest of all. +The horses have such glossy coats, and such fine manes, and they +are so strong and beautiful. They drew the ploughs along and made +the ground give up its sweetness and savour, and while they were +doing it, the spiders in the copse spun their silk along from the +ashpoles, and the mist in the morning weighed down their threads. +It was so delicious to come out of the clods as we pushed our green +leaves up and felt the rain, and the wind, and the warm sun. Then a +little bird came in the copse and called, 'Sip-sip, sip, sip, sip,' +such a sweet low song, and the larks ran along the ground in +between us, and there were bluebells in the copse, and anemones; +till by-and-by the sun made us yellow, and the blue flowers that +you have in your hand came out. I cannot tell you how many there +have been of these flowers since the oak was struck by the +lightning, in all the thousand years there must have been +altogether—I cannot tell you how many."</p> +<p>"Why didn't I pick them all?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"Do you know," said the Wheat, "we have thought so much more, +and felt so much more, since your people took us, and ploughed for +us, and sowed us, and reaped us. We are not like the same wheat we +used to be before your people touched us, when we grew wild, and +there were huge great things in the woods and marshes which I will +not tell you about lest you should be frightened. Since we have +felt your hands, and you have touched us, we have felt so much +more. Perhaps that was why I was not very happy till you came, for +I was thinking quite as much about your people as about us, and how +all the flowers of all those thousand years, and all the songs, and +the sunny days were gone, and all the people were gone too, who had +heard the blackbirds whistle in the oak the lightning struck. And +those that are alive now—there will be cuckoos calling, and +the eggs in the thrushes' nests, and blackbirds whistling, and blue +cornflowers, a thousand years after every one of them is gone.</p> +<p>"So that is why it is so sweet this minute, and why I want you, +and your people, dear, to be happy now and to have all these +things, and to agree so as not to be so anxious and careworn, but +to come out with us, or sit by us, and listen to the blackbirds, +and hear the wind rustle us, and be happy. Oh, I wish I could make +them happy, and do away with all their care and anxiety, and give +you all heaps and heaps of flowers! Don't go away, darling, do you +lie still, and I will talk and sing to you, and you can pick some +more flowers when you get up. There is a beautiful shadow there, +and I heard the streamlet say that he would sing a little to you; +he is not very big, he cannot sing very loud. By-and-by, I know, +the sun will make us as dry as dry, and darker, and then the +reapers will come while the spiders are spinning their silk +again—this time it will come floating in the blue air, for +the air seems blue if you look up.</p> +<p>"It is a great joy to your people, dear, when the reaping time +arrives: the harvest is a great joy to you when the thistledown +comes rolling along in the wind. So that I shall be happy even when +the reapers cut me down, because I know it is for you, and your +people, my love. The strong men will come to us gladly, and the +women, and the little children will sit in the shade and gather +great white trumpets of convolvulus, and come to tell their mothers +how they saw the young partridges in the next field. But there is +one thing we do not like, and that is, all the labour and the +misery. Why cannot your people have us without so much labour, and +why are so many of you unhappy? Why cannot they be all happy with +us as you are, dear? For hundreds and hundreds of years now the +wheat every year has been sorrowful for your people, and I think we +get more sorrowful every year about it, because as I was telling +you just now the flowers go, and the swallows go, the old, old oaks +go, and that oak will go, under the shade of which you are lying, +Guido; and if your people do not gather the flowers now, and watch +the swallows, and listen to the blackbirds whistling, as you are +listening now while I talk, then Guido, my love, they will never +pick any flowers, nor hear any birds' songs. They think they will, +they think that when they have toiled, and worked a long time, +almost all their lives, then they will come to the flowers, and the +birds, and be joyful in the sunshine. But no, it will not be so, +for then they will be old themselves, and their ears dull, and +their eyes dim, so that the birds will sound a great distance off, +and the flowers will not seem bright.</p> +<p>"Of course, we know that the greatest part of your people cannot +help themselves, and must labour on like the reapers till their +ears are full of the dust of age. That only makes us more +sorrowful, and anxious that things should be different. I do not +suppose we should think about them had we not been in man's hand so +long that now we have got to feel with man. Every year makes it +more pitiful because then there are more flowers gone, and added to +the vast numbers of those gone before, and never gathered or looked +at, though they could have given so much pleasure. And all the work +and labour, and thinking, and reading and learning that your people +do ends in nothing—not even one flower. We cannot understand +why it should be so. There are thousands of wheat-ears in this +field, more than you would know how to write down with your pencil, +though you have learned your tables, sir. Yet all of us thinking, +and talking, cannot understand why it is when we consider how +clever your people are, and how they bring ploughs, and +steam-engines, and put up wires along the roads to tell you things +when you are miles away, and sometimes we are sown where we can +hear the hum, hum, all day of the children learning in the school. +The butterflies flutter over us, and the sun shines, and the doves +are very, very happy at their nest, but the children go on hum, hum +inside this house, and learn, learn. So we suppose you must be very +clever, and yet you cannot manage this. All your work is wasted, +and you labour in vain—you dare not leave it a minute.</p> +<p>"If you left it a minute it would all be gone; it does not mount +up and make a store, so that all of you could sit by it and be +happy. Directly you leave off you are hungry, and thirsty, and +miserable like the beggars that tramp along the dusty road here. +All the thousand years of labour since this field was first +ploughed have not stored up anything for you. It would not matter +about the work so much if you were only happy; the bees work every +year, but they are happy; the doves build a nest every year, but +they are very, very happy. We think it must be because you do not +come out to us and be with us, and think more as we do. It is not +because your people have not got plenty to eat and drink—you +have as much as the bees. Why just look at us! Look at the wheat +that grows all over the world; all the figures that were ever +written in pencil could not tell how much, it is such an immense +quantity. Yet your people starve and die of hunger every now and +then, and we have seen the wretched beggars tramping along the +road. We have known of times when there was a great pile of us, +almost a hill piled up, it was not in this country, it was in +another warmer country, and yet no one dared to touch it—they +died at the bottom of the hill of wheat. The earth is full of +skeletons of people who have died of hunger. They are dying now +this minute in your big cities, with nothing but stones all round +them, stone walls and stone streets; not jolly stones like those +you threw in the water, dear—hard, unkind stones that make +them cold and let them die, while we are growing here, millions of +us, in the sunshine with the butterflies floating over us. This +makes us unhappy; I was very unhappy this morning till you came +running over and played with us.</p> +<p>"It is not because there is not enough: it is because your +people are so short-sighted, so jealous and selfish, and so +curiously infatuated with things that are not so good as your old +toys which you have flung away and forgotten. And you teach the +children hum, hum, all day to care about such silly things, and to +work for them and to look to them as the object of their lives. It +is because you do not share us among you without price or +difference; because you do not share the great earth among you +fairly, without spite and jealousy and avarice; because you will +not agree; you silly, foolish people to let all the flowers wither +for a thousand years while you keep each other at a distance, +instead of agreeing and sharing them! Is there something in +you—as there is poison in the nightshade, you know it, dear, +your papa told you not to touch it—is there a sort of poison +in your people that works them up into a hatred of one another? +Why, then, do you not agree and have all things, all the great +earth can give you, just as we have the sunshine and the rain? How +happy your people could be if they would only agree! But you go on +teaching even the little children to follow the same silly objects, +hum, hum, hum, all the day, and they will grow up to hate each +other, and to try which can get the most round things—you +have one in your pocket."</p> +<p>"Sixpence," said Guido. "It's quite a new one."</p> +<p>"And other things quite as silly," the Wheat continued. "All the +time the flowers are flowering, but they will go, even the oaks +will go. We think the reason you do not all have plenty, and why +you do not do only just a little work, and why you die of hunger if +you leave off, and why so many of you are unhappy in body and mind, +and all the misery is because you have not got a spirit like the +wheat, like us; you will not agree, and you will not share, and you +will hate each other, and you will be so avaricious, and you will +<i>not</i> touch the flowers, or go into the sunshine (you would +rather half of you died among the hard stones first), and you will +teach your children hum, hum, to follow in some foolish course that +has caused you all this unhappiness a thousand years, and you will +<i>not</i> have a spirit like us, and feel like us. Till you have a +spirit like us, and feel like us, you will never, never be happy. +Lie still, dear; the shadow of the oak is broad and will not move +from you for a long time yet."</p> +<p>"But perhaps Paul will come up to my house, and Percy and +Morna."</p> +<p>"Look up in the oak very quietly, don't move, just open your +eyes and look," said the Wheat, who was very cunning. Guido looked +and saw a lovely little bird climbing up a branch. It was +chequered, black and white, like a very small magpie, only without +such a long tail, and it had a spot of red about its neck. It was a +pied woodpecker, not the large green woodpecker, but another kind. +Guido saw it go round the branch, and then some way up, and round +again till it came to a place that pleased it, and then the +woodpecker struck the bark with its bill, tap-tap. The sound was +quite loud, ever so much more noise than such a tiny bill seemed +able to make. Tap-tap! If Guido had not been still so that the bird +had come close he would never have found it among the leaves. +Tap-tap! After it had picked out all the insects there, the +woodpecker flew away over the ashpoles of the copse.</p> +<p>"I should just like to stroke him," said Guido. "If I climbed up +into the oak perhaps he would come again, and I could catch +him."</p> +<p>"No," said the Wheat, "he only comes once a day,"</p> +<p>"Then tell me stories," said Guido, imperiously.</p> +<p>"I will if I can," said the Wheat. "Once upon a time, when the +oak the lightning struck was still living, and when the wheat was +green in this very field, a man came staggering out of the wood, +and walked out into it. He had an iron helmet on, and he was +wounded, and his blood stained the green wheat red as he walked. He +tried to get to the streamlet, which was wider then, Guido dear, to +drink, for he knew it was there, but he could not reach it. He fell +down and died in the green wheat, dear, for he was very much hurt +with a sharp spear, but more so with hunger and thirst."</p> +<p>"I am so sorry," said Guido; "and now I look at you, why you are +all thirsty and dry, you nice old Wheat, and the ground is as dry +as dry under you; I will get you something to drink."</p> +<p>And down he scrambled into the ditch, setting his foot firm on a +root, for though he was so young, he knew how to get down to the +water without wetting his feet, or falling in, and how to climb up +a tree, and everything jolly. Guido dipped his hand in the +streamlet, and flung the water over the wheat, five or six good +sprinklings till the drops hung on the wheat-ears. Then he said, +"Now you are better."</p> +<p>"Yes, dear, thank you, my love," said the Wheat, who was very +pleased, though of course the water was not enough to wet its +roots. Still it was pleasant, like a very little shower. Guido lay +down on his chest this time, with his elbows on the ground, +propping his head up, and as he now faced the wheat he could see in +between the stalks.</p> +<p>"Lie still," said the Wheat, "the corncrake is not very far off, +he has come up here since your papa told the mowers to mow the +meadow, and very likely if you stay quiet you will see him. If you +do not understand all I say, never mind, dear; the sunshine is +warm, but not too warm in the shade, and we all love you, and want +you to be as happy as ever you can be."</p> +<p>"It is jolly to be quite hidden like this," said Guido. "No one +could find me; if Paul were to look all day he would never find me; +even Papa could not find me. Now go on and tell me stories."</p> +<p>"Ever so many times, when the oak the lightning struck was +young," said the Wheat, "great stags used to come out of the wood +and feed on the green wheat; it was early in the morning when they +came. Such great stags, and so proud, and yet so timid, the least +thing made them go bound, bound, bound."</p> +<p>"Oh, I know!" said Guido; "I saw some jump over the fence in the +forest—I am going there again soon. If I take my bow I will +shoot one!"</p> +<p>"But there are no deer here now," said the Wheat; "they have +been gone a long, long time; though I think your papa has one of +their antlers,"</p> +<p>"Now, how did you know that?" said Guido; "you have never been +to our house, and you cannot see in from here because the fir copse +is in the way; how do you find out these things?"</p> +<p>"Oh!" said the Wheat, laughing, "we have lots of ways of finding +out things. Don't you remember the swallow that swooped down and +told you not to be frightened at the hare? The swallow has his nest +at your house, and he often flies by your windows and looks in, and +he told me. The birds tell us lots of things, and all about what is +over the sea."</p> +<p>"But that is not a story," said Guido.</p> +<p>"Once upon a time," said the Wheat, "when the oak the lightning +struck was alive, your papa's papa's papa, ever so much farther +back than that, had all the fields round here, all that you can see +from Acre Hill. And do you know it happened that in time every one +of them was lost or sold, and your family, Guido dear, were +homeless—no house, no garden or orchard, and no dogs or guns, +or anything jolly. One day the papa that was then came along the +road with <i>his</i> little Guido, and they were beggars, dear, and +had no place to sleep, and they slept all night in the wheat in +this very field close to where the hawthorn bush grows +now—where you picked the May flowers, you know, my love. They +slept there all the summer night, and the fern owls flew to and +fro, and the bats and crickets chirped, and the stars shone +faintly, as if they were made pale by the heat. The poor papa never +had a house, but that little Guido lived to grow up a great man, +and he worked so hard, and he was so clever, and every one loved +him, which was the best of all things. He bought this very field +and then another, and another, and got such a lot of the old fields +back again, and the goldfinches sang for joy, and so did the larks +and the thrushes, because they said what a kind man he was. Then +his son got some more of them, till at last your papa bought ever +so many more. But we often talk about the little boy who slept in +the wheat in this field, which was his father's father's field. If +only the wheat then could have helped him, and been kind to him, +you may be sure it would. We love you so much we like to see the +very crumbs left by the men who do the hoeing when they eat their +crusts; we wish they could have more to eat, but we like to see +their crumbs, which you know are made of wheat, so that we have +done them some good at least."</p> +<p>"That's not a story," said Guido.</p> +<p>"There's a gold coin here somewhere," said the Wheat, "such a +pretty one, it would make a capital button for your jacket, dear, +or for your mamma; that is all any sort of money is good for; I +wish all the coins were made into buttons for little Guido."</p> +<p>"Where is it?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"I can't exactly tell where it is," said the Wheat. "It was very +near me once, and I thought the next thunder's rain would wash it +down into the streamlet—it has been here ever so long, it +came here first just after the oak the lightning split died. And it +has been rolled about by the ploughs ever since, and no one has +ever seen it; I thought it must go into the ditch at last, but when +the men came to hoe one of them knocked it back, and then another +kicked it along—it was covered with earth—and then, one +day, a rook came and split the clod open with his bill, and pushed +the pieces first one side and then the other, and the coin went one +way, but I did not see; I must ask a humble-bee, or a mouse, or a +mole, or some one who knows more about it. It is very thin, so that +if the rook's bill had struck it, his strong bill would have made a +dint in it, and there is, I think, a ship marked on it."</p> +<p>"Oh, I must have it! A ship! Ask a humble-bee directly; be +quick!"</p> +<p>Bang! There was a loud report, a gun had gone off in the +copse.</p> +<p>"That's my papa," shouted Guido. "I'm sure that was my papa's +gun!" Up he jumped, and getting down the ditch, stepped across the +water, and, seizing a hazel-bough to help himself, climbed up the +bank. At the top he slipped through the fence by the oak and so +into the copse. He was in such a hurry he did not mind the thistles +or the boughs that whipped him as they sprang back, he scrambled +through, meeting the vapour of the gunpowder and the smell of +sulphur. In a minute he found a green path, and in the path was his +papa, who had just shot a cruel crow. The crow had been eating the +birds' eggs, and picking the little birds to pieces.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="2">GOLDEN-BROWN</a></h3> +<p>Three fruit-pickers—women—were the first people I +met near the village (in Kent). They were clad in "rags and jags," +and the face of the eldest was in "jags" also. It was torn and +scarred by time and weather; wrinkled, and in a manner twisted like +the fantastic turns of a gnarled tree-trunk, hollow and decayed. +Through these jags and tearings of weather, wind, and work, the +nakedness of the countenance—the barren framework—was +visible; the cheekbones like knuckles, the chin of brown stoneware, +the upper-lip smooth, and without the short groove which should +appear between lip and nostrils. Black shadows dwelt in the hollows +of the cheeks and temples, and there was a blackness about the +eyes. This blackness gathers in the faces of the old who have been +much exposed to the sun, the fibres of the skin are scorched and +half-charred, like a stick thrust in the fire, and withdrawn before +the flames seize it. Beside her were two young women, both in the +freshness of youth and health. Their faces glowed with a +golden-brown, and so great is the effect of colour that their plain +features were transfigured. The sunlight under their faces made +them beautiful. The summer light had been absorbed by the skin and +now shone forth from it again; as certain substances exposed to the +day absorb light and emit a phosphorescent gleam in the darkness of +night, so the sunlight had been drank up by the surface of the +skin, and emanated from it.</p> +<p>Hour after hour in the gardens and orchards they worked in the +full beams of the sun, gathering fruit for the London market, +resting at midday in the shade of the elms in the corner. Even then +they were in the sunshine—even in the shade, for the air +carries it, or its influence, as it carries the perfumes of +flowers. The heated air undulates over the field in waves which are +visible at a distance; near at hand they are not seen, but roll in +endless ripples through the shadows of the trees, bringing with +them the actinic power of the sun. Not +actinic—alchemic—some intangible mysterious power +which cannot be supplied in any other form but the sun's rays. It +reddens the cherry, it gilds the apple, it colours the rose, it +ripens the wheat, it touches a woman's face with the golden-brown +of ripe life—ripe as a plum. There is no other hue so +beautiful as this human sunshine tint.</p> +<p>The great painters knew it—Rubens, for instance; perhaps +he saw it on the faces of the women who gathered fruit or laboured +at the harvest in the Low Countries centuries since. He could never +have seen it in a city of these northern climes, that is certain. +Nothing in nature that I know, except the human face, ever attains +this colour. Nothing like it is ever seen in the sky, either at +dawn or sunset; the dawn is often golden, often scarlet, or purple +and gold; the sunset crimson, flaming bright, or delicately grey +and scarlet; lovely colours all of them, but not like this. Nor is +there any flower comparable to it, nor any gem. It is purely human, +and it is only found on the human face which has felt the sunshine +continually. There must, too, I suppose, be a disposition towards +it, a peculiar and exceptional condition of the fibres which build +up the skin; for of the numbers who work out of doors, very, very +few possess it; they become brown, red, or tanned, sometimes of a +parchment hue—they do not get this colour.</p> +<p>These two women from the fruit gardens had the golden-brown in +their faces, and their plain features were transfigured. They were +walking in the dusty road; there was as background a high, dusty +hawthorn hedge which had lost the freshness of spring and was +browned by the work of caterpillars; they were in rags and jags, +their shoes had split, and their feet looked twice as wide in +consequence. Their hands were black; not grimy, but absolutely +black, and neither hands nor necks ever knew water, I am sure. +There was not the least shape to their garments; their dresses +simply hung down in straight ungraceful lines; there was no colour +of ribbon or flower, to light up the dinginess. But they had the +golden-brown in their faces, and they were beautiful.</p> +<p>The feet, as they walked, were set firm on the ground, and the +body advanced with measured, deliberate, yet lazy and confident +grace; shoulders thrown back—square, but not over-square (as +those who have been drilled); hips swelling at the side in lines +like the full bust, though longer drawn; busts well filled and +shapely, despite the rags and jags and the washed-out gaudiness of +the shawl. There was that in their cheeks that all the wealth of +London could not purchase—a superb health in their carriage +princesses could not obtain. It came, then, from the air and +sunlight, and still more, from some alchemy unknown to the +physician or the physiologist, some faculty exercised by the body, +happily endowed with a special power of extracting the utmost +richness and benefit from the rudest elements. Thrice blessed and +fortunate, beautiful golden-brown in their cheeks, superb health in +their gait, they walked as the immortals on earth.</p> +<p>As they passed they regarded me with bitter envy, jealousy, and +hatred written in their eyes; they cursed me in their hearts. I +verily believe—so unmistakably hostile were their +glances—that had opportunity been given, in the dead of night +and far from help, they would gladly have taken me unawares with +some blow of stone or club, and, having rendered me senseless, +would have robbed me, and considered it a righteous act. Not that +there was any blood-thirstiness or exceptional evil in their nature +more than in that of the thousand-and-one toilers that are met on +the highway, but simply because they worked—such hard work of +hands and stooping backs, and I was idle, for all they knew. +Because they were going from one field of labour to another field +of labour, and I walked slowly and did no visible work. My dress +showed no stain, the weather had not battered it; there was no +rent, no rags and jags. At an hour when they were merely changing +one place of work for another place of work, to them it appeared +that I had found idleness indoors wearisome and had just come forth +to exchange it for another idleness. They saw no end to their +labour; they had worked from childhood, and could see no possible +end to labour until limbs failed or life closed. Why should they be +like this? Why should I do nothing? They were as good as I was, and +they hated me. Their indignant glances spoke it as plain as words, +and far more distinctly than I can write it. You cannot read it +with such feeling as I received their looks.</p> +<p>Beautiful golden-brown, superb health, what would I not give for +these? To be the thrice-blessed and chosen of nature, what +inestimable fortune! To be indifferent to any +circumstances—to be quite thoughtless as to draughts and +chills, careless of heat, indifferent to the character of dinners, +able to do well on hard, dry bread, capable of sleeping in the open +under a rick, or some slight structure of a hurdle, propped on a +few sticks and roughly thatched with straw, and to sleep sound as +an oak, and wake strong as an oak in the morning-gods, what a +glorious life! I envied them; they fancied I looked askance at +their rags and jags. I envied them, and considered their health and +hue ideal. I envied them that unwearied step, that firm +uprightness, and measured yet lazy gait, but most of all the power +which they possessed, though they did not exercise it +intentionally, of being always in the sunlight, the air, and abroad +upon the earth. If so they chose, and without stress or strain, +they could see the sunrise, they could be with him as it +were—unwearied and without distress—the livelong day; +they could stay on while the moon rose over the corn, and till the +silent stars at silent midnight shone in the cool summer night, and +on and on till the cock crew and the faint dawn appeared. The whole +time in the open air, resting at mid-day under the elms with the +ripple of heat flowing through the shadow; at midnight between the +ripe corn and the hawthorn hedge on the white wild camomile and the +poppy pale in the duskiness, with face upturned to the thoughtful +heaven.</p> +<p>Consider the glory of it, the life above this life to be +obtained from constant presence with the sunlight and the stars. I +thought of them all day, and envied them (as they envied me), and +in the evening I found them again. It was growing dark, and the +shadow took away something of the coarseness of the group outside +one of the village "pothouses." Green foliage overhung them and the +men with whom they were drinking; the white pipes, the blue smoke, +the flash of a match, the red sign which had so often swung to and +fro in the gales now still in the summer eve, the rude seats and +blocks, the reaping-hooks bound about the edge with hay, the white +dogs creeping from knee to knee, some such touches gave an interest +to the scene. But a quarrel had begun; the men swore, but the women +did worse. It is impossible to give a hint of the language they +used, especially the elder of the three whose hollow face was +blackened by time and exposure. The two golden-brown girls were so +heavily intoxicated they could but stagger to and fro and mouth and +gesticulate, and one held a quart from which, as she moved, she +spilled the ale.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="3">WILD FLOWERS</a></h3> +<p>A fir-tree is not a flower, and yet it is associated in my mind +with primroses. There was a narrow lane leading into a wood, where +I used to go almost every day in the early months of the year, and +at one corner it was overlooked by three spruce firs. The rugged +lane there began to ascend the hill, and I paused a moment to look +back. Immediately the high fir-trees guided the eye upwards, and +from their tops to the deep azure of the March sky over, but a step +from the tree to the heavens. So it has ever been to me, by day or +by night, summer or winter, beneath trees the heart feels nearer to +that depth of life the far sky means. The rest of spirit found only +in beauty, ideal and pure, comes there because the distance seems +within touch of thought. To the heaven thought can reach lifted by +the strong arms of the oak, carried up by the ascent of the +flame-shaped fir. Round the spruce top the blue was deepened, +concentrated by the fixed point; the memory of that spot, as it +were, of the sky is still fresh—I can see it +distinctly—still beautiful and full of meaning. It is painted +in bright colour in my mind, colour thrice laid, and indelible; as +one passes a shrine and bows the head to the Madonna, so I recall +the picture and stoop in spirit to the aspiration it yet arouses. +For there is no saint like the sky, sunlight shining from its +face.</p> +<p>The fir-tree flowered thus before the primroses—the first +of all to give me a bloom, beyond reach but visible, while even the +hawthorn buds hesitated to open. Primroses were late there, a high +district and thin soil; you could read of them as found elsewhere +in January; they rarely came much before March, and but sparingly +then. On the warm red sand (red, at least, to look at, but green by +geological courtesy, I think) of Sussex, round about Hurst of the +Pierre-points, primroses are seen soon after the year has turned. +In the lanes about that curious old mansion, with its windows +reaching from floor to roof, that stands at the base of Wolstanbury +Hill, they grow early, and ferns linger in sheltered overhung +banks. The South Down range, like a great wall, shuts off the sea, +and has a different climate on either hand; south by the +sea—hard, harsh, flowerless, almost grassless, bitter, and +cold; on the north side, just over the hill—warm, soft, with +primroses and fern, willows budding and birds already busy. It is a +double England there, two countries side by side.</p> +<p>On a summer's day Wolstanbury Hill is an island in sunshine; you +may lie on the grassy rampart, high up in the most delicate +air—Grecian air, pellucid—alone, among the butterflies +and humming bees at the thyme, alone and isolated; endless masses +of hills on three sides, endless weald or valley on the fourth; all +warmly lit with sunshine, deep under liquid sunshine like the sands +under the liquid sea, no harshness of man-made sound to break the +insulation amid nature, on an island in a far Pacific of sunshine. +Some people would hesitate to walk down the staircase cut in the +turf to the beech-trees beneath; the woods look so small beneath, +so far down and steep, and no handrail. Many go to the Dyke, but +none to Wolstanbury Hill. To come over the range reminds one of +what travellers say of coming over the Alps into Italy; from harsh +sea-slopes, made dry with salt as they sow salt on razed cities +that naught may grow, to warm plains rich in all things, and with +great hills as pictures hung on a wall to gaze at. Where there are +beech-trees the land is always beautiful; beech-trees at the foot +of this hill, beech-trees at Arundel in that lovely park which the +Duke of Norfolk, to his glory, leaves open to all the world, and +where the anemones flourish in unusual size and number; beech-trees +in Marlborough Forest; beech-trees at the summit to which the lane +leads that was spoken of just now. Beech and beautiful scenery go +together.</p> +<p>But the primroses by that lane did not appear till late; they +covered the banks under the thousand thousand ash-poles; foxes +slipped along there frequently, whose friends in scarlet coats +could not endure the pale flowers, for they might chink their spurs +homewards. In one meadow near primroses were thicker than the +grass, with gorse interspersed, and the rabbits that came out fed +among flowers. The primroses last on to the celandines and +cowslips, through the time of the bluebells, past the +violets—one dies but passes on the life to another, one sets +light to the next, till the ruddy oaks and singing cuckoos call up +the tall mowing grass to fringe summer.</p> +<p>Before I had any conscious thought it was a delight to me to +find wild flowers, just to see them. It was a pleasure to gather +them and to take them home; a pleasure to show them to +others—to keep them as long as they would live, to decorate +the room with them, to arrange them carelessly with grasses, green +sprays, tree-bloom—large branches of chestnut snapped off, +and set by a picture perhaps. Without conscious thought of seasons +and the advancing hours to light on the white wild violet, the +meadow orchis, the blue veronica, the blue meadow cranesbill; +feeling the warmth and delight of the increasing sun-rays, but not +recognising whence or why it was joy. All the world is young to a +boy, and thought has not entered into it; even the old men with +grey hair do not seem old; different but not aged, the idea of age +has not been mastered. A boy has to frown and study, and then does +not grasp what long years mean. The various hues of the petals +pleased without any knowledge of colour-contrasts, no note even of +colour except that it was bright, and the mind was made happy +without consideration of those ideals and hopes afterwards +associated with the azure sky above the fir-tree. A fresh footpath, +a fresh flower, a fresh delight. The reeds, the grasses, the +rushes—unknown and new things at every step—something +always to find; no barren spot anywhere, or sameness. Every day the +grass painted anew, and its green seen for the first time; not the +old green, but a novel hue and spectacle, like the first view of +the sea.</p> +<p>If we had never before looked upon the earth, but suddenly came +to it man or woman grown, set down in the midst of a summer mead, +would it not seem to us a radiant vision? The hues, the shapes, the +song and life of birds, above all the sunlight, the breath of +heaven, resting on it; the mind would be filled with its glory, +unable to grasp it, hardly believing that such things could be mere +matter and no more. Like a dream of some spirit-land it would +appear, scarce fit to be touched lest it should fall to pieces, too +beautiful to be long watched lest it should fade away. So it seemed +to me as a boy, sweet and new like this each morning; and even now, +after the years that have passed, and the lines they have worn in +the forehead, the summer mead shines as bright and fresh as when my +foot first touched the grass. It has another meaning now; the +sunshine and the flowers speak differently, for a heart that has +once known sorrow reads behind the page, and sees sadness in joy. +But the freshness is still there, the dew washes the colours before +dawn. Unconscious happiness in finding wild +flowers—unconscious and unquestioning, and therefore +unbounded.</p> +<p>I used to stand by the mower and follow the scythe sweeping down +thousands of the broad-flowered daisies, the knotted knapweeds, the +blue scabious, the yellow rattles, sweeping so close and true that +nothing escaped; and, yet although I had seen so many hundreds of +each, although I had lifted armfuls day after day, still they were +fresh. They never lost their newness, and even now each time I +gather a wild flower it feels a new thing. The greenfinches came to +the fallen swathe so near to us they seemed to have no fear; but I +remember the yellowhammers most, whose colour, like that of the +wild flowers and the sky, has never faded from my memory. The +greenfinches sank into the fallen swathe, the loose grass gave +under their weight and let them bathe in flowers.</p> +<p>One yellowhammer sat on a branch of ash the livelong morning, +still singing in the sun; his bright head, his clean bright yellow, +gaudy as Spain, was drawn like a brush charged heavily with colour +across the retina, painting it deeply, for there on the eye's +memory it endures, though that was boyhood and this is manhood, +still unchanged. The field—Stewart's Mash—the very +tree, young ash timber, the branch projecting over the sward, I +could make a map of them. Sometimes I think sun-painted colours are +brighter to me than to many, and more strongly affect the nerves of +the eye. Straw going by the road on a dusky winter's day seems so +pleasantly golden, the sheaves lying aslant at the top, and these +bundles of yellow tubes thrown up against the dark ivy on the +opposite wall. Tiles, red burned, or orange coated, the sea +sometimes cleanly definite, the shadows of trees in a thin wood +where there is room for shadows to form and fall; some such shadows +are sharper than light, and have a faint blue tint. Not only in +summer but in cold winter, and not only romantic things but plain +matter-of-fact things, as a waggon freshly painted red beside the +wright's shop, stand out as if wet with colour and delicately +pencilled at the edges. It must be out of doors; nothing indoors +looks like this.</p> +<p>Pictures are very dull and gloomy to it, and very contrasted +colours like those the French use are necessary to fix the +attention. Their dashes of pink and scarlet bring the faint shadow +of the sun into the room. As for our painters, their works are hung +behind a curtain, and we have to peer patiently through the dusk of +evening to see what they mean. Out-of-door colours do not need to +be gaudy—a mere dull stake of wood thrust in the ground often +stands out sharper than the pink flashes of the French studio; a +faggot; the outline of a leaf; low tints without reflecting power +strike the eye as a bell the ear. To me they are intensely clear, +and the clearer the greater the pleasure. It is often too great, +for it takes me away from solid pursuits merely to receive the +impression, as water is still to reflect the trees. To me it is +very painful when illness blots the definition of outdoor things, +so wearisome not to see them rightly, and more oppressive than +actual pain. I feel as if I was struggling to wake up with dim, +half-opened lids and heavy mind. This one yellowhammer still sits +on the ash branch in Stewart's Mash over the sward, singing in the +sun, his feathers freshly wet with colour, the same sun-song, and +will sing to me so long as the heart shall beat.</p> +<p>The first conscious thought about wild flowers was to find out +their names—the first conscious pleasure,—and then I +began to see so many that I had not previously noticed. Once you +wish to identify them there is nothing escapes, down to the little +white chickweed of the path and the moss of the wall. I put my hand +on the bridge across the brook to lean over and look down into the +water. Are there any fish? The bricks of the pier are covered with +green, like a wall-painting to the surface of the stream, mosses +along the lines of the mortar, and among the moss little +plants—what are these? In the dry sunlit lane I look up to +the top of the great wall about some domain, where the green figs +look over upright on their stalks; there are dry plants on the +coping—what are these? Some growing thus, high in the air, on +stone, and in the chinks of the tower, suspended in dry air and +sunshine; some low down under the arch of the bridge over the +brook, out of sight utterly, unless you stoop by the brink of the +water and project yourself forward to examine under. The kingfisher +sees them as he shoots through the barrel of the culvert. There the +sun direct never shines upon them, but the sunlight thrown up by +the ripples runs all day in bright bars along the vault of the +arch, playing on them. The stream arranges the sand in the shallow +in bars, minute fixed undulations; the stream arranges the sunshine +in successive flashes, undulating as if the sun, drowsy in the +heat, were idly closing and unclosing his eyelids for sleep.</p> +<p>Plants everywhere, hiding behind every tree, under the leaves, +in the shady places, behind the dry furrows of the field; they are +only just behind something, hidden openly. The instant you look for +them they multiply a hundredfold; if you sit on the beach and begin +to count the pebbles by you, their number instantly increases to +infinity by virtue of that conscious act.</p> +<p>The bird's-foot lotus was the first. The boy must have seen it, +must have trodden on it in the bare woodland pastures, certainly +run about on it, with wet naked feet from the bathing; but the boy +was not conscious of it. This was the first, when the desire came +to identify and to know, fixing upon it by means of a pale and +feeble picture. In the largest pasture there were different soils +and climates; it was so large it seemed a little country of itself +then—the more so because the ground rose and fell, making a +ridge to divide the view and enlarge by uncertainty. The high sandy +soil on the ridge where the rabbits had their warren; the rocky +soil of the quarry; the long grass by the elms where the rooks +built, under whose nests there were vast unpalatable +mushrooms—the true mushrooms with salmon gills grew nearer +the warren; the slope towards the nut-tree hedge and spring. +Several climates in one field: the wintry ridge over which leaves +were always driving in all four seasons of the year; the level +sunny plain and fallen cromlech still tall enough for a gnomon and +to cast its shadow in the treeless drought; the moist, warm, grassy +depression; the lotus-grown slope, warm and dry.</p> +<p>If you have been living in one house in the country for some +time, and then go on a visit to another, though hardly half a mile +distant, you will find a change in the air, the feeling, and tone +of the place. It is close by, but it is not the same. To discover +these minute differences, which make one locality healthy and home +happy, and the next adjoining unhealthy, the Chinese have invented +the science of Feng-shui, spying about with cabalistic mystery, +casting the horoscope of an acre. There is something in all +superstitions; they are often the foundation of science. +Superstition having made the discovery, science composes a lecture +on the reason why, and claims the credit. Bird's-foot lotus means a +fortunate spot, dry, warm—so far as soil is concerned. If you +were going to live out of doors, you might safely build your +kibitka where you found it. Wandering with the pictured +flower-book, just purchased, over the windy ridge where last year's +skeleton leaves, blown out from the alder copse below, came on with +grasshopper motion—lifted and laid down by the wind, lifted +and laid down—I sat on the sward of the sheltered slope, and +instantly recognised the orange-red claws of the flower beside me. +That was the first; and this very morning, I dread to consider how +many years afterwards, I found a plant on a wall which I do not +know. I shall have to trace out its genealogy and emblazon its +shield. So many years and still only at the beginning—the +beginning, too, of the beginning—for as yet I have not +thought of the garden or conservatory flowers (which are wild +flowers somewhere), or of the tropics, or the prairies.</p> +<p>The great stone of the fallen cromlech, crouching down afar off +in the plain behind me, cast its shadow in the sunny morn as it had +done, so many summers, for centuries—for thousands of years: +worn white by the endless sunbeams—the ceaseless flood of +light—the sunbeams of centuries, the impalpable beams +polishing and grinding like rushing water: silent, yet witnessing +of the Past; shadowing the Present on the dial of the field: a mere +dull stone; but what is it the mind will not employ to express to +itself its own thoughts?</p> +<p>There was a hollow near in which hundreds of skeleton leaves had +settled, a stage on their journey from the alder copse, so thick as +to cover the thin grass, and at the side of the hollow a wasp's +nest had been torn out by a badger. On the soft and spreading sand +thrown out from his burrow the print of his foot looked as large as +an elephant might make. The wild animals of our fields are so small +that the badger's foot seemed foreign in its size, calling up +thought of the great game of distant forests. He was a bold badger +to make his burrow there in the open warren, unprotected by park +walls or preserve laws, where every one might see who chose. I +never saw him by daylight: that they do get about in daytime is, +however, certain, for one was shot in Surrey recently by sportsmen; +they say he weighed forty pounds.</p> +<p>In the mind all things are written in pictures—there is no +alphabetical combination of letters and words; all things are +pictures and symbols. The bird's-foot lotus is the picture to me of +sunshine and summer, and of that summer in the heart which is known +only in youth, and then not alone. No words could write that +feeling: the bird's-foot lotus writes it.</p> +<p>When the efforts to photograph began, the difficulty was to fix +the scene thrown by the lens upon the plate. There the view +appeared perfect to the least of details, worked out by the sun, +and made as complete in miniature as that he shone upon in nature. +But it faded like the shadows as the summer sun declines. Have you +watched them in the fields among the flowers?—the deep strong +mark of the noonday shadow of a tree such as the pen makes drawn +heavily on the paper; gradually it loses its darkness and becomes +paler and thinner at the edge as it lengthens and spreads, till +shadow and grass mingle together. Image after image faded from the +plates, no more to be fixed than the reflection in water of the +trees by the shore. Memory, like the sun, paints to me bright +pictures of the golden summer time of lotus; I can see them, but +how shall I fix them for you? By no process can that be +accomplished. It is like a story that cannot be told because he who +knows it is tongue-tied and dumb. Motions of hands, wavings and +gestures, rudely convey the framework, but the finish is not +there.</p> +<p>To-day, and day after day, fresh pictures are coloured +instantaneously in the retina as bright and perfect in detail and +hue. This very power is often, I think, the cause of pain to me. To +see so clearly is to value so highly and to feel too deeply. The +smallest of the pencilled branches of the bare ash-tree drawn +distinctly against the winter sky, waving lines one within the +other, yet following and partly parallel, reproducing in the curve +of the twig the curve of the great trunk; is it not a pleasure to +trace each to its ending? The raindrops as they slide from leaf to +leaf in June, the balmy shower that reperfumes each wild flower and +green thing, drops lit with the sun, and falling to the chorus of +the refreshed birds; is not this beautiful to see? On the grasses +tall and heavy the purplish blue pollen, a shimmering dust, sown +broadcast over the ripening meadow from July's warm hand—the +bluish pollen, the lilac pollen of the grasses, a delicate mist of +blue floating on the surface, has always been an especial delight +to me. Finches shake it from the stalks as they rise. No day, no +hour of summer, no step but brings new mazes—there is no word +to express design without plan, and these designs of flower and +leaf and colours of the sun cannot be reduced to set order. The eye +is for ever drawn onward and finds no end. To see these always so +sharply, wet and fresh, is almost too much sometimes for the +wearied yet insatiate eye. I am obliged to turn away—to shut +my eyes and say I will not see, I will not observe; I will +concentrate my mind on my own little path of life, and steadily +gaze downwards. In vain. Who can do so? who can care alone for his +or her petty trifles of existence, that has once entered amongst +the wild flowers? How shall I shut out the sun? Shall I deny the +constellations of the night? They are there; the Mystery is for +ever about us—the question, the hope, the aspiration cannot +be put out. So that it is almost a pain not to be able to cease +observing and tracing the untraceable maze of beauty.</p> +<p>Blue veronica was the next identified, sometimes called +germander speedwell, sometimes bird's-eye, whose leaves are so +plain and petals so blue. Many names increase the trouble of +identification, and confusion is made certain by the use of various +systems of classification. The flower itself I knew, its name I +could not be sure of—not even from the illustration, which +was incorrectly coloured; the central white spot of the flower was +reddish in the plate. This incorrect colouring spoils much of the +flower-picturing done; pictures of flowers and birds are rarely +accurate unless hand-painted. Any one else, however, would have +been quite satisfied that the identification was right. I was too +desirous to be correct, too conscientious, and thus a summer went +by with little progress. If you really wish to identify with +certainty, and have no botanist friend and no <i>magnum opus</i> of +Sowerby to refer to, it is very difficult indeed to be quite sure. +There was no Sowerby, no Bentham, no botanist friend—no one +even to give the common country names; for it is a curious fact +that the country people of the time rarely know the names put down +as the vernacular for flowers in the books.</p> +<p>No one there could tell me the name of the marsh-marigold which +grew thickly in the water-meadows—"A sort of big buttercup," +that was all they knew. Commonest of common plants is the "sauce +alone"—in every hedge, on every bank, the whitish-green leaf +is found—yet <i>I</i> could not make certain of it. If some +one tells you a plant, you know it at once and never forget it, but +to learn it from a book is another matter; it does not at once take +root in the mind, it has to be seen several times before you are +satisfied—you waver in your convictions. The leaves were +described as large and heart-shaped, and to remain green (at the +ground) through the winter; but the colour of the flower was +omitted, though it was stated that the petals of the hedge-mustard +were yellow. The plant that seemed to me to be probably "sauce +alone" had leaves somewhat heart-shaped, but so confusing is +<i>partial</i> description that I began to think I had hit on +"ramsons" instead of "sauce alone," especially as ramsons was said +to be a very common plant. So it is in some counties, but, as I +afterwards found, there was not a plant of ramsons, or garlic, +throughout the whole of that district. When, some years afterwards, +I saw a white-flowered plant with leaves like the lily of the +valley, smelling of garlic, in the woods of Somerset, I recognised +It immediately. The plants that are really common—common +everywhere—are not numerous, and if you are studying you must +be careful to understand that word locally. My "sauce alone" +identification was right; to be right and not certain is still +unsatisfactory.</p> +<p>There shone on the banks white stars among the grass. Petals +delicately white in a whorl of rays—light that had started +radiating from a centre and become fixed—shining among the +flowerless green. The slender stem had grown so fast it had drawn +its own root partly out of the ground, and when I tried to gather +it, flower, stem and root came away together. The wheat was +springing, the soft air full of the growth and moisture, blackbirds +whistling, wood-pigeons nesting, young oak-leaves out; a sense of +swelling, sunny fulness in the atmosphere. The plain road was made +beautiful by the advanced boughs that overhung and cast their +shadows on the dust—boughs of ash-green, shadows that lay +still, listening to the nightingale. A place of enchantment in the +mornings where was felt the power of some subtle influence working +behind bough and grass and bird-song. The orange-golden dandelion +in the sward was deeply laden with colour brought to it anew again +and again by the ships of the flowers, the humble-bees—to +their quays they come, unlading priceless essences of sweet odours +brought from the East over the green seas of wheat, unlading +priceless colours on the broad dandelion disks, bartering these +things for honey and pollen. Slowly tacking aslant, the pollen ship +hums in the south wind. The little brown wren finds her way through +the great thicket of hawthorn. How does she know her path, hidden +by a thousand thousand leaves? Tangled and crushed together by +their own growth, a crown of thorns hangs over the thrush's nest; +thorns for the mother, hope for the young. Is there a crown of +thorns over your heart? A spike has gone deep enough into mine. The +stile looks farther away because boughs have pushed forward and +made it smaller. The willow scarce holds the sap that tightens the +bark and would burst it if it did not enlarge to the pressure.</p> +<p>Two things can go through the solid oak; the lightning of the +clouds that rends the iron timber, the lightning of the +spring—the electricity of the sunbeams forcing him to stretch +forth and lengthen his arms with joy. Bathed in buttercups to the +dewlap, the roan cows standing in the golden lake watched the hours +with calm frontlet; watched the light descending, the meadows +filling, with knowledge of long months of succulent clover. On +their broad brows the year falls gently; their great, beautiful +eyes, which need but a tear or a smile to make them +human,—without these, such eyes, so large and full, seem +above human life, eyes of the immortals enduring without +passion,—in these eyes, as a mirror, nature is reflected.</p> +<p>I came every day to walk slowly up and down the plain road, by +the starry flowers under the ash-green boughs; ash is the coolest, +softest green. The bees went drifting over by my head; as they +cleared the hedges they passed by my ears, the wind singing in +their shrill wings. White tent-walls of cloud—a warm white, +being full to overflowing of sunshine—stretched across from +ash-top to ash-top, a cloud-canvas roof, a tent-palace of the +delicious air. For of all things there is none so sweet as sweet +air—one great flower it is, drawn round about, over, and +enclosing, like Aphrodite's arms; as if the dome of the sky were a +bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical essence of it +filling all the room of the earth. Sweetest of all things is +wild-flower air. Full of their ideal the starry flowers strained +upwards on the bank, striving to keep above the rude grasses that +pushed by them; genius has ever had such a struggle. The plain road +was made beautiful by the many thoughts it gave. I came every +morning to stay by the starlit bank.</p> +<p>A friend said, "Why do you go the same road every day? Why not +have a change and walk somewhere else sometimes? Why keep on up and +down the same place?" I could not answer; till then it had not +occurred to me that I did always go one way; as for the reason of +it I could not tell; I continued in my old mind while the summers +went away. Not till years afterwards was I able to see why I went +the same round and did not care for change. I do not want change: I +want the same old and loved things, the same wild-flowers, the same +trees and soft ash-green; the turtle-doves, the blackbirds, the +coloured yellowhammer sing, sing, singing so long as there is light +to cast a shadow on the dial, for such is the measure of his song, +and I want them in the same place. Let me find them morning after +morning, the starry-white petals radiating, striving upwards to +their ideal. Let me see the idle shadows resting on the white dust; +let me hear the humble-bees, and stay to look down on the rich +dandelion disk. Let me see the very thistles opening their great +crowns—I should miss the thistles; the reed-grasses hiding +the moorhen; the bryony bine, at first crudely ambitious and lifted +by force of youthful sap straight above the hedgerow to sink of its +own weight presently and progress with crafty tendrils; swifts shot +through the air with outstretched wings like crescent-headed +shaftless arrows darted from the clouds; the chaffinch with a +feather in her bill; all the living staircase of the spring, step +by step, upwards to the great gallery of the summer—let me +watch the same succession year by year.</p> +<p>Why, I knew the very dates of them all—the reddening elm, +the arum, the hawthorn leaf, the celandine, the may; the yellow +iris of the waters, the heath of the hillside. The time of the +nightingale—the place to hear the first note; onwards to the +drooping fern and the time of the redwing—the place of his +first note, so welcome to the sportsman as the acorn ripens and the +pheasant, come to the age of manhood, feeds himself; onwards to the +shadowless days—the long shadowless winter, for in winter it +is the shadows we miss as much as the light. They lie over the +summer sward, design upon design, dark lace on green and gold; they +glorify the sunlight: they repose on the distant hills like gods +upon Olympus; without shadow, what even is the sun? At the foot of +the great cliffs by the sea you may know this, it is dry glare; +mighty ocean is dearer as the shadows of the clouds sweep over as +they sweep over the green corn. Past the shadowless winter, when it +is all shade, and therefore no shadow; onwards to the first +coltsfoot and on to the seed-time again; I knew the dates of all of +them. I did not want change; I wanted the same flowers to return on +the same day, the titlark to rise soaring from the same oak to +fetch down love with a song from heaven to his mate on the nest +beneath. No change, no new thing; if I found a fresh wild-flower in +a fresh place, still it wove at once into the old garland. In vain, +the very next year was different even in the same +place—<i>that</i> had been a year of rain, and the flag +flowers were wonderful to see; <i>this</i> was a dry year, and the +flags not half the height, the gold of the flower not so deep; next +year the fatal billhook came and swept away a slow-grown hedge that +had given me crab-blossom in cuckoo-time and hazelnuts in harvest. +Never again the same, even in the same place.</p> +<p>A little feather droops downwards to the ground—a +swallow's feather fuller of miracle than the Pentateuch—how +shall that feather be placed again in the breast where it grew? +Nothing twice. Time changes the places that knew us, and if we go +back in after years, still even then it is not the old spot; the +gate swings differently, new thatch has been put on the old gables, +the road has been widened, and the sward the driven sheep lingered +on is gone. Who dares to think then? For faces fade as flowers, and +there is no consolation. So now I am sure I was right in always +walking the same way by the starry flowers striving upwards on a +slender ancestry of stem; I would follow the plain old road to-day +if I could. Let change be far from me; that irresistible change +must come is bitter indeed. Give me the old road, the same +flowers—they were only stitchwort—the old succession of +days and garland, ever weaving into it fresh wild-flowers from far +and near. Fetch them from distant mountains, discover them on +decaying walls, in unsuspected corners; though never seen before, +still they are the same: there has been a place in the heart +waiting for them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="4">SUNNY BRIGHTON</a></h3> +<p>Some of the old streets opening out of the King's Road look very +pleasant on a sunny day. They ran to the north, so that the sun +over the sea shines nearly straight up them, and at the farther +end, where the houses close in on higher ground, the deep blue sky +descends to the rooftrees. The old red tiles, the red chimneys, the +green jalousies, give some colour; and beneath there are shadowy +corners and archways. They are not too wide to whisper across, for +it is curious that to be interesting a street must be narrow, and +the pavements are but two or three bricks broad. These pavements +are not for the advantage of foot passengers; they are merely to +prevent cart-wheels from grating against the houses. There is +nothing ancient or carved in these streets, they are but moderately +old, yet turning from the illuminated sea it is pleasant to glance +up them as you pass, in their stillness and shadow, lying outside +the inconsiderate throng walking to and fro, and contrasting in +their irregularity with the set façades of the front. +Opposite, across the King's Road, the mastheads of the fishing +boats on the beach just rise above the rails of the cliff, tipped +with fluttering pennants, or fish-shaped vanes changing to the +wind. They have a pulley at the end of a curved piece of iron for +hauling up the lantern to the top of the mast when trawling; this +thin curve, with a dot at the extremity surmounting the straight +and rigid mast, suits the artist's pencil. The gold-plate +shop—there is a bust of Psyche in the doorway—often +attracts the eye in passing; gold and silver plate in large masses +is striking, and it is a very good place to stand a minute and +watch the passers-by.</p> +<p>It is a Piccadilly crowd by the sea-exactly the same style of +people you meet in Piccadilly, but freer in dress, and particularly +in hats. All fashionable Brighton parades the King's Road twice a +day, morning and afternoon, always on the side of the shops. The +route is up and down the King's Road as far as Preston Street, back +again and up East Street. Riding and driving Brighton extends its +Rotten Row sometimes to Third Avenue, Hove. These well-dressed and +leading people never look at the sea. Watching by the gold-plate +shop you will not observe a single glance in the direction of the +sea, beautiful as it is, gleaming under the sunlight. They do not +take the slightest interest in sea, or sun, or sky, or the fresh +breeze calling white horses from the deep. Their pursuits are +purely "social," and neither ladies nor gentlemen ever go on the +beach or lie where the surge comes to the feet. The beach is +ignored; it is almost, perhaps quite vulgar; or rather it is +entirely outside the pale. No one rows, very few sail; the sea is +not "the thing" in Brighton, which is the least nautical of seaside +places. There is more talk of horses.</p> +<p>The wind coming up the cliff seems to bring with it whole +armfuls of sunshine, and to throw the warmth and light against you +as you linger. The walls and glass reflect the light and push back +the wind in puffs and eddies; the awning flutters; light and wind +spring upwards from the pavement; the sky is richly blue against +the parapets overhead; there are houses on one side, but on the +other open space and sea, and dim clouds in the extreme distance. +The atmosphere is full of light, and gives a sense of liveliness! +every atom of it is in motion. How delicate are the fore legs of +these thoroughbred horses passing! Small and slender, the hoof, as +the limb rises, seems to hang by a thread, yet there is strength +and speed in those sinews. Strength is often associated with size, +with the mighty flank, the round barrel, the great shoulder. But I +marvel more at the manner in which that strength is conveyed +through these slender sinews; the huge brawn and breadth of flesh +all depend upon these little cords. It is at these junctions that +the wonder of life is most evident. The succession of well-shaped +horses, overtaking and passing, crossing, meeting, their +high-raised heads and action increase the impression of pleasant +movement. Quick wheels, sometimes a tandem, or a painted coach, +towering over the line,—so rolls the procession of busy +pleasure. There is colour in hat and bonnet, feathers, flowers, and +mantles, not brilliant but rapidly changing, and in that sense +bright. Faces on which the sun shines and the wind blows whether +cared for or not, and lit up thereby; faces seen for a moment and +immediately followed by others as interesting; a flowing gallery of +portraits; all life, life! Waiting unobserved under the awning, +occasionally, too, I hear voices as the throng goes by on the +pavement—pleasant tones of people chatting and the human +sunshine of laughter. The atmosphere is full of movement, full of +light, and life streams to and fro.</p> +<p>Yonder, over the road, a row of fishermen lean against the rails +of the cliff, some with their backs to the sea, some facing it. +"The cliff" is rather a misnomer, it is more like a sea-wall in +height. This row of stout men in blue jerseys, or copper-hued tan +frocks, seems to be always there, always waiting for the +tide—or nothing. Each has his particular position; one, +shorter than the rest, leans with his elbows backwards on the low +rail; another hangs over and looks down at the site of the fish +market; an older man stands upright, and from long habit looks +steadily out to sea. They have their hands in their pockets; they +appear fat and jolly, as round as the curves of their smacks drawn +up on the beach beneath them. They are of such that "sleep o' +nights;" no anxious ambition disturbs their placidity. No man in +this world knows how to absolutely do—nothing, like a +fisherman. Sometimes he turns round, sometimes he does not, that is +all. The sun shines, the breeze comes up the cliff, far away a +French fishing lugger is busy enough. The boats on the beach are +idle, and swarms of boys are climbing over them, swinging on a rope +from the bowsprit, or playing at marbles under the cliff. Bigger +boys collect under the lee of a smack, and do nothing cheerfully. +The fashionable throng hastens to and fro, but the row leaning +against the railings do not stir.</p> +<p>Doleful tales they have to tell any one who inquires about the +fishing. There have been "no herrings" these two years. One man +went out with his smack, and after working for hours returned with +<i>one sole</i>. I can never get this one sole out of my mind when +I see the row by the rails. While the fisherman was telling me this +woeful story, I fancied I heard voices from a crowd of the bigger +boys collected under a smack, voices that said, "Ho! ho! Go on! +you're kidding the man!" Is there much "kidding" in this business +of fish? Another man told me (but he was not a smack proprietor) +that L50, L70, or L80 was a common night's catch. Some people say +that the smacks never put to sea until the men have spent every +shilling they have got, and are obliged to sail. If truth lies at +the bottom of a well, it is the well of a fishing boat, for there +is nothing so hard to get at as the truth about fish. At the time +when society was pluming itself on the capital results attained by +the Fisheries Exhibition in London, and gentlemen described in the +papers how they had been to market and purchased cod at sixpence a +pound, one shilling and eightpence a pound was the price in the +Brighton fishmongers' shops, close to the sea. Not the least effect +was produced in Brighton; fish remains at precisely the same price +as before all this ridiculous trumpeting. But while the fishmongers +charge twopence each for fresh herrings, the old women bring them +to the door at sixteen a shilling. The poor who live in the old +part of Brighton, near the markets, use great quantities of the +smaller and cheaper fish, and their children weary of the taste to +such a degree that when the girls go out to service they ask to be +excused from eating it.</p> +<p>The fishermen say they can often find a better market by sending +their fish to Paris; much of the fish caught off Brighton goes +there. It is fifty miles to London, and 250 to Paris; how then can +this be? Fish somehow slip through ordinary rules, being slimy of +surface; the maxims of the writers on demand and supply are quite +ignored, and there is no groping to the bottom of this well of +truth.</p> +<p>Just at the corner of some of the old streets that come down to +the King's Road one or two old fishermen often stand. The front one +props himself against the very edge of the buildings, and peers +round into the broad sunlit thoroughfare; his brown copper frock +makes a distinct patch of colour at the edge of the house. There is +nothing in common between him and the moving throng: he is quite +separate and belongs to another race; he has come down from the +shadow of the old street, and his copper-hued frock might have come +out of the last century.</p> +<p>The fishing-boats and the fishing, the nets, and all the fishing +work are a great ornament to Brighton. They are real; there is +something about them that forms a link with the facts of the sea, +with the forces of the tides and winds, and the sunlight gleaming +on the white crests of the waves. They speak to thoughts lurking in +the mind; they float between life and death as with a billow on +either hand; their anchors go down to the roots of existence. This +is real work, real labour of man, to draw forth food from the deep +as the plough draws it from the earth. It is in utter contrast to +the artificial work—the feathers, the jewellery, the writing +at desks of the town. The writings of a thousand clerks, the busy +factory work, the trimmings and feathers, and counter attendance do +not touch the real. They are all artificial. For food you must +still go to the earth and to the sea, as in primeval days. Where +would your thousand clerks, your trimmers, and counter-salesmen be +without a loaf of bread, without meat, without fish? The old brown +sails and the nets, the anchors and tarry ropes, go straight to +nature. You do not care for nature now? Well! all I can say is, you +will have to go to nature one day—when you die: you will find +nature very real then. I rede you to recognise the sunlight and the +sea, the flowers and woods <i>now</i>.</p> +<p>I like to go down on the beach among the fishing-boats, and to +recline on the shingle by a smack when the wind comes gently from +the west, and the low wave breaks but a few yards from my feet. I +like the occasional passing scent of pitch: they are melting it +close by. I confess I like tar: one's hands smell nice after +touching ropes. It is more like home down on the beach here; the +men are doing something real, sometimes there is the clink of a +hammer; behind me there is a screen of brown net, in which rents +are being repaired; a big rope yonder stretches as the horse goes +round, and the heavy smack is drawn slowly up over the pebbles. The +full curves of the rounded bows beside me are pleasant to the eye, +as any curve is that recalls those of woman. Mastheads stand up +against the sky, and a loose rope swings as the breeze strikes it; +a veer of the wind brings a puff of smoke from the funnel of a +cabin, where some one is cooking, but it is not disagreeable, like +smoke from a house chimney-pot; another veer carries it away +again,—depend upon it the simplest thing cooked there is +nice. Shingle rattles as it is shovelled up for ballast—the +sound of labour makes me more comfortably lazy. They are not in a +hurry, nor "chivy" over their work either; the tides rise and fall +slowly, and they work in correspondence. No infernal fidget and +fuss. Wonder how long it would take me to pitch a pebble so as to +lodge on the top of that large brown pebble there? I try, once now +and then.</p> +<p>Far out over the sea there is a peculiar bank of clouds. I was +always fond of watching clouds; these do not move much. In my +pocket-book I see I have several notes about these peculiar +sea-clouds. They form a band not far above the horizon, not very +thick but elongated laterally. The upper edge is curled or wavy, +not so heavily as what is called mountainous, not in the least +threatening; this edge is white. The body of the vapour is a little +darker, either because thicker, or because the light is reflected +at a different angle. But it is the lower edge which is singular: +in direct contrast with the curled or wavy edge above, the under +edge is perfectly straight and parallel to the line of the horizon. +It looks as if the level of the sea made this under line. This bank +moves very slowly—scarcely perceptibly—but in course of +hours rises, and as it rises spreads, when the extremities break +off in detached pieces, and these gradually vanish. Sometimes when +travelling I have pointed out the direction of the sea, feeling +sure it was there, and not far off, though invisible, on account of +the appearance of the clouds, whose under edge was cut across so +straight. When this peculiar bank appears at Brighton it is an +almost certain sign of continued fine weather, and I have noticed +the same thing elsewhere; once particularly it remained fine after +this appearance despite every threat the sky could offer of a +storm. All the threats came to nothing for three weeks, not even +thunder and lightning could break it up,—"deceitful flashes," +as the Arabs say; for, like the sons of the desert, just then the +farmers longed for rain on their parched fields. To me, while on +the beach among the boats, the value of these clouds lies in their +slowness of movement, and consequent effect in soothing the mind. +Outside the hurry and drive of life a rest comes through the calm +of nature. As the swell of the sea carries up the pebbles, and +arranges the largest farthest inland, where they accumulate and +stay unmoved, so the drifting of the clouds, and the touch of the +wind, the sound of the surge, arrange the molecules of the mind in +still layers. It is then that a dream fills it, and a dream is +sometimes better than the best reality. Laugh at the idea of +dreaming where there is an odour of tar if you like, but you see it +is outside intolerable civilisation. It is a hundred miles from the +King's Road, though but just under it.</p> +<p>There is a scheme on foot for planking over the ocean, beginning +at the bottom of West Street. An immense central pier is proposed, +which would occupy the only available site for beaching the smacks. +If carried out, the whole fishing industry must leave +Brighton,—to the fishermen the injury would be beyond +compensation, and the aspect of Brighton itself would be destroyed. +Brighton ought to rise in revolt against it.</p> +<p>All Brighton chimney-pots are put on with giant cement, in order +to bear the strain of the tremendous winds rushing up from the sea. +Heavy as the gales are, they seldom do much mischief to the roofs, +such as are recorded inland. On the King's Road a plate-glass +window is now and then blown in, so that on hurricane days the +shutters are generally half shut. It is said that the wind gets +between the iron shutters and the plate glass and shakes the +windows loose. The heaviest waves roll in by the West Pier, and at +the bottom of East Street. Both sides of the West Pier are washed +by larger waves than can be seen all along the coast from the +Quarter Deck. Great rollers come in at the concrete groyne at the +foot of East Street. Exposed as the coast is, the waves do not +convey so intense an idea of wildness, confusion, and power as they +do at Dover. To see waves in their full vigour go to the Admiralty +Pier and watch the seas broken by the granite wall. Windy Brighton +has not an inch of shelter anywhere in a gale, and the salt rain +driven by the wind penetrates the thickest coat. The windiest spot +is at the corner of Second Avenue, Hove; the wind just there is +almost enough to choke those who face it. Double +windows—Russian fashion—are common all along the +sea-front, and are needed.</p> +<p>After a gale, when the wind changes, as it usually does, it is +pleasant to see the ships work in to the verge of the shore. The +sea is turbid and yellow with sand beaten up by the recent +billows,—this yellowness extends outwards to a certain line, +and is there succeeded by the green of clearer water. Beyond this +again the surface looks dark, as if still half angry, and clouds +hang over it, both to retire from the strife. As bees come out of +their hives when the rain ceases and the sun shines, so the vessels +which have been lying-to in harbour, or under shelter of +promontories, are now eagerly making their way down Channel, and, +in order to get as long a tack and as much advantage as possible, +they are brought to the edge of the shallow water. Sometimes +fifteen or twenty or more stand in; all sizes from the ketch to the +three-master. The wind is not strong, but that peculiar drawing +breeze which seems to pull a ship along as if with a tow-rope. The +brig stands straight for the beach, with all sail set; she heels a +little, not much; she scarcely heaves to the swell, and is not +checked by meeting waves; she comes almost to the yellow line of +turbid water, when round she goes, and you can see the sails shiver +as the breeze touches them on both surfaces for a moment. Then +again she shows her stern and away she glides, while another +approaches: and all day long they pass. There is always something +shadowy, not exactly unreal, but shadowy about a ship; it seems to +carry a romance, and the imagination fashions a story to the +swelling sails.</p> +<p>The bright light of Brighton brings all things into clear +relief, giving them an edge and outline; as steel burns with a +flame like wood in oxygen, so the minute particles of iron in the +atmosphere seem to burn and glow in the sunbeams, and a twofold +illumination fills the air. Coming back to the place after a +journey this brilliant light is very striking, and most new +visitors notice it. Even a room with a northern aspect is full of +light, too strong for some eyes, till accustomed to it. I am a +great believer in light—sunlight—and of my free will +never let it be shut out with curtains. Light is essential to life, +like air; life is thought; light is as fresh air to the mind. +Brilliant sunshine is reflected from the houses and fills the +streets. The walls of the houses are clean and less discoloured by +the deposit of carbon than usual in most towns, so that the +reflection is stronger from these white surfaces. Shadow there is +none in summer, for the shadows are lit up by diffusion. Something +in the atmosphere throws light down into shaded places as if from a +mirror. Waves beat ceaselessly on the beach, and the undulations of +light flow continuously forwards into the remotest corners. Pure +air, free from suspended matter, lets the light pass freely, and +perhaps this absence of suspended material is the reason that the +heat is not so oppressive as would be supposed considering the +glare. Certainly it is not so hot as London; on going up to town on +a July or August day it seems much hotter there, so much so that +one pants for air. Conversely in winter, London appears much +colder, the thick dark atmosphere seems to increase the bitterness +of the easterly winds, and returning to Brighton is entering a +warmer because clearer air. Many complain of the brilliance of the +light; they say the glare is overpowering, but the eyes soon become +acclimatised. This glare is one of the great recommendations of +Brighton; the strong light is evidently one of the causes of its +healthfulness to those who need change. There is no such glowing +light elsewhere along the south coast; these things are very +local.</p> +<p>A demand has been made for trees, to plant the streets and turn +them into boulevards for shade, than which nothing could be more +foolish. It is the dryness of the place that gives it its +character. After a storm, after heavy rain for days, in an hour the +pavements are not only dry but clean; no dirt, sticky and greasy, +remains. The only dirt in Brighton, for three-fourths of the year, +is that made by the water-carts. Too much water is used, and a good +clean road covered with mud an inch thick in August; but this is +not the fault of Brighton—it is the lack of observation on +the part of the Cadi who ought to have noticed the wretched +condition of ladies' boots when compelled to cross these miry +promenades. Trees are not wanted in Brighton; it is the peculiar +glory of Brighton to be treeless. Trees are the cause of damp, they +suck down moisture, and fill a circle round them with humidity. +Places full of trees are very trying in spring and autumn even to +robust people, much more so to convalescents and delicate persons. +Have nothing to do with trees, if Brighton is to retain its value. +Glowing light, dry, clear, and clean air, general +dryness—these are the qualities that rendered Brighton a +sanatorium; light and glow without oppressive moist heat; in winter +a clear cold. Most terrible of all to bear is cold when the +atmosphere is saturated with water. If any reply that trees have no +leaves in winter and so do not condense moisture, I at once deny +the conclusion; they have no leaves, but they condense moisture +nevertheless. This is effected by the minute twigs, thousands of +twigs and little branches, on which the mists condense, and distil +in drops. Under a large tree, in winter, there is often a perfect +shower, enough to require an umbrella, and it lasts for hours. +Eastbourne is a pleasant place, but visit Eastbourne, which is +proud of its trees, in October, and feel the damp fallen leaves +under your feet, and you would prefer no trees.</p> +<p>Let nothing check the descent of those glorious beams of +sunlight which fall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; +the foam runs up and wets them, almost before it can slip back the +sunshine has dried them again. So they are alternately wetted and +dried. Bitter sea and glowing light, bright clear air, dry as +dry,—that describes the place. Spain is the country of +sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish town in England, +a Seville. Very bright colours can be worn in summer because of +this powerful light; the brightest are scarcely noticed, for they +seem to be in concert with the sunshine. Is it difficult to paint +in so strong a light? Pictures in summer look dull and out of tune +when this Seville sun is shining. Artificial colours of the palette +cannot live in it. As a race we do not seem to care much for colour +or art—I mean in the common things of daily life—else a +great deal of colour might be effectively used in Brighton in +decorating houses and woodwork. Much more colour might be put in +the windows, brighter flowers and curtains; more, too, inside the +rooms; the sober hues of London furniture and carpets are not in +accord with Brighton light. Gold and ruby and blue, the blue of +transparent glass, or purple, might be introduced, and the romance +of colour freely indulged. At high tide of summer Spanish +mantillas, Spanish fans, would not be out of place in the open air. +No tint is too bright—scarlet, cardinal, anything the +imagination fancies; the brightest parasol is a matter of course. +Stand, for instance, by the West Pier, on the Esplanade, looking +east on a full-lit August day. The sea is blue, streaked with +green, and is stilled with heat; the low undulations can scarcely +rise and fall for somnolence. The distant cliffs are white; the +houses yellowish-white; the sky blue, more blue than fabled Italy. +Light pours down, and the bitter salt sea wets the pebbles; to look +at them makes the mouth dry, in the unconscious recollection of the +saltness and bitterness. The flags droop, the sails of the +fishing-boats hang idle; the land and the sea are conquered by the +great light of the sun.</p> +<p>Some people become famous by being always in one attitude. Meet +them when you will, they have invariably got an arm—the same +arm—crossed over the breast, and the hand thrust in between +the buttons of the coat to support it. Morning, noon, or evening, +in the street, the carriage, sitting, reading the paper, always the +same attitude; thus they achieve social distinction; it takes the +place of a medal or the red ribbon. What is a general or a famous +orator compared to a man always in the same attitude? Simply +nobody, nobody knows him, everybody knows the mono-attitude man. +Some people make their mark by invariably wearing the same short +pilot coat. Doubtless it has been many times renewed, still it is +the same coat. In winter it is thick, in summer thin, but identical +in cut and colour. Some people sit at the same window of the +reading-room at the same hour every day, all the year round. This +is the way to become marked and famous; winning a battle is nothing +to it. When it was arranged that a military band should play on the +Brunswick Lawns, it became the fashion to stop carriages in the +road and listen to it. Frequently there were carriages four deep, +while the gale blew the music out to sea and no one heard a note. +Still they sat content.</p> +<p>There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in +the world. They are so common that gradually the standard of taste +in the mind rises, and good-looking women who would be admired in +other places pass by without notice. Where all the flowers are +roses, you do not see a rose. They are all plump, not to say fat, +which would be rude; very plump, and have the glow and bloom of +youth upon the cheeks. They do not suffer from "pernicious +anaemia," that evil bloodlessness which London physicians are not +unfrequently called upon to cure, when the cheeks are white as +paper and have to be rosied with minute doses of arsenic. They +extract their arsenic from the air. The way they step and the +carriage of the form show how full they are of life and spirits. +Sarah Bernhardt will not come to Brighton if she can help it, lest +she should lose that high art angularity and slipperiness of shape +which suits her <i>rôle</i>. Dresses seem always to fit well, +because people somehow expand to them. It is pleasant to see the +girls walk, because the limbs do not drag, the feet are lifted +gaily and with ease. Horse-exercise adds a deeper glow to the face; +they ride up on the Downs first, out of pure cunning, for the air +there is certain to impart a freshness to the features like dew on +a flower, and then return and walk their horses to and fro the +King's Road, certain of admiration. However often these tricks are +played, they are always successful. Those philanthropic folk who +want to reform women's dress, and call upon the world to observe +how the present style contracts the chest, and forces the organs of +the body out of place (what a queer expression it seems, "organs"!) +have not a chance in Brighton. Girls lace tight and "go in" for the +tip of the fashion, yet they bloom and flourish as green bay trees, +and do not find their skirts any obstacle in walking or tennis. The +horse-riding that goes on is a thing to be chronicled; they are +always on horseback, and you may depend upon it that it is better +for them than all the gymnastic exercises ever invented. The +liability to strain, and even serious internal injury, which is +incurred in gymnastic exercises, ought to induce sensible people to +be extremely careful how they permit their daughters to sacrifice +themselves on this scientific altar. Buy them horses to ride, if +you want them to enjoy good health and sound constitutions. Nothing +like horses for women. Send the professors to Suakim, and put the +girls on horseback. Whether Brighton grows handsome girls, or +whether they flock there drawn by instinct, or become lovely by +staying there, is an inquiry too difficult to pursue.</p> +<p>There they are, one at least in every group, and you have to +walk, as the Spaniards say, with your beard over your shoulder, +continually looking back at those who have passed. The only +antidote known is to get married before you visit the place, and +doubts have been expressed as to its efficacy. In the south-coast +Seville there is nothing done but heart-breaking; it is so common +it is like hammering flints for road mending; nobody cares if your +heart is in pieces. They break hearts on horseback, and while +walking, playing tennis, shopping—actually at shopping, not +to mention parties of every kind. No one knows where the next +danger will be encountered—at the very next corner perhaps. +Feminine garments have an irresistible flutter in the sea-breeze; +feathers have a beckoning motion. No one can be altogether good in +Brighton, and that is the great charm of it. The language of the +eyes is cultivated to a marvellous degree; as we say of dogs, they +quite talk with their eyes. Even when you do not chance to meet an +exceptional beauty, still the plainer women are not plain like the +plain women in other places. The average is higher among them, and +they are not so irredeemably uninteresting. The flash of an eye, +the shape of a shoulder, the colour of the hair—something or +other pleases. Women without a single good feature are often +good-looking in New Seville because of an indescribable style or +manner. They catch the charm of the good-looking by living among +them, so that if any young lady desires to acquire the art of +attraction she has only to take train and join them. Delighted with +our protectorate of Paphos, Venus has lately decided to reside on +these shores, Every morning the girls' schools go for their +constitutional walks; there seem no end of these schools—the +place has a garrison of girls, and the same thing is noticeable in +their ranks. Too young to have developed actual loveliness, some in +each band distinctly promise future success. After long residence +the people become accustomed to good looks, and do not see anything +especial around them, but on going away for a few days soon miss +these pleasant faces.</p> +<p>In reconstructing Brighton station, one thing was +omitted—a balcony from which to view the arrival and +departure of the trains in summer and autumn. The scene is as +lively and interesting as the stage when a good play is proceeding. +So many happy expectant faces, often very beautiful; such a +mingling of colours, and succession of different figures; now a +brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is real. The +bustle, which is not the careworn anxious haste of business; the +rushing to and fro; the greetings of friends; the smiles; the +shifting of the groups, some coming, and some going—plump and +rosy,—it is really charming. One has a fancy dog, another a +bright-bound novel; very many have cavaliers; and look at the piles +of luggage! What dresses, what changes and elegance concealed +therein!—conjurors' trunks out of which wonders will spring. +Can anything look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, like +huge barnacles, just starting away with its freight? One can +imagine such a fund of enjoyment on its way in that cab. This happy +throng seems to express something that delights the heart. I often +used to walk up to the station just to see it, and left feeling +better.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="5">THE PINE WOOD</a></h3> +<p>There was a humming in the tops of the young pines as if a swarm +of bees were busy at the green cones. They were not visible through +the thick needles, and on listening longer it seemed as if the +sound was not exactly the note of the bee—a slightly +different pitch, and the hum was different, while bees have a habit +of working close together. Where there is one bee there are usually +five or six, and the hum is that of a group; here there only +appeared one or two insects to a pine. Nor was the buzz like that +of the humble-bee, for every now and then one came along low down, +flying between the stems, and his note was much deeper. By-and-by, +crossing to the edge of the plantation, where the boughs could be +examined, being within reach, I found it was wasps. A yellow wasp +wandered over the blue-green needles till he found a pair with a +drop of liquid like dew between them. There he fastened himself and +sucked at it; you could see the drop gradually drying up till it +was gone. The largest of these drops were generally between two +needles—those of the Scotch fir or pine grow in +pairs—but there were smaller drops on the outside of other +needles. In searching for this exuding turpentine the wasps filled +the whole plantation with the sound of their wings. There must have +been many thousands of them. They caused no inconvenience to any +one walking in the copse, because they were high overhead.</p> +<p>Watching these wasps I found two cocoons of pale yellow silk on +a branch of larch, and by them a green spider. He was quite +green—two shades, lightest on the back, but little lighter +than the green larch bough. An ant had climbed up a pine and over +to the extreme end of a bough; she seemed slow and stupefied in her +motions, as if she had drunken of the turpentine and had lost her +intelligence. The soft cones of the larch could be easily cut down +the centre with a penknife, showing the structure of the cone and +the seeds inside each scale. It is for these seeds that birds +frequent the fir copses, shearing off the scales with their beaks. +One larch cone had still the tuft at the top—a pineapple in +miniature. The loudest sound in the wood was the humming in the +trees; there was no wind, no sunshine; a summer day, still and +shadowy, under large clouds high up. To this low humming the sense +of hearing soon became accustomed, and it served but to render the +silence deeper. In time, as I sat waiting and listening, there came +the faintest far-off song of a bird away in the trees; the merest +thin upstroke of sound, slight in structure, the echo of the strong +spring singing. This was the summer repetition, dying away. A +willow-wren still remembered his love, and whispered about it to +the silent fir tops, as in after days we turn over the pages of +letters, withered as leaves, and sigh. So gentle, so low, so tender +a song the willow-wren sang that it could scarce be known as the +voice of a bird, but was like that of some yet more delicate +creature with the heart of a woman.</p> +<p>A butterfly with folded wings clung to a stalk of grass; upon +the under side of his wing thus exposed there were buff spots, and +dark dots and streaks drawn on the finest ground of pearl-grey, +through which there came a tint of blue; there was a blue, too, +shut up between the wings, visible at the edges. The spots, and +dots, and streaks were not exactly the same on each wing; at first +sight they appeared similar, but, on comparing one with the other, +differences could be traced. The pattern was not mechanical; it was +hand-painted by Nature, and the painter's eye and fingers varied in +their work.</p> +<p>How fond Nature is of spot-markings!—the wings of +butterflies, the feathers of birds, the surface of eggs, the leaves +and petals of plants are constantly spotted; so, too, fish—as +trout. From the wing of the butterfly I looked involuntarily at the +foxglove I had just gathered; inside, the bells were thickly +spotted—dots and dustings that might have been transferred to +a butterfly's wing. The spotted meadow-orchis; the brown dots on +the cowslips; brown, black, greenish, reddish dots and spots and +dustings on the eggs of the finches, the whitethroats, and so many +others—some of the spots seem as if they had been splashed on +and had run into short streaks, some mottled, some gathered +together at the end; all spots, dots, dustings of minute specks, +mottlings, and irregular markings. The histories, the stories, the +library of knowledge contained in those signs! It was thought a +wonderful thing when at last the strange inscriptions of Assyria +were read, made of nail-headed characters whose sound was lost; it +was thought a triumph when the yet older hieroglyphics of Egypt +were compelled to give up their messages, and the world hoped that +we should know the secrets of life. That hope was disappointed; +there was nothing in the records but superstition and useless +ritual. But here we go back to the beginning; the antiquity of +Egypt is nothing to the age of these signs—they date from +unfathomable time. In them the sun has written his commands, and +the wind inscribed deep thought. They were before superstition +began; they were composed in the old, old world, when the Immortals +walked on earth. They have been handed down thousands upon +thousands of years to tell us that to-day we are still in the +presence of the heavenly visitants, if only we will give up the +soul to these pure influences. The language in which they are +written has no alphabet, and cannot be reduced to order. It can +only be understood by the heart and spirit. Look down into this +foxglove bell and you will know that; look long and lovingly at +this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will rise to your +consciousness.</p> +<p>Some time passed, but the butterfly did not move; a touch +presently disturbed him, and flutter, flutter went his blue wings, +only for a few seconds, to another grass-stalk, and so on from +grass-stalk to grass-stalk as compelled, a yard flight at most. He +would not go farther; he settled as if it had been night. There was +no sunshine, and under the clouds he had no animation. A swallow +went by singing in the air, and as he flew his forked tail was +shut, and but one streak of feathers drawn past. Though but young +trees, there was a coating of fallen needles under the firs an inch +thick, and beneath it the dry earth touched warm. A fern here and +there came up through it, the palest of pale green, quite a +different colour to the same species growing in the hedges away +from the copse. A yellow fungus, streaked with scarlet as if blood +had soaked into it, stood at the foot of a tree occasionally. Black +fungi, dry, shrivelled, and dead, lay fallen about, detached from +the places where they had grown, and crumbling if handled. Still +more silent after sunset, the wood was utterly quiet; the swallows +no longer passed twittering, the willow-wren was gone, there was no +hum or rustle; the wood was as silent as a shadow.</p> +<p>But before the darkness a song and an answer arose in a tree, +one bird singing a few notes and another replying side by side. Two +goldfinches sat on the cross of a larch-fir and sang, looking +towards the west, where the light lingered. High up, the larch-fir +boughs with the top shoot form a cross; on this one goldfinch sat, +the other was immediately beneath. At even the birds often turn to +the west as they sing.</p> +<p>Next morning the August sun shone, and the wood was all a-hum +with insects. The wasps were working at the pine boughs high +overhead; the bees by dozens were crowding to the bramble flowers; +swarming on them, they seemed so delighted; humble-bees went +wandering among the ferns in the copse and in the +ditches—they sometimes alight on fern—and calling at +every purple heath-blossom, at the purple knapweeds, purple +thistles, and broad handfuls of yellow-weed flowers. Wasp-like +flies barred with yellow suspended themselves in the air between +the pine-trunks like hawks hovering, and suddenly shot themselves a +yard forward or to one side, as if the rapid vibration of their +wings while hovering had accumulated force which drove them as if +discharged from a cross-bow. The sun had set all things in +motion.</p> +<p>There was a hum under the oak by the hedge, a hum in the pine +wood, a humming among the heath and the dry grass which heat had +browned. The air was alive and merry with sound, so that the day +seemed quite different and twice as pleasant. Three blue +butterflies fluttered in one flowery corner, the warmth gave them +vigour; two had a silvery edging to their wings, one was brown and +blue. The nuts reddening at the tips appeared ripening like apples +in the sunshine. This corner is a favourite with wild bees and +butterflies; if the sun shines they are sure to be found there at +the heath-bloom and tall yellow-weed, and among the dry seeding +bennets or grass-stalks. All things, even butterflies, are local in +their habits. Far up on the hillside the blue green of the pines +beneath shone in the sun—a burnished colour; the high +hillside is covered with heath and heather. Where there are open +places a small species of gorse, scarcely six inches high, is in +bloom, the yellow blossom on the extremity of the stalk.</p> +<p>Some of these gorse plants seemed to have a different flower +growing at the side of the stem, instead of at the extremity. These +florets were cream-coloured, so that it looked like a new species +of gorse. On gathering it to examine the thick-set florets, if was +found that a slender runner or creeper had been torn up with it. +Like a thread the creeper had wound itself round and round the +furze, buried in and hidden by the prickles, and it was this +creeper that bore the white or cream-florets. It was tied round as +tightly as thread could be, so that the florets seemed to start +from the stem, deceiving the eye at first. In some places this +parasite plant had grown up the heath and strangled it, so that the +tips turned brown and died. The runners extended in every direction +across the ground, like those of strawberries. One creeper had +climbed up a bennet, or seeding grass-stalk, binding the stalk and +a blade of the grass together, and flowering there. On the ground +there were patches of grey lichen; many of the pillar-like stems +were crowned with a red top. Under a small boulder stone there was +an ants' nest. These boulders, or, as they are called locally, +"bowlers," were scattered about the heath. Many of the lesser +stones were spotted with dark dots of lichen, not unlike a +toad.</p> +<p>Thoughtlessly turning over a boulder about nine inches square, +lo! there was subject enough for thinking underneath it—a +subject that has been thought about many thousand years; for this +piece of rock had formed the roof of an ants' nest. The stone had +sunk three inches deep into the dry soil of sand and peaty mould, +and in the floor of the hole the ants had worked out their +excavations, which resembled an outline map. The largest excavation +was like England; at the top, or north, they had left a narrow +bridge, an eighth of an inch wide, under which to pass into +Scotland, and from Scotland again another narrow arch led to the +Orkney Islands; these last, however, were dug in the perpendicular +side of the hole. In the corners of these excavations tunnels ran +deeper into the ground, and the ants immediately began hurrying +their treasures, the eggs, down into these cellars. At one angle a +tunnel went beneath the heath into further excavations beneath a +second boulder stone. Without, a fern grew, and the dead dry stems +of heather crossed each other.</p> +<p>This discovery led to the turning over of another boulder stone +not far off, and under it there appeared a much more extensive and +complete series of galleries, bridges, cellars and tunnels. In +these the whole life-history of the ant was exposed at a single +glance, as if one had taken off the roofs of a city. One cell +contained a dust-like deposit, another a collection resembling the +dust, but now elongated and a little greenish; a third treasury, +much larger, was piled up with yellowish grains about the size of +wheat, each with a black dot on the top, and looking like minute +hop-pockets. Besides these, there was a pure white substance in a +corridor, which the irritated ants seemed particularly anxious to +remove out of sight, and quickly carried away. Among the ants +rushing about there were several with wings; one took flight; one +was seized by a wingless ant and dragged down into a cellar, as if +to prevent its taking wing. A helpless green fly was in the midst, +and round the outside galleries there crept a creature like a +spider, seeming to try to hide itself. If the nest had been formed +under glass, it could not have been more open to view. The stone +was carefully replaced.</p> +<p>Below the pine wood on the slope of the hill a plough was +already at work, the crop of peas having been harvested. The four +horses came up the slope, and at the ridge swept round in a fine +curve to go back and open a fresh furrow. As soon as they faced +down-hill they paused, well aware of what had to be done, and the +ploughman in a manner knocked his plough to pieces, putting it +together again the opposite way, that the earth he was about to cut +with the share might fall on what he had just turned. With a piece +of iron he hammered the edge of the share, to set it, for the hard +ground had bent the edge, and it did not cut properly. I said his +team looked light; they were not so heavily built as the +cart-horses used in many places. No, he said, they did not want +heavy horses. "Dese yer thick-boned hosses be more clutter-headed +over the clots," as he expressed it, <i>i.e.</i> more clumsy or +thick-headed over the clods. He preferred comparatively light +cart-horses to step well. In the heat of the sun the furze-pods +kept popping and bursting open; they are often as full of insects +as seeds, which come creeping out. A green and black +lady-bird—exactly like a tortoise—flew on to my hand. +Again on the heath, and the grasshoppers rose at every step, +sometimes three or four springing in as many directions. They were +winged, and as soon as they were up spread their vanes and floated +forwards. As the force of the original hop decreased, the wind took +their wings and turned them aside from the straight course before +they fell. Down the dusty road, inches deep in sand, comes a +sulphur butterfly, rushing as quick as if hastening to a +butterfly-fair. If only rare, how valued he would be! His colour is +so evident and visible; he fills the road, being brighter than all, +and for the moment is more than the trees and flowers.</p> +<p>Coming so suddenly over the hedge into the road close to me, he +startled me as if I had been awakened from a dream—I had been +thinking it was August, and woke to find it February—for the +sulphur butterfly is the February pleasure. Between the dark storms +and wintry rains there is a warm sunny interval of a week in +February. Away one goes for a walk, and presently there appears a +bright yellow spot among the furze, dancing along like a flower let +loose. It is a sulphur butterfly, who thus comes before the +earliest chiffchaff—before the watch begins for the first +swallow. I call it the February pleasure, as each month has its +delight. So associated as this butterfly is with early spring, to +see it again after months of leaf and flower—after June and +July—with the wheat in shock and the scent of harvest in the +land, is startling. The summer, then, is a dream! It is still +winter; but no, here are the trees in leaf, the nuts reddening, the +hum of bees, and dry summer dust on the high wiry grass. The +sulphur butterfly comes twice; there is a second brood; but there +are some facts that are always new and surprising, however well +known. I may say again, if only rare, how this butterfly would be +prized! Along the hedgerow there are several spiders' webs. In the +centre they are drawn inwards, forming a funnel, which goes back a +few inches into the hedge, and at the bottom of this the spider +waits. If you look down the funnel you see his claws at the bottom, +ready to run up and seize a fly.</p> +<p>Sitting in the garden after a walk, it is pleasant to watch the +eave-swallows feeding their young on the wing. The young bird +follows the old one; then they face each other and stay a moment in +the air, while the insect food is transferred from beak to beak; +with a loud note they part. There was a constant warfare between +the eave-swallows and the sparrows frequenting a house where I was +staying during the early part of the summer. The sparrows strove +their utmost to get possession of the nests the swallows built, and +there was no peace between them It is common enough for one or two +swallows' nests to be attacked in this way, but here every nest +along the eaves was fought for, and the sparrows succeeded in +conquering many of them. The driven-out swallows after a while +began to build again, and I noticed that more than a pair seemed to +work at the same nest. One nest was worked at by four swallows; +often all four came together and twittered at it.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="6">NATURE ON THE ROOF</a></h3> +<p>Increased activity on the housetop marks the approach of spring +and summer exactly as in the woods and hedges, for the roof has its +migrants, its semi-migrants, and its residents. When the first +dandelion is opening on a sheltered bank, and the pale-blue field +veronica flowers in the waste corner, the whistle of the starling +comes from his favourite ledge. Day by day it is heard more and +more, till, when the first green spray appears on the hawthorn, he +visits the roof continually. Besides the roof-tree and the +chimney-pot, he has his own special place, sometimes under an eave, +sometimes between two gables; and as I sit writing, I can see a +pair who have a ledge which slightly projects from the wall between +the eaves and the highest window. This was made by the builder for +an ornament; but my two starlings consider it their own particular +possession. They alight with a sort of half-scream half-whistle +just over the window, flap their wings, and whistle again, run +along the ledge to a spot where there is a gable, and with another +note, rise up and enter an aperture between the slates and the +wall. There their nest will be in a little time, and busy indeed +they will be when the young require to be fed, to and fro the +fields and the gable the whole day through; the busiest and the +most useful of birds, for they destroy thousands upon thousands of +insects, and if farmers were wise they would never have one shot, +no matter how the thatch was pulled about.</p> +<p>My pair of starlings were frequently at this ledge last autumn, +very late in autumn, and I suspect they had a winter brood there. +The starling does rear a brood sometimes in the midst of the +winter, contrary as that may seem to our general ideas of natural +history. They may be called roof-residents, as they visit it all +the year round; they nest in the roof, rearing two and sometimes +three broods; and use it as their club and place of meeting. +Towards July the young starlings and those that have for the time +at least finished nesting, flock together, and pass the day in the +fields, returning now and then to their old home. These flocks +gradually increase; the starling is so prolific that the flocks +become immense, till in the latter part of the autumn in southern +fields it is common to see a great elm-tree black with them, from +the highest bough downwards, and the noise of their chattering can +be heard a long distance. They roost in firs or in osier-beds. But +in the blackest days of winter, when frost binds the ground hard as +iron, the starlings return to the roof almost every day; they do +not whistle much, but have a peculiar chuckling whistle at the +instant of alighting. In very hard weather, especially snow, the +starlings find it difficult to obtain a living, and at such times +will come to the premises at the rear, and at farmhouses where +cattle are in the yards, search about among them for insects.</p> +<p>The whole history of the starling is interesting, but I must +here only mention it as a roof-bird. They are very handsome in +their full plumage, which gleams bronze and green among the darker +shades; quick in their motions, and full of spirit; loaded to the +muzzle with energy, and never still. I hope none of those who are +so good as to read what I have written will ever keep a starling in +a cage; the cruelty is extreme. As for shooting pigeons at a trap, +it is mercy in comparison.</p> +<p>Even before the starling whistles much, the sparrows begin to +chirp: in the dead of winter they are silent; but so soon as the +warmer winds blow, if only for a day, they begin to chirp. In +January this year I used to listen to the sparrows chirping, the +starlings whistling, and the chaffinches' "chink, chink" about +eight o'clock, or earlier, in the morning: the first two on the +roof; the latter, which is not a roof-bird, in some garden shrubs. +As the spring advances, the sparrows sing—it is a short song, +it is true, but still it is singing—perched at the edge of a +sunny wall. There is not a place about the house where they will +not build—under the eaves, on the roof, anywhere where there +is a projection or shelter, deep in the thatch, under the tiles, in +old eave-swallows' nest. The last place I noticed as a favourite +one in towns is on the half-bricks left projecting in perpendicular +rows at the sides of unfinished houses, Half a dozen nests may be +counted at the side of a house on these bricks; and like the +starlings, they rear several broods, and some are nesting late in +the autumn. By degrees as the summer advances they leave the houses +for the corn, and gather in vast flocks, rivalling those of the +starlings. At this time they desert the roofs, except those who +still have nesting duties. In winter and in the beginning of the +new year, they gradually return; migration thus goes on under the +eyes of those who care to notice it. In London, some who fed +sparrows on the roof found that rooks also came for the crumbs +placed out. I sometimes see a sparrow chasing a rook, as if angry, +and trying to drive it away over the roofs where I live, the thief +does not retaliate, but, like a thief, flees from the scene of his +guilt. This is not only in the breeding season, when the rook +steals eggs, but in winter. Town residents are apt to despise the +sparrow, seeing him always black; but in the country the sparrows +are as clean as a pink; and in themselves they are the most +animated, clever little creatures.</p> +<p>They are easily tamed. The Parisians are fond of taming them. At +a certain hour in the Tuilleries Gardens, you may see a man +perfectly surrounded with a crowd of sparrows—some perching +on his shoulder; some fluttering in the air immediately before his +face; some on the ground like a tribe of followers; and others on +the marble seats. He jerks a crumb of bread into the air—a +sparrow dexterously seizes it as he would a flying insect; he puts +a crumb between his lips—a sparrow takes it out and feeds +from his mouth. Meantime they keep up a constant chirping; those +that are satisfied still stay by and adjust their feathers. He +walks on, giving a little chirp with his mouth, and they follow him +along the path—a cloud about his shoulders, and the rest +flying from shrub to shrub, perching, and then following again. +They are all perfectly clean—a contrast to the London +Sparrow. I came across one of these sparrow-tamers by chance, and +was much amused at the scene, which, to any one not acquainted with +birds, appears marvellous; but it is really as simple as possible, +and you can repeat it for yourself if you have patience, for they +are so sharp they soon understand you. They seem to play at +nest-making before they really begin; taking up straws in their +beaks, and carrying them half-way to the roof, then letting the +straws float away; and the same with stray feathers, Neither of +these, starlings nor sparrows, seem to like the dark. Under the +roof, between it and the first ceiling, there is a large open +space; if the slates or tiles are kept in good order, very little +light enters, and this space is nearly dark in daylight. Even if +chinks admit a beam of light, it is not enough; they seldom enter +or fly about there, though quite accessible to them. But if the +roof is in bad order, and this space light, they enter freely. +Though nesting in holes, yet they like light. The swallows could +easily go in and make nests upon the beams, but they will not, +unless the place is well lit. They do not like darkness in the +daytime.</p> +<p>The swallows bring us the sunbeams on their wings from Africa to +fill the fields with flowers. From the time of the arrival of the +first swallow the flowers take heart; the few and scanty plants +that had braved the earlier cold are succeeded by a constantly +enlarging list, till the banks and lanes are full of them. The +chimney-swallow is usually the forerunner of the three +house-swallows; and perhaps no fact in natural history has been so +much studied as the migration of these tender birds. The commonest +things are always the most interesting. In summer there is no bird +so common everywhere as the swallow, and for that reason many +overlook it, though they rush to see a "white elephant." But the +deepest thinkers have spent hours and hours in considering the +problem of the swallow—its migrations, its flight, its +habits; great poets have loved it; great artists and art-writers +have curiously studied it. The idea that it is necessary to seek +the wilderness or the thickest woods for nature is a total mistake; +nature it, at home, on the roof, close to every one. Eave-swallows, +or house-martins (easily distinguished by the white bar across the +tail), build sometimes in the shelter of the porches of old +houses.</p> +<p>As you go in or out, the swallows visiting or leaving their +nests fly so closely as almost to brush the face. Swallow means +porch-bird, and for centuries and centuries their nests have been +placed in the closest proximity to man. They might be called man's +birds, so attached are they to the human race. I think the greatest +ornament a house can have is the nest of an eave-swallow under the +eaves—far superior to the most elaborate carving, colouring, +or arrangement the architect can devise. There is no ornament like +the swallow's nest; the home of a messenger between man and the +blue heavens, between us and the sunlight, and all the promise of +the sky. The joy of life, the highest and tenderest feelings, +thoughts that soar on the swallow's wings, come to the round nest +under the roof. Not only to-day, not only the hopes of future +years, but all the past dwells there. Year after year the +generations and descent of the swallow have been associated with +our homes, and all the events of successive lives have taken place +under their guardianship. The swallow is the genius of good to a +house. Let its nest, then, stay; to me it seems the extremity of +barbarism, or rather stupidity, to knock it down. I wish I could +induce them to build under the eaves of this house; I would if I +could discover some means of communicating with them.</p> +<p>It is a peculiarity of the swallow that you cannot make it +afraid of you; just the reverse of other birds. The swallow does +not understand being repulsed, but comes back again. Even knocking +the nest down will not drive it away, until the stupid process has +been repeated several years. The robin must be coaxed; the sparrow +is suspicious, and though easy to tame, quick to notice the least +alarming movement. The swallow will not be driven away. He has not +the slightest fear of man; he flies to his nest close to the +window, under the low eave, or on the beams in the out-houses, no +matter if you are looking on or not. Bold as the starlings are, +they will seldom do this. But in the swallow the instinct of +suspicion is reversed, an instinct of confidence occupies its +place. In addition to the eave-swallow, to which I have chiefly +alluded, and the chimney-swallow, there is the swift, also a +roof-bird, and making its nest in the slates of houses in the midst +of towns. These three are migrants in the fullest sense, and come +to our houses over thousands of miles of land and sea.</p> +<p>Robins frequently visit the roof for insects, especially when it +is thatched; so do wrens; and the latter, after they have peered +along, have a habit of perching at the extreme angle of a gable, or +the extreme edge of a corner, and uttering their song. Finches +occasionally fly up to the roofs of country-houses if shrubberies +are near, also in pursuit of insects; but they are not truly +roof-birds. Wagtails perch on roofs; they often have their nests in +the ivy, or creepers trained against walls; they are quite at +borne, and are frequently seen on the ridges of farmhouses. Tits of +several species, particularly the great titmouse and the blue tit, +come to thatch for insects, both in summer and winter. In some +districts where they are common, it is not unusual to see a +goatsucker or fern-owl hawk along close to the eaves in the dusk of +the evening for moths. The white owl is a roof-bird (though not +often of the house), building inside the roof, and sitting there +all day in some shaded corner. They do sometimes take up their +residence in the roofs of outhouses attached to dwellings, but not +often nowadays, though still residing in the roofs of old castles. +Jackdaws, again, are roof-birds, building in the roofs of towers. +Bats live in roofs, and hang there wrapped up in their membranous +wings till the evening calls them forth. They are residents in the +full sense, remaining all the year round, though principally seen +in the warmer months; but they are there in the colder, hidden +away, and if the temperature rises, will venture out and hawk to +and fro in the midst of the winter. Tame pigeons and doves hardly +come into this paper, but still it is their habit to use roofs as +tree-tops. Rats and mice creep through the crevices of roofs, and +in old country-houses hold a sort of nightly carnival, racing to +and fro under the roof. Weasels sometimes follow them indoors and +up to their roof strongholds.</p> +<p>When the first warm days of spring sunshine strike against the +southern side of the chimney, sparrows perch there and enjoy it; +and again in autumn, when the general warmth of the atmosphere is +declining, they still find a little pleasant heat there. They make +use of the radiation of heat, as the gardener does who trains his +fruit-trees to a wall. Before the autumn has thinned the leaves, +the swallows gather on the highest ridge of the roof in a row and +twitter to each other; they know the time is approaching when they +must depart for another climate. In winter, many birds seek the +thatched roofs to roost. Wrens, tits, and even blackbirds roost in +the holes left by sparrows or starlings.</p> +<p>Every crevice is the home of insects, or used by them for the +deposit of their eggs—under the tiles or slates, where mortar +has dropped out between the bricks, in the holes of thatch, and on +the straws. The number of insects that frequent a large roof must +be very great—all the robins, wrens, bats, and so on, can +scarcely affect them; nor the spiders, though these, too, are +numerous. Then there are the moths, and those creeping creatures +that work out of sight, boring their way through the rafters and +beams. Sometimes a sparrow may be seen clinging to the bare wall of +the house; tits do the same thing. It is surprising how they manage +to hold on. They are taking insects from the apertures of the +mortar. Where the slates slope to the south, the sunshine soon +heats them, and passing butterflies alight on the warm surface, and +spread out their wings, as if hovering over the heat. Flies are +attracted in crowds sometimes to heated slates and tiles, and wasps +will occasionally pause there. Wasps are addicted to haunting +houses, and, in the autumn, feed on the flies. Floating germs +carried by the air must necessarily lodge in numbers against roofs; +so do dust and invisible particles; and together, these make the +rain-water collected in water-butts after a storm turbid and dark; +and it soon becomes full of living organisms.</p> +<p>Lichen and moss grow on the mortar wherever it has become +slightly disintegrated; and if any mould, however minute, by any +means accumulates between the slates, there, too, they spring up, +and even on the slates themselves. Tiles are often coloured yellow +by such growths. On some old roofs, which have decayed, and upon +which detritus has accumulated, wallflowers may be found; and the +house-leek takes capricious root where it fancies. The stonecrop is +the finest of roof-plants, sometimes forming a broad patch of +brilliant yellow. Birds carry up seeds and grains, and these +germinate in moist thatch. Groundsel, for instance, and stray +stalks of wheat, thin and drooping for lack of soil, are sometimes +seen there, besides grasses. Ivy is familiar as a roof-creeper. +Some ferns and the pennywort will grow on the wall close to the +roof. A correspondent tells me that in Wales he found a cottage +perfectly roofed with fern—it grew so thickly as to conceal +the roof. Had a painter put this in a picture, many would have +exclaimed: "How fanciful! He must have made it up; it could never +have grown like that!" Not long after receiving my correspondent's +kind letter, I chanced to find a roof near London upon which the +same fern was growing in lines along the tiles. It grew +plentifully, but was not in so flourishing a condition as that +found in Wales. Painters are sometimes accused of calling upon +their imagination when they are really depicting fact, for the ways +of nature vary very much in different localities, and that which +may seem impossible in one place is common enough in another.</p> +<p>Where will not ferns grow? We saw one attached to the under-side +of a glass coal-hole cover; its green could be seen through the +thick glass on which people stepped daily.</p> +<p>Recently, much attention has been paid to the dust which is +found on roofs and ledges at great heights. This meteoric dust, as +it is called, consists of minute particles of iron, which are +thought to fall from the highest part of the atmosphere, or +possibly to be attracted to the earth from space. Lightning usually +strikes the roof. The whole subject of lightning-conductors has +been re-opened of late years, there being reason to think that +mistakes have been made in the manner of their erection. The reason +English roofs are high-pitched is not only because of the rain, +that it may shoot off quickly, but on account of snow. Once now and +then there comes a snow-year, and those who live in houses with +flat surfaces anywhere on the roof soon discover how inconvenient +they are. The snow is sure to find its way through, damaging +ceilings, and doing other mischief. Sometimes, in fine summer +weather, people remark how pleasant it would be if the roof were +flat, so that it could be used as a terrace, as it is in warmer +climates. But the fact is, the English roof, although now merely +copied and repeated without a thought of the reason of its shape, +grew up from experience of severe winters. Of old, great care and +ingenuity—what we should now call artistic skill—were +employed in contracting the roof. It was not only pleasant to the +eye with its gables, but the woodwork was wonderfully well done. +Such roofs may still be seen on ancient mansions, having endured +for centuries. They are splendid pieces of workmanship, and seen +from afar among foliage, are admired by every one who has the least +taste. Draughtsmen and painters value them highly. No matter +whether reproduced on a large canvas or in a little woodcut, their +proportions please. The roof is much neglected in modern houses; it +is either conventional, or it is full indeed of gables, but gables +that do not agree, as it were, with each other—that are +obviously put there on purpose to look artistic, and fail +altogether. Now, the ancient roofs were true works of art, +consistent, and yet each varied to its particular circumstances, +and each impressed with the individuality of the place and of the +designer. The finest old roofs were built of oak or chestnut; the +beams are black with age, and, in that condition, oak is scarcely +distinguishable from chestnut.</p> +<p>So the roof has its natural history, its science, and art; it +has its seasons, its migrants and residents, of whom a housetop +calendar might be made. The fine old roofs which have just been +mentioned are often associated with historic events and the rise of +families; and the roof-tree, like the hearth, has a range of +proverbs or sayings and ancient lore to itself. More than one great +monarch has been slain by a tile thrown from the housetop, and +numerous other incidents have occurred in connection with it. The +most interesting is the story of the Grecian mother who, with her +infant, was on the roof, when, in a moment of inattention, the +child crept to the edge, and was balanced on the very verge. To +call to it, to touch it, would have insured its destruction; but +the mother, without a second's thought, bared her breast, and the +child eagerly turning to it, was saved!</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="7">ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>If any one were to get up about half-past five on an August +morning and look out of an eastern window in the country, he would +see the distant trees almost hidden by a white mist. The tops of +the larger groups of elms would appear above it, and by these the +line of the hedgerows could be traced. Tier after tier they stretch +along, rising by degrees on a gentle slope, the space between +filled with haze. Whether there were corn-fields or meadows under +this white cloud he could not tell—a cloud that might have +come down from the sky, leaving it a clear azure. This morning haze +means intense heat in the day. It is hot already, very hot, for the +sun is shining with all his strength, and if you wish the house to +be cool it is time to set the sunblinds.</p> +<p>Roger, the reaper, had slept all night in the cowhouse, lying on +the raised platform of narrow planks put up for cleanliness when +the cattle were there. He had set the wooden window wide open and +left the door ajar when he came stumbling in overnight, long after +the late swallows had settled in their nests in the beams, and the +bats had wearied of moth catching. One of the swallows twittered a +little, as much as to say to his mate, "my love, it is only a +reaper, we need not be afraid," and all was silence and darkness. +Roger did not so much as take off his boots, but flung himself on +the boards crash, curled himself up hedgehog fashion with some old +sacks, and immediately began to breathe heavily. He had no +difficulty in sleeping, first because his muscles had been tried to +the utmost, and next because his skin was full to the brim, not of +jolly "good ale and old" but of the very smallest and poorest of +wish-washy beer. In his own words, it "blowed him up till he very +nigh bust." Now the great authorities on dyspepsia, so eagerly +studied by the wealthy folk whose stomachs are deranged, tell us +that a very little flatulence will make the heart beat irregularly +and cause the most distressing symptoms.</p> +<p>Roger had swallowed at least a gallon of a liquid chemically +designed, one might say, on purpose to utterly upset the internal +economy. Harvest beer is probably the vilest drink in the world. +The men say it is made by pouring muddy water into empty casks +returned sour from use, and then brushing them round and round +inside with a besom. This liquid leaves a stickiness on the tongue +and a harsh feeling at the back of the mouth which soon turns to +thirst, so that having once drunk a pint the drinker must go on +drinking. The peculiar dryness caused by this beer is not like any +other throat drought—worse than dust, or heat, or thirst from +work; there is no satisfying it. With it there go down the germs of +fermentation, a sour, yeasty, and, as it were, secondary +fermentation; not that kind which is necessary to make beer, but +the kind that unmakes and spoils beer. It is beer rotting and +decomposing in the stomach. Violent diarrhoea often follows, and +then the exhaustion thus caused induces the men to drink more in +order to regain the strength necessary to do their work. The great +heat of the sun and the heat of hard labour, the strain and +perspiration, of course try the body and weaken the digestion. To +distend the stomach with half a gallon of this liquor, expressly +compounded to ferment, is about the most murderous thing a man +could do—murderous because it exposes him to the risk of +sunstroke. So vile a drink there is not elsewhere in the world; +arrack, and potato-spirit, and all the other killing extracts of +the distiller are not equal to it. Upon this abominable mess the +golden harvest of English fields is gathered in.</p> +<p>Some people have in consequence endeavoured to induce the +harvesters to accept a money payment in place of beer, and to a +certain extent successfully. Even then, however, they must drink +something. Many manage on weak tea after a fashion, but not so well +as the abstainers would have us think. Others have brewed for their +men a miserable stuff in buckets, an infusion of oatmeal, and got a +few to drink it; but English labourers will never drink +oatmeal-water unless they are paid to do it. If they are paid extra +beer-money and oatmeal water is made for them gratis, some will, of +course, imbibe it, especially if they see that thereby they may +obtain little favours from their employer by yielding to his fad. +By drinking the crotchet perhaps they may get a present now and +then-food for themselves, cast-off clothes for their families, and +so on. For it is a remarkable feature of human natural history, the +desire to proselytise. The spectacle of John Bull—jovial John +Bull—offering his men a bucket of oatmeal liquor is not a +pleasant one. Such a John Bull ought to be ashamed of himself.</p> +<p>The truth is the English farmer's man was and is, and will be, a +drinker of beer. Neither tea, nor oatmeal, nor vinegar and water +(coolly recommended by indoor folk) will do for him. His natural +constitution rebels against such "peevish" drink. In winter he +wants beer against the cold and the frosty rime and the heavy raw +mist that hangs about the hollows; in spring and autumn against the +rain, and in summer to support him under the pressure of additional +work and prolonged hours. Those who really wish well to the +labourer cannot do better than see that he really has beer to +drink—real beer, genuine brew of malt and hops, a moderate +quantity of which will supply force to his thews and sinews, and +will not intoxicate or injure. If by giving him a small money +payment in lieu of such large quantities you can induce him to be +content with a little, so much the better. If an employer followed +that plan, and at the same time once or twice a day sent out a +moderate supply of genuine beer as a gift to his men, he would do +them all the good in the world, and at the same time obtain for +himself their goodwill and hearty assistance, that hearty work +which is worth so much.</p> +<p>Roger breathed heavily in his sleep in the cowhouse, because the +vile stuff he had taken puffed him up and obstructed nature. The +tongue in his open mouth became parched and cracked, swollen and +dry; he slept indeed, but he did not rest; he groaned heavily at +times and rolled aside. Once he awoke choking—he could not +swallow, his tongue was so dry and large; he sat up, swore, and +again lay down. The rats in the sties had already discovered that a +man slept in the cowhouse, a place they rarely visited, as there +was nothing there to eat; how they found it out no one knows. They +are clever creatures, the despised rats. They came across in the +night and looked under his bed, supposing that he might have eaten +his bread-and-cheese for supper there, and that fragments might +have dropped between the boards. There were none. They mounted the +boards and sniffed round him; they would have stolen the food from +his very pocket if it had been there. Nor could they find a bundle +in a handkerchief, which they would have gnawn through speedily. +Not a scrap of food was there to be smelt at, so they left him. +Roger had indeed gone supperless, as usual; his supper he had +swilled and not eaten. His own fault; he should have exercised +self-control. Well, I don't know; let us consider further before we +judge.</p> +<p>In houses the difficulty often is to get the servants up in the +morning; one cannot wake, and the rest sleep too sound—much +the same thing; yet they have clocks and alarums. The reapers are +never behind. Roger got off his planks, shook himself, went outside +the shed, and tightened his shoelaces in the bright light. His +rough hair he just pushed back from his forehead, and that was his +toilet. His dry throat sent him to the pump, but he did not swallow +much of the water—he washed his mouth out, and that was +enough; and so without breakfast he went to his work. Looking down +from the stile on the high ground there seemed to be a white cloud +resting on the valley, through which the tops of the high trees +penetrated; the hedgerows beneath were concealed, and their course +could only be traced by the upper branches of the elms. Under this +cloud the wheat-fields were blotted out; there seemed neither corn +nor grass, work for man nor food for animal; there could be nothing +doing there surely. In the stillness of the August morning, without +song of bird, the sun, shining brilliantly high above the mist, +seemed to be the only living thing, to possess the whole and reign +above absolute peace. It is a curious sight to see the early +harvest morn—all hushed under the burning sun, a morn that +you know is full of life and meaning, yet quiet as if man's foot +had never trodden the land. Only the sun is there, rolling on his +endless way.</p> +<p>Roger's head was bound with brass, but had it not been he would +not have observed anything in the aspect of the earth. Had a brazen +band been drawn firmly round his forehead it could not have felt +more stupefied. His eyes blinked in the sunlight; every now and +then he stopped to save himself from staggering; he was not in a +condition to think. It would have mattered not at all if his head +had been clear; earth, sky, and sun were nothing to him; he knew +the footpath, and saw that the day would be fine and hot, and that +was sufficient for him, because his eyes had never been opened.</p> +<p>The reaper had risen early to his labour, but the birds had +preceded him hours. Before the sun was up the swallows had left +their beams in the cowshed and twittered out into the air. The +rooks and wood-pigeons and doves had gone to the corn, the +blackbird to the stream, the finch to the hedgerow, the bees to the +heath on the hills, the humble-bees to the clover in the plain. +Butterflies rose from the flowers by the footpath, and fluttered +before him to and fro and round and back again to the place whence +they had been driven. Goldfinches tasting the first thistledown +rose from the corner where the thistles grew thickly. A hundred +sparrows came rushing up into the hedge, suddenly filling the +boughs with brown fruit; they chirped and quarrelled in their talk, +and rushed away again back to the corn as he stepped nearer. The +boughs were stripped of their winged brown berries as quickly as +they had grown. Starlings ran before the cows feeding in the +aftermath, so close to their mouths as to seem in danger of being +licked up by their broad tongues. All creatures, from the tiniest +insect upward, were in reality busy under that curtain of +white-heat haze. It looked so still, so quiet, from afar; entering +it and passing among the fields, all that lived was found busy at +its long day's work. Roger did not interest himself in these +things, in the wasps that left the gate as he approached—they +were making <i>papier-maché</i> from the wood of the top +bar,—in the bright poppies brushing against his drab +unpolished boots, in the hue of the wheat or the white convolvulus; +they were nothing to him.</p> +<p>Why should they be? His life was work without skill or thought, +the work of the horse, of the crane that lifts stones and timber. +His food was rough, his drink rougher, his lodging dry planks. His +books were—none; his picture-gallery a coloured print at the +alehouse—a dog, dead, by a barrel, "Trust is dead! Bad Pay +killed him." Of thought he thought nothing; of hope his idea was a +shilling a week more wages; of any future for himself of comfort +such as even a good cottage can give—of any future +whatever—he had no more conception than the horse in the +shafts of the waggon. A human animal simply in all this, yet if you +reckoned upon him as simply an animal—as has been done these +centuries—you would now be mistaken. But why should he note +the colour of the butterfly, the bright light of the sun, the hue +of the wheat? This loveliness gave him no cheese for breakfast; of +beauty in itself, for itself, he had no idea. How should he? To +many of us the harvest—the summer—is a time of joy in +light and colour; to him it was a time for adding yet another crust +of hardness to the thick skin of his hands.</p> +<p>Though the haze looked like a mist it was perfectly dry; the +wheat was as dry as noon; not a speck of dew, and pimpernels wide +open for a burning day. The reaping-machine began to rattle as he +came up, and work was ready for him. At breakfast-time his fellows +lent him a quarter of a loaf, some young onions, and a drink from +their tea. He ate little, and the tea slipped from his hot tongue +like water from the bars of a grate; his tongue was like the heated +iron the housemaid tries before using it on the linen. As the +reaping-machine went about the gradually decreasing square of corn, +narrowing it by a broad band each time, the wheat fell flat on the +short stubble. Roger stooped, and, gathering sufficient together, +took a few straws, knotted them to another handful as you might tie +two pieces of string, and twisted the band round the sheaf. He +worked stooping to gather the wheat, bending to tie it in sheaves; +stooping, bending—stooping, bending,—and so across the +field. Upon his head and back the fiery sun poured down the +ceaseless and increasing heat of the August day. His face grew red, +his neck black; the drought of the dry ground rose up and entered +his mouth and nostrils, a warm air seemed to rise from the earth +and fill his chest. His body ached from the ferment of the vile +beer, his back ached with stooping, his forehead was bound tight +with a brazen band. They brought some beer at last; it was like the +spring in the desert to him. The vicious liquor—"a hair of +the dog that bit him"—sank down his throat grateful and +refreshing to his disordered palate as if he had drunk the very +shadow of green boughs. Good ale would have seemed nauseous to him +at that moment, his taste and stomach destroyed by so many gallons +of this. He was "pulled together," and worked easier; the slow +hours went on, and it was luncheon. He could have borrowed more +food, but he was content instead with a screw of tobacco for his +pipe and his allowance of beer.</p> +<p>They sat in the corner of the field. There were no trees for +shade; they had been cut down as injurious to corn, but there were +a few maple bushes and thin ash sprays, which seemed better than +the open. The bushes cast no shade at all, the sun being so nearly +overhead, but they formed a kind of enclosure, an open-air home, +for men seldom sit down if they can help it on the bare and level +plain; they go to the bushes, to the corner, or even to some +hollow. It is not really any advantage; it is habit; or shall we +not rather say that it is nature? Brought back as it were in the +open field to the primitive conditions of life, they resumed the +same instincts that controlled man in the ages past. Ancient man +sought the shelter of trees and banks, of caves and hollows, and so +the labourers under somewhat the same conditions came to the corner +where the bushes grew. There they left their coats and slung up +their luncheon-bundles to the branches; there the children played +and took charge of the infants; there the women had their hearth +and hung their kettle over a fire of sticks.</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +In August the unclouded sun, when there is no wind, shines as +fervently in the harvest-field as in Spain. It is doubtful if the +Spanish people feel the heat so much as our reapers; they have +their siesta; their habits have become attuned to the sun, and it +is no special strain upon them. In India our troops are carefully +looked after in the hot weather, and everything made as easy for +them as possible; without care and special clothing and coverings +for the head they could not long endure. The English simoon of heat +drops suddenly on the heads of the harvesters and finds them +entirely unprepared; they have not so much as a cooling drink +ready; they face it, as it were, unarmed. The sun spares not; It is +fire from morn till night. Afar in the town the sun-blinds are up, +there is a tent on the lawn in the shade, people drink claret-cup +and use ice; ice has never been seen in the harvest-field. Indoors +they say they are melting lying on a sofa in a darkened room, made +dusky to keep out the heat. The fire falls straight from the sky on +the heads of the harvesters—men, women, and +children—and the white-hot light beats up again from the dry +straw and the hard ground. <br> +<br> + +<p>The tender flowers endure; the wide petal of the poppy, which +withers between the fingers, lies afloat on the air as the lilies +on water, afloat and open to the weight of the heat. The red +pimpernel looks straight up at the sky from the early morning till +its hour of closing in the afternoon. Pale blue speedwell does not +fade; the pale blue stands the warmth equally with the scarlet. Far +in the thick wheat the streaked convolvulus winds up the stalks, +and is not smothered for want of air though wrapped and circled +with corn. Beautiful though they are, they are bloodless, not +sensitive; we have given to them our feelings, they do not share +our pain or pleasure. Heat has gone into the hollow stalks of the +wheat and down the yellow tubes to the roots, drying them in the +earth. Heat has dried the leaves upon the hedge, and they touch +rough—dusty rough, as books touch that have been lying +unused; the plants on the bank are drying up and turning white. +Heat has gone down into the cracks of the ground; the bar of the +stile is so dry and powdery in the crevices that if a reaper +chanced to drop a match on it there would seem risk of fire. The +still atmosphere is laden with heat, and does not move in the +corner of the field between the bushes.</p> +<p>Roger the reaper smoked out his tobacco; the children played +round and watched for scraps of food; the women complained of the +heat; the men said nothing. It is seldom that a labourer grumbles +much at the weather, except as interfering with his work. Let the +heat increase, so it would only keep fine. The fire in the sky +meant money. Work went on again; Roger had now to go to another +field to pitch—that is, help to load the waggon; as a young +man, that was one of the jobs allotted to him. This was the +reverse. Instead of stooping he had now to strain himself upright +and lift sheaves over his head. His stomach empty of everything but +small ale did not like this any more than his back had liked the +other; but those who work for bare food must not question their +employment. Heavily the day drove on; there was more beer, and +again more beer, because it was desired to clear some fields that +evening. Monotonously pitching the sheaves, Roger laboured by the +waggon till the last had been loaded—till the moon was +shining. His brazen forehead was unbound now; in spite of the beer +the work and the perspiration had driven off the aching. He was +weary but well. Nor had he been dull during the day; he had talked +and joked—cumbrously in labourers' fashion—with his +fellows. His aches, his empty stomach, his labour, and the heat had +not overcome the vitality of his spirits. There was life enough +left for a little rough play as the group gathered together and +passed out through the gateway. Life enough left in him to go with +the rest to the alehouse; and what else, oh moralist, would you +have done in his place? This, remember, is not a fancy sketch of +rural poetry; this is the reaper's real existence.</p> +<p>He had been in the harvest-field fourteen hours, exposed to the +intense heat, not even shielded by a pith helmet; he had worked the +day through with thew and sinew; he had had for food a little dry +bread and a few onions, for drink a little weak tea and a great +deal of small beer. The moon was now shining in the sky, still +bright with sunset colours. Fourteen hours of sun and labour and +hard fare! Now tell him what to do. To go straight to his plank-bed +in the cowhouse; to eat a little more dry bread, borrow some cheese +or greasy bacon, munch it alone, and sit musing till sleep +came—he who had nothing to muse about. I think it would need +a very clever man indeed to invent something for him to do, some +way for him to spend his evening. Read! To recommend a man to read +after fourteen hours' burning sun is indeed a mockery; darn his +stockings would be better. There really is nothing whatsoever that +the cleverest and most benevolent person could suggest. Before any +benevolent or well-meaning suggestions could be effective the +preceding circumstances must be changed—the hours and +conditions of labour, everything; and can that be done? The world +has been working these thousands of years, and still it is the +same; with our engines, our electric light, our printing press, +still the coarse labour of the mine, the quarry, the field has to +be carried out by human hands. While that is so, it is useless to +recommend the weary reaper to read. For a man is not a horse: the +horse's day's work is over; taken to his stable he is content, his +mind goes no deeper than the bottom of his manger, and so long as +his nose does not feel the wood, so long as it is met by corn and +hay, he will endure happily. But Roger the reaper is not a +horse.</p> +<p>Just as his body needed food and drink, so did his mind require +recreation, and that chiefly consists of conversation. The drinking +and the smoking are in truth but the attributes of the labourer's +public-house evening. It is conversation that draws him thither, +just as it draws men with money in their pockets to the club and +the houses of their friends. Any one can drink or smoke alone; it +needs several for conversation, for company. You pass a +public-house—the reaper's house—in the summer evening. +You see a number of men grouped about trestle-tables out of doors, +and others sitting at the open window; there is an odour of +tobacco, a chink of glasses and mugs. You can smell the tobacco and +see the ale; you cannot see the indefinite power which holds men +there—the magnetism of company and conversation. <i>Their</i> +conversation, not <i>your</i> conversation; not the last book, the +last play; not saloon conversation; but theirs—talk in which +neither you nor any one of your condition could really join. To us +there would seem nothing at all in that conversation, vapid and +subjectless; to them it means much. We have not been through the +same circumstances: our day has been differently spent, and the +same words have therefore a varying value. Certain it is, that it +is conversation that takes men to the public-house. Had Roger been +a horse he would have hastened to borrow some food, and, having +eaten that, would have cast himself at once upon his rude bed. Not +being an animal, though his life and work were animal, he went with +his friends to talk. Let none unjustly condemn him as a blackguard +for that—no, not even though they had seen him at ten o'clock +unsteadily walking to his shed, and guiding himself occasionally +with his hands to save himself from stumbling. He blundered against +the door, and the noise set the swallows on the beams twittering. +He reached his bedstead, and sat down and tried to unlace his +boots, but could not. He threw himself upon the sacks and fell +asleep. Such was one twenty-four hours of harvest-time.</p> +<p>The next and the next, for weeks, were almost exactly similar; +now a little less beer, now a little more; now tying up, now +pitching, now cutting a small field or corner with a fagging-hook. +Once now and then there was a great supper at the farm. Once he +fell out with another fellow, and they had a fight; Roger, however, +had had so much ale, and his opponent so much whisky, that their +blows were soft and helpless. They both fell—that is, they +stumbled,—they were picked up, there was some more beer, and +it was settled. One afternoon Roger became suddenly giddy, and was +so ill that he did no more work that day, and very little on the +following. It was something like a sunstroke, but fortunately a +slight attack; on the third day he resumed his place. Continued +labour in the sun, little food and much drink, stomach derangement, +in short, accounted for his illness. Though he resumed his place +and worked on, he was not so well afterwards; the work was more of +an effort to him, and his face lost its fulness, and became drawn +and pointed. Still he laboured, and would not miss an hour, for +harvest was coming to an end, and the extra wages would soon cease. +For the first week or so of haymaking or reaping the men usually +get drunk, delighted with the prospect before them, they then +settle down fairly well. Towards the end they struggle hard to +recover lost time and the money spent in ale.</p> +<p>As the last week approached, Roger went up into the village and +ordered the shoemaker to make him a good pair of boots. He paid +partly for them then, and the rest next pay-day. This was a +tremendous effort. The labourer usually pays a shilling at a time, +but Roger mistrusted himself. Harvest was practically over, and +after all the labour and the long hours, the exposure to the sun +and the rude lodging, he found he should scarcely have thirty +shillings. With the utmost ordinary care he could have saved a good +lump of money. He was a single man, and his actual keep cost but +little. Many married labourers, who had been forced by hard +necessity to economy, contrived to put by enough to buy clothes for +their families. The single man, with every advantage, hardly had +thirty shillings, and even then it showed extraordinary prudence on +his part to go and purchase a pair of boots for the winter. Very +few in his place would have been as thoughtful as that; they would +have got boots somehow in the end, but not beforehand. This life of +animal labour does not grow the spirit of economy. Not only in +farming, but in navvy work, in the rougher work of factories and +mines, the same fact is evident. The man who labours with thew and +sinew at horse labour—crane labour—not for himself, but +for others, is not the man who saves. If he worked for his own hand +possibly he might, no matter how rough his labour and fare; not +while working for another. Roger reached his distant home among the +meadows at last, with one golden half-sovereign in his pocket. That +and his new pair of boots, not yet finished, represented the golden +harvest to him. He lodged with his parents when at home; he was so +far fortunate that he had a bed to go to; therefore in the +estimation of his class he was not badly off. But if we consider +his position as regards his own life we must recognise that he was +very badly off indeed, so much precious time and the strength of +his youth having been wasted.</p> +<p>Often it is stated that the harvest wages recoup the labourer +for the low weekly receipts of the year, and if the money be put +down in figures with pen and ink it is so. But in actual fact the +pen-and-ink figures do not represent the true case; these extra +figures have been paid for, and gold may be bought too dear. Roger +had paid heavily for his half-sovereign and his boots; his pinched +face did not look as if he had benefited greatly. His cautious old +father, rendered frugal by forty years of labour, had done fairly +well; the young man not at all. The old man, having a cottage, in a +measure worked for his own hand. The young man, with none but +himself to think of, scattered his money to the winds. Is money +earned with such expenditure of force worth the having? Look at the +arm of a woman labouring in the harvest-field—thin, muscular, +sinewy, black almost, it tells of continual strain. After much of +this she becomes pulled out of shape, the neck loses its roundness +and shows the sinews, the chest flattens. In time the women find +the strain of it tell severely. I am not trying to make out a case +of special hardship, being aware that both men, women, and children +work as hard and perhaps suffer more in cities; I am simply +describing the realities of rural life behind the scenes. The +golden harvest is the first scene: the golden wheat, glorious under +the summer sun. Bright poppies flower in its depths, and +convolvulus climbs the stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the +yellow surface as they might over a lake of colour. To linger by +it, to visit it day by day, at even to watch the sunset by it, and +see it pale under the changing light, is a delight to the +thoughtful mind. There is so much in the wheat, there are books of +meditation in it, it is dear to the heart. Behind these beautiful +aspects comes the reality of human labour—hours upon hours of +heat and strain; there comes the reality of a rude life, and in the +end little enough of gain. The wheat is beautiful, but human life +is labour.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="8">THE MODERN THAMES</a></h3> + +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>The wild red deer can never again come down to drink at the +Thames in the dusk of the evening as once they did. While modern +civilisation endures, the larger fauna must necessarily be confined +to parks or restrained to well-marked districts; but for that very +reason the lesser creatures of the wood, the field, and the river +should receive the more protection. If this applies to the secluded +country, far from the stir of cities, still more does it apply to +the neighbourhood of London. From a sportsman's point of view, or +from that of a naturalist, the state of the river is one of chaos. +There is no order. The Thames appears free even from the usual +rules which are in force upon every highway. A man may not fire a +gun within a certain distance of a road under a penalty—a law +enacted for the safety of passengers, who were formerly endangered +by persons shooting small birds along the hedges bordering roads. +Nor may he shoot at all, not so much as fire off a pistol (as +recently publicly proclaimed by the Metropolitan police to restrain +the use of revolvers), without a licence. But on the river people +do as they choose, and there does not seem to be any law at +all—or at least there is no authority to enforce it, if it +exists. Shooting from boats and from the towing-path is carried on +in utter defiance of the licensing law, of the game law (as +applicable to wild fowl), and of the safety of persons who may be +passing. The moorhens are shot, the kingfishers have been nearly +exterminated or driven away from some parts, the once common +black-headed bunting is comparatively scarce in the more frequented +reaches, and if there is nothing else to shoot at, then the +swallows are slaughtered. Some have even taken to shooting at the +rooks in the trees or fields by the river with small-bore +rifles—a most dangerous thing to do. The result is that the +osier-beds on the eyots and by the backwaters—the copses of +the river—are almost devoid of life. A few moorhens creep +under the aquatic grasses and conceal themselves beneath the +bushes, water-voles hide among the flags, but the once extensive +host of waterfowl and river life has been reduced to the smallest +limits. Water-fowl cannot breed because they are shot on the nest, +or their eggs taken. As for rarer birds, of course they have not +the slightest chance. The fish have fared better because they have +received the benefit of close seasons, enforced with more or less +vigilance all along the river. They are also protected by +regulations making it illegal to capture them except in a +sportsmanlike manner; snatching, for instance, is unlawful. +Riverside proprietors preserve some reaches, piscatorial societies +preserve others, and the complaint indeed is that the rights of the +public have been encroached upon. The too exclusive preservation of +fish is in a measure responsible for the destruction of water-fowl, +which are cleared off preserved places in order that they may not +help themselves to fry or spawn. On the other hand, the societies +may claim to have saved parts of the river from being entirely +deprived of fish, for it is not long since it appeared as if the +stream would be quite cleared out. Large quantities of fish have +also been placed in the river taken from ponds and bodily +transported to the Thames. So that upon the whole the fish have +been well looked after of recent years.</p> +<p>The more striking of the aquatic plants—such as white +water-lilies—have been much diminished in quantity by the +constant plucking, and injury is said to have been done by careless +navigation. In things of this kind a few persons can do a great +deal of damage. Two or three men with guns, and indifferent to the +interests of sport or natural history, at work every day, can clear +a long stretch of river of waterfowl, by scaring if not by actually +killing them. Imagine three or four such gentry allowed to wander +at will in a large game preserve—in a week they would totally +destroy it as a preserve. The river, after all, is but a narrow +band as it were, and is easily commanded by a gun. So, too, with +fish poachers; a very few men with nets can quickly empty a good +piece of water: and flowers like water-lilies, which grow only in +certain spots, are soon pulled or spoiled. This aspect of the +matter—the immense mischief which can be effected by a very +few persons—should be carefully borne in mind in framing any +regulations. For the mischief done on the river is really the work +of a small number, a mere fraction of the thousands of all classes +who frequent it. Not one in a thousand probably perpetrates any +intentional damage to fish, fowl, or flowers.</p> +<p>As the river above all things is, and ought to be, a place of +recreation, care must be particularly taken that in restraining +these practices the enjoyment of the many be not interfered with. +The rational pleasure of 999 people ought not to be checked because +the last of the thousand acts as a blackguard. This point, too, +bears upon the question of steam-launches. A launch can pass as +softly and quietly as a skiff floating with the stream. And there +is a good deal to be said on the other side, for the puntsmen stick +themselves very often in the way of every one else; and if you +analyse fishing for minnows from a punt you will not find it a +noble sport. A river like the Thames, belonging as it does—or +as it ought—to a city like London, should be managed from the +very broadest standpoint. There should be pleasure for all, and +there certainly is no real difficulty in arranging matters to that +end. The Thames should be like a great aquarium, in which a certain +balance of life has to be kept up. When aquaria first came into +favour such things as snails and weeds were excluded as eyesores +and injurious. But it was soon discovered that the despised snails +and weeds were absolutely necessary; an aquarium could not be +maintained in health without them, and now the most perfect +aquarium is the one in which the natural state is most completely +copied. On the same principle it is evident that too exclusive +preservation must be injurious to the true interests of the river. +Fish enthusiasts, for instance, desire the extinction of +water-fowl—there is not a single aquatic bird which they do +not accuse of damage to fry, spawn, or full-grown fish; no, not +one, from the heron down to the tiny grebe. They are nearly as +bitter against animals, the poor water-vole (or water-rat) even is +denounced and shot. Any one who chooses may watch the water-rat +feeding on aquatic vegetation; never mind, shoot him because he's +there. There is no other reason. Bitterest, harshest, most +envenomed of all is the outcry and hunt directed against the otter. +It is as if the otter were a wolf—as if he were as injurious +as the mighty boar whom Meleager and his companions chased in the +days of dim antiquity. What, then, has the otter done? Has he +ravaged the fields? does he threaten the homesteads? is he at +Temple Bar? are we to run, as the old song says, from the Dragon? +The fact is, the ravages attributed to the otter are of a local +character. They are chiefly committed in those places where fish +are more or less confined. If you keep sheep close together in a +pen the wolf who leaps the hurdles can kill the flock if he +chooses. In narrow waters, and where fish are maintained in +quantities out of proportion to extent, an otter can work doleful +woe. That is to say, those who want too many fish are those who +give the otter his opportunity.</p> +<p>In a great river like the Thames a few otters cannot do much or +lasting injury except in particular places. The truth is, that the +otter is an ornament to the river, and more worthy of preservation +than any other creature. He is the last and largest of the wild +creatures who once roamed so freely in the forests which enclosed +Londinium, that fort in the woods and marshes—marshes which +to this day, though drained and built over, enwrap the +nineteenth-century city in thick mists. The red deer are gone, the +boar is gone, the wolf necessarily destroyed—the red deer can +never again drink at the Thames in the dusk of the evening while +our civilisation endures. The otter alone remains—the +wildest, the most thoroughly self-supporting of all living things +left—a living link going back to the days of Cassivelaunus. +London ought to take the greatest interest in the otters of its +river. The shameless way in which every otter that dares to show +itself is shot, trapped, beaten to death, and literally battered +out of existence, should rouse the indignation of every sportsman +and every lover of nature. The late Rev. John Russell, who, it will +be admitted, was a true sportsman, walked three thousand miles to +see an otter. That was a different spirit, was it not?</p> +<p>That is the spirit in which the otter in the Thames should be +regarded. Those who offer money rewards for killing Thames otters +ought to be looked on as those who would offer rewards for +poisoning foxes in Leicestershire, I suppose we shall not see the +ospreys again; but I should like to. Again, on the other side of +the boundary, in the tidal waters, the same sort of ravenous +destruction is carried on against everything that ventures up. A +short time ago a porpoise came up to Mortlake; now, just think, a +porpoise up from the great sea—that sea to which Londoners +rush with such joy—past Gravesend, past Greenwich, past the +Tower, under London Bridge, past Westminster and the Houses of +Parliament, right up to Mortlake. It is really a wonderful thing +that a denizen of the sea, so large and interesting as a porpoise, +should come right through the vast City of London. In an aquarium, +people would go to see it and admire it, and take their children to +see it. What happened? Some one hastened out in a boat, armed with +a gun or a rifle, and occupied himself with shooting at it. He did +not succeed in killing it, but it was wounded. Some difference here +to the spirit of John Russell. If I may be permitted to express an +opinion, I think that there is not a single creature, from the +sand-marten and the black-headed bunting to the broad-winged heron, +from the water-vole to the otter, from the minnow on one side of +the tidal boundary to the porpoise on the other—big and +little, beasts and birds (of prey or not)—that should not be +encouraged and protected on this beautiful river, morally the +property of the greatest city in the world.</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +<p>I looked forward to living by the river with delight, +anticipating the long rows I should have past the green eyots and +the old houses red-tiled among the trees. I should pause below the +weir and listen to the pleasant roar, and watch the fisherman cast +again and again with the "transcendent patience" of genius by which +alone the Thames trout is captured. Twisting the end of a willow +bough round my wrist I could moor myself and rest at ease, though +the current roared under the skiff, fresh from the waterfall. A +thousand thousand bubbles rising to the surface would whiten the +stream—a thousand thousand succeeded by another thousand +thousand—and still flowing, no multiple could express the +endless number. That which flows continually by some sympathy is +acceptable to the mind, as if thereby it realised its own existence +without an end. Swallows would skim the water to and fro as yachts +tack, the sandpiper would run along the strand, a black-headed +bunting would perch upon the willow; perhaps, as the man of genius +fishing and myself made no noise, a kingfisher might come, and we +might see him take his prey.</p> +<p>Or I might quit hold of the osier, and, entering a shallow +backwater, disturb shoals of roach playing where the water was +transparent to the bottom, after their wont. Winding in and out +like an Indian in his canoe, perhaps traces of an otter might be +found—his kitchen mödding—and in the sedges +moorhens and wildfowl would hide from me. From its banks I should +gather many a flower and notice many a plant, there would be, too, +the beautiful water-lily. Or I should row on up the great stream by +meadows full of golden buttercups, past fields crimson with +trifolium or green with young wheat. Handsome sailing craft would +come down spanking before the breeze, laden with bright +girls—laughter on board, and love the golden fleece of their +argosy.</p> +<p>I should converse with the ancient men of the ferries, and +listen to their river lore; they would show me the mark to which +the stream rose in the famous year of floods. On again to the cool +hostelry whose sign was reflected in the water, where there would +be a draught of fine ale for the heated and thirsty sculler. On +again till steeple or tower rising over the trees marked my +journey's end for the day, some old town where, after rest and +refreshment, there would be a ruin or a timbered house to look at, +where I should meet folk full of former days and quaint tales of +yore. Thus to journey on from place to place would be the great +charm of the river—travelling by water, not merely sculling +to and fro, but really travelling. Upon a lake I could but row +across and back again, and however lovely the scenery might be, +still it would always be the same. But the Thames, upon the river I +could really travel, day after day, from Teddington Lock upwards to +Windsor, to Oxford, on to quiet Lechlade, or even farther deep into +the meadows by Cricklade. Every hour there would be something +interesting, all the freshwater life to study, the very barges +would amuse me, and at last there would be the delicious ease of +floating home carried by the stream, repassing all that had pleased +before.</p> +<p>The time came. I lived by the river, not far from its widest +reaches, before the stream meets its tide. I went to the eyot for a +boat, and my difficulties began. The crowd of boats lashed to each +other in strings ready for the hirer disconcerted me. There were so +many I could not choose; the whole together looked like a broad +raft. Others were hauled on the shore. Over on the eyot, a little +island, there were more boats, boats launched, boats being +launched, boats being carried by gentlemen in coloured flannels as +carefully as mothers handle their youngest infants, boats covered +in canvas mummy-cases, and dim boats under roofs, their sharp prows +projecting like crocodiles' snouts. Tricksy outriggers, ready to +upset on narrow keel, were held firmly for the sculler to step +daintily into his place. A strong eight shot by up the stream, the +men all pulling together as if they had been one animal. A strong +sculler shot by down the stream, his giant arms bare and the +muscles visible as they rose, knotting and unknotting with the +stroke. Every one on the bank and eyot stopped to watch +him—they knew him, he was training. How could an amateur +venture out and make an exhibition of himself after such splendid +rowing! Still it was noticeable that plenty of amateurs did venture +out, till the waterway was almost concealed—boated over +instead of bridged—and how they managed to escape locking +their oars together, I could not understand.</p> +<p>I looked again at the boats. Some were outriggers. I could not +get into an outrigger after seeing the great sculler. The rest were +one and all after the same pattern, <i>i.e.</i> with the stern +cushioned and prepared for a lady. Some were larger, and could +carry three or four ladies, but they were all intended for the same +purpose. If the sculler went out in such a boat by himself he must +either sit too forward and so depress the stem and dig himself, as +it were, into the water at each stroke, or he must sit too much to +the rear and depress the stern, and row with the stem lifted up, +sniffing the air. The whole crowd of boats on hire were exactly the +same; in short, they were built for woman and not for man, for +lovely woman to recline, parasol in one hand and tiller ropes in +the other, while man—inferior man—pulled and pulled and +pulled as an ox yoked to the plough. They could only be balanced by +man and woman, that was the only way they could be trimmed on an +even keel; they were like scales, in which the weight on one side +must be counterpoised by a weight in the other. They were dead +against bachelors. They belonged to woman, and she was absolute +mistress of the river.</p> +<p>As I looked, the boats ground together a little, chafing, +laughing at me, making game of me, asking distinctly what business +a man had there without at least one companion in petticoats? My +courage ebbed, and it was in a feeble voice that I inquired whether +there was no such thing as a little skiff a fellow might paddle +about in? No, nothing of the kind; would a canoe do? Somehow a +canoe would not do. I never took kindly to canoes, excepting always +the Canadian birch-bark pattern; evidently there was no boat for +me. There was no place on the great river for an indolent, dreamy +particle like myself, apt to drift up into nooks, and to spend much +time absorbing those pleasures which enter by the exquisite +sensitiveness of the eye—colour, and shade, and form, and the +cadence of glittering ripple and moving leaf. You must be prepared +to pull and push, and struggle for your existence on the river, as +in the vast city hard by men push and crush for money. You must +assert yourself, and insist upon having your share of the waterway; +you must be perfectly convinced that yours is the very best style +of rowing to be seen; every one ought to get out of your way. You +must consult your own convenience only, and drive right into other +people's boats, forcing them up into the willows, or against the +islands. Never slip along the shore, or into quiet backwaters; +always select the more frequented parts, not because you want to go +there, but to make your presence known, and go amongst the crowd; +and if a few sculls get broken, it only proves how very inferior +and how very clumsy other people are. If you see another boat +coming down stream, in the centre of the river with a broad space +on either side for others to pass, at once head your own boat +straight at her, and take possession of the way. Or, better still, +never look ahead, but pull straight on, and let things happen as +they may. Annoy everybody, and you are sure to be right, and to be +respected; splash the ladies as you pass with a dexterous flip of +the scull, and soak their summer costumes; it is capital sport, and +they look so sulky—or is it contemptuous?</p> +<p>There was no such thing as a skiff in which one could quietly +paddle about, or gently make way—mile after mile—up the +beautiful stream. The boating throng grew thicker, and my courage +less and less, till I desperately resorted to the ferry—at +all events, I could be rowed over in the ferry-boat, that would be +something; I should be on the water, after a fashion—and the +ferryman would know a good deal. The burly ferryman cared nothing +at all about the river, and merely answered "Yes," or "No;" he was +full of the Derby and Sandown; didn't know about the fishing; +supposed there were fish; didn't see 'em, nor eat 'em; want a punt? +No. So he landed me, desolate and hopeless, on the opposite bank, +and I began to understand how the souls felt after Charon had got +them over. They could not have been more unhappy than I was on the +towing-path, as the ferryboat receded and left me watching the +continuous succession of boats passing up and down the river.</p> +<p>By-and-by an immense black hulk came drifting round the +bend—an empty barge—almost broadside across the stream, +for the current at the curve naturally carried it out from the +shore. This huge helpless monster occupied the whole river, and had +no idea where it was going, for it had no fins or sweeps to guide +its course, and the rudder could only induce it to submit itself +lengthways to the stream after the lapse of some time. The fairway +of the river was entirely taken up by this irresponsible +Frankenstein of the Thames, which some one had started, but which +now did as it liked. Some of the small craft got up into the +willows and waited; some seemed to narrowly escape being crushed +against a wall on the opposite bank. The bright white sails of a +yacht shook and quivered as its steersman tried all he knew to coax +his vessel an inch more into the wind out of the monster's path. In +vain! He had to drop down the stream, and lose what it had taken +him half an hour's skill to gain. What a pleasing monster to meet +in the narrow arches of a bridge! The man in charge leaned on the +tiller, and placidly gazed at the wild efforts of some unskilful +oarsmen to escape collision. In fact, the monster had charge of the +man, and did as it liked with him.</p> +<p>Down the river they drifted together, Frankenstein swinging +round and thrusting his blunt nose first this way and then that; +down the river, blocking up the narrow passage by the eyot; +stopping the traffic at the lock; out at last into the tidal +stream, there to begin a fresh life of annoyance, and finally to +endanger the good speed of many a fine three-master and ocean +steamer off the docks. The Thames barge knows no law. No judge, no +jury, no Palace of Justice, no Chancery, no appeal to the Lords has +any terror for the monster barge. It drifts by the Houses of +Parliament with no more respect than it shows for the lodge of the +lock-keeper. It drifts by Royal Windsor and cares not. The guns of +the Tower are of no account. There is nothing in the world so +utterly free as this monster.</p> +<p>Often have I asked myself if the bargee at the tiller, now +sucking at his short black pipe, now munching onions and cheese +(the little onions he pitches on the lawns by the river side, there +to take root and flourish)—if this amiable man has any notion +of his own incomparable position. Just some inkling of the irony of +the situation must, I fancy, now and then dimly dawn within his +grimy brow. To see all these gentlemen shoved on one side; to be +lying in the way of a splendid Australian clipper; to stop an +incoming vessel, impatient for her berth; to swing, and sway, and +roll as he goes; to bump the big ships, and force the little ones +aside; to slip, and slide, and glide with the tide, ripples dancing +under the prow, and be master of the world-famed Thames from source +to mouth, is not this a joy for ever? Liberty is beyond price; now +no one is really free unless he can crush his neighbour's interest +underfoot, like a horse-roller going over a daisy. Bargee is free, +and the ashes of his pipe are worth a king's ransom.</p> +<p>Imagine a great van loaded at the East-end of London with the +heaviest merchandise, with bags of iron nails, shot, leaden sheets +in rolls, and pig iron; imagine four strong +horses—dray-horses—harnessed thereto. Then let the +waggoner mount behind in a seat comfortably contrived for him +facing the rear, and settle himself down happily among his sacks, +light his pipe, and fold his hands untroubled with any worry of +reins. Away they go through the crowded city, by the Bank of +England, and across into Cheapside, cabs darting this way, +carriages that, omnibuses forced up into side-streets, foot traffic +suspended till the monster has passed; up Fleet-street, clearing +the road in front of them—right through the stream of lawyers +always rushing to and fro the Temple and the New Law Courts, along +the Strand, and finally in triumph into Rotten Row at five o'clock +on a June afternoon. See how they scatter! see how they run! The +Row is swept clear from end to end—beauty, fashion, +rank,—what are such trifles of an hour? The monster vans +grind them all to powder. What such a waggoner might do on land, +bargee does on the river.</p> +<p>Of olden time the silver Thames was the chosen mode of travel of +Royalty—the highest in the land were rowed from palace to +city, or city to palace, between its sunlit banks. Noblemen had +their special oarsmen, and were in like manner conveyed, and could +any other mode of journeying be equally pleasant? The coal-barge +has bumped them all out of the way.</p> +<p>No man dares send forth the commonest cart unless in proper +charge, and if the horse is not under control a fine is promptly +administered. The coal-barge rolls and turns and drifts as chance +and the varying current please. How huge must be the rent in the +meshes of the law to let so large a fish go through! But in truth +there is no law about it, and to this day no man can confidently +affirm that he knows to whom the river belongs. These curious +anomalies are part and parcel of our political system, and as I +watched the black monster slowly go by with the stream it occurred +to me that grimy bargee, with his short pipe and his onions, was +really the guardian of the British Constitution.</p> +<p>Hardly had he gone past than a loud Pant! pant! pant! began some +way down the river; it came from a tug, whose short puffs of steam +produced a giant echo against the walls and quays and houses on the +bank. These angry pants sounded high above the splash of oars and +laughter, and the chorus of singers in a boat; they conquered all +other sounds and noises, and domineered the place. It was +impossible to shut the ears to them, or to persuade the mind not to +heed. The swallows dipped their breasts; how gracefully they drank +on the wing! Pant! pant! pant! The sunlight gleamed on the wake of +a four-oar. Pant! pant! pant! The soft wind blew among the trees +and over the hawthorn hedge. Pant! pant! pant! Neither the eye nor +ear could attend to aught but this hideous uproar. The tug was +weak, the stream strong, the barges behind heavy, broad, and deeply +laden, so that each puff and pant and turn of the screw barely +advanced the mass a foot. There are many feet in a mile, and for +all that weary time—Pant! pant! pant! This dreadful uproar, +like that which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza heard proceeding from +the fulling mill, must be endured. Could not philosophy by stoic +firmness shut out the sound? Can philosophy shut out anything that +is real? A long black streak of smoke hung over the water, fouling +the gleaming surface. A noise of Dante—hideous, +uncompromising as the rusty hinge of the gate which forbids hope. +Pant! pant! pant!</p> +<p>Once upon a time a Queen of England was rowed down the silver +Thames to the sweet low sound of the flute.</p> +<p>At last the noise grew fainter in the distance, and the black +hulls disappeared round the bend. I walked on up the towing-path. +Accidentally lifting my hand to shade my eyes, I was hailed by a +ferryman on the watch. He conveyed me over without much volition on +my part, and set me ashore by the inn of my imagination. The rooms +almost overhung the water: so far my vision was fulfilled. Within +there was an odour of spirits and spilled ale, a rustle of sporting +papers, talk of racings, and the click of billiard-balls. Without +there were two or three loafers, half boatmen, half vagabonds, +waiting to pick up stray sixpences—a sort of leprosy of +rascal and sneak in their faces and the lounge of their bodies. +These Thames-side "beach-combers" are a sorry lot, a special Pariah +class of themselves. Some of them have been men once: perhaps one +retains his sculling skill, and is occasionally engaged by a +gentleman to give him lessons. They regarded me eagerly—they +"spotted" a Thames freshman who might be made to yield silver; but +I walked away down the road into the village. The spire of the +church interested me, being of shingles—<i>i.e.</i> of wooden +slates—as the houses are roofed in America, as houses were +roofed in Elizabethan England; for Young America reproduces Old +England even in roofs. Some of the houses so closely approached the +churchyard that the pantry windows on a level with the ground were +partly blocked up by the green mounds of graves. Borage grew +thickly all over the yard, dropping its blue flowers on the dead. +The sharp note of a bugle rang in the air: they were changing +guard, I suppose, in Wolsey's Palace.</p> +<h4 align="center">III</h4> +<p>In time I did discover a skiff moored in a little-visited creek, +which the boatman got out for me. The sculls were rough and +shapeless—it is a remarkable fact that sculls always are, +unless you have them made and keep them for your own use. I paddled +up the river; I paused by an osier-grown islet; I slipped past the +barges, and avoided an unskilful party; it was the morning, and +none of the uproarious as yet were about. Certainly, it was very +pleasant. The sunshine gleamed on the water, broad shadows of trees +fell across; swans floated in the by-channels. A peacefulness which +peculiarly belongs to water hovered above the river. A house-boat +was moored near the willow-grown shore, and it was evidently +inhabited, for there was a fire smouldering on the bank, and some +linen that had been washed spread on the bushes to bleach. All the +windows of this gipsy-van of the river were wide open, and the air +and light entered freely into every part of the dwelling-house +under which flowed the stream. A lady was dressing herself before +one of these open windows, twining up large braids of dark hair, +her large arms bare to the shoulder, and somewhat farther. I +immediately steered out into the channel to avoid intrusion; but I +felt that she was regarding me with all a matron's contempt for an +unknown man—a mere member of the opposite sex, not +introduced, or of her "set." I was merely a man—no more than +a horse on the bank,—and had she been in her smock she would +have been just as indifferent.</p> +<p>Certainly it was a lovely morning; the old red palace of the +Cardinal seemed to slumber amid its trees, as if the passage of the +centuries had stroked and soothed it into indolent peace. The +meadows rested; even the swallows, the restless swallows, glided in +an effortless way through the busy air. I could see this, and yet I +did not quite enjoy it; something drew me away from perfect +contentment, and gradually it dawned upon me that it was the +current causing an unsuspected amount of labour in sculling. The +forceless particles of water, so yielding to the touch, which +slipped aside at the motion of the oar, in their countless myriads +ceaselessly flowing grew to be almost a solid obstruction to the +boat. I had not noticed it for a mile or so; now the pressure of +the stream was becoming evident. I persuaded myself that it was +nothing. I held on by the boathook to a root and rested, and so +went on again. Another mile or more; another rest: decidedly +sculling against a swift current is work—downright work. You +have no energy to spare over and above that needed for the labour +of rowing, not enough even to look round and admire the green +loveliness of the shore. I began to think that I should not get as +far as Oxford after all.</p> +<p>By-and-by, I began to question if rowing on a river is as +pleasant as rowing on a lake, where you can rest on your oars +without losing ground, where no current opposes progress, and after +the stroke the boat slips ahead some distance of its own impetus. +On the river the boat only travels as far as you actually pull it +at each stroke; there is no life in it after the scull is lifted, +the impetus dies, and the craft first pauses and then drifts +backward. I crept along the shore, so near that one scull +occasionally grounded, to avoid the main force of the water, which +is in the middle of the river. I slipped behind eyots and tried all +I knew. In vain, the river was stronger than I, and my arms could +not for many hours contend with the Thames. So faded another part +of my dream. The idea of rowing from one town to another—of +expeditions and travelling across the country, so pleasant to think +of—in practice became impossible. An athlete bent on nothing +but athleticism—a canoeist thinking of nothing but his +canoe—could accomplish it, setting himself daily so much work +to do, and resolutely performing it. A dreamer, who wanted to enjoy +his passing moment, and not to keep regular time with his strokes, +who wanted to gather flowers, and indulge his luxurious eyes with +effects of light and shadow and colour, could not succeed. The +river is for the man of might.</p> +<p>With a weary back at last I gave up the struggle at the foot of +a weir, almost in the splash of the cascade. My best friend, the +boathook, kept me stationary without effort, and in time rest +restored the strained muscles to physical equanimity. The roar of +the river falling over the dam soothed the mind—the sense of +an immense power at hand, working with all its might while you are +at ease, has a strangely soothing influence. It makes me sleepy to +see the vast beam of an engine regularly rise and fall in ponderous +irresistible labour. Now at last some fragment of my fancy was +realised—a myriad myriad rushing bubbles whitening the stream +burst, and were instantly succeeded by myriads more; the boat +faintly vibrated as the wild waters shot beneath it; the green +cascade, smooth at its first curve, dashed itself into the depth +beneath, broken to a million million particles; the eddies whirled, +and sucked, and sent tiny whirlpools rotating along the surface; +the roar rose or lessened in intensity as the velocity of the wind +varied; sunlight sparkled—the warmth inclined the senses to a +drowsy idleness. Yonder was the trout fisherman, just as I had +imagined him, casting and casting again with that transcendental +patience which is genius; his line and the top of his rod formed +momentary curves pleasant to look at. The kingfisher did not +come—no doubt he had been shot—but a reed-sparrow did, +in velvet black cap and dainty brown, pottering about the willow +near me. This was really like the beautiful river I had dreamed of. +If only we could persuade ourselves to remain quiescent when we are +happy! If only we would remain still in the armchair as the last +curl of vapour rises from a cigar that has been enjoyed! If only we +would sit still in the shadow and not go indoors to write that +letter! Let happiness alone. Stir not an inch; speak not a word: +happiness is a coy maiden—hold her hand and be still.</p> +<p>In an evil moment I spied the corner of a newspaper projecting +from the pocket of my coat in the stern-sheets. Folly led me to +open that newspaper, and in it I saw and read a ghastly paragraph. +Two ladies and a gentleman while boating had been carried by the +current against the piles of a weir. The boat upset; the ladies +were rescued, but the unfortunate gentleman was borne over the fall +and drowned. His body had not been recovered; men were watching the +pool day and night till some chance eddy should bring it to the +surface. So perished my dream, and the coy-maiden happiness left me +because I could not be content to be silent and still. The accident +had not happened at this weir, but it made no difference; I could +see all as plainly. A white face, blurred and indistinct, seemed to +rise up from beneath the rushing bubbles till, just as it was about +to jump to the surface, as things do that come up, down it was +drawn again by that terrible underpull which has been fatal to so +many good swimmers.</p> +<p>Who can keep afloat with a force underneath dragging at the +feet? Who can swim when the water—all bubbles, that is +air—gives no resistance to the hands? Hands and feet slip +through the bubbles. You might as well spring from the parapet of a +house and think to float by striking out as to swim in such a +medium. Sinking under, a hundred tons of water drive the body to +the bottom; there it rotates, it rises, it is forced down again, a +hundred tons of water beat upon it; the foot, perhaps, catches +among stones or woodwork, and what was once a living being is +imprisoned in death. Enough of this. I unloosed the boathook, and +drifted down with the stream, anxious to get away from the horrible +weir.</p> +<p>These accidents, which are entirely preventable, happen year +after year with lamentable monotony. Each weir is a little Niagara, +and a boat once within its influence is certain to be driven to +destruction. The current carries it against the piles, where it is +either broken or upset, the natural and reasonable alarm of the +occupants increasing the risk. In descending the river every boat +must approach the weir, and must pass within a few yards of the +dangerous current. If there is a press of boats one is often forced +out of the proper course into the rapid part of the stream without +any negligence on the part of those in it. There is nothing to +prevent this—no fence, or boom; no mark, even, between what +is dangerous and what is not; no division whatever. Persons +ignorant of the river may just as likely as not row right into +danger. A vague caution on a notice-board may or may not be seen; +in either case it gives no directions, and is certainly no +protection. Let the matter be argued from whatever point of view, +the fact remains that these accidents occur from the want of an +efficient division between the dangerous and the safe part of the +approach to a weir. A boom or some kind of fence is required, and +how extraordinary it seems that nothing of the kind is done! It is +not done because there is no authority, no control, no one +responsible. Two or three gentlemen acquainted with aquatics could +manage the river from end to end, to the safety and satisfaction of +all, if they were entrusted with discretionary powers. Stiff rules +and rigid control are not needed; what is wanted is a rational +power freely using its discretion. I do not mean a Board with its +attendant follies; I mean a small committee, unfettered, +untrammelled by "legal advisers" and so forth, merely using their +own good sense.</p> +<p>I drifted away from the weir—now grown hideous—and +out of hearing of its wailing dirge for the unfortunate. I drifted +past more barges coming up, and more steam-tugs; past river lawns, +where gay parties were now sipping claret-cup or playing tennis. +By-and-by, I began to meet pleasure-boats and to admire their +manner of progress. First there came a gentleman in white flannels, +walking on the tow-path, with a rope round his waist, towing a boat +in which two ladies were comfortably seated. In a while came two +more gentlemen in striped flannels, one streaked with gold the +other with scarlet, striding side by side and towing a boat in +which sat one lady. They were very earnestly at work, pacing in +step, their bodies slightly leaning forwards, and every now and +then they mopped their faces with handkerchiefs which they carried +in their girdles. Something in their slightly-bowed attitude +reminded me of the captives depicted on Egyptian monuments, with +cords about their necks. How curious is that instinct which makes +each sex, in different ways, the willing slave of the other! These +human steam-tugs paced and pulled, and drew the varnished craft +swiftly against the stream, evidently determined to do a certain +distance by a certain hour. As I drifted by without labour, I +admired them very much. An interval, and still more gentlemen in +flannel, labouring like galley-slaves at the tow-rope, hot, +perspiring, and happy after their kind, and ladies under parasols, +comfortably seated, cool, and happy after their kind.</p> +<p>Considering upon these things, I began to discern the true and +only manner in which the modern Thames is to be enjoyed. Above all +things—nothing heroic. Don't scull—don't +row—don't haul at tow-ropes—don't swim—don't +flourish a fishing-rod. Set your mind at ease. Make friends with +two or more athletes, thorough good fellows, good-natured, +delighting in their thews and sinews. Explain to them that somehow, +don't you see, nature did not bless you with such superabundant +muscularity, although there is nothing under the sun you admire so +much. Forthwith these good fellows will pet you, and your Thames +fortune is made. You take your place in the stern-sheets, happily +protected on either side by feminine human nature, and the parasols +meeting above shield you from the sun. The tow-rope is adjusted, +and the tugs start. The gliding motion soothes the soul. Feminine +boating nature has no antipathy to the cigarette. A delicious +odour, soft as new-mown hay, a hint of spices and distant +flowers—sunshine dried and preserved, sunshine you can +handle—rises from the smouldering fibres. This is smoking +summer itself. Yonder in the fore part of the craft I espy certain +vessels of glass on which is the label of Epernay. And of such is +peace.</p> +<p>Drifting ever downwards, I approached the creek where my skiff +had to be left; but before I reached it a "beach-comber," with a +coil of cord over his shoulder, asked me if he should tow me "up to +'Ampton." I shook my head, whereupon he abused me in such choice +terms that I listened abashed at my ignorance. It had never +occurred to me that swearing could be done like that. It is true we +have been swearing now, generation after generation, these eight +thousand years for certain, and language expands with use. It is +also true that we are all educated now. Shakespeare is credited +with knowing everything, past or future, but I doubt if he knew how +a Thames "beach-comber" can curse in these days.</p> +<p>The Thames is swearing free. You must moderate your curses on +the Queen's highway; you must not be even profane in the streets, +lest you be taken before the magistrates; but on the Thames you may +swear as the wind blows—howsoever you list. You may begin at +the mouth, off the Nore, and curse your way up to Cricklade. A +hundred miles for swearing is a fine preserve. It is one of the +marvels of our civilisation.</p> +<p>Aided by scarce a touch of the sculls the stream drifted me up +into the creek, and the boatman took charge of his skiff. "Shall I +keep her handy for you, sir?" he said, thinking to get me down +every day as a newcomer. I begged him not to put himself to any +trouble, still he repeated that he would keep her ready. But in the +road I shook off the dust of my feet against the river, and +earnestly resolved never, never again to have anything to do with +it (in the heroic way) lower down than Henley.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="9">THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN</a></h3> +<p>The single-barrel gun has passed out of modern sport; but I +remember mine with regret, and think I shall some day buy another. +I still find that the best double-barrel seems top-heavy in +comparison; in poising it the barrels have a tendency to droop. +Guns, of course, are built to balance and lie level in the hand, so +as to almost aim themselves as they come to the shoulder; and those +who have always shot with a double-barrel are probably quite +satisfied with the gun on that score. To me there seems too much +weight in the left hand and towards the end of the gun. Quickness +of firing keeps the double-barrel to the front; but suppose a +repeater were to be invented, some day, capable of discharging two +cartridges in immediate succession? And if two cartridges, why not +three? An easy thought, but a very difficult one to realise. +Something in the <i>power</i> of the double-barrel—the +overwhelming odds it affords the sportsman over bird and +animal—pleases. A man feels master of the copse with a +double-barrel; and such a sense of power, though only over feeble +creatures, is fascinating. Besides, there is the delight of effect; +for a clever right and left is sure of applause and makes the +gunner feel "good" in himself. Doubtless, if three barrels could be +managed, three barrels would be more saleable than doubles. One +gun-maker has a four-barrel gun, quite a light weight too, which +would be a tremendous success if the creatures would obligingly run +and fly a little slower, so that all four cartridges could be got +in. But that they will not do. For the present, the double-barrel +is the gun of the time.</p> +<p>Still I mean some day to buy a single-barrel, and wander with it +as of old along the hedges, aware that if I am not skilful enough +to bring down with the first shot I shall lose my game. It is +surprising how confident of that one shot you may get after a +while. On the one hand, it is necessary to be extremely keen; on +the other, to be sure of your own self-control, not to fire +uselessly. The bramble-bushes on the shore of the ditch ahead might +cover a hare. Through the dank and dark-green aftermath a rabbit +might suddenly come bounding, disturbed from the furrow where he +had been feeding. On the sandy paths which the rabbits have made +aslant up the mound, and on their terraces, where they sit and look +out from under the boughs, acorns have dropped ripe from the tree. +Where there are acorns there may be pheasants; they may crouch in +the fern and dry grey grass of the hedge thinking you do not see +them, or else rush through and take wing on the opposite side. The +only chance of a shot is as the bird passes a gap—visible +while flying a yard—just time to pull the trigger. But I +would rather have that chance than have to fire between the bars of +a gate; for the horizontal lines cause an optical illusion, making +the object appear in a different position from what it really is +in, and half the pellets are sure to be buried in the rails. +Wood-pigeons, when eagerly stuffing their crops with acorns, +sometimes forget their usual caution; and, walking slowly, I have +often got right underneath one—as unconscious of his presence +as he was of mine, till a sudden dashing of wings against boughs +and leaves announced his departure. This he always makes on the +opposite side of the oak, so as to have the screen of the thick +branches between himself and the gunner. The wood-pigeon, starting +like this from a tree, usually descends in the first part of his +flight, a gentle downward curve followed by an upward rise, and +thus comes into view at the lower part of the curve. He still seems +within shot, and to afford a good mark; and yet experience has +taught me that it is generally in vain to fire. His stout quills +protect him at the full range of the gun. Besides, a wasted shot +alarms everything within several hundred yards; and in stalking +with a single-barrel it needs as much knowledge to choose when not +to fire as when you may.</p> +<p>The most exciting work with the single-barrel was woodcock +shooting; woodcock being by virtue of rarity a sort of royal game, +and a miss at a woodcock a terrible disappointment. They have a +trick of skimming along the very summit of a hedge, and looking so +easy to kill; but, as they fly, the tops of tall briers here, +willow-rods next, or an ash-pole often intervene, and the result is +apt to be a bough cut off and nothing more. Snipes, on the +contrary, I felt sure of with the single-barrel, and never could +hit them so well with a double. Either at starting, before the +snipe got into his twist, or waiting till he had finished that +uncertain movement, the single-barrel seemed to drop the shot with +certainty. This was probably because of its perfect natural +balance, so that it moved as if on a pivot. With the single I had +nothing to manage but my own arms; with the other I was conscious +that I had a gun also. With the single I could kill farther, no +matter what it was. The single was quicker at short +shots—snap-shots, as at rabbits darting across a narrow lane; +and surer at long shots, as at a hare put out a good way ahead by +the dog.</p> +<p>For everything but the multiplication of slaughter I liked the +single best; I had more of the sense of woodcraft with it. When we +consider how helpless a partridge is, for instance, before the +fierce blow of shot, it does seem fairer that the gunner should +have but one chance at the bird. Partridges at least might be kept +for single-barrels: great bags of partridges never seemed to be +quite right. Somehow it seems to me that to take so much advantage +as the double-barrel confers is not altogether in the spirit of +sport. The double-barrel gives no "law." At least to those who love +the fields, the streams, and woods for their own sake, the +single-barrel will fill the bag sufficiently, and will permit them +to enjoy something of the zest men knew before the invention of +weapons not only of precision but of repetition: inventions that +rendered them too absolute masters of the situation. A +single-barrel will soon make a sportsman the keenest of shots. The +gun itself can be built to an exquisite perfection—lightness, +handiness, workmanship, and performance of the very best. It is +said that you can change from a single-barrel shot-gun to a +sporting rifle and shoot with the rifle almost at once; while many +who have been used to the slap-dash double cannot do anything for +some time with a rifle. More than one African explorer has found +his single-barrel smooth-bore the most useful of all the pieces in +his battery; though, of course, of much larger calibre than +required in our fields.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="10">THE HAUNT OF THE HARE</a></h3> +<p>It is never so much winter in the country as it is in the town. +The trees are still there, and in and about them birds remain. +"Quip! whip!" sounds from the elms; "Whip! quip!" Redwing thrushes +threaten with the "whip" those who advance towards them; they spend +much of the day in the elm-tops. Thick tussocks of old grass are +conspicuous at the skirt of a hedge; half green, half grey, they +contrast with the bare thorn. From behind one of these tussocks a +hare starts, his black-tipped ears erect, his long hinder limbs +throwing him almost like a grasshopper over the sward—no +creature looks so handsome or startling, and it is always a +pleasant surprise to see him. Pheasant or partridge do not surprise +in the least—they are no more than any other bird; but a hare +causes quite a different feeling. He is perfectly wild, unfed, +untended, and then he is the largest animal to be shot in the +fields. A rabbit slips along the mound, under bushes and behind +stoles, but a hare bolts for the open, and hopes in his speed. He +leaves the straining spaniel behind, and the distance between them +increases as they go. The spaniel's broad hind paws are thrown wide +apart as he runs, striking outwards as well as backwards, and his +large ears are lifted by the wind of his progress. Overtaken by the +cartridge, still the hare, as he lies in the dewy grass, is +handsome; lift him up and his fur is full of colour, there are +layers of tint, shadings of brown within it, one under the other, +and the surface is exquisitely clean. The colours are not really +bright, at least not separately; but they are so clean and so clear +that they give an impression of warmth and brightness. Even in the +excitement of sport regret cannot but be felt at the sight of those +few drops of blood about the mouth which indicate that all this +beautiful workmanship must now cease to be. Had he escaped the +sportsman would not have been displeased.</p> +<p>The black bud-sheaths of the ash may furnish a comparison for +his ear-tips; the brown brake in October might give one hue for his +fur; the yellow or buff bryony leaf perhaps another; the clematis +is not whiter than the white part. His colours, as those of so many +of our native wild creatures, appear selected from the woods, as if +they had been gathered and skilfully mingled together. They can be +traced or paralleled in the trees, the bushes, grasses, or flowers, +as if extracted from them by a secret alchemy. In the plumage of +the partridge there are tints that may be compared with the brown +corn, the brown ripe grains rubbed from the ear; it is in the +corn-fields that the partridge delights. There the young brood are +sheltered, there they feed and grow plump. The red tips of other +feathers are reflections of the red sorrel of the meadows. The grey +fur of the rabbit resembles the grey ash hue of the underwood in +which he hides.</p> +<p>A common plant in moist places, the figwort, bears small velvety +flowers, much the colour of the red velvet topknot of the +goldfinch, the yellow on whose wings is like the yellow bloom of +the furze which he frequents in the winter, perching cleverly on +its prickly extremities. In the woods, in the bark of the trees, +the varied shades of the branches as their size diminishes, the +adhering lichens, the stems of the underwood, now grey, now green; +the dry stalks of plants, brown, white, or dark, all the +innumerable minor hues that cross and interlace, there is suggested +the woven texture of tints found on the wings of birds. For +brighter tones the autumn leaves can be resorted to, and in summer +the finches rising from the grass spring upwards from among flowers +that could supply them with all their colours. But it is not so +much the brighter as the undertones that seem to have been drawn +from the woodlands or fields. Although no such influence has really +been exerted by the trees and plants upon the living creatures, yet +it is pleasant to trace the analogy. Those who would convert it +into a scientific fact are met with a dilemma to which they are +usually oblivious, <i>i.e.</i> that most birds migrate, and the +very tints which in this country might perhaps, by a stretch of +argument, be supposed to conceal them, in a distant climate with a +different foliage, or none, would render them conspicuous. Yet it +is these analogies and imaginative comparisons which make the +country so delightful.</p> +<p>One day in autumn, after toiling with their guns, which are +heavy in the September heats, across the fields and over the hills, +the hospitable owner of the place suddenly asked his weary and +thirsty friend which he would have, champagne, ale, or spirits. +They were just then in the midst of a cover, the trees kept off the +wind, the afternoon sun was warm, and thirst very natural. They had +not been shooting in the cover, but had to pass through to other +cornfields. It seemed a sorry jest to ask which would be preferred +in that lonely and deserted spot, miles from home or any house +whence refreshment could be obtained—wine, spirits, or +ale?—an absurd question, and irritating under the +circumstances. As it was repeated persistently, however, the reply +was at length given, in no very good humour, and wine chosen. +Forthwith putting down his gun, the interrogator pushed in among +the underwood, and from a cavity concealed beneath some bushes drew +forth a bottle of champagne. He had several of these stores hidden +in various parts of the domain, ready whichever way the chance of +sport should direct their footsteps.</p> +<p>Now the dry wild parsnip, or "gicks," five feet high, stands +dead and dry, its jointed tube of dark stem surmounted with +circular frills or umbels; the teazle heads are brown, the great +burdocks leafless, and their burs, still adhering, are withered; +the ground, almost free of obstruction, is comparatively easy to +search over, but the old sportsman is too cunning to bury his wine +twice in the same place, and it is no use to look about. No birds +in last year's nests—the winds have torn and upset the mossy +structures in the bushes; no champagne in last year's cover. The +driest place is under the firs, where the needles have fallen and +strew the surface thickly. Outside the wood, in the waggon-track, +the beech leaves lie on the side of the mound, dry and shrivelled +at the top, but stir them, and under the top layer they still +retain the clear brown of autumn.</p> +<p>The ivy trailing on the bank is moist and freshly green. There +are two tints of moss; one light, the other deeper—both very +pleasant and restful to the eye. These beds of moss are the +greenest and brightest of the winter's colours. Besides these there +are ale-hoof, or ground-ivy leaves (not the ivy that climbs trees), +violet leaves, celandine mars, primrose mars, foxglove mars, teazle +mars, and barren strawberry leaves, all green in the midst of +winter. One tiny white flower of barren strawberry has ventured to +bloom. Round about the lower end of each maple stick, just at the +ground, is a green wrap of moss. Though leafless above, it is green +at the foot. At the verge of the ploughed field below, exposed as +it is, chickweed, groundsel, and shepherd's-purse are flowering. +About a little thorn there hang withered red berries of bryony, as +if the bare thorn bore fruit; the bine of the climbing plant clings +to it still; there are traces of "old man's beard," the white +fluffy relics of clematis bloom, stained brown by the weather; +green catkins droop thickly on the hazel. Every step presents some +item of interest, and thus it is that it is never so much winter in +the country. Where fodder has been thrown down in a pasture field +for horses, a black congregation of rooks has crowded together in a +ring. A solitary pole for trapping hawks stands on the sloping +ground outside the cover. These poles are visited every morning +when the trap is there, and the captured creature put out of pain. +Of the cruelty of the trap itself there can be no doubt; but it is +very unjust to assume that therefore those connected with sport are +personally cruel. In a farmhouse much frequented by rats, and from +which they cannot be driven out, these animals are said to have +discovered a means of defying the gin set for them. One such gin +was placed in the cheese-room, near a hole from which they issued, +but they dragged together pieces of straw, little fragments of +wood, and various odds and ends, and so covered the pan that the +trap could not spring. They formed, in fact, a bridge over it.</p> +<p>Red and yellow fungi mark decaying places on the trunks and +branches of the trees; their colour is brightest when the boughs +are bare. By a streamlet wandering into the osier beds the winter +gnats dance in the sunshine, round about an old post covered with +ivy, on which green berries are thick. The warm sunshine gladdens +the hearts of the moorhens floating on the water yonder by the +bushes, and their singular note, "coorg-coorg," is uttered at +intervals. In the plantation close to the house a fox resides as +safe as King Louis in "Quentin Durward," surrounded with his guards +and archers and fortified towers, though tokens of his midnight +rambles, in the shape of bones, strew the front of his castle. He +crosses the lawn in sight of the windows occasionally, as if he +really knew and understood that his life is absolutely safe at +ordinary times, and that he need beware of nothing but the +hounds.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="11">THE BATHING SEASON</a></h3> +<p>Most people who go on the West Pier at Brighton walk at once +straight to the farthest part. This is the order and custom of pier +promenading; you are to stalk along the deck till you reach the +end, and there go round and round the band in a circle like a horse +tethered to an iron pin, or else sit down and admire those who do +go round and round. No one looks back at the gradually extending +beach and the fine curve of the shore. No one lingers where the +surf breaks—immediately above it—listening to the +remorseful sigh of the dying wave as it sobs back to the sea. +There, looking downwards, the white edge of the surf recedes in +hollow crescents, curve after curve for a mile or more, one +succeeding before the first can disappear and be replaced by a +fresh wave. A faint mistiness hangs above the beach at some +distance, formed of the salt particles dashed into the air and +suspended. At night, if the tide chances to be up, the white surf +rushing in and returning immediately beneath has a strange effect, +especially in its pitiless regularity. If one wave seems to break a +little higher it is only in appearance, and because you have not +watched long enough. In a certain number of times another will +break there again; presently one will encroach the merest trifle; +after a while another encroaches again, and the apparent +irregularity is really sternly regular. The free wave has no +liberty—it does not act for itself,—no real generous +wildness. "Thus far and no farther," is not a merciful saying. Cold +and dread and pitiless, the wave claims its due—it stretches +its arms to the fullest length, and does not pause or hearken to +the desire of any human heart. Hopeless to appeal to is the unseen +force that sends the white surge underneath to darken the pebbles +to a certain line. The wetted pebbles are darker than the dry; even +in the dusk they are easily distinguished. Something merciless is +there not in this conjunction of restriction and impetus? Something +outside human hope and thought—indifferent—cold?</p> +<p>Considering in this way, I wandered about fifty yards along the +pier, and sat down in an abstracted way on the seat on the right +side. Beneath, the clear green sea rolled in crestless waves +towards the shore—they were moving "without the animation of +the wind," which had deserted them two days ago, and a hundred +miles out at sea. Slower and slower, with an indolent undulation, +rising and sinking of mere weight and devoid of impetus, the waves +passed on, scarcely seeming to break the smoothness of the surface. +At a little distance it seemed level; yet the boats every now and +then sank deeply into the trough, and even a large fishing-smack +rolled heavily. For it is the nature of a groundswell to be +exceedingly deceptive. Sometimes the waves are so far apart that +the sea actually is level—smooth as the surface of a polished +dining-table—till presently there appears a darker line +slowly approaching, and a wave of considerable size comes in, +advancing exactly like the crease in the cloth which the housemaid +spreads on the table—the air rolling along underneath it +forms a linen imitation of the groundswell. These unexpected +rollers are capital at upsetting boats just touching the beach; the +boat is broadside on and the occupants in the water in a second. +To-day the groundswell was more active, the waves closer together, +not having had time to forget the force of the extinct gale. Yet +the sea looked calm as a millpond—just the morning for a +bath.</p> +<p>Along the yellow line where sand and pebbles meet there stood a +gallant band, in gay uniforms, facing the water. Like the imperial +legions who were ordered to charge the ocean, and gather the shells +as spoils of war, the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold extended +their front rank—their fighting line one to a +yard—along the strand. Some tall and stately; some tall and +slender; some well developed and firm on their limbs; some gentle +in attitude, even in their war dress; some defiant; perhaps forty +or fifty, perhaps more, ladies; a splendid display of womanhood in +the bright sunlight. Blue dresses, pink dresses, purple dresses, +trimmings of every colour; a gallant show. The eye had but just +time to receive these impressions as it were with a blow of the +camera—instantaneous photography—when, boom! the +groundswell was on them, and, heavens, what a change! They +disappeared. An arm projected here, possibly a foot yonder, tresses +floated on the surface like seaweed, but bodily they were gone. The +whole rank from end to end was overthrown—more than that, +overwhelmed, buried, interred in water like Pharaoh's army in the +Red Sea. Crush! It had come on them like a mountain. The wave so +clear, so beautifully coloured, so cool and refreshing, had struck +their delicate bodies with the force of a ton weight. Crestless and +smooth to look at, in reality that treacherous roller weighed at +least a ton to a yard.</p> +<p>Down went each fair bather as if hit with shot from a Gatling +gun. Down she went, frantically, and vainly grasping at a useless +rope; down with water driven into her nostrils, with a fragment, a +tiny blade, of seaweed forced into her throat, choking her; crush +on the hard pebbles, no feather bed, with the pressure of a ton of +water overhead, and the strange rushing roar it makes in the ears. +Down she went, and at the same time was dragged head foremost, +sideways, anyhow, but dragged—<i>ground</i> along on the +bitter pebbles some yards higher up the beach, each pebble leaving +its own particular bruise, and the suspended sand filling the eyes. +Then the wave left her, and she awoke from the watery nightmare to +the bright sunlight, and the hissing foam as it subsided, prone at +full length, high and dry like a stranded wreck. Perhaps her head +had tapped the wheel of the machine in a friendly way—a sort +of genial battering ram. The defeat was a perfect rout; yet they +recovered position immediately. I fancy I did see one slip limply +to cover; but the main body rose manfully, and picked their way +with delicate feet on the hard, hard stones back again to the +water, again to meet their inevitable fate.</p> +<p>The white ankles of the blonde gleaming in the sunshine were +distinguishable, even at that distance, from the flesh tint of the +brunette beside her, and these again from the swarthiness of still +darker ankles, which did not gleam, but had a subdued colour like +dead gold. The foam of a lesser wave ran up and touched their feet +submissively. Three young girls in pink clustered together; one +crouched with her back to the sea and glanced over her timorous +shoulder. Another lesser wave ran up and left a fringe of foam +before them. I looked for a moment out to sea and saw the smack +roll heavily, the big wave was coming. By now the bathers had +gathered confidence, and stepped, a little way at a time, closer +and closer down to the water. Some even stood where each lesser +wave rose to their knees. Suddenly a few leant forwards, pulling +their ropes taut, and others turned sideways; these were the more +experienced or observant. Boom! The big roller broke near the pier +and then ran along the shore; it did not strike the whole length at +once, it came in aslant and rushed sideways. The three in pink went +first—they were not far enough from their machine to receive +its full force, it barely reached to the waist, and really I think +it was worse for them. They were lifted off their feet and shot +forward with their heads under water; one appeared to be under the +two others, a confused mass of pink. Their white feet emerged +behind the roller, and as it sank it drew them back, grinding them +over the pebbles: every one knows how pebbles grate and grind their +teeth as a wave subsides. Left lying on their faces, I guessed from +their attitudes that they had dug their finger-nails into the +pebbles in an effort to seize something that would hold. Somehow +they got on their knees and crept up the slope of the beach. Beyond +these three some had been standing about up to their knees; these +were simply buried as before—quite concealed and thrown like +beams of timber, head first, feet first, high up on shore. Group +after group went down as the roller reached them, and the sea was +dyed for a minute with blue dresses, purple dresses, pink dresses; +they coloured the wave which submerged them. From end to end the +whole rank was again overwhelmed, nor did any position prove of +advantage; those who sprang up as the wave came were simply turned +over and carried on their backs, those who tried to dive under were +swept back by the tremendous under-rush. Sitting on the beach, +lying at full length, on hands and knees, lying on this side or +that, doubled up—there they were, as the roller receded, in +every disconsolate attitude imaginable; the curtain rose and +disclosed the stage in disorder. Again I thought I saw one or two +limp to their machines, but the main body adjusted themselves and +faced the sea.</p> +<p>Was there ever such courage? National untaught +courage—inbred, and not built of gradual instruction as it +were in hardihood. Yet some people hesitate to give women the +franchise! actually, a miserable privilege which any poor fool of a +man may exercise.</p> +<p>I was philosophising admirably in this strain when first a +shadow came and then the substance, that is, a gentleman sat down +by me and wished me good morning, in a slightly different accent to +that we usually hear. I looked wistfully at the immense length of +empty seats; on both sides of the pier for two hundred yards or +more there extended an endless empty seat. Why could not he have +chosen a spot to himself? Why must he place himself just here, so +close as to touch me? Four hundred yards of vacant seats, and he +could not find room for himself.</p> +<p>It is a remarkable fact in natural history that one's elbow is +sure to be jogged. It does not matter what you do; suppose you +paint in the most secluded spot, and insert yourself, moreover, in +the most inconspicuous part of that spot, some vacant physiognomy +is certain to intrude, glaring at you with glassy eye. Suppose you +do nothing (like myself), no matter where you do it some inane +humanity obtrudes itself. I took out my note-book once in a great +open space at the Tower of London, a sort of court or place of +arms, quite open and a gunshot across; there was no one in sight, +and if there had been half a regiment they could have passed (and +would have passed) without interference. I had scarcely written +three lines when the pencil flew up the page, some hulking lout +having brushed against me. He could not find room for himself. A +hundred yards of width was not room enough for him to go by. He +meant no harm; it did not occur to him that he could be otherwise +than welcome. He was the sort of man who calmly sleeps on your +shoulder in a train, and merely replaces his head if you wake him +twenty times. The very same thing has happened to me in the parks, +and in country fields; particularly it happens at the British +Museum and the picture galleries, there is room sufficient in all +conscience; but if you try to make a note or a rough memorandum +sketch you get a jog. There is a jogger everywhere, just as there +is a buzzing fly everywhere in summer. The jogger travels, too.</p> +<p>One day, while studying in the Louvre, I am certain three or +four hundred French people went by me, mostly provincials I fancy, +country-folks, in short, from their dress, which was not Parisian, +and their accent, which was not of the Boulevards. Of all these not +one interfered with me; they did not approach within four or five +feet. How grateful I felt towards them! One man and his sweetheart, +a fine southern girl with dark eyes and sun-browned cheeks, sat +down near me on one of the scanty seats provided. The man put his +umbrella and his hat on the seat beside him. What could be more +natural? No one else was there, and there was room for three more +couples. Instantly an official—an authority!—stepped +hastily forward from the shadow of some sculpture (beasts of prey +abide in darkness), snatched up the umbrella and hat, and rudely +dashed them on the floor. In a flow of speech he explained that +nothing must be placed on the seats. The man, who had his +handkerchief in his hand, quietly dropped it into his hat on the +floor, and replied nothing. This was an official "jogger." I felt +indignant to see and hear people treated in this rough manner; but +the provincial was used to the jogger system and heeded it not. My +own jogger was coming. Three to four hundred country-folk had gone +by gently and in a gentlemanly way. Then came an English gentleman, +middle-aged, florid, not much tinctured with art or letters, but +garnished with huge gold watchchain and with wealth as it were +bulging out of his waistcoat pocket. This gentleman positively +walked into me, pushed me-literally pushed me aside and took my +place, a place valuable to me at that moment for one special +aspect, and having shoved me aside, gazed about him through his +eyeglass, I suppose to discover what it was interested me. He was a +genuine, thoroughbred jogger. The vast galleries of the Louvre had +not room enough for him. He was one of the most successful joggers +in the world, I feel sure; any family might be proud of him. While +I am thus digressing, the bathers have gone over thrice.</p> +<p>The individual who had sat himself down by me produced a little +box and offered me a lozenge. I did not accept it; he took one +himself in token that they were harmless. Then he took a second, +and a third, and began to tell me of their virtues; they cured this +and they alleviated that, they were the greatest discovery of the +age; this universal lozenge was health in the waistcoat pocket, a +medicine-chest between finger and thumb; the secret had been +extracted at last, and nature had given up the ghost as it were of +her hidden physic. His eloquence conjured up in my mind a vision of +the rocks beside the Hudson river papered over with acres of +advertising posters. But no; by his further conversation I found +that I had mentally slandered him; he was not a proprietor of +patent medicine; he was a man of education and private means; he +belonged to a much higher profession, in fact he was a "jogger" +travelling about from place to place—"globetrotting" from +capital city to watering-place—all over the world in the +exercise of his function. I had wondered if his accent was American +(petroleum-American), or German, or Italian, or Russian, or what. +Now I wondered no longer, for the jogger is cosmopolitan. When he +had exhausted his lozenge he told me how many times the screw of +the steamer revolved while carrying him across the Pacific from +Yokohama to San Francisco. I nearly suggested that it was about +equal to the number of times his tongue had vibrated in the last +ten minutes. The bathers went over twice more. I was anxious to +take note of their bravery, and turned aside, leaning over the iron +back of the seat. He went on just the same; a hint was no more to +him than a feather bed to an ironclad.</p> +<p>My rigid silence was of no avail; so long as my ears were open +he did not care. He was a very energetic jogger. However, it +occurred to me to try another plan: I turned towards him (he would +much rather have had my back) and began to talk in the most +strident tones I could command. I pointed out to him that the pier +was decked like a vessel, that the cliffs were white, that a lady +passing had a dark blue dress on, which did not suit with the green +sea, not because it was blue, but because it was the wrong tint of +blue. I informed him that the Pavilion was once the residence of +royalty, and similar novelties; all in a string without a +semicolon. His eyes opened; he fumbled with his lozenge-box, said +"Good morning," and went on up the pier. I watched him +go—English-Americano-Germano-Franco-Prussian-Russian-Chinese-New Zealander that he was. +But he was not a man of genius; you could choke him off by talking. +Still he had effectually jogged me and spoiled my contemplative +enjoyment of the bathers' courage; upon the whole I thought I would +go down on the beach now and see them a little closer. The truth +is, I suppose, that it is people like myself who are in the wrong, +or are in the way. What business had I to make a note in the Tower +yard, or study in the Louvre? what business have I to think, or +indulge myself in an idea? What business has any man to paint, or +sketch, or do anything of the sort? I suppose the joggers are in +the right.</p> +<p>Dawdling down Whitehall one day a jogger nailed me—they +come to me like flies to honey—and got me to look at his +pamphlet. He went about, he said, all his time distributing them as +a duty for the safety of the nation. The pamphlet was printed in +the smallest type, and consisted of extracts from various +prophetical authors, pointing out the enormity of the Babylonian +Woman, of the City of Scarlet, or some such thing; the gist being +the bitterest—almost scurrilous—attack on the Church of +Rome. The jogger told me, with tears of pride in his eyes and a +glorified countenance, that only a few days before, in the +waiting-room of a railway station, he had the pleasure to present +his pamphlet to Cardinal Manning. And the Cardinal bowed and put it +in his pocket.</p> +<p>Just as everybody walks on the sunny side of Regent-street, so +there are certain spots on the beach where people crowd together. +This is one of them; just west of the West Pier there is a fair +between eleven and one every bright morning. Everybody goes because +everybody else does. Mamma goes down to bathe with her daughters +and the little ones; they take two machines at least; the pater +comes to smoke his cigar; the young fellows of the family-party +come to look at "the women," as they irreverently speak of the sex. +So the story runs on <i>ad infinitum</i>, down to the shoeless ones +that turn up everywhere. Every seat is occupied; the boats and +small yachts are filled; some of the children pour pebbles into the +boats, some carefully throw them out; wooden spades are busy; +sometimes they knock each other on the head with them, sometimes +they empty pails of sea-water on a sister's frock. There is a +squealing, squalling, screaming, shouting, singing, bawling, +howling, whistling, tin-trumpeting, and every luxury of noise. Two +or three bands work away; niggers clatter their bones; a conjurer +in red throws his heels in the air; several harps strum merrily +different strains; fruit-sellers push baskets into folks' faces; +sellers of wretched needlework and singular baskets coated with +shells thrust their rubbish into people's laps. These shell baskets +date from George IV. The gingerbeer men and the newsboys cease not +from troubling. Such a volume of uproar, such a complete organ of +discord I mean a whole organful cannot be found anywhere else on +the face of the earth in so comparatively small a space. It is a +sort of triangular plot of beach crammed with everything that +ordinarily annoys the ears and offends the sight.</p> +<p>Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is perfectly +comfortable, perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a preferable spot to +any other. A sparkle of sunshine on the breakers, a dazzling gleam +from the white foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and +champagniness; altogether lovely. The way in which people lie about +on the beach, their legs this way, and their arms that, their hats +over their eyes, their utter give-themselves-up expression of +attitude is enough in itself to make a reasonable being contented. +Nobody cares for anybody; they drowned Mrs. Grundy long ago. The +ancient philosopher (who had a mind to eat a fig) held that a nail +driven into wood could only support a certain weight. After that +weight was exceeded either the wood must break or the nail come +out. Yonder is a wooden seat put together with nails—a flimsy +contrivance, which defies all rules of gravity and adhesion. One +leg leans one way, the other in the opposite direction; very lame +legs indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit on it lest it +should come to pieces. The music, I suppose, charms it, for it +holds together in the most marvellous manner. Four people are +sitting on it, four big ones, middle-aged, careful people; every +moment the legs gape wide apart, the structure visibly stretches +and yields and sinks in the pebbles, yet it does not come down. The +stoutest of all sits actually over the lame legs, reading his paper +quite oblivious of the odd angle his plump person makes, quite +unconscious of the threatened crack—crash! It does not +happen. A sort of magnetism sticks it together; it is in the air; +it makes things go right that ought to go wrong. Awfully naughty +place; no sort of idea of rightness here. Humming and strumming, +and singing and smoking, splashing, and sparkling; a buzz of voices +and booming of sea! If they could only be happy like this +always!</p> +<p>Mamma has a tremendous fight over the bathing-dresses, her own, +of course; the bathing woman cannot find them, and denies that she +had them, and by-and-by, after half an hour's exploration, finds +them all right, and claims commendation for having put them away so +safely. Then there is the battle for a machine. The nurse has been +keeping guard on the steps, to seize it the instant the occupant +comes out. At last they get it, and the wonder is how they pack +themselves in it. Boom! The bathers have gone over again, I know. +The rope stretches as the men at the capstan go round, and heave up +the machines one by one before the devouring tide.</p> +<p>As it is not at all rude, but the proper thing to do, I thought +I would venture a little nearer (not too obtrusively near) and see +closer at hand how brave womanhood faced the rollers. There was a +young girl lying at full length at the edge of the foam. She +reclined parallel to the beach, not with her feet towards the sea, +but so that it came to her side. She was clad in some material of a +gauzy and yet opaque texture, permitting the full outline and the +least movement to be seen. The colour I do not exactly know how to +name; they could tell you at the Magasin du Louvre, where men +understand the hues of garments as well as women. I presume it was +one of the many tints that are called at large "creamy." It suited +her perfectly. Her complexion was in the faintest degree swarthy, +and yet not in the least like what a lady would associate with that +word. The difficulty in describing a colour is that different +people take different views of the terms employed; ladies have one +scale founded a good deal on dress, men another, and painters have +a special (and accurate) gamut which they use in the studio. This +was a clear swarthiness a translucent swarthiness clear as the most +delicate white. There was something in the hue of her neck as +freely shown by the loose bathing dress, of her bare arms and feet, +somewhat recalling to mind the kind of beauty attributed to the +Queen of Egypt. But it was more delicate. Her form was almost fully +developed, more so than usual at her age. Again and again the foam +rushed up deep enough to cover her limbs, but not sufficiently so +to hide her chest, as she was partly raised on one arm. Washed thus +with the purest whiteness of the sparkling foam, her beauty +gathered increase from the touch of the sea. She swayed slightly as +the water reached her, she was luxuriously recked to and fro. The +waves, toyed with her; they came and retired, happy in her +presence; the breeze and the sunshine were there.</p> +<p>Standing somewhat back, the machines hid the waves from me till +they reached the shore, so that I did not observe the heavy roller +till it came and broke. A ton of water fell on her, crush! The edge +of the wave curled and dropped over her, the arch bowed itself +above her, the keystone of the wave fell in. She was under the +surge while it rushed up and while it rushed back; it carried her +up to the steps of the machine and back again to her original +position. When it subsided she simply shook her head, raised +herself on one arm, and adjusted herself parallel to the beach as +before.</p> +<p>Let any one try this, let any one lie for a few minutes just +where the surge bursts, and he will understand what it means. Men +go out to the length of their ropes—past and outside the line +of the breakers, or they swim still farther out and ride at ease +where the wave, however large, merely lifts them pleasantly as it +rolls under. But the smashing force of the wave is where it curls +and breaks, and it is there that the ladies wait for it. It is +these breakers in a gale that tear to pieces and destroy the +best-built ships once they touch the shore, scattering their +timbers as the wind scatters leaves. The courage and the endurance +women must possess to face a groundswell like this! All the year +they live in luxury and ease, and are shielded from everything that +could hurt. A bruise—a lady to receive a bruise; it is not be +to thought of! If a ruffian struck a lady in Hyde Park the world +would rise from its armchair in a fury of indignation. These waves +and pebbles bruise them as they list. They do not even flinch. +There must, then, be a natural power of endurance in them.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary, and yet I was proud to see it. An English +lady could do it; but could any other?—unless, indeed, an +American of English descent. Still, it is a barbarous thing, for +bathing could be easily rendered pleasant. The cruel roller +receded, the soft breeze blew, the sunshine sparkled, the gleaming +foam rushed up and gently rocked her. The Infanta Cleopatra lifted +her arm gleaming wet with spray, and extended it indolently; the +sun had only given her a more seductive loveliness. How much more +enjoyable the sea and breeze and sunshine when one is gazing at +something so beautiful. That arm, rounded and +soft——</p> +<p>"Excuse me, sir, but your immortal soul"—a hand was placed +on my elbow. I turned, and saw a beaming face; a young lady, +elegantly dressed, placed a fly-sheet of good intentions in my +fingers. The fair jogger beamed yet more sweetly as I took it, and +went on among the crowd. When I looked back the Infanta Cleopatra +had ascended into her machine. I had lost the last few moments of +loveliness.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="12">UNDER THE ACORNS</a></h3> +<p>Coming along a woodland lane, a small round and glittering +object in the brushwood caught my attention. The ground was but +just hidden in that part of the wood with a thin growth of +brambles, low, and more like creepers than anything else. These +scarcely hid the surface, which was brown with the remnants of +oak-leaves; there seemed so little cover, indeed, that a mouse +might have been seen. But at that spot some great spurge-plants +hung this way and that, leaning aside, as if the sterns were too +weak to uphold the heads of dark-green leaves. Thin grasses, +perfectly white, bleached by the sun and dew, stood in a bunch by +the spurge; their seeds had fallen, the last dregs of sap had dried +within them, there was nothing left but the bare stalks. A creeper +of bramble fenced round one side of the spurge and white grass +bunch, and brown leaves were visible on the surface of the ground +through the interstices of the spray. It was in the midst of this +little thicket that a small, dark, and glittering object caught my +attention. I knew it was the eye of some creature at once, but, +supposing it nothing more than a young rabbit, was passing on, +thinking of other matters, when it occurred to me, before I could +finish the step I had taken, so quick is thought, that the eye was +not large enough to be that of a rabbit. I stopped; the black +glittering eye had gone—the creature had lowered its neck, +but immediately noticing that I was looking in that direction, it +cautiously raised itself a little, and I saw at once that the eye +was the eye of a bird. This I knew first by its size, and next by +its position in relation to the head, which was invisible—for +had it been a rabbit or hare, its ears would have projected. The +moment after, the eye itself confirmed this—the nictitating +membrane was rapidly drawn over it, and as rapidly removed. This +membrane is the distinguishing mark of a bird's eye. But what bird? +Although I was within two yards, I could not even see its head, +nothing but the glittering eyeball, on which the light of the sun +glinted. The sunbeams came over my shoulder straight into the +bird's face.</p> +<p>Without moving—which I did not wish to do, as it would +disturb the bird—I could not see its plumage; the bramble +spray in front, the spurge behind, and the bleached grasses at the +side, perfectly concealed it. Only two birds I considered would be +likely to squat and remain quiescent like this—partridge or +pheasant; but I could not contrive to view the least portion of the +neck. A moment afterwards the eye came up again, and the bird +slightly moved its head, when I saw its beak, and knew it was a +pheasant immediately. I then stepped forward—almost on the +bird—and a young pheasant rose, and flew between the +tree-trunks to a deep dry watercourse, where it disappeared under +some withering yellow-ferns.</p> +<p>Of course I could easily have solved the problem long before, +merely by startling the bird; but what would have been the pleasure +of that? Any plough-lad could have forced the bird to rise, and +would have recognised it as a pheasant; to me, the pleasure +consisted in discovering it under every difficulty. That was +woodcraft; to kick the bird up would have been simply nothing at +all. Now I found why I could not see the pheasant's neck or body; +it was not really concealed, but shaded out by the mingled hues of +white grasses, the brown leaves of the surface, and the general +grey-brown tints. Now it was gone, there was a vacant space its +plumage had filled up that vacant space with hues so similar, that, +at no farther distance than two yards, I did not recognise it by +colour. Had the bird fully carried out its instinct of concealment, +and kept its head down as well as its body, I should have passed +it. Nor should I have seen its head if it had looked the other way; +the eye betrayed its presence. The dark glittering eye, which the +sunlight touched, caught my attention instantly. There is nothing +like an eye in inanimate nature; no flower, no speck on a bough, no +gleaming stone wet with dew, nothing, indeed, to which it can be +compared. The eye betrayed it; I could not overlook an eye. Neither +nature nor inherited experience had taught the pheasant to hide its +eye; the bird not only wished to conceal itself, but to watch my +motions and, looking up from its cover, was immediately +observed.</p> +<p>At a turn of the lane there was a great heap of oak "chumps," +crooked logs, sawn in lengths, and piled together. They were so +crooked, it was difficult to find a seat, till I hit on one larger +than the rest. The pile of "chunks" rose halfway up the stem of an +oak tree, and formed a wall of wood at my back; the oak-boughs +reached over and made a pleasant shade. The sun was warm enough, to +render resting in the open air delicious, the wind cool enough to +prevent the heat becoming too great; the pile of timber kept off +the draught, so that I could stay and listen to the gentle "hush, +rush" of the breeze in the oak above me; "hush" as it came slowly, +"rush" as it came fast, and a low undertone as it nearly ceased. So +thick were the haws on a bush of thorn opposite, that they tinted +the hedge a red colour among the yellowing hawthorn-leaves. To this +red hue the blackberries that were not ripe, the thick dry red +sorrel stalks, a bright canker on a brier almost as bright as a +rose, added their colours. Already the foliage of the bushes had +been thinned, and it was possible to see through the upper parts of +the boughs. The sunlight, therefore, not only touched their outer +surfaces, but passed through and lit up the branches within, and +the wild-fruit upon them. Though the sky was clear and blue between +the clouds, that is, without mist or haze, the sunbeams were +coloured the faintest yellow, as they always are on a ripe autumn +day. This yellow shone back from grass and leaves, from bough and +tree-trunk, and seemed to stain the ground. It is very pleasant to +the eyes, a soft, delicate light, that gives another beauty to the +atmosphere. Some roan cows were wandering down the lane, feeding on +the herbage at the side; their colour, too, was lit up by the +peculiar light, which gave a singular softness to the large shadows +of the trees upon the sward. In a meadow by the wood the oaks cast +broad shadows on the short velvety sward, not so sharp and definite +as those of summer, but tender, and, as it were, drawn with a +loving hand. They were large shadows, though it was mid-day—a +sign that the sun was no longer at his greatest height, but +declining. In July, they would scarcely have extended beyond the +rim of the boughs; the rays would have dropped perpendicularly, now +they slanted. Pleasant as it was, there was regret in the thought +that the summer was going fast. Another sign—the grass by the +gateway, an acre of it, was brightly yellow with hawkweeds, and +under these were the last faded brown heads of meadow clover; the +brown, the bright yellow disks, the green grass, the tinted +sunlight falling upon it, caused a wavering colour that fleeted +before the glance.</p> +<p>All things brown, and yellow, and red, are brought out by the +autumn sun; the brown furrows freshly turned where the stubble was +yesterday, the brown bark of trees, the brown fallen leaves, the +brown stalks of plants; the red haws, the red unripe blackberries, +red bryony berries, reddish-yellow fungi, yellow hawkweed, yellow +ragwort, yellow hazel-leaves, elms, spots in lime or beech; not a +speck of yellow, red, or brown the yellow sunlight does not find +out. And these make autumn, with the caw of rooks, the peculiar +autumn caw of laziness and full feeding, the sky blue as March +between the great masses of dry cloud floating over, the mist in +the distant valleys, the tinkle of traces as the plough turns and +the silence of the woodland birds. The lark calls as he rises from +the earth, the swallows still wheeling call as they go over, but +the woodland birds are mostly still and the restless sparrows gone +forth in a cloud to the stubble. Dry clouds, because they evidently +contain no moisture that will fall as rain here; thick mists, +condensed haze only, floating on before the wind. The oaks were not +yet yellow, their leaves were half green, half brown; Time had +begun to invade them, but had not yet indented his full mark.</p> +<p>Of the year there are two most pleasurable seasons: the spring, +when the oak-leaves come russet-brown on the great oaks; the +autumn, when the oak-leaves begin to turn. At the one, I enjoy the +summer that is coming; at the other, the summer that is going. At +either, there is a freshness in the atmosphere, a colour +everywhere, a depth of blue in the sky, a welcome in the woods. The +redwings had not yet come; the acorns were full, but still green; +the greedy rooks longed to see them riper. They were very numerous, +the oaks covered with them, a crop for the greedy rooks, the +greedier pigeons, the pheasants, and the jays.</p> +<p>One thing I missed—the corn. So quickly was the harvest +gathered, that those who delight in the colour of the wheat had no +time to enjoy it. If any painter had been looking forward to August +to enable him to paint the corn, he must have been disappointed. +There was no time; the sun came, saw, and conquered, and the +sheaves were swept from the field. Before yet the reapers had +entered one field of ripe wheat, I did indeed for a brief evening +obtain a glimpse of the richness and still beauty of an English +harvest. The sun was down, and in the west a pearly grey light +spread widely, with a little scarlet drawn along its lower border. +Heavy shadows hung in the foliage of the elms, the clover had +closed, and the quiet moths had taken the place of the humming +bees. Southwards, the full moon, a red-yellow disk, shone over the +wheat, which appeared the finest pale amber. A quiver of +colour—an undulation—seemed to stay in the air, left +from the heated day; the sunset hues and those of the red-tinted +moon fell as it were into the remnant of day, and filled the wheat; +they were poured into it, so that it grew in their colours. Still +heavier the shadows deepened in the elms; all was silence, save for +the sound of the reapers on the other side of the hedge, +slash—rustle, slash—rustle, and the drowsy night came +down as softly as an eyelid.</p> +<p>While I sat on the log under the oak, every now and then wasps +came to the crooked pieces of sawn timber, which had been barked. +They did not appear to be biting it—they can easily snip off +fragments of the hardest oak,—they merely alighted and +examined it, and went on again. Looking at them, I did not notice +the lane till something moved, and two young pheasants ran by along +the middle of the track and into the cover at the side. The grass +at the edge which they pushed through closed behind them, and +feeble as it was—grass only—it shut off the interior of +the cover as firmly as iron bars. The pheasant is a strong lock +upon the woods; like one of Chubb's patent locks, he closes the +woods as firmly as an iron safe can be shut. Wherever the pheasant +is artificially reared, and a great "head" kept up for +battue-shooting, there the woods are sealed. No matter if the +wanderer approach with the most harmless of intentions, it is +exactly the same as if he were a species of burglar. The botanist, +the painter, the student of nature, all are met with the +high-barred gate and the throat of law. Of course, the +pheasant-lock can be opened by the silver key; still, there is the +fact, that since pheasants have been bred on so large a scale, half +the beautiful woodlands of England have been fastened up. Where +there is no artificial rearing there is much more freedom; those +who love the forest can roam at their pleasure, for it is not the +fear of damage that locks the gate, but the pheasant. In every +sense, the so-called sport of battue-shooting is +injurious—injurious to the sportsman, to the poorer class, to +the community. Every true sportsman should discourage it, and +indeed does. I was talking with a thorough sportsman recently, who +told me, to my delight, that he never reared birds by hand; yet he +had a fair supply, and could always give a good day's sport, judged +as any reasonable man would judge sport. Nothing must enter the +domains of the hand-reared pheasant; even the nightingale is not +safe. A naturalist has recorded that in a district he visited, the +nightingales were always shot by the keepers and their eggs +smashed, because the singing of these birds at night disturbed the +repose of the pheasants! They also always stepped on the eggs of +the fern-owl, which are laid on the ground, and shot the bird if +they saw it, for the same reason, as it makes a jarring sound at +dusk. The fern-owl, or goatsucker, is one of the most harmless of +birds—a sort of evening swallow—living on moths, +chafers, and similar night-flying insects.</p> +<p>Continuing my walk, still under the oaks and green acorns, I +wondered why I did not meet any one. There was a man cutting fern +in the wood—a labourer—and another cutting up thistles +in a field; but with the exception of men actually employed and +paid, I did not meet a single person, though the lane I was +following is close to several well-to-do places. I call that a +well-to-do place where there are hundreds of large villas inhabited +by wealthy people. It is true that the great majority of persons +have to attend to business, even if they enjoy a good income; +still, making every allowance for such a necessity, it is singular +how few, how very few, seem to appreciate the quiet beauty of this +lovely country. Somehow, they do not seem to see it—to look +over it; there is no excitement in it, for one thing. They can see +a great deal in Paris, but nothing in an English meadow. I have +often wondered at the rarity of meeting any one in the fields, and +yet—curious anomaly—if you point out anything—or +describe it, the interest exhibited is marked. Every one takes an +interest, but no one goes to see for himself. For instance, since +the natural history collection was removed from the British Museum +to a separate building at South Kensington, it is stated that the +visitors to the Museum have fallen from an average of twenty-five +hundred a day to one thousand; the inference is, that out of every +twenty-five, fifteen came to see the natural history cases. Indeed, +it is difficult to find a person who does not take an interest in +some department of natural history, and yet I scarcely ever meet +any one in the fields. You may meet many in the autumn far away in +places famous for scenery, but almost none in the meadows at +home.</p> +<p>I stayed by a large pond to look at the shadows of the trees on +the green surface of duckweed. The soft green of the smooth weed +received the shadows as if specially prepared to show them to +advantage. The more the tree was divided—the more interlaced +its branches and less laden with foliage, the more it "came out" on +the green surface; each slender twig was reproduced, and sometimes +even the leaves. From an oak, and from a lime, leaves had fallen, +and remained on the green weed; the flags by the shore were turning +brown; a tint of yellow was creeping up the rashes, and the great +trunk of a fir shone reddish brown in the sunlight. There was +colour even about the still pool, where the weeds grew so thickly +that the moorhens could scarcely swim through them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="13">DOWNS</a></h3> +<p>A good road is recognised as the groundwork of civilisation. So +long as there is a firm and artificial track under his feet the +traveller may be said to be in contact with city and town, no +matter how far they may be distant. A yard or two outside the +railway in America the primeval forest or prairie often remains +untouched, and much in the same way, though in a less striking +degree at first sight, some of our own highways winding through +Down districts are bounded by undisturbed soil. Such a road wears +for itself a hollow, and the bank at the top is fringed with long +rough grass hanging over the crumbling chalk. Broad discs of +greater knapweed with stalks like wire, and yellow toad-flax with +spotted lip grow among it. Grasping this tough grass as a handle to +climb up by, the explorer finds a rising slope of sward, and having +walked over the first ridge, shutting off the road behind him, is +at once out of civilisation. There is no noise. Wherever there are +men there is a hum, even in the harvest-field; and in the road +below, though lonely, there is sometimes the sharp clatter of hoofs +or the grating of wheels on flints. But here the long, long slopes, +the endless ridges, the gaps between, hazy and indistinct, are +absolutely without noise. In the sunny autumn day the peace of the +sky overhead is reflected in the silent earth. Looking out over the +steep hills, the first impression is of an immense void like the +sea; but there are sounds in detail, the twitter of passing +swallows, the restless buzz of bees at the thyme, the rush of the +air beaten by a ringdove's wings. These only increase the sense of +silent peace, for in themselves they soothe; and how minute the bee +beside this hill, and the dove to the breadth of the sky! A white +speck of thistledown comes upon a current too light to swing a +harebell or be felt by the cheek. The furze-bushes are lined with +thistledown, blown there by a breeze now still; it is glossy in the +sunbeams, and the yellow hawkweeds cluster beneath. The sweet, +clear air, though motionless at this height, cools the rays; but +the sun seems to pause and neither to rise higher nor decline. It +is the space open to the eye which apparently arrests his movement. +There is no noise, and there are no men.</p> +<p>Glance along the slope, up the ridge, across to the next, +endeavour to penetrate the hazy gap, but no one is visible. In +reality it is not quite so vacant; there may, perhaps, be four or +five men between this spot and the gap, which would be a pass if +the Downs were high enough. One is not far distant; he is digging +flints over the ridge, and, perhaps, at this moment rubbing the +earth from a corroded Roman coin which he has found in the pit. +Another is thatching, for there are three detached wheat-ricks +round a spur of the Down a mile away, where the plain is arable, +and there, too, a plough is at work. A shepherd is asleep on his +back behind the furze a mile in the other direction. The fifth is a +lad trudging with a message; he is in the nut-copse, over the next +hill, very happy. By walking a mile the explorer may, perhaps, +sight one of these, if they have not moved by then and disappeared +in another hollow. And when you have walked the mile—knowing +the distance by the time occupied in traversing it—if you +look back you will sigh at the hopelessness of getting over the +hills. The mile is such a little way, only just along one slope and +down into the narrow valley strewn with flints and small boulders. +If that is a mile, it must be another up to the white chalk quarry +yonder, another to the copse on the ridge; and how far is the hazy +horizon where the ridges crowd on and hide each other? Like rowing +at sea, you row and row and row, and seem where you +started—waves in front and waves behind; so you may walk and +walk and walk, and still there is the intrenchment on the summit, +at the foot of which, well in sight, you were resting some hours +ago.</p> +<p>Rest again by the furze, and some goldfinches come calling +shrilly and feasting undisturbed upon the seeds of thistles and +other plants. The bird-catcher does not venture so far; he would if +there was a rail near; but he is a lazy fellow, fortunately, and +likes not the weight of his own nets. When the stubbles are +ploughed there will be troops of finches and linnets up here, +leaving the hedgerows of the valley almost deserted. Shortly the +fieldfares will come, but not generally till the redwings have +appeared below in the valleys; while the fieldfares go upon the +hills, the green plovers, as autumn comes on, gather in flocks and +go down to the plains. Hawks regularly beat along the furze, +darting on a finch now and then, and owls pass by at night. +Nightjars, too, are down-land birds, staying in woods or fern by +day, and swooping on the moths which flutter about the furze in the +evening. Crows are too common, and work on late into the shadows. +Sometimes, in getting over the low hedges which divide the +uncultivated sward from the ploughed lands, you almost step on a +crow, and it is difficult to guess what he can have been about so +earnestly, for search reveals nothing—no dead lamb, hare, or +carrion, or anything else is visible. Rooks, of course, are seen, +and larks, and once or twice in a morning a magpie, seldom seen in +the cultivated and preserved valley. There are more partridges than +rigid game preservers would deem possible where the overlooking, if +done at all, is done so carelessly. Partridges will never cease out +of the land while there are untouched downs. Of all southern inland +game, they afford the finest sport; for spoil in its genuine sense +cannot be had without labour, and those who would get partridges on +the hills must work for them. Shot down, coursed, poached, killed +before maturity in the corn, still hares are fairly plentiful, and +couch in the furze and coarse grasses. Rabbits have much decreased; +still there are some. But the larger fir copses, when they are +enclosed, are the resort of all kinds of birds of prey yet left in +the south, and, perhaps, more rare visitors are found there than +anywhere else. Isolated on the open hills, such a copse to birds is +like an island in the sea. Only a very few pheasants frequent it, +and little effort is made to exterminate the wilder creatures, +while they are continually replenished by fresh arrivals. Even +ocean birds driven inland by stress of weather seem to prefer the +downs to rest on, and feel safer there.</p> +<p>The sward is the original sward, untouched, unploughed, +centuries old. It is that which was formed when the woods that +covered the hills were cleared, whether by British tribes whose +markings are still to be found, by Roman smiths working the +ironstone (slag is sometimes discovered), by Saxon settlers, or +however it came about in the process of the years. Probably the +trees would grow again were it not for sheep and horses, but these +preserve the sward. The plough has nibbled at it and gnawed away +great slices, but it extends mile after mile; these are mere +touches on its breadth. It is as wild as wild can be without deer +or savage beasts. The bees like it, and the finches come. It is +silent and peaceful like the sky above. By night the stars shine, +not only overhead and in a narrow circle round the zenith, but down +to the horizon; the walls of the sky are built up of them as well +as the roof. The sliding meteors go silently over the gleaming +surface; silently the planets rise; silently the earth moves to the +unfolding east. Sometimes a lunar rainbow appears; a strange scene +at midnight, arching over almost from the zenith down into the dark +hollow of the valley. At the first glance it seems white, but +presently faint prismatic colours are discerned.</p> +<p>Already as the summer changes into autumn there are orange +specks on the beeches in the copses, and the firs will presently be +leafless. Then those who live in the farmsteads placed at long +intervals begin to prepare for the possibilities of the winter. +There must be a good store of fuel and provisions, for it will be +difficult to go down to the villages. The ladies had best add as +many new volumes as they can to the bookshelf, for they may be +practically imprisoned for weeks together. Wind and rain are very +different here from what they are where the bulwark of the houses +shelters one side of the street, or the thick hedge protects half +the road. The fury of the storm is unchecked, and nothing can keep +out the raindrops which come with the velocity of shot. If snow +falls, as it does frequently, it does not need much to obscure the +path; at all times the path is merely a track, and the ruts worn +down to the white chalk and the white snow confuse the eyes. Flecks +of snow catch against the bunches of grass, against the +furze-bushes, and boulders; if there is a ploughed field, against +every clod, and the result is bewildering. There is nothing to +guide the steps, nothing to give the general direction, and once +off the track, unless well accustomed to the district, the +traveller may wander in vain. After a few inches have fallen the +roads are usually blocked, for all the flakes on miles of hills are +swept along and deposited into hollows where the highways run. To +be dug out now and then in the winter is a contingency the +mail-driver reckons as part of his daily life, and the waggons +going to and fro frequently pass between high walls of frozen snow. +In these wild places, which can scarcely be said to be populated at +all, a snow-storm, however, does not block the King's highways and +paralyse traffic as London permits itself to be paralysed under +similar circumstances. Men are set to work and cut a way through in +a very short time, and no one makes the least difficulty about it. +But with the tracks that lead to isolated farmsteads it is +different; there is not enough traffic to require the removal of +the obstruction, and the drifts occasionally accumulate to twenty +feet deep. The ladies are imprisoned, and must be thankful if they +have got down a box of new novels.</p> +<p>The dread snow-tempest of 1880-81 swept over these places with +tremendous fury, and the most experienced shepherds, whose whole +lives had been spent going to and fro on the downs, frequently lost +their way. There is a story of a waggoner and his lad going slowly +along the road after the thaw, and noticing an odd-looking +scarecrow in a field. They went to it, and found it was a man, +dead, and still standing as he had stiffened in the snow, the +clothes hanging on his withered body, and the eyes gone from the +sockets, picked out by the crows. It is only one of many similar +accounts, and it is thought between twenty and thirty unfortunate +persons perished. Such miserable events are of rare occurrence, but +show how open, wild, and succourless the country still remains. In +ordinary winters it is only strangers who need be cautious, and +strangers seldom appear. Even in summer time, however, a stranger, +if he stays till dusk, may easily wander for hours. Once off the +highway, all the ridges and slopes seem alike, and there is no end +to them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="14">FOREST</a></h3> +<p>The beechnuts are already falling in the forest, and the swine +are beginning to search for them while yet the harvest lingers. The +nuts are formed by midsummer, and now, the husk opening, the brown +angular kernel drops out. Many of the husks fall, too; others +remain on the branches till next spring. Under the beeches the +ground is strewn with the mast as hard almost to walk on as +pebbles. Rude and uncouth as swine are in themselves, somehow they +look different under trees. The brown leaves amid which they rout, +and the brown-tinted fern behind lend something of their colour and +smooth away their ungainliness. Snorting as they work with very +eagerness of appetite, they are almost wild, approaching in a +measure to their ancestors, the savage boars. Under the trees the +imagination plays unchecked, and calls up the past as if yew bow +and broad arrow were still in the hunter's hands. So little is +changed since then. The deer are here still. Sit down on the root +of this oak (thinly covered with moss), and on that very spot it is +quite possible a knight fresh home from the Crusades may have +rested and feasted his eyes on the lovely green glades of his own +unsurpassed England. The oak was there then, young and strong; it +is here now, ancient, but sturdy. Rarely do you see an oak fall of +itself. It decays to the last stump; it does not fall. The sounds +are the same—the tap as a ripe acorn drops, the rustle of a +leaf which comes down slowly, the quick rushes of mice playing in +the fern. A movement at one side attracts the glance, and there is +a squirrel darting about. There is another at the very top of the +beech yonder out on the boughs, nibbling the nuts. A brown spot a +long distance down the glade suddenly moves, and thereby shows +itself to be a rabbit. The bellowing sound that comes now and then +is from the stags, which are preparing to fight. The swine snort, +and the mast and leaves rustle as they thrust them aside. So little +is changed: these are the same sounds and the same movements, just +as in the olden time.</p> +<p>The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, lights up with +colour the fern, the fronds of which are yellow and brown, the +leaves, the grey grass, and hawthorn sprays already turned. It +seems as if the early morning's mists have the power of tinting +leaf and fern, for so soon as they commence the green hues begin to +disappear. There are swathes of fern yonder, cut down like grass or +corn, the harvest of the forest. It will be used for litter and for +thatching sheds. The yellow stalks—the stubble—will +turn brown and wither through the winter, till the strong spring +shoot conies up and the anemones flower. Though the sunbeams reach +the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, and for one +step that you walk in sunlight ten are in shade. Thus, partly +concealed in full day, the forest always contains a mystery. The +idea that there may be something in the dim arches held up by the +round columns of the beeches lures the footsteps onwards. Something +must have been lately in the circle under the oak where the fern +and bushes remain at a distance and wall in a lawn of green. There +is nothing on the grass but the upheld leaves that have dropped, no +mark of any creature, but this is not decisive; if there are no +physical signs, there is a feeling that the shadow is not vacant. +In the thickets, perhaps—the shadowy thickets with front of +thorn—it has taken refuge and eluded us. Still onward the +shadows lead us in vain but pleasant chase.</p> +<p>These endless trees are a city to the tree-building birds. The +round knot-holes in the beeches, the holes in the elms and oaks; +they find them all out. From these issue the immense flocks of +starlings which, when they alight on an isolated elm in winter, +make it suddenly black. From these, too, come forth the tits, not +so welcome to the farmer, as he considers they reduce his fruit +crop; and in these the gaudy woodpeckers breed. With starlings, +wood-pigeons, and rooks the forest is crowded like a city in +spring, but now in autumn it is comparatively deserted. The birds +are away in the fields, some at the grain, others watching the +plough, and following it so soon as a furrow is opened. But the +stoats are busy—they have not left, nor the weasels; and so +eager are they that, though they hide in the fern at first, in a +minute or two they come out again, and so get shot.</p> +<p>Like the fields, which can only support a certain proportion of +cattle, the forest, wide as it seems, can only maintain a certain +number of deer. Carrying the same thought further, it will be +obvious that the forest, or England in a natural state, could only +support a limited human population. Is this why the inhabitants of +countries like France, where they cultivate every rood and try to +really keep a man to a rood, do not increase in number? Certainly +there is a limit in nature which can only be overcome by artificial +aid. After wandering for some time in a forest like this, the +impression arises that the fauna is not now large enough to be in +thorough keeping with the trees—their age and size and +number. The breadth of the arboreal landscape requires a longer +list of living creatures, and creatures of greater bulk. The stoat +and weasel are lost in bramble and fern, the squirrels in the +branches; the fox is concealed, and the badger; the rabbit, too, is +small. There are only the deer, and there is a wide gap between +them and the hares. Even the few cattle which are permitted to +graze are better than nothing; though not wild, yet standing in +fern to their shoulders and browsing on the lower branches, they +are, at all events, animals for the time in nearly a natural state. +By watching them it is apparent how well the original wild cattle +agreed with the original scenery of the island. One almost regrets +the marten and polecat, though both small creatures, and wishes +that the fox would come forth more by day. These acres of bracken +and impenetrable thickets need more inhabitants; how well they are +fitted for the wild boar! Such thoughts are, of course, only +thoughts, and we must be thankful that we have as many wild +creatures left as we have.</p> +<p>Looking at the soil as we walk, where it is exposed by the roots +of a fallen tree, or where there is an old gravel pit, the question +occurs whether forests, managed as they are in old countries, ever +really increase the fertility of the earth? That decaying +vegetation produces a fine mould cannot be disputed; but it seems +here that there is no more decaying vegetation than is required for +the support of the trees themselves. The leaves that fall—the +million million leaves—blown to and fro, at last disappear, +absorbed into the ground. So with quantities of the lesser twigs +and branches; but these together do not supply more material to the +soil than is annually abstracted by the extensive roots of trees, +of bushes, and by the fern. If timber is felled, it is removed, and +the bark and boughs with it; the stump, too, is grubbed and split +for firewood. If a tree dies it is presently sawn off and cut up +for some secondary use or other. The great branches which +occasionally fall are some one's perquisite. When the thickets are +thinned out, the fagots are carted away, and much of the fern is +also removed. How, then, can there be any accumulation of +fertilising material? Rather the reverse; it is, if anything, taken +away, and the soil must be less rich now than it was in bygone +centuries. Left to itself the process would be the reverse, every +tree as it fell slowly enriching the spot where it mouldered, and +all the bulk of the timber converted into fertile earth. It was in +this way that the American forests laid the foundation of the +inexhaustible wheat-lands there. But the modern management of a +forest tends in the opposite direction—too much is removed; +for if it is wished to improve a soil by the growth of timber, +something must be left in it besides the mere roots. The leaves, +even, are not all left; they have a value for gardening purposes: +though, of course, the few cartloads collected make no appreciable +difference. There is always something going on in the forest; and +more men are employed than would be supposed. In the winter the +selected elms are thrown and the ash poles cut; in the spring the +oak timber comes down and is barked; in the autumn the fern is cut. +Splitting up wood goes on nearly all the year round, so that you +may always hear the axe. No charcoal-burning is practised, but the +mere maintenance of the fences, as, for instance, round the +pheasant enclosures, gives much to do. Deer need attention in +winter, like cattle; the game has its watchers; and ferreting lasts +for months. So that the forest is not altogether useless from the +point of view of work. But in so many hundred acres of trees these +labourers are lost to sight, and do not in the least detract from +its wild appearance. Indeed, the occasional ring of the axe or the +smoke rising from the woodman's fire accentuates the fact that it +is a forest. The oaks keep a circle round their base and stand at a +majestic distance from each other, so that the wind and the +sunshine enter, and their precincts are sweet and pleasant. The +elms gather together, rubbing their branches in the gale till the +bark is worn off and the boughs die; the shadow is deep under them, +and moist, favourable to rank grass and coarse mushrooms. Beneath +the ashes, after the first frost, the air is full of the bitterness +of their blackened leaves, which have all come down at once. By the +beeches there is little underwood, and the hollows are filled +ankle-deep with their leaves. From the pines comes a fragrant +odour, and thus the character of each group dominates the +surrounding ground. The shade is too much for many flowers, which +prefer the nooks of hedgerows. If there is no scope for the use of +"express" rifles, this southern forest really is a forest and not +an open hillside. It is a forest of trees, and there are no +woodlands so beautiful and enjoyable as these, where it is possible +to be lost a while without fear of serious consequences; where you +can walk without stepping up to the waist in a decayed tree-trunk, +or floundering in a bog; where neither venomous snake not torturing +mosquito causes constant apprehensions and constant irritation. To +the eye there is nothing but beauty; to the imagination pleasant +pageants of old time; to the ear the soothing cadence of the leaves +as the gentle breeze goes over. The beeches rear their Gothic +architecture, the oaks are planted firm like castles, unassailable. +Quick squirrels climb and dart hither and thither, deer cross the +distant glade, and, occasionally, a hawk passes like thought.</p> +<p>The something that may be in the shadow or the thicket, the +vain, pleasant chase that beckons us on, still leads the footsteps +from tree to tree, till by-and-by a lark sings, and, going to look +for it, we find the stubble outside the forest—stubble still +bright with the blue and white flowers of grey speedwell. One of +the earliest to bloom in the spring, it continues till the plough +comes again in autumn. Now looking back from the open stubble on +the high wall of trees, the touch of autumn here and there is the +more visible—oaks dotted with brown, horse chestnuts yellow, +maples orange, and the bushes beneath red with haws.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="15">BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I—THE MAKING OF BEAUTY</h4> +<p>It takes a hundred and fifty years to make a beauty—a +hundred and fifty years out-of-doors. Open air, hard manual labour +or continuous exercise, good food, good clothing, some degree of +comfort, all of these, but most especially open air, must play +their part for five generations before a beautiful woman can +appear. These conditions can only be found in the country, and +consequently all beautiful women come from the country. Though the +accident of birth may cause their register to be signed in town, +they are always of country extraction.</p> +<p>Let us glance back a hundred and fifty years, say to 1735, and +suppose a yeoman to have a son about that time. That son would be +bred upon the hardest fare, but, though hard, it would be plentiful +and of honest sort. The bread would be home-baked, the beef salted +at home, the ale home-brewed. He would work all day in the fields +with the labourers, but he would have three great advantages over +them—in good and plentiful food, in good clothing, and in +home comforts. He would ride, and join all the athletic sports of +the time. Mere manual labour stiffens the limbs, gymnastic +exercises render them supple. Thus he would obtain immense strength +from simple hard work, and agility from exercise. Here, then, is a +sound constitution, a powerful frame, well knit, hardened—an +almost perfect physical existence.</p> +<p>He would marry, if fortunate, at thirty or thirty-five, +naturally choosing the most charming of his acquaintances. She +would be equally healthy and proportionally as strong, for the +ladies of those days were accustomed to work from childhood. By +custom soon after marriage she would work harder than before, +notwithstanding her husband's fair store of guineas in the +iron-bound box. The house, the dairy, the cheese-loft, would keep +her arms in training. Even since I recollect, the work done by +ladies in country houses was something astonishing, ladies by right +of well-to-do parents, by right of education and manners. Really, +it seems that there is no work a woman cannot do with the best +results for herself, always provided that it does not throw a +strain upon the loins. Healthy children sprung from such parents, +while continuing the general type, usually tend towards a +refinement of the features. Under such natural and healthy +conditions, if the mother have a good shape, the daughter is finer; +if the father be of good height, the son is taller. These children +in their turn go through the same open-air training. In course of +years, the family guineas increasing, home comforts increase, and +manners are polished. Another generation sees the cast of +countenance smoothed of its original ruggedness, while preserving +its good proportion. The hard chin becomes rounded and not too +prominent, the cheek-bones sink, the ears are smaller, a softness +spreads itself over the whole face. That which was only honest now +grows tender. Again another generation, and it is a settled axiom +that the family are handsome. The country-side, as it gossips, +agrees that the family are marked out as good-looking. Like seeks +like, as we know; the handsome intermarry with the handsome. Still, +the beauty has not arrived yet, nor is it possible to tell whether +she will appear from the female or male branches. But in the fifth +generation appear she does, with the original features so moulded +and softened by time, so worked and refined and sweetened, so +delicate and yet so rich in blood, that she seems like a new +creation that has suddenly started into being. No one has watched +and recorded the slow process which has thus finally resulted. No +one could do so, because it has spread over a century and a half. +If any one will consider, they will agree that the sentiment at the +sight of a perfect beauty is as much amazement as admiration. It is +so astounding, so outside ordinary experience, that it wears the +aspect of magic.</p> +<p>A stationary home preserves the family intact, so that the +influences already described have time to produce their effect. +There is nothing uncommon in a yeoman's family continuing a hundred +and fifty years in the same homestead. Instances are known of such +occupation extending for over two hundred years; cases of three +hundred years may be found: now and then one is known to exceed +that, and there is said to be one that has not moved for six +hundred. Granting the stock in its origin to have been fairly well +proportioned, and to have been subject for such a lapse of time to +favourable conditions, the rise of beauty becomes intelligible.</p> +<p>Cities labour under every disadvantage. First, families have no +stationary home, but constantly move, so that it is rare to find +one occupying a house fifty years, and will probably become much +rarer in the future. Secondly, the absence of fresh air, and that +volatile essence, as it were, of woods, and fields, and hills, +which can be felt but not fixed. Thirdly, the sedentary employment. +Let a family be never so robust, these must ultimately affect the +constitution. If beauty appears it is too often of the unhealthy +order; there is no physique, no vigour, no richness of blood. +Beauty of the highest order is inseparable from health; it is the +outcome of health—centuries of health—and a really +beautiful woman is, in proportion, stronger than a man. It is +astonishing with what persistence a type of beauty once established +in the country will struggle to perpetuate itself against all the +drawbacks of town life after the family has removed thither.</p> +<p>When such results are produced under favourable conditions at +the yeoman's homestead, no difficulty arises in explaining why +loveliness so frequently appears in the houses of landed +proprietors. Entailed estates fix the family in one spot, and tend, +by inter-marriage, to deepen any original physical excellence. +Constant out-of-door exercise, riding, hunting, shooting, takes the +place of manual labour. All the refinements that money can +purchase, travel, education, are here at work. That the culture of +the mind can alter the expression of the individual is certain; if +continued for many generations, possibly it may leave its mark upon +the actual bodily frame. Selection exerts a most powerful influence +in these cases. The rich and titled have so wide a range to choose +from. Consider these things working through centuries, perhaps in a +more or less direct manner, since the Norman Conquest. The fame of +some such families for handsome features and well-proportioned +frames is widely spread, so much so that a descendant not handsome +is hardly regarded by the outside world as legitimate. But even +with all these advantages beauty in the fullest sense does not +appear regularly. Few indeed are those families that can boast of +more than one. It is the best of all boasts; it is almost as if the +Immortals had especially favoured their house. Beauty has no +period; it comes at intervals, unexpected! it cannot be fixed. No +wonder the earth is at its feet.</p> +<p>The fisherman's daughter ere now has reached very high in the +scale of beauty. Hardihood is the fisherman's talent by which he +wins his living from the sea. Tribal in his ways, his settlements +are almost exclusive, and his descent pure. The wind washed by the +sea enriches his blood, and of labour he has enough. Here are the +same constant factors; the stationary home keeping the family +intact, the out-door life, the air, the sea, the sun. Refinement is +absent, but these alone are so powerful that now and then beauty +appears. The lovely Irish girls, again: their forefathers have +dwelt on the mountainside since the days of Fingal, and all the +hardships of their lot cannot destroy the natural tendency to shape +and enchanting feature. Without those constant factors beauty +cannot be, but yet they will not alone produce it. There must be +something in the blood which these influences gradually ripen. If +it is not there centuries are in vain; but if it is there then it +needs these conditions. Erratic, meteor-like beauty! for how many +thousand years has man been your slave! Let me repeat, the +sentiment at the sight of a perfect beauty is as much amazement as +admiration. It so draws the heart out of itself as to seem like +magic.</p> +<p>She walks, and the very earth smiles beneath her feet. Something +comes with her that is more than mortal; witness the yearning +welcome that stretches towards her from all. As the sunshine lights +up the aspect of things, so her presence sweetens the very flowers +like dew. But the yearning welcome is, I think, the most remarkable +of the evidence that may be accumulated about it. So deep, so +earnest, so forgetful of the rest the passion of beauty is almost +sad in its intense abstraction. It is a passion, this yearning. She +walks in the glory of young life; she is really centuries old.</p> +<p>A hundred and fifty years at the least—more probably twice +that—have passed away, while from all enchanted things of +earth and air this preciousness has been drawn. From the south wind +that breathed a century and a half ago over the green wheat. From +the perfume of the growing grasses waving over honey-laden clover +and laughing veronica, hiding the greenfinches, baffling the bee. +From rose-loved hedges, woodbine, and cornflower azure-blue, where +yellowing wheat-stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. All +the devious brooklet's sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight; +all the wild woods hold the beauty; all the broad hill's thyme and +freedom: thrice a hundred years repeated. A hundred years of +cowslips, blue-bells, violets; purple spring and golden autumn; +sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the night immortal; all the +rhythm of Time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten and past all power +of writing: who shall preserve a record of the petals that fell +from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the housetops three +hundred times—think a moment of that. Thence she sprang, and +the world yearns towards her beauty as to flowers that are past. +The loveliness of seventeen is centuries old. Is this why passion +is almost sad?</p> +<h4 align="center">II—THE FORCE OF FORM</h4> +<p>Her shoulders were broad, but not too broad—just enough to +accentuate the waist, and to give a pleasant sense of ease and +power. She was strong, upright, self-reliant, finished in herself. +Her bust was full, but not too prominent—more after nature +than the dressmaker. There was something, though, of the +corset-maker in her waist, it appeared naturally fine, and had been +assisted to be finer. But it was in the hips that the woman was +perfect:—fulness without coarseness; large but not big: in a +word, nobly proportioned. Now imagine a black dress adhering to +this form. From the shoulders to the ankles it fitted "like a +glove." There was not a wrinkle, a fold, a crease, smooth as if +cast in a mould, and yet so managed that she moved without effort. +Every undulation of her figure, as she stepped lightly forward +flowed to the surface. The slight sway of the hip as the foot was +lifted, the upward and <i>inward</i> movement of the limb as the +knee was raised, the straightening as the instep felt her weight, +each change as the limb described the curves of walking was +repeated in her dress. At every change of position she was as +gracefully draped as before. All was revealed, yet all concealed. +As she passed there was the sense of a presence—the presence +of perfect form. She was lifted as she moved above the ground by +the curves of beauty as rapid revolution in a curve suspends the +down-dragging of gravity. A force went by—the force of +animated perfect form.</p> +<p>Merely as an animal, how grand and beautiful is a perfect woman! +Simply as a living, breathing creature, can anything imaginable +come near her?</p> +<p>There is such strength in shape—such force in form. +Without muscular development shape conveys the impression of the +greatest of all strength—that is, of completeness in itself. +The ancient philosophy regarded a globe as the most perfect of all +bodies, because it was the same—that is, it was perfect and +complete in itself—from whatever point it was contemplated. +Such is woman's form when nature's intent is fulfilled in beauty, +and that beauty gives the idea of self-contained power.</p> +<p>A full-grown woman is, too, physically stronger than a man. Her +physique excels man's. Look at her torso, at the size, the fulness, +the rounded firmness, the depth of the chest. There is a nobleness +about it. Shoulders, arms, limbs, all reach a breadth of make +seldom seen in man. There is more than merely +sufficient—there is a luxuriance indicating a surpassing +vigour. And this occurs without effort. She needs no long manual +labour, no exhaustive gymnastic exercise, nor any special care in +food or training. It is difficult not to envy the superb physique +and beautiful carriage of some women. They are so strong without +effort.</p> +<h4 align="center">III—AN ARM</h4> +<p>A large white arm, bare, in the sunshine, to the shoulder, +carelessly leant against a low red wall, lingers in my memory. +There was a house roofed with old grey stone slates in the +background, and peaches trained up by the window. The low garden +wall of red brick—ancient red brick, not the pale, dusty +blocks of these days—was streaked with dry mosses hiding the +mortar. Clear and brilliant, the gaudy sun of morning shone down +upon her as she stood in the gateway, resting her arm on the red +wall, and pressing on the mosses which the heat had dried. Her face +I do not remember, only the arm. She had come out from dairy work, +which needs bare arms, and stood facing the bold sun. It was very +large—some might have called it immense—and yet natural +and justly proportioned to the woman, her work, and her physique. +So immense an arm was like a revelation of the vast physical +proportions which our race is capable of attaining under favourable +conditions. Perfectly white—white as the milk in which it was +often plunged—smooth and pleasant in the texture of the skin, +it was entirely removed from coarseness. The might of its size was +chiefly by the shoulder; the wrist was not large, nor the hand. +Colossal, white, sunlit, bare—among the trees and the meads +around it was a living embodiment of the limbs we attribute to the +first dwellers on earth.</p> +<h4 align="center">IV—LIPS</h4> +<p>The mouth is the centre of woman's beauty. To the lips the +glance is attracted the moment she approaches, and their shape +remains in the memory longest. Curve, colour, and substance are the +three essentials of the lips, but these are nothing without +mobility, the soul of the mouth. If neither sculpture, nor the +palette with its varied resources, can convey the spell of perfect +lips, how can it be done in black letters of ink only? Nothing is +so difficult, nothing so beautiful. There are lips which have an +elongated curve (of the upper one), ending with a slight curl, like +a ringlet at the end of a tress, like those tiny wavelets on a +level sand which float in before the tide, or like a frond of fern +unrolling. In this curl there lurks a smile, so that she can +scarcely open her mouth without a laugh, or the look of one. These +upper lips are drawn with parallel lines, the verge is defined by +two lines near together, enclosing the narrowest space possible, +which is ever so faintly less coloured than the substance of the +lip. This makes the mouth appear larger than it really is; the bow, +too, is more flattened than in the pure Greek lip. It is beautiful, +but not perfect, tempting, mischievous, not retiring, and belongs +to a woman who is never long alone. To describe it first is +natural, because this mouth is itself the face, and the rest of the +features are grouped to it. If you think of her you think of her +mouth only—the face appears as memory acts, but the mouth is +distinct, the remainder uncertain. She laughs and the curl runs +upwards, so that you must laugh too, you cannot help it. Had the +curl gone downwards, as with habitually melancholy people, you +might have withstood her smile. The room is never dull where she +is, for there is a distinct character in it—a woman—and +not a mere living creature, and it is noticeable that if there are +five or six or more present, somehow the conversation centres round +her.</p> +<p>There was a lady I knew who had lips like these. Of the kind +they were perfect. Though she was barely fourteen she was +<i>the</i> woman of that circle by the magnetism of her mouth. When +we all met together in the evening all that went on in some way or +other centred about her. By consent the choice of what game should +be played was left to her to decide. She was asked if it was not +time for some one to sing, and the very mistress of the household +referred to her whether we should have another round or go in to +supper. Of course, she always decided as she supposed the hostess +wished. At supper, if there was a delicacy on the table it was +invariably offered to her. The eagerness of the elderly gentlemen, +who presumed on their grey locks and conventional harmlessness to +press their attentions upon her, showed who was the most attractive +person in the room. Younger men feel a certain reserve, and do not +reveal their inclinations before a crowd, but the harmless old +gentleman makes no secret of his admiration. She managed them all, +old and young, with unconscious tact, and never left the ranks of +the other ladies as a crude flirt would have done. This tact and +way of modestly holding back when so many would have pushed her too +much to the front retained for her the good word of her own sex. If +a dance was proposed it was left to her to say yes or no, and if it +was not too late the answer was usually in the affirmative. So in +the morning, should we make an excursion to some view or pleasant +wood, all eyes rested upon her, and if she thought it fine enough +away we went.</p> +<p>Her features were rather fine, but not especially so; her +complexion a little dusky, eyes grey, and dark hair; her figure +moderately tall, slender but shapely. She was always dressed well; +a certain taste marked her in everything. Upon introduction no one +would have thought anything of her; they would have said, +"insignificant—plain;" in half an hour, "different to most +girls;" in an hour, "extremely pleasant;" in a day, "a singularly +attractive girl;" and so on, till her empire was established. It +was not the features—it was the mouth, the curling lips, the +vivacity and life that sparkled in them. There is wine, +deep-coloured, strong, but smooth at the surface. There is +champagne with its richness continually rushing to the rim. Her +lips flowed with champagne. It requires a clever man indeed to +judge of men; now how could so young and inexperienced a creature +distinguish the best from so many suitors?</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="16">OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY</a></h3> +<p>The cawing of the rooks in February shows that the time is +coming when their nests will be re-occupied. They resort to the +trees, and perch above the old nests to indicate their rights; for +in the rookery possession is the law, and not nine-tenths of it +only. In the slow dull cold of winter even these noisy birds are +quiet, and as the vast flocks pass over, night and morning, to and +from the woods in which they roost, there is scarcely a sound. +Through the mist their black wings advance in silence, the jackdaws +with them are chilled into unwonted quiet, and unless you chance to +look up the crowd may go over unnoticed. But so soon as the waters +begin to make a sound in February, running in the ditches and +splashing over stones, the rooks commence the speeches and +conversations which will continue till late into the following +autumn.</p> +<p>The general idea is that they pair in February, but there are +some reasons for thinking that the rooks, in fact, choose their +males at the end of the preceding summer. They are then in large +flocks, and if only casually glanced at appear mixed together +without any order or arrangement. They move on the ground and fly +in the air so close, one beside the other, that at the first glance +or so you cannot distinguish them apart. Yet if you should be +lingering along the by-ways of the fields as the acorns fall, and +the leaves come rustling down in the warm sunny autumn afternoons, +and keep an observant eye upon the rooks in the trees, or on the +fresh-turned furrows, they will be seen to act in couples. On the +ground couples alight near each other, on the trees they perch near +each other, and in the air fly side by side. Like soldiers each has +his comrade. Wedged in the ranks every man looks like his fellow, +and there seems no tie between them but a common discipline. +Intimate acquaintance with barrack or camp life would show that +every one had his friend. There is also the mess, or companionship +of half a dozen, or dozen, or more, and something like this exists +part of the year in the armies of the rooks. After the nest time is +over they flock together, and each family of three or four flies in +concert. Later on they apparently choose their own particular +friends, that is the young birds do so. All through the winter +after, say October, these pairs keep together, though lost in the +general mass to the passing spectator. If you alarm them while +feeding on the ground in winter, supposing you have not got a gun, +they merely rise up to the nearest tree, and it may then be +observed that they do this in pairs. One perches on a branch and a +second comes to him. When February arrives, and they resort to the +nests to look after or seize on the property there, they are in +fact already paired, though the almanacs put down St. Valentine's +day as the date of courtship.</p> +<p>There is very often a warm interval in February, sometimes a few +days earlier and sometimes later, but as a rule it happens that a +week or so of mild sunny weather occurs about this time. Released +from the grip of the frost, the streams trickle forth from the +fields and pour into the ditches, so that while walking along the +footpath there is a murmur all around coming from the rush of +water. The murmur of the poets is indeed louder in February than in +the more pleasant days of summer, for then the growth of aquatic +grasses checks the flow and stills it, whilst in February every +stone, or flint, or lump of chalk divides the current and causes a +vibration, With this murmur of water, and mild time, the rooks caw +incessantly, and the birds at large essay to utter their welcome of +the sun. The wet furrows reflect the rays so that the dark earth +gleams, and in the slight mist that stays farther away the light +pauses and fills the vapour with radiance. Through this luminous +mist the larks race after each other twittering, and as they turn +aside, swerving in their swift flight, their white breasts appear +for a moment. As while standing by a pool the fishes came into +sight, emerging as they swim round from the shadow of the deeper +water, so the larks dart over the low edge, and through the mist, +and pass before you, and are gone again. All at once one checks his +pursuit, forgets the immediate object, and rises, singing as he +soars. The notes fall from the air over the dark wet earth, over +the dank grass, and broken withered fern of the hedge, and +listening to them it seems for a moment spring. There is sunshine +in the song; the lark and the light are one. He gives us a few +minutes of summer in February days. In May he rises before as yet +the dawn is come, and the sunrise flows down to us under through +his notes. On his breast, high above the earth, the first rays fall +as the rim of the sun edges up at the eastward hill. The lark and +the light are as one, and wherever he glides over the wet furrows +the glint of the sun goes with him. Anon alighting he runs between +the lines of the green corn. In hot summer, when the open hillside +is burned with bright light, the larks are then singing and +soaring. Stepping up the hill laboriously, suddenly a lark starts +into the light and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. +With bright light, and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the +bird is so associated in the mind, that even to see him in the +frosty days of wjnter, at least assures us that summer will +certainly return.</p> +<p>Ought not winter, in allegorical designs, the rather to be +represented with such things that might suggest hope than such as +convey a cold and grim despair? The withered leaf, the snowflake, +the hedging bill that cuts and destroys, why these? Why not rather +the dear larks for one? They fly in flocks, and amid the white +expanse of snow (in the south) their pleasant twitter or call is +heard as they sweep along seeking some grassy spot cleared by the +wind. The lark, the bird of the light, is there in the bitter short +days. Put the lark then for winter, a sign of hope, a certainty of +summer. Put, too, the sheathed bud, for if you search the hedge you +will find the buds there, on tree and bush, carefully wrapped +around with the case which protects them as a cloak. Put, too, the +sharp needles of the green corn; let the wind clear it of snow a +little way, and show that under cold clod and colder snow the green +thing pushes up, knowing that summer must come. Nothing despairs +but man. Set the sharp curve of the white new moon in the sky: she +is white in true frost, and yellow a little if it is devising +change. Set the new moon as something that symbols an increase. Set +the shepherd's crook in a corner as a token that the flocks are +already enlarged in number. The shepherd is the symbolic man of the +hardest winter time. His work is never more important than then. +Those that only roam the fields when they are pleasant in May, see +the lambs at play in the meadow, and naturally think of lambs and +May flowers. But the lamb was born in the adversity of snow. Or you +might set the morning star, for it burns and burns and glitters in +the winter dawn, and throws forth beams like those of metal +consumed in oxygen. There is nought that I know by comparison with +which I might indicate the glory of the morning star, while yet the +dark night hides in the hollows. The lamb is born in the fold. The +morning star glitters in the sky. The bud is alive in its sheath; +the green corn under the snow; the lark twitters as he passes. Now +these to me are the allegory of winter.</p> +<p>These mild hours in February check the hold which winter has +been gaining, and as it were, tear his claws out of the earth, +their prey. If it has not been so bitter previously, when this Gulf +stream or current of warmer air enters the expanse it may bring +forth a butterfly and tenderly woo the first violet into flower. +But this depends on its having been only moderately cold before, +and also upon the stratum, whether it is backward clay, or forward +gravel and sand. Spring dates are quite different according to the +locality, and when violets may be found in one district, in another +there is hardly a woodbine-leaf out. The border line may be traced, +and is occasionally so narrow, one may cross over it almost at a +step. It would sometimes seem as if even the nut-tree bushes bore +larger and finer nuts on the warmer soil, and that they ripened +quicker. Any curious in the first of things, whether it be a leaf, +or flower, or a bird, should bear this in mind, and not be +discouraged because he hears some one else has already discovered +or heard something.</p> +<p>A little note taken now at this bare time of the kind of earth +may lead to an understanding of the district. It is plain where the +plough has turned it, where the rabbits have burrowed and thrown it +out, where a tree has been felled by the gales, by the brook where +the bank is worn away, or by the sediment at the shallow places. +Before the grass and weeds, and corn and flowers have hidden it, +the character of the soil is evident at these natural sections +without the aid of a spade. Going slowly along the +footpath—indeed you cannot go fast in moist February—it +is a good time to select the places and map them out where herbs +and flowers will most likely come first. All the autumn lies prone +on the ground. Dead dark leaves, some washed to their woody frames, +short grey stalks, some few decayed hulls of hedge fruit, and among +these the mars or stocks of the plants that do not die away, but +lie as it were on the surface waiting. Here the strong teazle will +presently stand high; here the ground-ivy will dot the mound with +bluish-purple. But it will be necessary to walk slowly to find the +ground-ivy flowers under the cover of the briers. These bushes will +be a likely place for a blackbird's nest; this thick close hawthorn +for a bullfinch; these bramble thickets with remnants of old nettle +stalks will be frequented by the whitethroat after a while. The +hedge is now but a lattice-work which will before long be hung with +green. Now it can be seen through, and now is the time to arrange +for future discovery. In May everything will be hidden, and unless +the most promising places are selected beforehand, it will not be +easy to search them out. The broad ditch will be arched over, the +plants rising on the mound will meet the green boughs drooping, and +all the vacancy will be filled. But having observed the spot in +winter you can almost make certain of success in spring.</p> +<p>It is this previous knowledge which invests those who are always +on the spot, those who work much in the fields or have the care of +woods, with their apparent prescience. They lead the new comer to a +hedge, or the corner of a copse, or a bend of the brook, announcing +beforehand that they feel assured something will be found there; +and so it is. This, too, is one reason why a fixed observer usually +sees more than one who rambles a great deal and covers ten times +the space. The fixed observer who hardly goes a mile from home is +like the man who sits still by the edge of a crowd, and by-and-by +his lost companion returns to him. To walk about in search of +persons in a crowd is well known to be the worst way of recovering +them. Sit still and they will often come by. In a far more certain +manner this is the case with birds and animals. They all come back. +During a twelvemonth probably every creature would pass over a +given locality: every creature that is not confined to certain +places. The whole army of the woods and hedges marches across a +single farm in twelve months. A single tree—especially an old +tree—is visited by four-fifths of the birds that ever perch +in the course of that period. Every year, too, brings something +fresh, and adds new visitors to the list. Even the wild sea birds +are found inland, and some that scarce seem able to fly at all are +cast far ashore by the gales. It is difficult to believe that one +would not see more by extending the journey, but, in fact, +experience proves that the longer a single locality is studied the +more is found in it. But you should know the places in winter as +well as in tempting summer, when song and shade and colour attract +every one to the field. You should face the mire and slippery path. +Nature yields nothing to the sybarite. The meadow glows with +buttercups in spring, the hedges are green, the woods lovely; but +these are not to be enjoyed in their full significance unless you +have traversed the same places when bare, and have watched the slow +fulfilment of the flowers.</p> +<p>The moist leaves that remain upon the mounds do not rustle, and +the thrush moves among them unheard. The sunshine may bring out a +rabbit, feeding along the slope of the mound, following the paths +or runs. He picks his way, he does not like wet. Though out at +night in the dewy grass of summer, in the rain-soaked grass of +winter, and living all his life in the earth, often damp nearly to +his burrows, no time, and no succession of generations can make him +like wet. He endures it, but he picks his way round the dead fern +and the decayed leaves. He sits in the bunches of long grass, but +he does not like the drops of dew on it to touch him. Water lays +his fur close, and mats it, instead of running off and leaving him +sleek. As he hops a little way at a time on the mound he chooses +his route almost as we pick ours in the mud and pools of February. +By the shore of the ditch there still stand a few dry, dead dock +stems, with some dry reddish-brown seed adhering. Some dry brown +nettle stalks remain; some grey and broken thistles; some teazles +leaning on the bushes. The power of winter has reached its utmost +now, and can go no farther. These bines which still hang in the +bushes are those of the greater bindweed, and will be used in a +month or so by many birds as conveniently curved to fit about their +nests. The stem of wild clematis, grey and bowed, could scarcely +look more dead. Fibres are peeling from it, they come off at the +touch of the fingers. The few brown feathers that perhaps still +adhere where the flowers once were are stained and discoloured by +the beating of the rain. It is not dead: it will flourish again ere +long. It is the sturdiest of creepers, facing the ferocious winds +of the hills, the tremendous rains that blow up from the sea, and +bitter frost, if only it can get its roots into soil that suits it. +In some places it takes the place of the hedge proper and becomes +itself the hedge. Many of the trunks of the elms are swathed in +minute green vegetation which has flourished in the winter, as the +clematis will in in the summer. Of all, the brambles bear the wild +works of winter best. Given only a little shelter, in the corner of +the hedges or under trees and copses they retain green leaves till +the buds burst again. The frosts tint them in autumn with crimson, +but not all turn colour or fall. The brambles are the bowers of the +birds; in these still leafy bowers they do the courting of the +spring, and under the brambles the earliest arum, and cleaver, or +avens, push up. Round about them the first white nettle flowers, +not long now; latest too, in the autumn. The white nettle sometimes +blooms so soon (always according to locality), and again so late, +that there seems but a brief interval between, as if it flowered +nearly all the year round. So the berries on the holly if let alone +often stay till summer is in, and new berries begin to appear +shortly afterwards. The ivy, too, bears its berries far into the +summer. Perhaps if the country be taken at large there is never a +time when there is not a flower of some kind out, in this or that +warm southern nook. The sun never sets, nor do the flowers ever +die. There is life always, even in the dry fir-cone that looks so +brown and sapless.</p> +<p>The path crosses the uplands where the lapwings stand on the +parallel ridges of the ploughed field like a drilled company; if +they rise they wheel as one, and in the twilight move across the +fields in bands invisible as they sweep near the ground, but seen +against the sky in rising over the trees and the hedges. There is a +plantation of fir and ash on the slope, and a narrow waggon-way +enters it, and seems to lose itself in the wood. Always approach +this spot quietly, for whatever is in the wood is sure at some time +or other to come to the open space of the track. Wood-pigeons, +pheasants, squirrels, magpies, hares, everything feathered or +furred, down to the mole, is sure to seek the open way. Butterflies +flutter through the copse by it in summer, just as you or I might +use the passage between the trees. Towards the evening the +partridges may run through to join their friends before roost-time +on the ground. Or you may see a covey there now and then, creeping +slowly with humped backs, and at a distance not unlike hedgehogs in +their motions. The spot therefore should be approached with care; +if it is only a thrush out it is a pleasure to see him at his ease +and, as he deems, unobserved. If a bird or animal thinks itself +noticed it seldom does much, some will cease singing immediately +they are looked at. The day is perceptibly longer already. As the +sun goes down, the western sky often takes a lovely green tint in +this month, and one stays to look at it, forgetting the dark and +miry way homewards. I think the moments when we forget the mire of +the world are the most precious. After a while the green corn rises +higher out of the rude earth.</p> +<p>Pure colour almost always gives the idea of fire, or rather it +is perhaps as if a light shone through as well as colour itself. +The fresh green blade of corn is like this, so pellucid, so clear +and pure in its green as to seem to shine with colour. It is not +brilliant—not a surface gleam or an enamel,—it is +stained through. Beside the moist clods the slender flags arise +filled with the sweetness of the earth. Out of the darkness +under—that darkness which knows no day save when the +ploughshare opens its chinks—they have come to the light. To +the light they have brought a colour which will attract the +sunbeams from now till harvest. They fall more pleasantly on the +corn, toned, as if they mingled with it. Seldom do we realise that +the world is practically no thicker to us than the print of our +footsteps on the path. Upon that surface we walk and act our comedy +of life, and what is beneath is nothing to us. But it is out from +that under-world, from the dead and the unknown, from the cold +moist ground, that these green blades have sprung. Yonder a +steam-plough pants up the hill, groaning with its own strength, yet +all that strength and might of wheels, and piston, and chains, +cannot drag from the earth one single blade like these. Force +cannot make it; it must grow—an easy word to speak or write, +in fact full of potency. It is this mystery of growth and life, of +beauty, and sweetness, and colour, starting forth from the clods +that gives the corn its power over me. Somehow I identify myself +with it; I live again as I see it. Year by year it is the same, and +when I see it I feel that I have once more entered on a new life. +And I think the spring, with its green corn, its violets, and +hawthorn-leaves, and increasing song, grows yearly dearer and more +dear to this our ancient earth. So many centuries have flown! Now +it is the manner with all natural things to gather as it were by +smallest particles. The merest grain of sand drifts unseen into a +crevice, and by-and-by another; after a while there is a heap; a +century and it is a mound, and then every one observes and comments +on it. Time itself has gone on like this; the years have +accumulated, first in drifts, then in heaps, and now a vast mound, +to which the mountains are knolls, rises up and overshadows us. +Time lies heavy on the world. The old, old earth is glad to turn +from the cark and care of drifted centuries to the first sweet +blades of green.</p> +<p>There is sunshine to-day after rain, and every lark is singing. +Across the vale a broad cloud-shadow descends the hillside, is lost +in the hollow, and presently, without warning, slips over the edge, +coming swiftly along the green tips. The sunshine follows—the +warmer for its momentary absence. Far, far down in a grassy coomb +stands a solitary cornrick, conical roofed, casting a lonely +shadow—marked because so solitary, and beyond it on the +rising slope is a brown copse. The leafless branches take a brown +tint in the sunlight; on the summit above there is furze; then more +hill lines drawn against the sky. In the tops of the dark pines at +the corner of the copse, could the glance sustain itself to see +them, there are finches warming themselves in the sunbeams. The +thick needles shelter them, from the current of air, and the sky is +bluer above the pines. Their hearts are full already of the happy +days to come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the lichen on +the fir-trunk, and the loose fibres caught in the fork of an +unbending bough, shall furnish forth a sufficient mansion for their +young. Another broad cloud-shadow, and another warm embrace of +sunlight. All the serried ranks of the green corn bow at the word +of command as the wind rushes over them.</p> +<p>There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as the down and free +as the wind, the thought can roam high over the narrow roofs in the +vale. Nature has affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, and +walls, and crooked fences deep down yonder are artificial. The +fetters and traditions, the routine, the dull roundabout which +deadens the spirit like the cold moist earth, are the merest +nothings. Here it is easy with the physical eye to look over the +highest roof. The moment the eye of the mind is filled with the +beauty of things natural an equal freedom and width of view come to +it. Step aside from the trodden footpath of personal experience, +throwing away the petty cynicism born of petty hopes disappointed. +Step out upon the broad down beside the green corn, and let its +freshness become part of life.</p> +<p>The wind passes, and it bends—let the wind, too, pass over +the spirit. From the cloud-shadow it emerges to the +sunshine—let the heart come out from the shadow of roofs to +the open glow of the sky. High above, the songs of the larks fall +as rain—receive it with open hands. Pure is the colour of the +green flags, the slender-pointed blades—let the thought be +pure as the light that shines through that colour. Broad are the +downs and open the aspect—gather the breadth and largeness of +view. Never can that view be wide enough and large enough, there +will always be room to aim higher. As the air of the hills enriches +the blood, so let the presence of these beautiful things enrich the +inner sense. One memory of the green corn, fresh beneath the sun +and wind, will lift up the heart from the clods.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="17">HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I—WINTER</h4> +<p>Coming like a white wall the rain reaches me, and in an instant +everything is gone from sight that is more than ten yards distant. +The narrow upland road is beaten to a darker hue, and two runnels +of water rush along at the sides, where, when the chalk-laden +streamlets dry, blue splinters of flint will be exposed in the +channels. For a moment the air seems driven away by the sudden +pressure, and I catch my breath and stand still with one shoulder +forward to receive the blow. Hiss, the land shudders under the cold +onslaught; hiss, and on the blast goes, and the sound with it, for +the very fury of the rain, after the first second, drowns its own +noise. There is not a single creature visible, the low and stunted +hedgerows, bare of leaf, could conceal nothing; the rain passes +straight through to the ground. Crooked and gnarled, the bushes are +locked together as if in no other way could they hold themselves +against the gales. Such little grass as there is on the mounds is +thin and short, and could not hide a mouse. There is no finch, +sparrow, thrush, blackbird. As the wave of rain passes over and +leaves a hollow between the waters, that which has gone and that to +come, the ploughed lands on either side are seen to be equally +bare. In furrows full of water, a hare would not sit, nor partridge +run; the larks, the patient larks which endure almost everything, +even they have gone. Furrow on furrow with flints dotted on their +slopes, and chalk lumps, that is all. The cold earth gives no sweet +petal of flower, nor can any bud of thought or bloom of imagination +start forth in the mind. But step by step, forcing a way through +the rain and over the ridge, I find a small and stunted copse down +in the next hollow. It is rather a wide hedge than a copse, and +stands by the road in the corner of a field. The boughs are bare; +still they break the storm, and it is a relief to wait a while +there and rest. After a minute or so the eye gets accustomed to the +branches and finds a line of sight through the narrow end of the +copse. Within twenty yards—just outside the copse—there +are a number of lapwings, dispersed about the furrows. One runs a +few feet forward and picks something from the ground; another runs +in the same manner to one side; a third rushes in still a third +direction. Their crests, their green-tinted wings, and white +breasts are not disarranged by the torrent. Something in the style +of the birds recalls the wagtail, though they are so much larger. +Beyond these are half a dozen more, and in a straggling line others +extend out into the field. They have found some slight shelter here +from the sweeping of the rain and wind, and are not obliged to face +it as in the open. Minutely searching every clod they gather their +food in imperceptible items from the surface.</p> +<p>Sodden leaves lie in the furrows along the side of the copse; +broken and decaying burdocks still uphold their jagged stems, but +will be soaked away by degrees; dank grasses droop outwards! the +red seed of a dock is all that remains of the berries and fruit, +the seeds and grain of autumn. Like the hedge, the copse is vacant. +Nothing moves within, watch as carefully as I may. The boughs are +blackened by wet and would touch cold. From the grasses to the +branches there is nothing any one would like to handle, and I stand +apart even from the bush that keeps away the rain. The green +plovers are the only things of life that save the earth from utter +loneliness. Heavily as the rain may fall, cold as the saturated +wind may blow, the plovers remind us of the beauty of shape, +colour, and animation. They seem too slender to withstand the +blast—they should have gone with the swallows—too +delicate for these rude hours; yet they alone face them.</p> +<p>Once more the wave of rain has passed, and yonder the hills +appear; these are but uplands. The nearest and highest has a green +rampart, visible for a moment against the dark sky, and then again +wrapped in a toga of misty cloud. So the chilled Roman drew his +toga around him in ancient days as from that spot he looked +wistfully southwards and thought of Italy. Wee-ah-wee! Some chance +movement has been noticed by the nearest bird, and away they go at +once as if with the same wings, sweeping overhead, then to the +right, then to the left, and then back again, till at last lost in +the coming shower. After they have thus vibrated to and fro long +enough, like a pendulum coming to rest, they will alight in the +open field on the ridge behind. There in drilled ranks, well closed +together, all facing the same way, they will stand for hours. Let +us go also and let the shower conceal them. Another time my path +leads over the hills.</p> +<p>It is afternoon, which in winter is evening. The sward of the +down is dry under foot, but hard, and does not lift the instep with +the springy feel of summer. The sky is gone, it is not clouded, it +is swathed in gloom. Upwards the still air thickens, and there is +no arch or vault of heaven. Formless and vague, it seems some vast +shadow descending. The sun has disappeared, and the light there +still is, is left in the atmosphere enclosed by the gloomy mist as +pools are left by a receding tide. Through the sand the water +slips, and through the mist the light glides away. Nearer comes the +formless shadow and the visible earth grows smaller. The path has +faded, and there are no means on the open downs of knowing whether +the direction pursued is right or wrong, till a boulder (which is a +landmark) is perceived. Thence the way is down the slope, the last +and limit of the hills there. It is a rough descent, the paths worn +by sheep may at any moment cause a stumble. At the foot is a +waggon-track beside a low hedge, enclosing the first arable field. +The hedge is a guide, but the ruts are deep, and it still needs +slow and careful walking. Wee-ah-wee! Up from the dusky surface of +the arable field springs a plover, and the notes are immediately +repeated by another. They can just be seen as darker bodies against +the shadow as they fly overhead. Wee-ah-wee! The sound grows +fainter as they fetch a longer circle in the gloom.</p> +<p>There is another winter resort of plovers in the valley where a +barren waste was ploughed some years ago. A few furze bushes still +stand in the hedges about it, and the corners are full of rushes. +Not all the grubbing of furze and bushes, the deep ploughing and +draining, has succeeded in rendering the place fertile like the +adjacent fields. The character of a marsh adheres to it still. So +long as there is a crop, the lapwings keep away, but as soon as the +ploughs turn up the ground in autumn they return. The place lies +low, and level with the waters in the ponds and streamlets. A mist +hangs about it in the evening, and even when there is none, there +is a distinct difference in the atmosphere while passing it. From +their hereditary home the lapwings cannot be entirely driven away. +Out of the mist comes their plaintive cry; they are hidden, and +their exact locality is not to be discovered. Where winter rules +most ruthlessly, where darkness is deepest in daylight, there the +slender plovers stay undaunted.</p> +<h4 align="center">II—SPRING</h4> +<p>A soft sound of water moving among thousands of +grass-blades—to the hearing it is as the sweetness of spring +air to the scent. It is so faint and so diffused that the exact +spot whence it issues cannot be discerned, yet it is distinct, and +my footsteps are slower as I listen. Yonder, in the corners of the +mead, the atmosphere is full of some ethereal vapour. The sunshine +stays in the air there, as if the green hedges held the wind from +brushing it away. Low and plaintive come the notes of a lapwing; +the same notes, but tender with love.</p> +<p>On this side, by the hedge, the ground is a little higher and +dry, hung over with the lengthy boughs of an oak, which give some +shade. I always feel a sense of regret when I see a seedling oak in +the grass. The two green leaves—the little stem so upright +and confident, and, though but a few inches high, already so +completely a tree—are in themselves beautiful. Power, +endurance, grandeur are there; you can grasp all with your hand, +and take a ship between the finger and thumb. Time, that sweeps +away everything, is for a while repelled; the oak will grow when +the time we know is forgotten, and when felled will be the mainstay +and safety of a generation in a future century. That the plant +should start among the grass, to be severed by the scythe or +crushed by cattle, is very pitiful; I cannot help wishing that it +could be transplanted and protected. Of the countless acorns that +drop in autumn not one in a million is permitted to become a +tree—a vast waste of strength and beauty. From the bushes by +the stile on the left hand, which I have just passed, follows the +long whistle of a nightingale. His nest is near; he sings night and +day. Had I waited on the stile, in a few minutes, becoming used to +my presence, he would have made the hawthorn vibrate, so powerful +in his voice when heard close at hand. There is not another +nightingale along this path for at least a mile, though it crosses +meadows and runs by hedges to all appearance equally suitable; but +nightingales will not pass their limits; they seem to have a +marked-out range as strictly defined as the lines of a geological +map. They will not go over to the next hedge—hardly into the +field on one side of a favourite spot, nor a yard farther along the +mound, Opposite the oak is a low fence of serrated green. Just +projecting above the edge of a brook, fast-growing flags have +thrust up their bayonet-tips. Beneath their stalks are so thick in +the shallow places that a pike can scarcely push a way between +them. Over the brook stand some high maple trees; to their thick +foliage wood-pigeons come. The entrance to a coomb, the widening +mouth of a valley, is beyond, with copses on the slopes.</p> +<p>Again the plover's notes; this time in the field immediately +behind; repeated, too, in the field on the right hand. One comes +over, and as he flies he jerks a wing upwards and partly turns on +his side in the air, rolling like a vessel in a swell. He seems to +beat the air sideways, as if against a wall, not downwards. This +habit makes his course appear so uncertain; he may go there, or +yonder, or in a third direction, more undecided than a startled +snipe. Is there a little vanity in that wanton flight? Is there a +little consciousness of the spring-freshened colours of his +plumage, and pride in the dainty touch of his wings on the sweet +wind? His love is watching his wayward course. He prolongs it. He +has but a few yards to fly to reach the well-known feeding-ground +by the brook where the grass is short; perhaps it has been eaten +off by sheep. It is a straight and easy line as a starling would +fly. The plover thinks nothing of a straight line; he winds first +with the course of the hedge, then rises aslant, uttering his cry, +wheels, and returns; now this way, direct at me, as if his object +was to display his snowy breast; suddenly rising aslant again, he +wheels once more, and goes right away from his object over above +the field whence he came. Another moment and he returns; and so to +and fro, and round and round, till with a sidelong, unexpected +sweep he alights by the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his +cry, and runs a yard or so forward. In a little while a second +plover arrives from the field behind. He too dances a maze in the +air before he settles. Soon a third joins them. They are visible at +that spot because the grass is short, elsewhere they would be +hidden. If one of these rises and flies to and fro almost instantly +another follows, and then it is, indeed, a dance before they +alight. The wheeling, maze-tracing, devious windings continue till +the eye wearies and rests with pleasure on a passing butterfly. +These birds have nests in the meadows adjoining; they meet here as +a common feeding-ground. Presently they will disperse, each +returning to his mate at the nest. Half an hour afterwards they +will meet once more, either here or on the wing.</p> +<p>In this manner they spend their time from dawn through the +flower-growing day till dusk. When the sun arises over the hill +into the sky already blue the plovers have been up a long while. +All the busy morning they go to and fro—the busy morning, +when the wood-pigeons cannot rest in the copses on the coomb-side, +but continually fly in and out; when the blackbirds whistle in the +oaks, when the bluebells gleam with purplish lustre. At noontide, +in the dry heat, it is pleasant to listen to the sound of water +moving among the thousand thousand grass-blades of the mead. The +flower-growing day lengthens out beyond the sunset, and till the +hedges are dim the lapwings do not cease.</p> +<p>Leaving now the shade of the oak, I follow the path into the +meadow on the right, stepping by the way over a streamlet, which +diffuses its rapid current broadcast over the sward till it +collects again and pours into the brook. This next meadow is +somewhat more raised, and not watered; the grass is high and full +of buttercups. Before I have gone twenty yards a lapwing rises out +in the field, rushes towards me through the air, and circles round +my head, making as if to dash at me, and uttering shrill cries. +Immediately another comes from the mead behind the oak; then a +third from over the hedge, and all those that have been feeding by +the brook, till I am encircled with them. They wheel round, dive, +rise aslant, cry, and wheel again, always close over me, till I +have walked some distance, when, one by one, they fall off, and, +still uttering threats, retire. There is a nest in this meadow, +and, although it is, no doubt, a long way from the path, my +presence even in the field, large as it is, is resented. The couple +who imagine their possessions threatened are quickly joined by +their friends, and there is no rest till I have left their +treasures far behind.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="18">OUTSIDE LONDON</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>There was something dark on the grass under an elm in the field +by the barn. It rose and fell; and we saw that it was a +wing—a single black wing, striking the ground instead of the +air; indeed, it seemed to come out of the earth itself, the body of +the bird being hidden by the grass. This black wing flapped and +flapped, but could not lift itself—a single wing of course +could not fly. A rook had dropped out of the elm and was lying +helpless at the foot of the tree—it is a favourite tree with +rooks; they build in it, and at that moment there were twenty or +more perched aloft, cawing and conversing comfortably, without the +least thought of their dying comrade. Not one of all the number +descended to see what was the matter, nor even fluttered half-way +down. This elm is their clubhouse, where they meet every afternoon +as the sun gets low to discuss the scandals of the day, before +retiring to roost in the avenues and tree-groups of the park +adjacent. While we looked, a peacock came round the corner of the +barn; he had caught sight of the flapping wing, and approached with +long deliberate steps and outstretched neck. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! What's +this? What's this?" he inquired in bird-language. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! My +friends, see here!" Gravely, and step by step, he came nearer and +nearer, slowly, and not without some fear, till curiosity had +brought him within a yard. In a moment or two a peahen followed and +also stretched out her neck—the two long necks pointing at +the black flapping wing. A second peacock and peahen approached, +and the four great birds stretched out their necks towards the +dying rook—a "crowner's quest" upon the unfortunate +creature.</p> +<p>If any one had been at hand to sketch it, the scene would have +been very grotesque, and not without a ludicrous sadness. There was +the tall elm tinted with yellow, the black rooks high above flying +in and out, yellow leaves twirling down, the blue peacocks with +their crests, the red barn behind, the golden sun afar shining low +through the trees of the park, the brown autumn sward, a grey +horse, orange maple bushes. There was the quiet tone of the coming +evening—the early evening of October—such an evening as +the rook had seen many a time from the tops of the trees. A man +dies, and the crowd goes on passing under the window along the +street without a thought. The rook died, and his friends, who had +that day been with him in the oaks feasting on acorns, who had been +with him in the fresh-turned furrows, born perhaps in the same +nest, utterly forgot him before he was dead. With a great common +caw—a common shout—they suddenly left the tree in a +bevy and flew towards the park. The peacocks having brought in +their verdict, departed, and the dead bird was left alone.</p> +<p>In falling out of the elm, the rook had alighted partly on his +side and partly on his back, so that he could only flutter one +wing, the other being held down by his own weight. He had probably +died from picking up poisoned grain somewhere, or from a parasite. +The weather had been open, and he could not have been starved. At a +distance, the rook's plumage appears black; but close at hand it +will be found a fine blue-black, glossy, and handsome.</p> +<p>These peacocks are the best "rain-makers" in the place; whenever +they cry much, it is sure to rain; and if they persist day after +day, the rain is equally continuous. From the wall by the barn, or +the elm-branch above, their cry resounds like the wail of a +gigantic cat, and is audible half a mile or more. In the summer, I +found one of them, a peacock in the fall brilliance of his colours, +on a rail in the hedge under a spreading maple bush. His rich-hued +neck, the bright light and shadow, the tall green meadow grass, +brought together the finest colours. It is curious that a bird so +distinctly foreign, plumed for the Asiatic sun, should fit so well +with English meads. His splendid neck immediately pleases, pleases +the first time it is seen, and on the fiftieth occasion. I see +these every day, and always stop to look at them; the colour +excites the sense of beauty in the eye, and the shape satisfies the +idea of form. The undulating curve of the neck is at once approved +by the intuitive judgment of the mind, and it is a pleasure to the +mind to reiterate that judgment frequently. It needs no teaching to +see its beauty—the feeling comes of itself.</p> +<p>How different with the turkey-cock which struts round the same +barn! A fine big bird he is, no doubt; but there is no intrinsic +beauty about him; on the contrary, there is something fantastic in +his style and plumage. He has a way of drooping his wings as if +they were armour-plates to shield him from a shot. The ornaments +upon his head and beak are in the most awkward position. He was put +together in a dream, of uneven and odd pieces that live and move, +but do not fit. Ponderously gawky, he steps as if the world was +his, like a "motley" crowned in sport. He is good eating, but he is +not beautiful. After the eye has been accustomed to him for some +time—after you have fed him every day and come to take an +interest in him—after you have seen a hundred turkey-cocks, +then he may become passable, or, if you have the fancier's taste, +exquisite. Education is requisite first; you do not fall in love at +first sight. The same applies to fancy-pigeons, and indeed many pet +animals, as pugs, which come in time to be animated with a soul in +some people's eyes. Compare a pug with a greyhound straining at the +leash. Instantly he is slipped he is gone as a wave let loose. His +flexible back bends and undulates, arches and unarches, rises and +falls as a wave rises and rolls on. His pliant ribs open; his whole +frame "gives" and stretches, and closing again in a curve, springs +forward. Movement is as easy to him as to the wave, which melting, +is remoulded, and sways onward. The curve of the greyhound is not +only the line of beauty, but a line which suggests motion; and it +is the idea of motion, I think, which so strongly appeals to the +mind.</p> +<p>We are often scornfully treated as a nation by people who write +about art, because they say we have no taste; we cannot make art +jugs for the mantelpiece, crockery for the bracket, screens for the +fire; we cannot even decorate the wall of a room as it should be +done. If these are the standards by which a sense of art is to be +tried, their scorn is to a certain degree just. But suppose we try +another standard. Let us put aside the altogether false opinion +that art consists alone in something actually made, or painted, or +decorated, in carvings, colourings, touches of brush or chisel. Let +us look at our lives. I mean to say that there is no nation so +thoroughly and earnestly artistic as the English in their lives, +their joys, their thoughts, their hopes. Who loves nature like an +Englishman? Do Italians care for their pale skies? I never heard +so. We go all over the world in search of beauty—to the keen +north, to the cape whence the midnight sun is visible, to the +extreme south, to the interior of Africa, gazing at the vast +expanse of Tanganyika or the marvellous falls of the Zambesi. We +admire the temples and tombs and palaces of India; we speak of the +Alhambra of Spain almost in whispers, so deep is our reverent +admiration; we visit the Parthenon. There is not a picture or a +statue in Europe we have not sought. We climb the mountains for +their views and the sense of grandeur they inspire; we roam over +the wide ocean to the coral islands of the far Pacific; we go deep +into the woods of the West; and we stand dreamily under the +Pyramids of the East. What part is there of the English year which +has not been sung by the poets? all of whom are full of its +loveliness; and our greatest of all, Shakespeare, carries, as it +were, armfuls of violets, and scatters roses and golden wheat +across his pages, which are simply fields written with human +life.</p> +<p>This is art indeed—art in the mind and soul, infinitely +deeper, surely, than the construction of crockery, jugs for the +mantelpiece, dados, or even of paintings. The lover of nature has +the highest art in his soul. So, I think, the bluff English farmer +who takes such pride and delight in his dogs and horses, is a much +greater man of art than any Frenchman preparing with cynical +dexterity of hand some coloured presentment of flashy beauty for +the <i>salon</i>. The English girl who loves her horse—and +English girls <i>do</i> love their horses most intensely—is +infinitely more artistic in that fact than the cleverest painter on +enamel. They who love nature are the real artists; the "artists" +are copyists, St. John the naturalist, when exploring the recesses +of the Highlands, relates how he frequently came in contact with +men living in the rude Highland way—forty years since, no +education then—whom at first you would suppose to be morose, +unobservant, almost stupid. But when they found out that their +visitor would stay for hours gazing in admiration at their glens +and mountains, their demeanour changed. Then the truth appeared: +they were fonder than he was himself of the beauties of their hills +and lakes; they could see the art <i>there</i>, though perhaps they +had never seen a picture in their lives, certainly not any +blue-and-white crockery. The Frenchman flings his fingers +dexterously over the canvas, but he has never had that in his heart +which the rude Highlander had.</p> +<p>The path across the arable field was covered with a design of +bird's feet. The reversed broad arrow of the fore-claws, and the +straight line of the hinder claw, trailed all over it in curving +lines. In the dry dust, their feet were marked as clearly as a seal +on wax—their trails wound this way and that, and crossed as +their quick eyes had led them to turn to find something. For fifty +or sixty yards the path was worked with an inextricable design; it +was a pity to step on it and blot out the traces of those little +feet. Their hearts so happy, their eyes so observant, the earth so +bountiful to them with its supply of food, and the late warmth of +the autumn sun lighting up their life. They know and feel the +different loveliness of the seasons as much as we do. Every one +must have noticed their joyousness in spring; they are quiet, but +so very, very busy in the height of summer; as autumn comes on they +obviously delight in the occasional hours of warmth. The marks of +their little feet are almost sacred—a joyous life has been +there—do not obliterate it. It is so delightful to know that +something is happy.</p> +<p>The hawthorn hedge that goes down the slope is more coloured +than the hedges in the sheltered plain. Yonder, a low bush on the +brow is a deep crimson; the hedge as it descends varies from brown +to yellow, dotted with red haws, and by the gateway has another +spot of crimson. The lime trees turn yellow from top to bottom, all +the leaves together; the elms by one or two branches at a time. A +lime tree thus entirely coloured stands side by side with an elm, +their boughs intermingling; the elm is green except a line at the +outer extremity of its branches. A red light as of fire plays in +the beeches, so deep is their orange tint in which the sunlight is +caught. An oak is dotted with buff, while yet the main body of the +foliage is untouched. With these tints and sunlight, nature gives +us so much more than the tree gives. A tree is nothing but a tree +in itself: but with light and shadow, green leaves moving, a bird +singing, another moving to and fro—in autumn with +colour—the boughs are filled with imagination. There then +seems so much more than the mere tree; the timber of the trunk, the +mere sticks of the branches, the wooden framework is animated with +a life. High above, a lark sings, not for so long as in +spring—the October song is shorter—but still he sings. +If you love colour, plant maple; maple bushes colour a whole hedge. +Upon the bank of a pond, the brown oak-leaves which have fallen are +reflected in the still deep water.</p> +<p>It is from the hedges that taste must be learned. A garden abuts +on these fields, and being on slightly rising ground, the maple +bushes, the brown and yellow and crimson hawthorn, the limes and +elms, are all visible from it; yet it is surrounded by stiff, +straight iron railings, unconcealed even by the grasses, which are +carefully cut down with the docks and nettles, that do their best, +three or four times in the summer, to hide the blank iron. Within +these iron railings stands a row of <i>arbor vitæ</i>, +upright, and stiff likewise, and among them a few other evergreens; +and that is all the shelter the lawn and flower-beds have from the +east wind, blowing for miles over open country, or from the glowing +sun of August. This garden belongs to a gentleman who would +certainly spare no moderate expense to improve it, and yet there it +remains, the blankest, barest, most miserable-looking square of +ground the eye can find; the only piece of ground from which the +eye turns away; for even the potato-field close by, the common +potato-field, had its colour in bright poppies, and there were +partridges in it, and at the edges, fine growths of mallow and its +mauve flowers. Wild parsley, still green in the shelter of the +hazel stoles, is there now on the bank, a thousand times sweeter to +the eye than bare iron and cold evergreens. Along that hedge, the +white bryony wound itself in the most beautiful manner, completely +covering the upper part of the thick brambles, a robe thrown over +the bushes; its deep cut leaves, its countless tendrils, its +flowers, and presently the berries, giving pleasure every time one +passed it. Indeed, you could not pass without stopping to look at +it, and wondering if any one ever so skilful, even those +sure-handed Florentines Mr. Ruskin thinks so much of, could ever +draw that intertangled mass of lines. Nor could you easily draw the +leaves and head of the great parsley—commonest of +hedge-plants—the deep indented leaves, and the shadow by +which to express them. There was work enough in that short piece of +hedge by the potato-field for a good pencil every day the whole +summer. And when done, you would not have been satisfied with it, +but only have learned how complex and how thoughtful and far +reaching Nature is in the simplest of things. But with a +straight-edge or ruler, any one could draw the iron railings in +half an hour, and a surveyor's pupil could make them look as well +as Millais himself. Stupidity to stupidity, genius to genius; any +hard fist can manage iron railings; a hedge is a task for the +greatest.</p> +<p>Those, therefore, who really wish their gardens or grounds, or +any place, beautiful, must get that greatest of geniuses, Nature, +to help them, and give their artist freedom to paint to fancy, for +it is Nature's imagination which delights us—as I tried to +explain about the tree, the imagination, and not the fact of the +timber and sticks. For those white bryony leaves and slender +spirals and exquisitely defined flowers are full of imagination, +products of a sunny dream, and tinted so tastefully, that although +they are green, and all about them is green too, yet the plant is +quite distinct, and in no degree confused or lost in the mass of +leaves under and by it. It stands out, and yet without violent +contrast. All these beauties of form and colour surround the place, +and try, as it were, to march in and take possession, but are shut +out by straight iron railings. Wonderful it is that education +should make folk tasteless! Such, certainly, seems to be the case +in a great measure, and not in our own country only, for those who +know Italy tell us that the fine old gardens there, dating back to +the days of the Medici, are being despoiled of ilex and made formal +and straight. Is all the world to be Versaillised?</p> +<p>Scarcely two hundred yards from these cold iron railings, which +even nettles and docks would hide if they could, and thistles +strive to conceal, but are not permitted, there is an old cottage +by the roadside. The roof is of old tile, once red, now dull from +weather; the walls some tone of yellow; the folk are poor. Against +it there grows a vigorous plant of jessamine, a still finer rose, a +vine covers the lean-to at one end, and tea-plant the corner of the +wall; beside these, there is a yellow-flowering plant, the name of +which I forget at the moment, also trained to the walls; and ivy. +Altogether, six plants grow up the walls of the cottage; and over +the wicket-gate there is a rude arch—a framework of tall +sticks—from which droop thick bunches of hops. It is a very +commonplace sort of cottage; nothing artistically picturesque about +it, no effect of gable or timber-work; it stands by the roadside in +the most commonplace way, and yet it pleases. They have called in +Nature, that great genius, and let the artist have his own way. In +Italy, the art-country, they cut down the ilex trees, and get the +surveyor's pupil with straight-edge and ruler to put it right and +square for them. Our over-educated and well-to-do people set iron +railings round about their blank pleasure-grounds, which the +potato-field laughs at in bright poppies; and actually one who has +some fine park-grounds has lifted up on high a mast and +weather-vane! a thing useful on the sea-board at coastguard +stations for signalling, but oh! how repellent and straight and +stupid among clumps of graceful elms!</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +<p>The dismal pits in a disused brickfield, unsightly square holes +in a waste, are full in the shallow places of an aquatic grass, +Reed Canary Grass, I think, which at this time of mists stretches +forth sharp-pointed tongues over the stagnant water. These +sharp-pointed leaf-tongues are all on one side of the stalks, so +that the most advanced project across the surface, as if the water +were the canvas, and the leaves drawn on it. For water seems always +to rise away from you—to slope slightly upwards; even a pool +has that appearance, and therefore anything standing in it is drawn +on it as you might sketch on this paper. You see the water beyond +and above the top of the plant, and the smooth surface gives the +leaf and stalk a sharp, clear definition. But the mass of the tall +grass crowds together, every leaf painted yellow by the autumn, a +thick cover at the pit-side. This tall grass always awakes my +fancy, its shape partly, partly its thickness, perhaps; and yet +these feelings are not to be analysed. I like to look at it; I like +to stand or move among it on the bank of a brook, to feel it touch +and rustle against me. A sense of wildness comes with its touch, +and I feel a little as I might feel if there was a vast forest +round about. As a few strokes from a loving hand will soothe a +weary forehead, so the gentle pressure of the wild grass soothes +and strokes away the nervous tension born of civilised life.</p> +<p>I could write a whole history of it; the time when the leaves +were fresh and green, and the sedge-birds frequented it; the time +when the moorhen's young crept after their mother through its +recesses; from the singing of the cuckoo by the river, till now +brown and yellow leaves strew the water. They strew, too, the dry +brown grass of the land, thick tuffets, and lie even among the +rushes, blown hither from the distant trees. The wind works its +full will over the exposed waste, and drives through the +reed-grass, scattering the stalks aside, and scarce giving them +time to spring together again, when the following blast a second +time divides them.</p> +<p>A cruder piece of ground, ruder and more dismal in its unsightly +holes, could not be found; and yet, because of the reed-grass, it +is made as it were full of thought. I wonder the painters, of whom +there are so many nowadays, armies of amateurs, do not sometimes +take these scraps of earth and render into them the idea which +fills a clod with beauty. In one such dismal pit—not +here—I remember there grew a great quantity of bulrushes. +Another was surrounded with such masses of swamp-foliage that it +reminded those who saw it of the creeks in semi-tropical countries. +But somehow they do not seem to see these things, but go on the old +mill-round of scenery, exhausted many a year since. They do not see +them, perhaps, because most of those who have educated themselves +in the technique of painting are city-bred, and can never have the +<i>feeling</i> of the country, however fond they may be of it.</p> +<p>In those fields of which I was writing the other day, I found an +artist at work at his easel; and a pleasant nook be had chosen. His +brush did its work with a steady and sure stroke that indicated +command of his materials. He could delineate whatever he selected +with technical skill at all events. He had pitched his easel where +two hedges formed an angle, and one of them was full of oak-trees. +The hedge was singularly full of "bits"—bryony, tangles of +grasses, berries, boughs half-tinted and boughs green, hung as it +were with pictures like the wall of a room. Standing as near as I +could without disturbing him, I found that the subject of his +canvas was none of these. It was that old stale and dull device of +a rustic bridge spanning a shallow stream crossing a lane. Some +figure stood on the bridge—the old, old trick. He was filling +up the hedge of the lane with trees from the hedge, and they were +cleverly executed. But why drag them into this fusty scheme, which +has appeared in every child's sketch-book for fifty years? Why not +have simply painted the beautiful hedge at hand, purely and simply, +a hedge hung with pictures for any one to copy? The field in which +he had pitched his easel is full of fine trees and good "effects." +But no; we must have the ancient and effete old story. This is not +all the artist's fault, because he must in many cases paint what he +can sell; and if his public will only buy effete old stories, he +cannot help it. Still, I think if a painter <i>did</i> paint that +hedge in its fulness of beauty, just simply as it stands in the +mellow autumn light, it would win approval of the best people, and +that ultimately, a succession of such work would pay.</p> +<p>The clover was dying down, and the plough would soon be among +it—the earth was visible in patches. Out in one of these bare +patches there was a young mouse, so chilled by the past night that +his dull senses did not appear conscious of my presence. He had +crept out on the bare earth evidently to feel the warmth of the +sun, almost the last hour he would enjoy. He looked about for food, +but found none; his short span of life was drawing to a close; even +when at last he saw me, he could only run a few inches under cover +of a dead clover-plant. Thousands upon thousands of mice perish +like this as the winter draws on, born too late in the year to grow +strong enough or clever enough to prepare a store. Other kinds of +mice perish like leaves at the first blast of cold air. Though but +a mouse, to me it was very wretched to see the chilled creature, so +benumbed as to have almost lost its sense of danger. There is +something so ghastly in birth that immediately leads to death; a +sentient creature born only to wither. The earth offered it no +help, nor the declining sun; all things organised seem to depend so +much on circumstances. Nothing but pity can be felt for thousands +upon thousands of such organisms. But thus, too, many a miserable +human being has perished in the great Metropolis, dying, chilled +and benumbed, of starvation, and finding the hearts of +fellow-creatures as bare and cold as the earth of the +clover-field.</p> +<p>In these fields outside London the flowers are peculiarly rich +in colour. The common mallow, whose flower is usually a light +mauve, has here a deep, almost purple bloom; the bird's-foot lotus +is a deep orange. The fig-wort, which is generally two or three +feet high, stands in one ditch fully eight feet, and the stem is +more than half an inch square. A fertile soil has doubtless +something to do with this colour and vigour. The red admiral +butterflies, too, seemed in the summer more brilliant than usual. +One very fine one, whose broad wings stretched out like fans, +looked simply splendid floating round and round the willows which +marked the margin of a dry pool. His blue markings were really +blue—blue velvet—his red, and the white stroke shone as +if sunbeams were in his wings. I wish there were more of these +butterflies; in summer, dry summer, when the flowers seem gone and +the grass is not so dear to us, and the leaves are dull with heat, +a little colour is so pleasant. To me, colour is a sort of food; +every spot of colour is a drop of wine to the spirit. I used to +take my folding-stool on those long, heated days, which made the +summer of 1884 so conspicuous among summers, down to the shadow of +a row of elms by a common cabbage-field. Their shadow was nearly as +hot as the open sunshine; the dry leaves did not absorb the heat +that entered them, and the dry hedge and dry earth poured heat up +as the sun poured it down. Dry, dead leaves—dead with heat, +as with frost—strewed the grass, dry, too, and withered at my +feet. But among the cabbages, which were very small, there grew +thousands of poppies, fifty times more poppies than cabbage, so +that the pale green of the cabbage-leaves was hidden by the scarlet +petals falling wide open to the dry air. There was a broad band of +scarlet colour all along the side of the field, and it was this +which brought me to the shade of those particular elms. The use of +the cabbages was in this way: they fetched for me all the white +butterflies of the neighbourhood, and they fluttered, hundreds and +hundreds of white butterflies, a constant stream and flow of them +over the broad band of scarlet. Humble-bees came too; bur-bur-bur; +and the buzz, and the flutter of the white wings over those fixed +red butterflies the poppies, the flutter and sound and colour +pleased me in the dry heat of the day. Sometimes I set my +camp-stool by a humble-bees' nest. I like to see and hear them go +in and out, so happy, busy, and wild; the humble-bee is a +favourite. That summer their nests were very plentiful; but +although the heat might have seemed so favourable to them, the +flies were not at all numerous, I mean out-of-doors. Wasps, on the +contrary, flourished to an extraordinary degree. One willow tree +particularly took their fancy; there was a swarm in the tree for +weeks, attracted by some secretion; the boughs and leaves were +yellow with wasps. But it seemed curious that flies should not be +more numerous than usual; they are dying now fast enough, except a +few of the large ones, that still find some sugar in the flowers of +the ivy. The finest show of ivy flower is among some yew trees; the +dark ivy has filled the dark yew tree, and brought out its pale +yellow-green flowers in the sombre boughs. Last night, a great fly, +the last in the house, buzzed into my candle. I detest flies, but I +was sorry for his scorched wings; the fly itself hateful, its wings +so beautifully made. I have sometimes picked a feather from the +dirt of the road and placed it on the grass. It is contrary to +one's feelings to see so beautiful a thing lying in the mud. +Towards my window now, as I write, there comes suddenly a shower of +yellow leaves, wrested out by main force from the high elms; the +blue sky behind them, they droop slowly, borne onward, twirling, +fluttering towards me—a cloud of autumn butterflies.</p> +<p>A spring rises on the summit of a green brow that overlooks the +meadows for miles. The spot is not really very high, still it is +the highest ground in that direction for a long distance, and it +seems singular to find water on the top of the hill, a thing common +enough, but still sufficiently opposed to general impressions to +appear remarkable. In this shallow water, says a faint +story—far off, faint and uncertain, like the murmur of a +distant cascade—two ladies and some soldiers lost their +lives. The brow is defended by thick bramble-bushes, which bore a +fine crop of blackberries that autumn, to the delight of the boys; +and these bushes partly conceal the sharpness of the short descent. +But once your attention is drawn to it, you see that it has all the +appearance of having been artificially sloped, like a rampart, or +rather a glacis. The grass is green and the sward soft, being +moistened by the spring, except in one spot, where the grass is +burnt up under the heat of the summer sun, indicating the existence +of foundations beneath.</p> +<p>There is a beautiful view from this spot; but leaving that now, +and wandering on among the fields, presently you may find a meadow +of peculiar shape, extremely long and narrow, half a mile long, +perhaps; and this the folk will tell you was the King's Drive, or +ride. Stories there are, too, of subterranean passages—there +are always such stories in the neighbourhood of ancient +buildings—I remember one, said to be three miles long; it led +to an abbey. The lane leads on, bordered with high hawthorn hedges, +and occasionally a stout hawthorn tree, hardy and twisted by the +strong hands of the passing years; thick now with red haws, and the +haunt of the redwings, whose "chuck-chuck" is heard every minute; +but the birds themselves always perch on the outer side of the +hedge. They are not far ahead, but they always keep on the safe +side, flying on twenty yards or so, but never coming to my +side.</p> +<p>The little pond, which in summer was green with weed, is now +yellow with the fallen hawthorn-leaves; the pond is choked with +them. The lane has been slowly descending; and now, on looking +through a gateway, an ancient building stands up on the hill, +sharply defined against the sky. It is the banqueting hall of a +palace of old times, in which kings and princes once sat at their +meat after the chase. This is the centre of those dim stories which +float like haze over the meadows around. Many a wild red stag has +been carried thither after the hunt, and many a wild boar slain in +the glades of the forest.</p> +<p>The acorns are dropping now as they dropped five centuries +since, in the days when the wild boars fed so greedily upon them; +the oaks are broadly touched with brown; the bramble thickets in +which the boars hid, green, but strewn with the leaves that have +fallen from the lofty trees. Though meadow, arable, and hop-fields +hold now the place of the forest, a goodly remnant remains, for +every hedge is full of oak and elm and ash; maple too, and the +lesser bushes. At a little distance, so thick are the trees, the +whole country appears a wood, and it is easy to see what a forest +it must have been centuries ago.</p> +<p>The Prince leaving the grim walls of the Tower of London by the +Water-gate, and dropping but a short way down with the tide, could +mount his horse on the opposite bank, and reach his palace here, in +the midst of the thickest woods and wildest country, in half an +hour. Thence every morning setting forth upon the chase, he could +pass the day in joyous labours, and the evening in feasting, still +within call—almost within sound of horn—of the Tower, +if any weighty matter demanded his presence.</p> +<p>In our time, the great city has widened out, and comes at this +day down to within three miles of the hunting-palace. There still +intervenes a narrow space between the last house of London and the +ancient Forest Hall, a space of corn-field and meadow; the last +house, for although not nominally London, there is no break of +continuity in the bricks and mortar thence to London Bridge. London +is within a stone's-throw, as it were, and yet, to this day the +forest lingers, and it is country. The very atmosphere is +different. That smoky thickness characteristic of the suburbs +ceases as you ascend the gradual rise, and leave the outpost of +bricks and mortar behind. The air becomes clear and strong, till on +the brow by the spring on a windy day it is almost like sea-air. It +comes over the trees, over the hills, and is sweet with the touch +of grass and leaf. There is no gas, no sulphurous acid in that. As +the Edwards and Henries breathed it centuries since, so it can be +inhaled now. The sun that shone on the red deer is as bright now as +then; the berries are thick on the bushes; there is colour in the +leaf. The forest is gone; but the spirit of nature stays, and can +be found by those who search for it. Dearly as I love the open air, +I cannot regret the mediaeval days. I do not wish them back again, +I would sooner fight in the foremost ranks of Time. Nor do we need +them, for the spirit of nature stays, and will always be here, no +matter to how high a pinnacle of thought the human mind may attain; +still the sweet air, and the hills, and the sea, and the sun, will +always be with us.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="19">ON THE LONDON ROAD</a></h3> +<p>The road comes straight from London, which is but a very short +distance off, within a walk, yet the village it passes is +thoroughly a village, and not suburban, not in the least like +Sydenham, or Croydon, or Balham, or Norwood, as perfect a village +in every sense as if it stood fifty miles in the country. There is +one long street, just as would be found in the far west, with +fields at each end. But through this long street, and on and out +into the open, is continually pouring the human living undergrowth +of that vast forest of life, London. The nondescript inhabitants of +the thousand and one nameless streets of the unknown east are great +travellers, and come forth into the country by this main desert +route. For what end? Why this tramping and ceaseless movement? what +do they buy, what do they sell, how do they live? They pass through +the village street and out into the country in an endless stream on +the shutter on wheels. This is the true London vehicle, the +characteristic conveyance, as characteristic as the Russian +droshky, the gondola at Venice, or the caique at Stamboul. It is +the camel of the London desert routes; routes which run right +through civilisation, but of which daily paper civilisation is +ignorant. People who can pay for a daily paper are so far above it; +a daily paper is the mark of the man who is in civilisation.</p> +<p>Take an old-fashioned shutter and balance it on the axle of a +pair of low wheels, and you have the London camel in principle. To +complete it add shafts in front, and at the rear run a low +free-board, as a sailor would say, along the edge, that the cargo +may not be shaken off. All the skill of the fashionable +brougham-builders in Long Acre could not contrive a vehicle which +would meet the requirements of the case so well as this. On the +desert routes of Palestine a donkey becomes romantic; in a +coster-monger's barrow he is only an ass; the donkey himself +doesn't see the distinction. He draws a good deal of human nature +about in these barrows, and perhaps finds it very much the same in +Surrey and Syria. For if any one thinks the familiar barrow is +merely a truck for the conveyance of cabbages and carrots, and for +the exposure of the same to the choice of housewives in Bermondsey, +he is mistaken. Far beyond that, it is the symbol, the solid +expression, of life itself to the owner, his family, and circle of +connections, more so than even the ship to the sailor, as the +sailor, no matter how he may love his ship, longs for port, and the +joys of the shore, but the barrow folk are always at sea on land, +Such care has to be taken of the miserable pony or the shamefaced +jackass; he has to be groomed, and fed, and looked to in his shed, +and this occupies three or four of the family at least, lads and +strapping young girls, night and morning. Besides which, the circle +of connections look in to see how he is going on, and to hear the +story of the day's adventures, and what is proposed for to-morrow. +Perhaps one is invited to join the next excursion, and thinks as +much of it as others might do of an invitation for a cruise in the +Mediterranean. Any one who watches the succession of barrows +driving along through the village out into the fields of Kent can +easily see how they bear upon their wheels the fortunes of whole +families and of their hangers-on. Sometimes there is a load of +pathos, of which the race of the ass has carried a good deal in all +ages. More often it is a heavy lump of dull, evil, and exceedingly +stupid cunning. The wild evil of the Spanish contrabandistas seems +atoned by that wildness; but this dull wickedness has no flush of +colour, no poppy on its dirt heaps.</p> +<p>Over one barrow the sailors had fixed up a tent—canvas +stretched from corner poles, two fellows sat almost on the shafts +outside; they were well. Under the canvas there lay a young fellow +white and emaciated, whose face was drawn down with severe +suffering of some kind, and his dark eyes, enlarged and +accentuated, looked as if touched with belladonna. The family +council at home in the close and fetid court had resolved +themselves into a medical board and ordered him to the sunny +Riviera. The ship having been fitted up for the invalid, away they +sailed for the south, out from the ends of the earth of London into +the ocean of green fields and trees, thence past many an island +village, and so to the shores where the Kentish hops were yellowing +fast for the pickers. There, in the vintage days, doubtless he +found solace, and possibly recovery. To catch a glimpse of that +dark and cavernous eye under the shade of the travelling tent +reminded me of the eyes of the wounded in the ambulance-waggons +that came pouring into Brussels after Sedan. In the dusk of the +lovely September evenings—it was a beautiful September, the +lime-leaves were just tinted with orange—the waggons came in +a long string, the wounded and maimed lying in them, packed +carefully, and rolled round, as it were, with wadding to save them +from the jolts of the ruts and stones. It is fifteen years ago, and +yet I can still distinctly see the eyes of one soldier looking at +me from his berth in the waggon. The glow of intense pain—the +glow of long-continued agony—lit them up as coals that +smouldering are suddenly fanned. Pain brightens the eyes as much as +joy, there is a fire in the brain behind it; it is the flame in the +mind you see, and not the eyeball. A thought that might easily be +rendered romantic, but consider how these poor fellows appeared +afterwards. Bevies of them hopped about Brussels in their +red-and-blue uniforms, some on crutches, some with two sticks, some +with sleeves pinned to their breasts, looking exactly like a +company of dolls a cruel child had mutilated, snapping a foot off +here, tearing out a leg here, and battering the face of a third. +Little men most of them—the bowl of a German pipe inverted +would have covered them all, within which, like bees in a hive, +they might hum "Te Deum Bismarckum Laudamus." But the romantic +flame in the eye is not always so beautiful to feel as to read +about.</p> +<p>Another shutter on wheels went by one day with one little pony +in the shafts, and a second harnessed in some way at the side, so +as to assist in pulling, but without bearing any share of the load. +On this shutter eight men and boys balanced themselves; enough for +the Olympian height of a four-in-hand. Eight fellows perched round +the edge like shipwrecked mariners, clinging to one plank. They +were so balanced as to weigh chiefly on the axle, yet in front of +such a mountain of men, such a vast bundle of ragged clothes, the +ponies appeared like rats.</p> +<p>On a Sunday morning two fellows came along on their shutter: +they overtook a girl who was walking on the pavement, and one of +them, more sallow and cheeky than his companion, began to talk to +her. "That's a nice nosegay, now—give us a rose. Come and +ride—there's plenty of room. Won't speak? Now, you'll tell us +if this is the road to London Bridge." She nodded. She was dressed +in full satin for Sunday; her class think much of satin. She was +leading two children, one in each hand, clean and well-dressed. She +walked more lightly than a servant does, and evidently lived at +home; she did not go to service. Tossing her head, she looked the +other way, for you see the fellow on the shutter was dirty, not +"dressed" at all, though it was Sunday, poor folks' ball-day; a +dirty, rough fellow, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, a +chalky-white face—apparently from low dissipation—a +disreputable rascal, a monstrously impudent "chap," a true London +mongrel. He "cheeked" her; she tossed her head, and looked the +other way. But by-and-by she could not help a sly glance at him, +not an angry glance—a look as much as to say, "You're a man, +anyway, and you've the good taste to admire me, and the courage to +speak to me; you're dirty, but you're a man. If you were +well-dressed, or if it wasn't Sunday, or if it was dark, or nobody +about, I wouldn't mind; I'd let you 'cheek' me, though I have got +satin on." The fellow "cheeked" her again, told her she had a +pretty face, "cheeked" her right and left. She looked away, but +half smiled; she had to keep up her dignity, she did not feel it. +She would have liked to have joined company with him. His leer grew +leerier—the low, cunning leer, so peculiar to the London +mongrel, that seems to say, "I am so intensely knowing; I am so +very much all there;" and yet the leerer always remains in a dirty +dress, always smokes the coarsest tobacco in the nastiest of pipes, +and rides on a barrow to the end of his life. For his leery cunning +is so intensely stupid that, in fact, he is as "green" as grass; +his leer and his foul mouth keep him in the gutter to his very last +day. How much more successful plain, simple straightforwardness +would be! The pony went on a little, but they drew rein, and waited +for the girl again; and again he "cheeked" her. Still, she looked +away, but she did not make any attempt to escape by the side-path, +nor show resentment. No; her face began to glow, and once or twice +she answered him, but still she would not quite join company. If +only it had not been Sunday—if it had been a lonely road, and +not so near the village, if she had not had the two tell-tale +children with her—she would have been very good friends with +the dirty, chalky, ill-favoured, and ill-savoured wretch. At the +parting of the roads each went different ways, but she could not +help looking back.</p> +<p>He was a thorough specimen of the leery London mongrel. That +hideous leer is so repulsive—one cannot endure it—but +it is so common; you see it on the faces of four-fifths of the +ceaseless stream that runs out from the ends of the earth of London +into the green sea of the country. It disfigures the faces of the +carters who go with the waggons and other vehicles—not +nomads, but men in steady employ; it defaces—absolutely +defaces—the workmen who go forth with vans, with timber, with +carpenters' work, and the policeman standing at the corners, in +London itself particularly. The London leer hangs on their faces. +The Mosaic account of the Creation is discredited in these days, +the last revelation took place at Beckenham; the Beckenham +revelation is superior to Mount Sinai, yet the consideration of +that leer might suggest the idea of a fall of man even to an +Amoebist. The horribleness of it is in this way, it hints—it +does more than hint, it conveys the leerer's decided +opinion—that you, whether you may be man or woman, must +necessarily be as coarse as himself. Especially he wants to impress +that view upon every woman who chances to cross his glance. The +fist of Hercules is needed to dash it out of his face.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="20">RED ROOFS OF LONDON</a></h3> +<p>Tiles and tile roofs have a curious way of tumbling to pieces in +an irregular and eye-pleasing manner. The roof-tree bends, bows a +little under the weight, curves in, and yet preserves a sharpness +at each end. The Chinese exaggerate this curve of set purpose. Our +English curve is softer, being the product of time, which always +works in true taste. The mystery of tile-laying is not known to +every one; for to all appearance tiles seem to be put on over a +thin bed of hay or hay-like stuff. Lately they have begun to use +some sort of tarpaulin or a coarse material of that kind; but the +old tiles, I fancy, were comfortably placed on a shake-down of hay. +When one slips off, little bits of hay stick up; and to these the +sparrows come, removing it bit by bit to line their nests. If they +can find a gap they get in, and a fresh couple is started in life. +By-and-by a chimney is overthrown during a twist of the wind, and +half a dozen tiles are shattered. Time passes; and at last the +tiler arrives to mend the mischief. His labour leaves a light red +patch on the dark dull red of the breadth about it. After another +while the leaks along the ridge need plastering: mortar is laid on +to stay the inroad of wet, adding a dull white and forming a rough, +uncertain undulation along the general drooping curve. Yellow +edgings of straw project under the eaves—the work of the +sparrows. A cluster of blue-tinted pigeons gathers about the +chimney-side; the smoke that comes out of the stack droops and +floats sideways, downwards, as if the chimney enjoyed the smother +as a man enjoys his pipe. Shattered here and cracked yonder, some +missing, some overlapping in curves, the tiles have an aspect of +irregular existence. They are not fixed, like slates, as it were +for ever: they have a newness, and then a middle-age, and a time of +decay like human beings.</p> +<p>One roof is not much; but it is often a study. Put a thousand +roofs, say rather thousands of red-tiled roofs, and overlook +them—not at a great altitude but at a pleasant easy +angle—and then you have the groundwork of the first view of +London over Bermondsey from the railway. I say groundwork, because +the roofs seem the level and surface of the earth, while the +glimpses of streets are glimpses of catacombs. A city—as +something to look at—depends very much on its roofs. If a +city have no character in its roofs it stirs neither heart nor +thought. These red-tiled roofs of Bermondsey, stretching away mile +upon mile, and brought up at the extremity with thin masts rising +above the mist—these red-tiled roofs have a distinctiveness, +a character; they are something to think about. Nowhere else is +there an entrance to a city like this. The roads by which you +approach them give you distant aspects—minarets, perhaps, in +the East, domes in Italy; but, coming nearer, the highway somehow +plunges into houses, confounding you with façades, and the +real place is hidden. Here from the railway you see at once the +vastness of London. Roof-tree behind roof-tree, ridge behind ridge, +is drawn along in succession, line behind line till they become as +close together as the test-lines used for microscopes. Under this +surface of roofs what a profundity of life there is! Just as the +great horses in the waggons of London streets convey the idea of +strength, so the endlessness of the view conveys the idea of a mass +of life. Life converges from every quarter. The iron way has many +ruts: the rails are its ruts; and by each of these a ceaseless +stream of men and women pours over the tiled roofs into London. +They come from the populous suburbs, from far-away towns and quiet +villages, and from over sea.</p> +<p>Glance down as you pass into the excavations, the streets, +beneath the red surface: you catch a glimpse of men and women +hastening to and fro, of vehicles, of horses struggling with mighty +loads, of groups at the corners, and fragments, as it were, of +crowds. Busy life everywhere: no stillness, no quiet, no repose. +Life crowded and crushed together; life that has hardly room to +live. If the train slackens, look in at the open windows of the +houses level with the line—they are always open for air, +smoke-laden as it is—and see women and children with scarce +room to move, the bed and the dining-table in the same apartment. +For they dine and sleep and work and play all at the same time. A +man works at night and sleeps by day: he lies yonder as calmly as +if in a quiet country cottage. The children have no place to play +in but the living-room or the street. It is not squalor—it is +crowded life. The people are pushed together by the necessities of +existence. These people have no dislike to it at all: it is right +enough to them, and so long as business is brisk they are happy. +The man who lies sleeping so calmly seems to me to indicate the +immensity of the life around more than all the rest. He is +oblivious of it all; it does not make him nervous or wakeful; he is +so used to it, and bred to it, that it seems to him nothing. When +he is awake lie does not see it; now he sleeps he does not hear it. +It is only in great woods that you cannot see the trees. He is like +a leaf in a forest—he is not conscious of it. Long hours of +work have given him slumber; and as he sleeps he seems to express +by contrast the immensity and endlessness of the life around +him.</p> +<p>Sometimes a floating haze, now thicker here, and now lit up +yonder by the sunshine, brings out objects more distinctly than a +clear atmosphere. Away there tall thin masts stand out, rising +straight up above the red roofs. There is a faint colour on them; +the yards are dark—being inclined, they do not reflect the +light at an angle to reach us. Half-furled canvas droops in folds, +now swelling a little as the wind blows, now heavily sinking. One +white sail is set and gleams alone among the dusky folds; for the +canvas at large is dark with coal-dust, with smoke, with the grime +that settles everywhere where men labour with bare arms and chests. +Still and quiet as trees the masts rise into the hazy air; who +would think, merely to look at them, of the endless labour they +mean? The labour to load, and the labour to unload; the labour at +sea, and the long hours of ploughing the waves by night; the labour +at the warehouses; the labour in the fields, the mines, the +mountains; the labour in the factories. Ever and again the sunshine +gleams now on this group of masts, now on that; for they stand in +groups as trees often grow, a thicket here and a thicket yonder. +Labour to obtain the material, labour to bring it hither, labour to +force it into shape—work without end. Masts are always dreamy +to look at: they speak a romance of the sea; of unknown lands; of +distant forests aglow with tropical colours and abounding with +strange forms of life. In the hearts of most of us there is always +a desire for something beyond experience. Hardly any of us but have +thought, Some day I will go on a long voyage; but the years go by, +and still we have not sailed.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="21">A WET NIGHT IN LONDON</a></h3> +<p>Opaque from rain drawn in slant streaks by wind and speed across +the pane, the window of the railway carriage lets nothing be seen +but stray flashes of red lights—the signals rapidly passed. +Wrapped in thick overcoat, collar turned up to his ears, warm +gloves on his hands, and a rug across his knees, the traveller may +well wonder how those red signals and the points are worked out in +the storms of wintry London, Rain blown in gusts through the misty +atmosphere, gas and smoke-laden, deepens the darkness; the howl of +the blast humming in the telegraph wires, hurtling round the +chimney-pots on a level with the line, rushing up from the +archways; steam from the engines, roar, and whistle, shrieking +brakes, and grinding wheels—how is the traffic worked at +night in safety over the inextricable windings of the iron roads +into the City? At London Bridge the door is opened by some one who +gets out, and the cold air comes in; there is a rush of people in +damp coats, with dripping umbrellas, and time enough to notice the +archaeologically interesting wooden beams which support the roof of +the South-Eastern station. Antique beams they are, good old Norman +oak, such as you may sometimes find in very old country churches +that have not been restored, such as yet exist in Westminster Hall, +temp. Rufus or Stephen, or so. Genuine old woodwork, worth your +while to go and see. Take a sketch-book and make much of the ties +and angles and bolts; ask Whistler or Macbeth, or some one to etch +them, get the Royal Antiquarian Society to pay a visit and issue a +pamphlet; gaze at them reverently and earnestly, for they are not +easily to be matched in London. Iron girders and spacious roofs are +the modern fashion; here we have the Middle Ages +well-preserved—slam! the door is banged-to, onwards, over the +invisible river, more red signals and rain, and finally the +terminus. Five hundred well-dressed and civilised savages, wet, +cross, weary, all anxious to get in—eager for home and +dinner; five hundred stiffened and cramped folk equally eager to +get out—mix on a narrow platform, with a train running off +one side, and a detached engine gliding gently after it. Push, +wriggle, wind in and out, bumps from portmanteaus, and so at last +out into the street.</p> +<p>Now, how are you going to get into an omnibus? The street is +"up," the traffic confined to half a narrow thoroughfare, the +little space available at the side crowded with newsvendors whose +contents bills are spotted and blotted with wet, crowded, too, with +young girls, bonnetless, with aprons over their heads, whose object +is simply to do nothing—just to stand in the rain and chaff; +the newsvendors yell their news in your ears, then, finding you +don't purchase, they "Yah!" at you; an aged crone begs you to buy +"lights"; a miserable young crone, with pinched face, offers +artificial flowers—oh, Naples! Rush comes the rain, and the +gas-lamps are dimmed; whoo-oo comes the wind like a smack; cold +drops get in the ears and eyes; clean wristbands are splotched; +greasy mud splashed over shining boots; some one knocks the +umbrella round, and the blast all but turns it. "Wake +up!"—"Now then—stop here all night?"—"Gone to +sleep?" They shout, they curse, they put their hands to their +mouths trumpet wise and bellow at each other, these cabbies, +vanmen, busmen, all angry at the block in the narrow way. The +'bus-driver, with London stout, and plenty of it, polishing his +round cheeks like the brasswork of a locomotive, his neck well +wound and buttressed with thick comforter and collar, heedeth not, +but goes on his round, now fast, now slow, always stolid and +rubicund, the rain running harmlessly from him as if he were oiled. +The conductor, perched like the showman's monkey behind, hops and +twists, and turns now on one foot and now on the other as if the +plate were red-hot; now holds on with one hand, and now dexterously +shifts his grasp; now shouts to the crowd and waves his hands +towards the pavement, and again looks round the edge of the 'bus +forwards and curses somebody vehemently. "Near side up! Look alive! +Full inside"—curses, curses, curses; rain, rain, rain, and no +one can tell which is most plentiful.</p> +<p>The cab-horse's head comes nearly inside the 'bus, the 'bus-pole +threatens to poke the hansom in front; the brougham would be +careful, for varnish sake, but is wedged and must take its chance; +van-wheels catch omnibus hubs; hurry, scurry, whip, and drive; +slip, slide, bump, rattle, jar, jostle, an endless stream +clattering on, in, out, and round. On, on—"Stanley, +on"—the first and last words of cabby's life; on, on, the one +law of existence in a London street—drive on, stumble or +stand, drive on—strain sinews, crack, splinter—drive +on; what a sight to watch as you wait amid the newsvendors and +bonnetless girls for the 'bus that will not come! Is it real? It +seems like a dream, those nightmare dreams in which you know that +you must run, and do run, and yet cannot lift the legs that are +heavy as lead, with the demon behind pursuing, the demon of +Drive-on. Move, or cease to be—pass out of Time or be +stirring quickly; if you stand you must suffer even here on the +pavement, splashed with greasy mud, shoved by coarse ruffianism, +however good your intentions—just dare to stand still! Ideas +here for moralising, but I can't preach with the roar and the din +and the wet in my ears, and the flickering street lamps flaring. +That's the 'bus—no; the tarpaulin hangs down and obscures the +inscription; yes. Hi! No heed; how could you be so confiding as to +imagine conductor or driver would deign to see a signalling +passenger; the game is to drive on.</p> +<p>A gentleman makes a desperate rush and grabs the handrail; his +foot slips on the asphalt or wood, which is like oil, he slides, +his hat totters; happily he recovers himself and gets in. In the +block the 'bus is stayed a moment, and somehow we follow, and are +landed—"somehow" advisedly. For how do we get into a 'bus? +After the pavement, even this hard seat would be nearly an +easy-chair, were it not for the damp smell of soaked overcoats, the +ceaseless rumble, and the knockings overhead outside. The noise is +immensely worse than the shaking or the steamy atmosphere, the +noise ground into the ears, and wearying the mind to a state of +drowsy narcotism—you become chloroformed through the sense of +hearing, a condition of dreary resignation and uncomfortable ease. +The illuminated shops seem to pass like an endless window without +division of doors; there are groups of people staring in at them in +spite of the rain; ill-clad, half-starving people for the most +part; the well-dressed hurry onwards; they have homes. A dull +feeling of satisfaction creeps over you that you are at least in +shelter; the rumble is a little better than the wind and the rain +and the puddles. If the Greek sculptors were to come to life again +and cut us out in bas-relief for another Parthenon, they would have +to represent us shuffling along, heads down and coat-tails flying, +splash-splosh—a nation of umbrellas.</p> +<p>Under a broad archway, gaily lighted, the broad and happy way to +a theatre, there is a small crowd waiting, and among them two +ladies, with their backs to the photographs and bills, looking out +into the street. They stand side by side, evidently quite oblivious +and indifferent to the motley folk about them, chatting and +laughing, taking the wet and windy wretchedness of the night as a +joke. They are both plump and rosy-cheeked, dark eyes gleaming and +red lips parted; both decidedly good-looking, much too rosy and +full-faced, too well fed and comfortable to take a prize from +Burne-Jones, very worldly people in the roast-beef sense. Their +faces glow in the bright light—merry sea coal-fire faces; +they have never turned their backs on the good things of this life. +"Never shut the door on good fortune," as Queen Isabella of Spain +says. Wind and rain may howl and splash, but here are two faces +they never have touched—rags and battered shoes drift along +the pavement—no wet feet or cold necks here. Best of all they +glow with good spirits, they laugh, they chat; they are full of +enjoyment, clothed thickly with health and happiness, as their +shoulders—good wide shoulders—are thickly wrapped in +warmest furs. The 'bus goes on, and they are lost to view; if you +came back in an hour you would find them still there without +doubt—still jolly, chatting, smiling, waiting perhaps for the +stage, but anyhow far removed, like the goddesses on Olympus, from +the splash and misery of London. Drive on.</p> +<p>The head of a great grey horse in a van drawn up by the +pavement, the head and neck stand out and conquer the rain and +misty dinginess by sheer force of beauty, sheer strength of +character. He turns his head—his neck forms a fine curve, his +face is full of intelligence, in spite of the half dim light and +the driving rain, of the thick atmosphere, and the black hollow of +the covered van behind, his head and neck stand out, just as in old +portraits the face is still bright, though surrounded with crusted +varnish. It would be a glory to any man to paint him. Drive on.</p> +<p>How strange the dim, uncertain faces of the crowd, half-seen, +seem in the hurry and rain; faces held downwards and muffled by the +darkness—not quite human in their eager and intensely +concentrated haste. No one thinks of or notices another—on, +on—splash, shove, and scramble; an intense selfishness, so +selfish as not to be selfish, if that can be understood, so +absorbed as to be past observing that any one lives but themselves. +Human beings reduced to mere hurrying machines, worked by wind and +rain, and stern necessities of life; driven on; something very hard +and unhappy in the thought of this. They seem reduced to the +condition of the wooden cabs—the mere vehicles—pulled +along by the irresistible horse Circumstance. They shut their eyes +mentally, wrap themselves in the overcoat of indifference, and +drive on, drive on. It is time to get out at last. The 'bus stops +on one side of the street, and you have to cross to the other. Look +up and down—lights are rushing each way, but for the moment +none are close. The gas-lamps shine in the puddles of thick greasy +water, and by their gleam you can guide yourself round them. Cab +coming! Surely he will give way a little and not force you into +that great puddle; no, he neither sees, nor cares, Drive on, drive +on. Quick! the shafts! Step in the puddle and save your life!</p> +<hr> + +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Air, by Richard Jefferies + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN AIR *** + +***** This file should be named 6981-h.htm or 6981-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/8/6981/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Open Air + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Posting Date: January 25, 2013 [EBook #6981] +Release Date: November, 2004 +First Posted: February 19, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN AIR *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + + + + +THE OPEN AIR + + + +RICHARD JEFFERIES + + + + + +NOTE + +For permission to collect these papers my thanks are due to the Editors +of the following publications: _The Standard_, _English Illustrated +Magazine_, _Longman's Magazine_, _St. James's Gazette_, _Chambers's +Journal_, _Manchester Guardian_, _Good Words_, and _Pall Mall Gazette_. + R.J. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +SAINT GUIDO + +GOLDEN-BROWN + +WILD FLOWERS + +SUNNY BRIGHTON + +THE PINE WOOD + +NATURE ON THE ROOF + +ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS + +THE MODERN THAMES + +THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN + +THE HAUNT OF THE HARE + +THE BATHING SEASON + +UNDER THE ACORNS + +DOWNS + +FOREST + +BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY + +OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY + +HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING + +OUTSIDE LONDON + +ON THE LONDON ROAD + +RED ROOFS OF LONDON + +A WET NIGHT IN LONDON + + + + +SAINT GUIDO + + +St. Guido ran out at the garden gate into a sandy lane, and down the +lane till he came to a grassy bank. He caught hold of the bunches of +grass and so pulled himself up. There was a footpath on the top which +went straight in between fir-trees, and as he ran along they stood on +each side of him like green walls. They were very near together, and +even at the top the space between them was so narrow that the sky +seemed to come down, and the clouds to be sailing but just over them, +as if they would catch and tear in the fir-trees. The path was so +little used that it had grown green, and as he ran he knocked dead +branches out of his way. Just as he was getting tired of running he +reached the end of the path, and came out into a wheat-field. The wheat +did not grow very closely, and the spaces were filled with azure +corn-flowers. St. Guido thought he was safe away now, so he stopped to +look. + +Those thoughts and feelings which are not sharply defined but have a +haze of distance and beauty about them are always the dearest. His name +was not really Guido, but those who loved him had called him so in +order to try and express their hearts about him. For they thought if a +great painter could be a little boy, then he would be something like +this one. They were not very learned in the history of painters: they +had heard of Raphael, but Raphael was too elevated, too much of the +sky, and of Titian, but Titian was fond of feminine loveliness, and in +the end somebody said Guido was a dreamy name, as if it belonged to one +who was full of faith. Those golden curls shaking about his head as he +ran and filling the air with radiance round his brow, looked like a +Nimbus or circlet of glory. So they called him St. Guido, and a very, +very wild saint he was. + +St. Guido stopped in the cornfield, and looked all round. There were +the fir-trees behind him--a thick wall of green--hedges on the right +and the left, and the wheat sloped down towards an ash-copse in the +hollow. No one was in the field, only the fir-trees, the green hedges, +the yellow wheat, and the sun overhead, Guido kept quite still, because +he expected that in a minute the magic would begin, and something would +speak to him. His cheeks which had been flushed with running grew less +hot, but I cannot tell you the exact colour they were, for his skin was +so white and clear, it would not tan under the sun, yet being always +out of doors it had taken the faintest tint of golden brown mixed with +rosiness. His blue eyes which had been wide open, as they always were +when full of mischief, became softer, and his long eyelashes drooped +over them. But as the magic did not begin, Guido walked on slowly into +the wheat, which rose nearly to his head, though it was not yet so tall +as it would be before the reapers came. He did not break any of the +stalks, or bend them down and step on them; he passed between them, and +they yielded on either side. The wheat-ears were pale gold, having only +just left off their green, and they surrounded him on all sides as if +he were bathing. + +A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating along +the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was a little +higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly was inclined to +settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the butterfly, forgetting +his secret in his desire to touch it. The butterfly was too quick--with +a snap of his wings disdainfully mocking the idea of catching him, away +he went. Guido nearly stepped on a humble-bee--buzz-zz!--the bee was so +alarmed he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even +then knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido +kept quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that he +should not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that humble-bees +have stings though people often say they have not, and the reason +people think they do not possess them is because humble-bees are so +good-natured and never sting unless they are very much provoked. + +Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller than the +great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were not golden +but coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, and he nearly +tumbled--it was a bine of bindweed which went twisting round and round +two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding them together as if some one +had wound string about them. There was one ear of wheat which had black +specks on it, and another which had so much black that the grains +seemed changed and gone leaving nothing but blackness. He touched it +and it stained his hands like a dark powder, and then he saw that it +was not perfectly black as charcoal is, it was a little red. Something +was burning up the corn there just as if fire had been set to the ears. +Guido went on and found another place where there was hardly any wheat +at all, and those stalks that grew were so short they only came above +his knee. The wheat-ears were thin and small, and looked as if there +was nothing but chaff. But this place being open was full of flowers, +such lovely azure cornflowers which the people call bluebottles. + +Guido took two; they were curious flowers with knobs surrounded with +little blue flowers like a lady's bonnet. They were a beautiful blue, +not like any other blue, not like the violets in the garden, or the sky +over the trees, or the geranium in the grass, or the bird's-eyes by the +path. He loved them and held them tight in his hand, and went on, +leaving the red pimpernel wide open to the dry air behind him, but the +May-weed was everywhere. The May-weed had white flowers like a +moon-daisy, but not so large, and leaves like moss. He could not walk +without stepping on these mossy tufts, though he did not want to hurt +them. So he stooped and stroked the moss-like leaves and said, "I do +not want to hurt you, but you grow so thick I cannot help it." In a +minute afterwards as he was walking he heard a quick rush, and saw the +wheat-ears sway this way and that as if a puff of wind had struck them. + +Guido stood still and his eyes opened very wide, he had forgotten to +cut a stick to fight with: he watched the wheat-ears sway, and could +see them move for some distance, and he did not know what it was. +Perhaps it was a wild boar or a yellow lion, or some creature no one +had ever seen; he would not go back, but he wished he had cut a nice +stick. Just then a swallow swooped down and came flying over the wheat +so close that Guido almost felt the flutter of his wings, and as he +passed he whispered to Guido that it was only a hare. "Then why did he +run away?" said Guido; "I should not have hurt him." But the swallow +had gone up high into the sky again, and did not hear him. All the time +Guido was descending the slope, for little feet always go down the hill +as water does, and when he looked back he found that he had left the +fir-trees so far behind he was in the middle of the field. If any one +had looked they could hardly have seen him, and if he had taken his cap +off they could not have done so because the yellow curls would be so +much the same colour as the yellow corn. He stooped to see how nicely +he could hide himself, then he knelt, and in a minute sat down, so that +the wheat rose up high above him. + +Another humble-bee went over along the tips of the wheat--burr-rr--as +he passed; then a scarlet fly, and next a bright yellow wasp who was +telling a friend flying behind him that he knew where there was such a +capital piece of wood to bite up into tiny pieces and make into paper +for the nest in the thatch, but his friend wanted to go to the house +because there was a pear quite ripe there on the wall. Next came a +moth, and after the moth a golden fly, and three gnats, and a mouse ran +along the dry ground with a curious sniffling rustle close to Guido. A +shrill cry came down out of the air, and looking up he saw two swifts +turning circles, and as they passed each other they shrieked--their +voices were so shrill they shrieked. They were only saying that in a +month their little swifts in the slates would be able to fly. While he +sat so quiet on the ground and hidden by the wheat, he heard a cuckoo +such a long way off it sounded like a watch when it is covered up. +"Cuckoo" did not come full and distinct--it was such a tiny little +"cuckoo" caught in the hollow of Guido's ear. The cuckoo must have been +a mile away. + +Suddenly he thought something went over, and yet he did not see +it--perhaps it was the shadow--and he looked up and saw a large bird +not very far up, not farther than he could fling, or shoot his arrows, +and the bird was fluttering his wings, but did not move away farther, +as if he had been tied in the air. Guido knew it was a hawk, and the +hawk was staying there to see if there was a mouse or a little bird in +the wheat. After a minute the hawk stopped fluttering and lifted his +wings together as a butterfly does when he shuts his, and down the hawk +came, straight into the corn. "Go away!" shouted Guido jumping up, and +flinging his cap, and the hawk, dreadfully frightened and terribly +cross, checked himself and rose again with an angry rush. So the mouse +escaped, but Guido could not find his cap for some time. Then he went +on, and still the ground sloping sent him down the hill till he came +close to the copse. + +Some sparrows came out from the copse, and he stopped and saw one of +them perch on a stalk of wheat, with one foot above the other sideways, +so that he could pick at the ear and get the corn. Guido watched the +sparrow clear the ear, then he moved, and the sparrows flew back to the +copse, where they chattered at him for disturbing them. There was a +ditch between the corn and the copse, and a streamlet; he picked up a +stone and threw it in, and the splash frightened a rabbit, who slipped +over the bank and into a hole. The boughs of an oak reached out across +to the corn, and made so pleasant a shade that Guido, who was very hot +from walking in the sun, sat down on the bank of the streamlet with his +feet dangling over it, and watched the floating grass sway slowly as +the water ran. Gently he leaned back till his back rested on the +sloping ground--he raised one knee, and left the other foot over the +verge where the tip of the tallest rushes touched it. Before he had +been there a minute he remembered the secret which a fern had taught +him. + +First, if he wanted to know anything, or to hear a story, or what the +grass was saying, or the oak-leaves singing, he must be careful not to +interfere as he had done just now with the butterfly by trying to catch +him. Fortunately, that butterfly was a nice butterfly, and very +kindhearted, but sometimes, if you interfered with one thing, it would +tell another thing, and they would all know in a moment, and stop +talking, and never say a word. Once, while they were all talking +pleasantly, Guido caught a fly in his hand, he felt his hand tickle as +the fly stepped on it, and he shut up his little fist so quickly he +caught the fly in the hollow between the palm and his fingers. The fly +went buzz, and rushed to get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed +again, and just told the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and +everything knew in a moment, and Guido never heard another word all +that day. Yet sometimes now they all knew something about him, they +would go on talking. You see, they all rather petted and spoiled him. +Next, if Guido did not hear them conversing, the fern said he must +touch a little piece of grass and put it against his cheek, or a leaf, +and kiss it, and say, "Leaf, leaf, tell them I am here." + +Now, while he was lying down, and the tip of the rushes touched his +foot, he remembered this, so he moved the rush with his foot and said, +"Rush, rush, tell them I am here." Immediately there came a little +wind, and the wheat swung to and fro, the oak-leaves rustled, the +rushes bowed, and the shadows slipped forwards and back again. Then it +was still, and the nearest wheat-ear to Guido nodded his head, and said +in a very low tone, "Guido, dear, just this minute I do not feel very +happy, although the sunshine is so warm, because I have been thinking, +for we have been in one or other of these fields of your papa's a +thousand years this very year. Every year we have been sown, and +weeded, and reaped, and garnered. Every year the sun has ripened us and +the rain made us grow; every year for a thousand years." + +"What did you see all that time?" said Guido. + +"The swallows came," said the Wheat, "and flew over us, and sang a +little sweet song, and then they went up into the chimneys and built +their nests." + +"At my house?" said Guido. + +"Oh, no, dear, the house I was then thinking of is gone, like a leaf +withered and lost. But we have not forgotten any of the songs they sang +us, nor have the swallows that you see to-day--one of them spoke to you +just now--forgotten what we said to their ancestors. Then the +blackbirds came out in us and ate the creeping creatures, so that they +should not hurt us, and went up into the oaks and whistled such +beautiful sweet low whistles. Not in those oaks, dear, where the +blackbirds whistle to-day; even the very oaks have gone, though they +were so strong that one of them defied the lightning, and lived years +and years after it struck him. One of the very oldest of the old oaks +in the copse, dear, is his grandchild. If you go into the copse you +will find an oak which has only one branch; he is so old, he has only +that branch left. He sprang up from an acorn dropped from an oak that +grew from an acorn dropped from the oak the lightning struck. So that +is three oak lives, Guido dear, back to the time I was thinking of just +now. And that oak under whose shadow you are now lying is the fourth of +them, and he is quite young, though he is so big. + +"A jay sowed the acorn from which he grew up; the jay was in the oak +with one branch, and some one frightened him, and as he flew he dropped +the acorn which he had in his bill just there, and now you are lying in +the shadow of the tree. So you see, it is a very long time ago, when +the blackbirds came and whistled up in those oaks I was thinking of, +and that was why I was not very happy." + +"But you have heard the blackbirds whistling ever since?" said Guido; +"and there was such a big black one up in our cherry tree this morning, +and I shot my arrow at him and very nearly hit him. Besides, there is a +blackbird whistling now--you listen. There, he's somewhere in the +copse. Why can't you listen to him, and be happy now?" + +"I will be happy, dear, as you are here, but still it is a long, long +time, and then I think, after I am dead, and there is more wheat in my +place, the blackbirds will go on whistling for another thousand years +after me. For of course I did not hear them all that time ago myself, +dear, but the wheat which was before me heard them and told me. They +told me, too, and I know it is true, that the cuckoo came and called +all day till the moon shone at night, and began again in the morning +before the dew had sparkled in the sunrise. The dew dries very soon on +wheat, Guido dear, because wheat is so dry; first the sunrise makes the +tips of the wheat ever so faintly rosy, then it grows yellow, then as +the heat increases it becomes white at noon, and golden in the +afternoon, and white again under the moonlight. Besides which wide +shadows come over from the clouds, and a wind always follows the shadow +and waves us, and every time we sway to and fro that alters our colour. +A rough wind gives us one tint, and heavy rain another, and we look +different on a cloudy day to what we do on a sunny one. All these +colours changed on us when the blackbird was whistling in the oak the +lightning struck, the fourth one backwards from me; and it makes me sad +to think that after four more oaks have gone, the same colours will +come on the wheat that will grow then. It is thinking about those past +colours, and songs, and leaves, and of the colours and the sunshine, +and the songs, and the leaves that will come in the future that makes +to-day so much. It makes to-day a thousand years long backwards, and a +thousand years long forwards, and makes the sun so warm, and the air so +sweet, and the butterflies so lovely, and the hum of the bees, and +everything so delicious. We cannot have enough of it." + +"No, that we cannot," said Guido. "Go on, you talk so nice and low. I +feel sleepy and jolly. Talk away, old Wheat." + +"Let me see," said the Wheat. "Once on a time while the men were +knocking us out of the ear on a floor with flails, which are sticks +with little hinges--" + +"As if I did not know what a flail was!" said Guido. "I hit old John +with the flail, and Ma gave him a shilling not to be cross." + +"While they were knocking us with the hard sticks," the Wheat went on, +"we heard them talking about a king who was shot with an arrow like +yours in the forest--it slipped from a tree, and went into him instead +of into the deer. And long before that the men came up the river--the +stream in the ditch there runs into the river--in rowing ships--how you +would like one to play in, Guido! For they were not like the ships now +which are machines, they were rowing ships--men's ships--and came right +up into the land ever so far, all along the river up to the place where +the stream in the ditch runs in; just where your papa took you in the +punt, and you got the waterlilies, the white ones." + +"And wetted my sleeve right up my arm--oh, I know! I can row you, old +Wheat; I can row as well as my papa can." + +"But since the rowing ships came, the ploughs have turned up this +ground a thousand times," said the Wheat; "and each time the furrows +smelt sweeter, and this year they smelt sweetest of all. The horses +have such glossy coats, and such fine manes, and they are so strong and +beautiful. They drew the ploughs along and made the ground give up its +sweetness and savour, and while they were doing it, the spiders in the +copse spun their silk along from the ashpoles, and the mist in the +morning weighed down their threads. It was so delicious to come out of +the clods as we pushed our green leaves up and felt the rain, and the +wind, and the warm sun. Then a little bird came in the copse and +called, 'Sip-sip, sip, sip, sip,' such a sweet low song, and the larks +ran along the ground in between us, and there were bluebells in the +copse, and anemones; till by-and-by the sun made us yellow, and the +blue flowers that you have in your hand came out. I cannot tell you how +many there have been of these flowers since the oak was struck by the +lightning, in all the thousand years there must have been altogether--I +cannot tell you how many." + +"Why didn't I pick them all?" said Guido. + +"Do you know," said the Wheat, "we have thought so much more, and felt +so much more, since your people took us, and ploughed for us, and sowed +us, and reaped us. We are not like the same wheat we used to be before +your people touched us, when we grew wild, and there were huge great +things in the woods and marshes which I will not tell you about lest +you should be frightened. Since we have felt your hands, and you have +touched us, we have felt so much more. Perhaps that was why I was not +very happy till you came, for I was thinking quite as much about your +people as about us, and how all the flowers of all those thousand +years, and all the songs, and the sunny days were gone, and all the +people were gone too, who had heard the blackbirds whistle in the oak +the lightning struck. And those that are alive now--there will be +cuckoos calling, and the eggs in the thrushes' nests, and blackbirds +whistling, and blue cornflowers, a thousand years after every one of +them is gone. + +"So that is why it is so sweet this minute, and why I want you, and +your people, dear, to be happy now and to have all these things, and to +agree so as not to be so anxious and careworn, but to come out with us, +or sit by us, and listen to the blackbirds, and hear the wind rustle +us, and be happy. Oh, I wish I could make them happy, and do away with +all their care and anxiety, and give you all heaps and heaps of +flowers! Don't go away, darling, do you lie still, and I will talk and +sing to you, and you can pick some more flowers when you get up. There +is a beautiful shadow there, and I heard the streamlet say that he +would sing a little to you; he is not very big, he cannot sing very +loud. By-and-by, I know, the sun will make us as dry as dry, and +darker, and then the reapers will come while the spiders are spinning +their silk again--this time it will come floating in the blue air, for +the air seems blue if you look up. + +"It is a great joy to your people, dear, when the reaping time arrives: +the harvest is a great joy to you when the thistledown comes rolling +along in the wind. So that I shall be happy even when the reapers cut +me down, because I know it is for you, and your people, my love. The +strong men will come to us gladly, and the women, and the little +children will sit in the shade and gather great white trumpets of +convolvulus, and come to tell their mothers how they saw the young +partridges in the next field. But there is one thing we do not like, +and that is, all the labour and the misery. Why cannot your people have +us without so much labour, and why are so many of you unhappy? Why +cannot they be all happy with us as you are, dear? For hundreds and +hundreds of years now the wheat every year has been sorrowful for your +people, and I think we get more sorrowful every year about it, because +as I was telling you just now the flowers go, and the swallows go, the +old, old oaks go, and that oak will go, under the shade of which you +are lying, Guido; and if your people do not gather the flowers now, and +watch the swallows, and listen to the blackbirds whistling, as you are +listening now while I talk, then Guido, my love, they will never pick +any flowers, nor hear any birds' songs. They think they will, they +think that when they have toiled, and worked a long time, almost all +their lives, then they will come to the flowers, and the birds, and be +joyful in the sunshine. But no, it will not be so, for then they will +be old themselves, and their ears dull, and their eyes dim, so that the +birds will sound a great distance off, and the flowers will not seem +bright. + +"Of course, we know that the greatest part of your people cannot help +themselves, and must labour on like the reapers till their ears are +full of the dust of age. That only makes us more sorrowful, and anxious +that things should be different. I do not suppose we should think about +them had we not been in man's hand so long that now we have got to feel +with man. Every year makes it more pitiful because then there are more +flowers gone, and added to the vast numbers of those gone before, and +never gathered or looked at, though they could have given so much +pleasure. And all the work and labour, and thinking, and reading and +learning that your people do ends in nothing--not even one flower. We +cannot understand why it should be so. There are thousands of +wheat-ears in this field, more than you would know how to write down +with your pencil, though you have learned your tables, sir. Yet all of +us thinking, and talking, cannot understand why it is when we consider +how clever your people are, and how they bring ploughs, and +steam-engines, and put up wires along the roads to tell you things when +you are miles away, and sometimes we are sown where we can hear the +hum, hum, all day of the children learning in the school. The +butterflies flutter over us, and the sun shines, and the doves are +very, very happy at their nest, but the children go on hum, hum inside +this house, and learn, learn. So we suppose you must be very clever, +and yet you cannot manage this. All your work is wasted, and you labour +in vain--you dare not leave it a minute. + +"If you left it a minute it would all be gone; it does not mount up and +make a store, so that all of you could sit by it and be happy. Directly +you leave off you are hungry, and thirsty, and miserable like the +beggars that tramp along the dusty road here. All the thousand years of +labour since this field was first ploughed have not stored up anything +for you. It would not matter about the work so much if you were only +happy; the bees work every year, but they are happy; the doves build a +nest every year, but they are very, very happy. We think it must be +because you do not come out to us and be with us, and think more as we +do. It is not because your people have not got plenty to eat and +drink--you have as much as the bees. Why just look at us! Look at the +wheat that grows all over the world; all the figures that were ever +written in pencil could not tell how much, it is such an immense +quantity. Yet your people starve and die of hunger every now and then, +and we have seen the wretched beggars tramping along the road. We have +known of times when there was a great pile of us, almost a hill piled +up, it was not in this country, it was in another warmer country, and +yet no one dared to touch it--they died at the bottom of the hill of +wheat. The earth is full of skeletons of people who have died of +hunger. They are dying now this minute in your big cities, with nothing +but stones all round them, stone walls and stone streets; not jolly +stones like those you threw in the water, dear--hard, unkind stones +that make them cold and let them die, while we are growing here, +millions of us, in the sunshine with the butterflies floating over us. +This makes us unhappy; I was very unhappy this morning till you came +running over and played with us. + +"It is not because there is not enough: it is because your people are +so short-sighted, so jealous and selfish, and so curiously infatuated +with things that are not so good as your old toys which you have flung +away and forgotten. And you teach the children hum, hum, all day to +care about such silly things, and to work for them and to look to them +as the object of their lives. It is because you do not share us among +you without price or difference; because you do not share the great +earth among you fairly, without spite and jealousy and avarice; because +you will not agree; you silly, foolish people to let all the flowers +wither for a thousand years while you keep each other at a distance, +instead of agreeing and sharing them! Is there something in you--as +there is poison in the nightshade, you know it, dear, your papa told +you not to touch it--is there a sort of poison in your people that +works them up into a hatred of one another? Why, then, do you not agree +and have all things, all the great earth can give you, just as we have +the sunshine and the rain? How happy your people could be if they would +only agree! But you go on teaching even the little children to follow +the same silly objects, hum, hum, hum, all the day, and they will grow +up to hate each other, and to try which can get the most round +things--you have one in your pocket." + +"Sixpence," said Guido. "It's quite a new one." + +"And other things quite as silly," the Wheat continued. "All the time +the flowers are flowering, but they will go, even the oaks will go. We +think the reason you do not all have plenty, and why you do not do only +just a little work, and why you die of hunger if you leave off, and why +so many of you are unhappy in body and mind, and all the misery is +because you have not got a spirit like the wheat, like us; you will not +agree, and you will not share, and you will hate each other, and you +will be so avaricious, and you will _not_ touch the flowers, or go into +the sunshine (you would rather half of you died among the hard stones +first), and you will teach your children hum, hum, to follow in some +foolish course that has caused you all this unhappiness a thousand +years, and you will _not_ have a spirit like us, and feel like us. Till +you have a spirit like us, and feel like us, you will never, never be +happy. Lie still, dear; the shadow of the oak is broad and will not +move from you for a long time yet." + +"But perhaps Paul will come up to my house, and Percy and Morna." + +"Look up in the oak very quietly, don't move, just open your eyes and +look," said the Wheat, who was very cunning. Guido looked and saw a +lovely little bird climbing up a branch. It was chequered, black and +white, like a very small magpie, only without such a long tail, and it +had a spot of red about its neck. It was a pied woodpecker, not the +large green woodpecker, but another kind. Guido saw it go round the +branch, and then some way up, and round again till it came to a place +that pleased it, and then the woodpecker struck the bark with its bill, +tap-tap. The sound was quite loud, ever so much more noise than such a +tiny bill seemed able to make. Tap-tap! If Guido had not been still so +that the bird had come close he would never have found it among the +leaves. Tap-tap! After it had picked out all the insects there, the +woodpecker flew away over the ashpoles of the copse. + +"I should just like to stroke him," said Guido. "If I climbed up into +the oak perhaps he would come again, and I could catch him." + +"No," said the Wheat, "he only comes once a day," + +"Then tell me stories," said Guido, imperiously. + +"I will if I can," said the Wheat. "Once upon a time, when the oak the +lightning struck was still living, and when the wheat was green in this +very field, a man came staggering out of the wood, and walked out into +it. He had an iron helmet on, and he was wounded, and his blood stained +the green wheat red as he walked. He tried to get to the streamlet, +which was wider then, Guido dear, to drink, for he knew it was there, +but he could not reach it. He fell down and died in the green wheat, +dear, for he was very much hurt with a sharp spear, but more so with +hunger and thirst." + +"I am so sorry," said Guido; "and now I look at you, why you are all +thirsty and dry, you nice old Wheat, and the ground is as dry as dry +under you; I will get you something to drink." + +And down he scrambled into the ditch, setting his foot firm on a root, +for though he was so young, he knew how to get down to the water +without wetting his feet, or falling in, and how to climb up a tree, +and everything jolly. Guido dipped his hand in the streamlet, and flung +the water over the wheat, five or six good sprinklings till the drops +hung on the wheat-ears. Then he said, "Now you are better." + +"Yes, dear, thank you, my love," said the Wheat, who was very pleased, +though of course the water was not enough to wet its roots. Still it +was pleasant, like a very little shower. Guido lay down on his chest +this time, with his elbows on the ground, propping his head up, and as +he now faced the wheat he could see in between the stalks. + +"Lie still," said the Wheat, "the corncrake is not very far off, he has +come up here since your papa told the mowers to mow the meadow, and +very likely if you stay quiet you will see him. If you do not +understand all I say, never mind, dear; the sunshine is warm, but not +too warm in the shade, and we all love you, and want you to be as happy +as ever you can be." + +"It is jolly to be quite hidden like this," said Guido. "No one could +find me; if Paul were to look all day he would never find me; even Papa +could not find me. Now go on and tell me stories." + +"Ever so many times, when the oak the lightning struck was young," said +the Wheat, "great stags used to come out of the wood and feed on the +green wheat; it was early in the morning when they came. Such great +stags, and so proud, and yet so timid, the least thing made them go +bound, bound, bound." + +"Oh, I know!" said Guido; "I saw some jump over the fence in the +forest--I am going there again soon. If I take my bow I will shoot one!" + +"But there are no deer here now," said the Wheat; "they have been gone +a long, long time; though I think your papa has one of their antlers," + +"Now, how did you know that?" said Guido; "you have never been to our +house, and you cannot see in from here because the fir copse is in the +way; how do you find out these things?" + +"Oh!" said the Wheat, laughing, "we have lots of ways of finding out +things. Don't you remember the swallow that swooped down and told you +not to be frightened at the hare? The swallow has his nest at your +house, and he often flies by your windows and looks in, and he told me. +The birds tell us lots of things, and all about what is over the sea." + +"But that is not a story," said Guido. + +"Once upon a time," said the Wheat, "when the oak the lightning struck +was alive, your papa's papa's papa, ever so much farther back than +that, had all the fields round here, all that you can see from Acre +Hill. And do you know it happened that in time every one of them was +lost or sold, and your family, Guido dear, were homeless--no house, no +garden or orchard, and no dogs or guns, or anything jolly. One day the +papa that was then came along the road with _his_ little Guido, and +they were beggars, dear, and had no place to sleep, and they slept all +night in the wheat in this very field close to where the hawthorn bush +grows now--where you picked the May flowers, you know, my love. They +slept there all the summer night, and the fern owls flew to and fro, +and the bats and crickets chirped, and the stars shone faintly, as if +they were made pale by the heat. The poor papa never had a house, but +that little Guido lived to grow up a great man, and he worked so hard, +and he was so clever, and every one loved him, which was the best of +all things. He bought this very field and then another, and another, +and got such a lot of the old fields back again, and the goldfinches +sang for joy, and so did the larks and the thrushes, because they said +what a kind man he was. Then his son got some more of them, till at +last your papa bought ever so many more. But we often talk about the +little boy who slept in the wheat in this field, which was his father's +father's field. If only the wheat then could have helped him, and been +kind to him, you may be sure it would. We love you so much we like to +see the very crumbs left by the men who do the hoeing when they eat +their crusts; we wish they could have more to eat, but we like to see +their crumbs, which you know are made of wheat, so that we have done +them some good at least." + +"That's not a story," said Guido. + +"There's a gold coin here somewhere," said the Wheat, "such a pretty +one, it would make a capital button for your jacket, dear, or for your +mamma; that is all any sort of money is good for; I wish all the coins +were made into buttons for little Guido." + +"Where is it?" said Guido. + +"I can't exactly tell where it is," said the Wheat. "It was very near +me once, and I thought the next thunder's rain would wash it down into +the streamlet--it has been here ever so long, it came here first just +after the oak the lightning split died. And it has been rolled about by +the ploughs ever since, and no one has ever seen it; I thought it must +go into the ditch at last, but when the men came to hoe one of them +knocked it back, and then another kicked it along--it was covered with +earth--and then, one day, a rook came and split the clod open with his +bill, and pushed the pieces first one side and then the other, and the +coin went one way, but I did not see; I must ask a humble-bee, or a +mouse, or a mole, or some one who knows more about it. It is very thin, +so that if the rook's bill had struck it, his strong bill would have +made a dint in it, and there is, I think, a ship marked on it." + +"Oh, I must have it! A ship! Ask a humble-bee directly; be quick!" + +Bang! There was a loud report, a gun had gone off in the copse. + +"That's my papa," shouted Guido. "I'm sure that was my papa's gun!" Up +he jumped, and getting down the ditch, stepped across the water, and, +seizing a hazel-bough to help himself, climbed up the bank. At the top +he slipped through the fence by the oak and so into the copse. He was +in such a hurry he did not mind the thistles or the boughs that whipped +him as they sprang back, he scrambled through, meeting the vapour of +the gunpowder and the smell of sulphur. In a minute he found a green +path, and in the path was his papa, who had just shot a cruel crow. The +crow had been eating the birds' eggs, and picking the little birds to +pieces. + + + +GOLDEN-BROWN + + +Three fruit-pickers--women--were the first people I met near the +village (in Kent). They were clad in "rags and jags," and the face of +the eldest was in "jags" also. It was torn and scarred by time and +weather; wrinkled, and in a manner twisted like the fantastic turns of +a gnarled tree-trunk, hollow and decayed. Through these jags and +tearings of weather, wind, and work, the nakedness of the +countenance--the barren framework--was visible; the cheekbones like +knuckles, the chin of brown stoneware, the upper-lip smooth, and +without the short groove which should appear between lip and nostrils. +Black shadows dwelt in the hollows of the cheeks and temples, and there +was a blackness about the eyes. This blackness gathers in the faces of +the old who have been much exposed to the sun, the fibres of the skin +are scorched and half-charred, like a stick thrust in the fire, and +withdrawn before the flames seize it. Beside her were two young women, +both in the freshness of youth and health. Their faces glowed with a +golden-brown, and so great is the effect of colour that their plain +features were transfigured. The sunlight under their faces made them +beautiful. The summer light had been absorbed by the skin and now shone +forth from it again; as certain substances exposed to the day absorb +light and emit a phosphorescent gleam in the darkness of night, so the +sunlight had been drank up by the surface of the skin, and emanated +from it. + +Hour after hour in the gardens and orchards they worked in the full +beams of the sun, gathering fruit for the London market, resting at +midday in the shade of the elms in the corner. Even then they were in +the sunshine--even in the shade, for the air carries it, or its +influence, as it carries the perfumes of flowers. The heated air +undulates over the field in waves which are visible at a distance; near +at hand they are not seen, but roll in endless ripples through the +shadows of the trees, bringing with them the actinic power of the sun. +Not actinic--alchemic--some intangible mysterious power which cannot be +supplied in any other form but the sun's rays. It reddens the cherry, +it gilds the apple, it colours the rose, it ripens the wheat, it +touches a woman's face with the golden-brown of ripe life--ripe as a +plum. There is no other hue so beautiful as this human sunshine tint. + +The great painters knew it--Rubens, for instance; perhaps he saw it on +the faces of the women who gathered fruit or laboured at the harvest in +the Low Countries centuries since. He could never have seen it in a +city of these northern climes, that is certain. Nothing in nature that +I know, except the human face, ever attains this colour. Nothing like +it is ever seen in the sky, either at dawn or sunset; the dawn is often +golden, often scarlet, or purple and gold; the sunset crimson, flaming +bright, or delicately grey and scarlet; lovely colours all of them, but +not like this. Nor is there any flower comparable to it, nor any gem. +It is purely human, and it is only found on the human face which has +felt the sunshine continually. There must, too, I suppose, be a +disposition towards it, a peculiar and exceptional condition of the +fibres which build up the skin; for of the numbers who work out of +doors, very, very few possess it; they become brown, red, or tanned, +sometimes of a parchment hue--they do not get this colour. + +These two women from the fruit gardens had the golden-brown in their +faces, and their plain features were transfigured. They were walking in +the dusty road; there was as background a high, dusty hawthorn hedge +which had lost the freshness of spring and was browned by the work of +caterpillars; they were in rags and jags, their shoes had split, and +their feet looked twice as wide in consequence. Their hands were black; +not grimy, but absolutely black, and neither hands nor necks ever knew +water, I am sure. There was not the least shape to their garments; +their dresses simply hung down in straight ungraceful lines; there was +no colour of ribbon or flower, to light up the dinginess. But they had +the golden-brown in their faces, and they were beautiful. + +The feet, as they walked, were set firm on the ground, and the body +advanced with measured, deliberate, yet lazy and confident grace; +shoulders thrown back--square, but not over-square (as those who have +been drilled); hips swelling at the side in lines like the full bust, +though longer drawn; busts well filled and shapely, despite the rags +and jags and the washed-out gaudiness of the shawl. There was that in +their cheeks that all the wealth of London could not purchase--a superb +health in their carriage princesses could not obtain. It came, then, +from the air and sunlight, and still more, from some alchemy unknown to +the physician or the physiologist, some faculty exercised by the body, +happily endowed with a special power of extracting the utmost richness +and benefit from the rudest elements. Thrice blessed and fortunate, +beautiful golden-brown in their cheeks, superb health in their gait, +they walked as the immortals on earth. + +As they passed they regarded me with bitter envy, jealousy, and hatred +written in their eyes; they cursed me in their hearts. I verily +believe--so unmistakably hostile were their glances--that had +opportunity been given, in the dead of night and far from help, they +would gladly have taken me unawares with some blow of stone or club, +and, having rendered me senseless, would have robbed me, and considered +it a righteous act. Not that there was any blood-thirstiness or +exceptional evil in their nature more than in that of the +thousand-and-one toilers that are met on the highway, but simply +because they worked--such hard work of hands and stooping backs, and I +was idle, for all they knew. Because they were going from one field of +labour to another field of labour, and I walked slowly and did no +visible work. My dress showed no stain, the weather had not battered +it; there was no rent, no rags and jags. At an hour when they were +merely changing one place of work for another place of work, to them it +appeared that I had found idleness indoors wearisome and had just come +forth to exchange it for another idleness. They saw no end to their +labour; they had worked from childhood, and could see no possible end +to labour until limbs failed or life closed. Why should they be like +this? Why should I do nothing? They were as good as I was, and they +hated me. Their indignant glances spoke it as plain as words, and far +more distinctly than I can write it. You cannot read it with such +feeling as I received their looks. + +Beautiful golden-brown, superb health, what would I not give for these? +To be the thrice-blessed and chosen of nature, what inestimable +fortune! To be indifferent to any circumstances--to be quite +thoughtless as to draughts and chills, careless of heat, indifferent to +the character of dinners, able to do well on hard, dry bread, capable +of sleeping in the open under a rick, or some slight structure of a +hurdle, propped on a few sticks and roughly thatched with straw, and to +sleep sound as an oak, and wake strong as an oak in the morning-gods, +what a glorious life! I envied them; they fancied I looked askance at +their rags and jags. I envied them, and considered their health and hue +ideal. I envied them that unwearied step, that firm uprightness, and +measured yet lazy gait, but most of all the power which they possessed, +though they did not exercise it intentionally, of being always in the +sunlight, the air, and abroad upon the earth. If so they chose, and +without stress or strain, they could see the sunrise, they could be +with him as it were--unwearied and without distress--the livelong day; +they could stay on while the moon rose over the corn, and till the +silent stars at silent midnight shone in the cool summer night, and on +and on till the cock crew and the faint dawn appeared. The whole time +in the open air, resting at mid-day under the elms with the ripple of +heat flowing through the shadow; at midnight between the ripe corn and +the hawthorn hedge on the white wild camomile and the poppy pale in the +duskiness, with face upturned to the thoughtful heaven. + +Consider the glory of it, the life above this life to be obtained from +constant presence with the sunlight and the stars. I thought of them +all day, and envied them (as they envied me), and in the evening I +found them again. It was growing dark, and the shadow took away +something of the coarseness of the group outside one of the village +"pothouses." Green foliage overhung them and the men with whom they +were drinking; the white pipes, the blue smoke, the flash of a match, +the red sign which had so often swung to and fro in the gales now still +in the summer eve, the rude seats and blocks, the reaping-hooks bound +about the edge with hay, the white dogs creeping from knee to knee, +some such touches gave an interest to the scene. But a quarrel had +begun; the men swore, but the women did worse. It is impossible to give +a hint of the language they used, especially the elder of the three +whose hollow face was blackened by time and exposure. The two +golden-brown girls were so heavily intoxicated they could but stagger +to and fro and mouth and gesticulate, and one held a quart from which, +as she moved, she spilled the ale. + + + +WILD FLOWERS + + +A fir-tree is not a flower, and yet it is associated in my mind with +primroses. There was a narrow lane leading into a wood, where I used to +go almost every day in the early months of the year, and at one corner +it was overlooked by three spruce firs. The rugged lane there began to +ascend the hill, and I paused a moment to look back. Immediately the +high fir-trees guided the eye upwards, and from their tops to the deep +azure of the March sky over, but a step from the tree to the heavens. +So it has ever been to me, by day or by night, summer or winter, +beneath trees the heart feels nearer to that depth of life the far sky +means. The rest of spirit found only in beauty, ideal and pure, comes +there because the distance seems within touch of thought. To the heaven +thought can reach lifted by the strong arms of the oak, carried up by +the ascent of the flame-shaped fir. Round the spruce top the blue was +deepened, concentrated by the fixed point; the memory of that spot, as +it were, of the sky is still fresh--I can see it distinctly--still +beautiful and full of meaning. It is painted in bright colour in my +mind, colour thrice laid, and indelible; as one passes a shrine and +bows the head to the Madonna, so I recall the picture and stoop in +spirit to the aspiration it yet arouses. For there is no saint like the +sky, sunlight shining from its face. + +The fir-tree flowered thus before the primroses--the first of all to +give me a bloom, beyond reach but visible, while even the hawthorn buds +hesitated to open. Primroses were late there, a high district and thin +soil; you could read of them as found elsewhere in January; they rarely +came much before March, and but sparingly then. On the warm red sand +(red, at least, to look at, but green by geological courtesy, I think) +of Sussex, round about Hurst of the Pierre-points, primroses are seen +soon after the year has turned. In the lanes about that curious old +mansion, with its windows reaching from floor to roof, that stands at +the base of Wolstanbury Hill, they grow early, and ferns linger in +sheltered overhung banks. The South Down range, like a great wall, +shuts off the sea, and has a different climate on either hand; south by +the sea--hard, harsh, flowerless, almost grassless, bitter, and cold; +on the north side, just over the hill--warm, soft, with primroses and +fern, willows budding and birds already busy. It is a double England +there, two countries side by side. + +On a summer's day Wolstanbury Hill is an island in sunshine; you may +lie on the grassy rampart, high up in the most delicate air--Grecian +air, pellucid--alone, among the butterflies and humming bees at the +thyme, alone and isolated; endless masses of hills on three sides, +endless weald or valley on the fourth; all warmly lit with sunshine, +deep under liquid sunshine like the sands under the liquid sea, no +harshness of man-made sound to break the insulation amid nature, on an +island in a far Pacific of sunshine. Some people would hesitate to walk +down the staircase cut in the turf to the beech-trees beneath; the +woods look so small beneath, so far down and steep, and no handrail. +Many go to the Dyke, but none to Wolstanbury Hill. To come over the +range reminds one of what travellers say of coming over the Alps into +Italy; from harsh sea-slopes, made dry with salt as they sow salt on +razed cities that naught may grow, to warm plains rich in all things, +and with great hills as pictures hung on a wall to gaze at. Where there +are beech-trees the land is always beautiful; beech-trees at the foot +of this hill, beech-trees at Arundel in that lovely park which the Duke +of Norfolk, to his glory, leaves open to all the world, and where the +anemones flourish in unusual size and number; beech-trees in +Marlborough Forest; beech-trees at the summit to which the lane leads +that was spoken of just now. Beech and beautiful scenery go together. + +But the primroses by that lane did not appear till late; they covered +the banks under the thousand thousand ash-poles; foxes slipped along +there frequently, whose friends in scarlet coats could not endure the +pale flowers, for they might chink their spurs homewards. In one meadow +near primroses were thicker than the grass, with gorse interspersed, +and the rabbits that came out fed among flowers. The primroses last on +to the celandines and cowslips, through the time of the bluebells, past +the violets--one dies but passes on the life to another, one sets light +to the next, till the ruddy oaks and singing cuckoos call up the tall +mowing grass to fringe summer. + +Before I had any conscious thought it was a delight to me to find wild +flowers, just to see them. It was a pleasure to gather them and to take +them home; a pleasure to show them to others--to keep them as long as +they would live, to decorate the room with them, to arrange them +carelessly with grasses, green sprays, tree-bloom--large branches of +chestnut snapped off, and set by a picture perhaps. Without conscious +thought of seasons and the advancing hours to light on the white wild +violet, the meadow orchis, the blue veronica, the blue meadow +cranesbill; feeling the warmth and delight of the increasing sun-rays, +but not recognising whence or why it was joy. All the world is young to +a boy, and thought has not entered into it; even the old men with grey +hair do not seem old; different but not aged, the idea of age has not +been mastered. A boy has to frown and study, and then does not grasp +what long years mean. The various hues of the petals pleased without +any knowledge of colour-contrasts, no note even of colour except that +it was bright, and the mind was made happy without consideration of +those ideals and hopes afterwards associated with the azure sky above +the fir-tree. A fresh footpath, a fresh flower, a fresh delight. The +reeds, the grasses, the rushes--unknown and new things at every +step--something always to find; no barren spot anywhere, or sameness. +Every day the grass painted anew, and its green seen for the first +time; not the old green, but a novel hue and spectacle, like the first +view of the sea. + +If we had never before looked upon the earth, but suddenly came to it +man or woman grown, set down in the midst of a summer mead, would it +not seem to us a radiant vision? The hues, the shapes, the song and +life of birds, above all the sunlight, the breath of heaven, resting on +it; the mind would be filled with its glory, unable to grasp it, hardly +believing that such things could be mere matter and no more. Like a +dream of some spirit-land it would appear, scarce fit to be touched +lest it should fall to pieces, too beautiful to be long watched lest it +should fade away. So it seemed to me as a boy, sweet and new like this +each morning; and even now, after the years that have passed, and the +lines they have worn in the forehead, the summer mead shines as bright +and fresh as when my foot first touched the grass. It has another +meaning now; the sunshine and the flowers speak differently, for a +heart that has once known sorrow reads behind the page, and sees +sadness in joy. But the freshness is still there, the dew washes the +colours before dawn. Unconscious happiness in finding wild +flowers--unconscious and unquestioning, and therefore unbounded. + +I used to stand by the mower and follow the scythe sweeping down +thousands of the broad-flowered daisies, the knotted knapweeds, the +blue scabious, the yellow rattles, sweeping so close and true that +nothing escaped; and, yet although I had seen so many hundreds of each, +although I had lifted armfuls day after day, still they were fresh. +They never lost their newness, and even now each time I gather a wild +flower it feels a new thing. The greenfinches came to the fallen swathe +so near to us they seemed to have no fear; but I remember the +yellowhammers most, whose colour, like that of the wild flowers and the +sky, has never faded from my memory. The greenfinches sank into the +fallen swathe, the loose grass gave under their weight and let them +bathe in flowers. + +One yellowhammer sat on a branch of ash the livelong morning, still +singing in the sun; his bright head, his clean bright yellow, gaudy as +Spain, was drawn like a brush charged heavily with colour across the +retina, painting it deeply, for there on the eye's memory it endures, +though that was boyhood and this is manhood, still unchanged. The +field--Stewart's Mash--the very tree, young ash timber, the branch +projecting over the sward, I could make a map of them. Sometimes I +think sun-painted colours are brighter to me than to many, and more +strongly affect the nerves of the eye. Straw going by the road on a +dusky winter's day seems so pleasantly golden, the sheaves lying aslant +at the top, and these bundles of yellow tubes thrown up against the +dark ivy on the opposite wall. Tiles, red burned, or orange coated, the +sea sometimes cleanly definite, the shadows of trees in a thin wood +where there is room for shadows to form and fall; some such shadows are +sharper than light, and have a faint blue tint. Not only in summer but +in cold winter, and not only romantic things but plain matter-of-fact +things, as a waggon freshly painted red beside the wright's shop, stand +out as if wet with colour and delicately pencilled at the edges. It +must be out of doors; nothing indoors looks like this. + +Pictures are very dull and gloomy to it, and very contrasted colours +like those the French use are necessary to fix the attention. Their +dashes of pink and scarlet bring the faint shadow of the sun into the +room. As for our painters, their works are hung behind a curtain, and +we have to peer patiently through the dusk of evening to see what they +mean. Out-of-door colours do not need to be gaudy--a mere dull stake of +wood thrust in the ground often stands out sharper than the pink +flashes of the French studio; a faggot; the outline of a leaf; low +tints without reflecting power strike the eye as a bell the ear. To me +they are intensely clear, and the clearer the greater the pleasure. It +is often too great, for it takes me away from solid pursuits merely to +receive the impression, as water is still to reflect the trees. To me +it is very painful when illness blots the definition of outdoor things, +so wearisome not to see them rightly, and more oppressive than actual +pain. I feel as if I was struggling to wake up with dim, half-opened +lids and heavy mind. This one yellowhammer still sits on the ash branch +in Stewart's Mash over the sward, singing in the sun, his feathers +freshly wet with colour, the same sun-song, and will sing to me so long +as the heart shall beat. + +The first conscious thought about wild flowers was to find out their +names--the first conscious pleasure,--and then I began to see so many +that I had not previously noticed. Once you wish to identify them there +is nothing escapes, down to the little white chickweed of the path and +the moss of the wall. I put my hand on the bridge across the brook to +lean over and look down into the water. Are there any fish? The bricks +of the pier are covered with green, like a wall-painting to the surface +of the stream, mosses along the lines of the mortar, and among the moss +little plants--what are these? In the dry sunlit lane I look up to the +top of the great wall about some domain, where the green figs look over +upright on their stalks; there are dry plants on the coping--what are +these? Some growing thus, high in the air, on stone, and in the chinks +of the tower, suspended in dry air and sunshine; some low down under +the arch of the bridge over the brook, out of sight utterly, unless you +stoop by the brink of the water and project yourself forward to examine +under. The kingfisher sees them as he shoots through the barrel of the +culvert. There the sun direct never shines upon them, but the sunlight +thrown up by the ripples runs all day in bright bars along the vault of +the arch, playing on them. The stream arranges the sand in the shallow +in bars, minute fixed undulations; the stream arranges the sunshine in +successive flashes, undulating as if the sun, drowsy in the heat, were +idly closing and unclosing his eyelids for sleep. + +Plants everywhere, hiding behind every tree, under the leaves, in the +shady places, behind the dry furrows of the field; they are only just +behind something, hidden openly. The instant you look for them they +multiply a hundredfold; if you sit on the beach and begin to count the +pebbles by you, their number instantly increases to infinity by virtue +of that conscious act. + +The bird's-foot lotus was the first. The boy must have seen it, must +have trodden on it in the bare woodland pastures, certainly run about +on it, with wet naked feet from the bathing; but the boy was not +conscious of it. This was the first, when the desire came to identify +and to know, fixing upon it by means of a pale and feeble picture. In +the largest pasture there were different soils and climates; it was so +large it seemed a little country of itself then--the more so because +the ground rose and fell, making a ridge to divide the view and enlarge +by uncertainty. The high sandy soil on the ridge where the rabbits had +their warren; the rocky soil of the quarry; the long grass by the elms +where the rooks built, under whose nests there were vast unpalatable +mushrooms--the true mushrooms with salmon gills grew nearer the warren; +the slope towards the nut-tree hedge and spring. Several climates in +one field: the wintry ridge over which leaves were always driving in +all four seasons of the year; the level sunny plain and fallen cromlech +still tall enough for a gnomon and to cast its shadow in the treeless +drought; the moist, warm, grassy depression; the lotus-grown slope, +warm and dry. + +If you have been living in one house in the country for some time, and +then go on a visit to another, though hardly half a mile distant, you +will find a change in the air, the feeling, and tone of the place. It +is close by, but it is not the same. To discover these minute +differences, which make one locality healthy and home happy, and the +next adjoining unhealthy, the Chinese have invented the science of +Feng-shui, spying about with cabalistic mystery, casting the horoscope +of an acre. There is something in all superstitions; they are often the +foundation of science. Superstition having made the discovery, science +composes a lecture on the reason why, and claims the credit. +Bird's-foot lotus means a fortunate spot, dry, warm--so far as soil is +concerned. If you were going to live out of doors, you might safely +build your kibitka where you found it. Wandering with the pictured +flower-book, just purchased, over the windy ridge where last year's +skeleton leaves, blown out from the alder copse below, came on with +grasshopper motion--lifted and laid down by the wind, lifted and laid +down--I sat on the sward of the sheltered slope, and instantly +recognised the orange-red claws of the flower beside me. That was the +first; and this very morning, I dread to consider how many years +afterwards, I found a plant on a wall which I do not know. I shall have +to trace out its genealogy and emblazon its shield. So many years and +still only at the beginning--the beginning, too, of the beginning--for +as yet I have not thought of the garden or conservatory flowers (which +are wild flowers somewhere), or of the tropics, or the prairies. + +The great stone of the fallen cromlech, crouching down afar off in the +plain behind me, cast its shadow in the sunny morn as it had done, so +many summers, for centuries--for thousands of years: worn white by the +endless sunbeams--the ceaseless flood of light--the sunbeams of +centuries, the impalpable beams polishing and grinding like rushing +water: silent, yet witnessing of the Past; shadowing the Present on the +dial of the field: a mere dull stone; but what is it the mind will not +employ to express to itself its own thoughts? + +There was a hollow near in which hundreds of skeleton leaves had +settled, a stage on their journey from the alder copse, so thick as to +cover the thin grass, and at the side of the hollow a wasp's nest had +been torn out by a badger. On the soft and spreading sand thrown out +from his burrow the print of his foot looked as large as an elephant +might make. The wild animals of our fields are so small that the +badger's foot seemed foreign in its size, calling up thought of the +great game of distant forests. He was a bold badger to make his burrow +there in the open warren, unprotected by park walls or preserve laws, +where every one might see who chose. I never saw him by daylight: that +they do get about in daytime is, however, certain, for one was shot in +Surrey recently by sportsmen; they say he weighed forty pounds. + +In the mind all things are written in pictures--there is no +alphabetical combination of letters and words; all things are pictures +and symbols. The bird's-foot lotus is the picture to me of sunshine and +summer, and of that summer in the heart which is known only in youth, +and then not alone. No words could write that feeling: the bird's-foot +lotus writes it. + +When the efforts to photograph began, the difficulty was to fix the +scene thrown by the lens upon the plate. There the view appeared +perfect to the least of details, worked out by the sun, and made as +complete in miniature as that he shone upon in nature. But it faded +like the shadows as the summer sun declines. Have you watched them in +the fields among the flowers?--the deep strong mark of the noonday +shadow of a tree such as the pen makes drawn heavily on the paper; +gradually it loses its darkness and becomes paler and thinner at the +edge as it lengthens and spreads, till shadow and grass mingle +together. Image after image faded from the plates, no more to be fixed +than the reflection in water of the trees by the shore. Memory, like +the sun, paints to me bright pictures of the golden summer time of +lotus; I can see them, but how shall I fix them for you? By no process +can that be accomplished. It is like a story that cannot be told +because he who knows it is tongue-tied and dumb. Motions of hands, +wavings and gestures, rudely convey the framework, but the finish is +not there. + +To-day, and day after day, fresh pictures are coloured instantaneously +in the retina as bright and perfect in detail and hue. This very power +is often, I think, the cause of pain to me. To see so clearly is to +value so highly and to feel too deeply. The smallest of the pencilled +branches of the bare ash-tree drawn distinctly against the winter sky, +waving lines one within the other, yet following and partly parallel, +reproducing in the curve of the twig the curve of the great trunk; is +it not a pleasure to trace each to its ending? The raindrops as they +slide from leaf to leaf in June, the balmy shower that reperfumes each +wild flower and green thing, drops lit with the sun, and falling to the +chorus of the refreshed birds; is not this beautiful to see? On the +grasses tall and heavy the purplish blue pollen, a shimmering dust, +sown broadcast over the ripening meadow from July's warm hand--the +bluish pollen, the lilac pollen of the grasses, a delicate mist of blue +floating on the surface, has always been an especial delight to me. +Finches shake it from the stalks as they rise. No day, no hour of +summer, no step but brings new mazes--there is no word to express +design without plan, and these designs of flower and leaf and colours +of the sun cannot be reduced to set order. The eye is for ever drawn +onward and finds no end. To see these always so sharply, wet and fresh, +is almost too much sometimes for the wearied yet insatiate eye. I am +obliged to turn away--to shut my eyes and say I will not see, I will +not observe; I will concentrate my mind on my own little path of life, +and steadily gaze downwards. In vain. Who can do so? who can care alone +for his or her petty trifles of existence, that has once entered +amongst the wild flowers? How shall I shut out the sun? Shall I deny +the constellations of the night? They are there; the Mystery is for +ever about us--the question, the hope, the aspiration cannot be put +out. So that it is almost a pain not to be able to cease observing and +tracing the untraceable maze of beauty. + +Blue veronica was the next identified, sometimes called germander +speedwell, sometimes bird's-eye, whose leaves are so plain and petals +so blue. Many names increase the trouble of identification, and +confusion is made certain by the use of various systems of +classification. The flower itself I knew, its name I could not be sure +of--not even from the illustration, which was incorrectly coloured; the +central white spot of the flower was reddish in the plate. This +incorrect colouring spoils much of the flower-picturing done; pictures +of flowers and birds are rarely accurate unless hand-painted. Any one +else, however, would have been quite satisfied that the identification +was right. I was too desirous to be correct, too conscientious, and +thus a summer went by with little progress. If you really wish to +identify with certainty, and have no botanist friend and no _magnum +opus_ of Sowerby to refer to, it is very difficult indeed to be quite +sure. There was no Sowerby, no Bentham, no botanist friend--no one even +to give the common country names; for it is a curious fact that the +country people of the time rarely know the names put down as the +vernacular for flowers in the books. + +No one there could tell me the name of the marsh-marigold which grew +thickly in the water-meadows--"A sort of big buttercup," that was all +they knew. Commonest of common plants is the "sauce alone"--in every +hedge, on every bank, the whitish-green leaf is found--yet _I_ could +not make certain of it. If some one tells you a plant, you know it at +once and never forget it, but to learn it from a book is another +matter; it does not at once take root in the mind, it has to be seen +several times before you are satisfied--you waver in your convictions. +The leaves were described as large and heart-shaped, and to remain +green (at the ground) through the winter; but the colour of the flower +was omitted, though it was stated that the petals of the hedge-mustard +were yellow. The plant that seemed to me to be probably "sauce alone" +had leaves somewhat heart-shaped, but so confusing is _partial_ +description that I began to think I had hit on "ramsons" instead of +"sauce alone," especially as ramsons was said to be a very common +plant. So it is in some counties, but, as I afterwards found, there was +not a plant of ramsons, or garlic, throughout the whole of that +district. When, some years afterwards, I saw a white-flowered plant +with leaves like the lily of the valley, smelling of garlic, in the +woods of Somerset, I recognised It immediately. The plants that are +really common--common everywhere--are not numerous, and if you are +studying you must be careful to understand that word locally. My "sauce +alone" identification was right; to be right and not certain is still +unsatisfactory. + +There shone on the banks white stars among the grass. Petals delicately +white in a whorl of rays--light that had started radiating from a +centre and become fixed--shining among the flowerless green. The +slender stem had grown so fast it had drawn its own root partly out of +the ground, and when I tried to gather it, flower, stem and root came +away together. The wheat was springing, the soft air full of the growth +and moisture, blackbirds whistling, wood-pigeons nesting, young +oak-leaves out; a sense of swelling, sunny fulness in the atmosphere. +The plain road was made beautiful by the advanced boughs that overhung +and cast their shadows on the dust--boughs of ash-green, shadows that +lay still, listening to the nightingale. A place of enchantment in the +mornings where was felt the power of some subtle influence working +behind bough and grass and bird-song. The orange-golden dandelion in +the sward was deeply laden with colour brought to it anew again and +again by the ships of the flowers, the humble-bees--to their quays they +come, unlading priceless essences of sweet odours brought from the East +over the green seas of wheat, unlading priceless colours on the broad +dandelion disks, bartering these things for honey and pollen. Slowly +tacking aslant, the pollen ship hums in the south wind. The little +brown wren finds her way through the great thicket of hawthorn. How +does she know her path, hidden by a thousand thousand leaves? Tangled +and crushed together by their own growth, a crown of thorns hangs over +the thrush's nest; thorns for the mother, hope for the young. Is there +a crown of thorns over your heart? A spike has gone deep enough into +mine. The stile looks farther away because boughs have pushed forward +and made it smaller. The willow scarce holds the sap that tightens the +bark and would burst it if it did not enlarge to the pressure. + +Two things can go through the solid oak; the lightning of the clouds +that rends the iron timber, the lightning of the spring--the +electricity of the sunbeams forcing him to stretch forth and lengthen +his arms with joy. Bathed in buttercups to the dewlap, the roan cows +standing in the golden lake watched the hours with calm frontlet; +watched the light descending, the meadows filling, with knowledge of +long months of succulent clover. On their broad brows the year falls +gently; their great, beautiful eyes, which need but a tear or a smile +to make them human,--without these, such eyes, so large and full, seem +above human life, eyes of the immortals enduring without passion,--in +these eyes, as a mirror, nature is reflected. + +I came every day to walk slowly up and down the plain road, by the +starry flowers under the ash-green boughs; ash is the coolest, softest +green. The bees went drifting over by my head; as they cleared the +hedges they passed by my ears, the wind singing in their shrill wings. +White tent-walls of cloud--a warm white, being full to overflowing of +sunshine--stretched across from ash-top to ash-top, a cloud-canvas +roof, a tent-palace of the delicious air. For of all things there is +none so sweet as sweet air--one great flower it is, drawn round about, +over, and enclosing, like Aphrodite's arms; as if the dome of the sky +were a bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical essence of it +filling all the room of the earth. Sweetest of all things is +wild-flower air. Full of their ideal the starry flowers strained +upwards on the bank, striving to keep above the rude grasses that +pushed by them; genius has ever had such a struggle. The plain road was +made beautiful by the many thoughts it gave. I came every morning to +stay by the starlit bank. + +A friend said, "Why do you go the same road every day? Why not have a +change and walk somewhere else sometimes? Why keep on up and down the +same place?" I could not answer; till then it had not occurred to me +that I did always go one way; as for the reason of it I could not tell; +I continued in my old mind while the summers went away. Not till years +afterwards was I able to see why I went the same round and did not care +for change. I do not want change: I want the same old and loved things, +the same wild-flowers, the same trees and soft ash-green; the +turtle-doves, the blackbirds, the coloured yellowhammer sing, sing, +singing so long as there is light to cast a shadow on the dial, for +such is the measure of his song, and I want them in the same place. Let +me find them morning after morning, the starry-white petals radiating, +striving upwards to their ideal. Let me see the idle shadows resting on +the white dust; let me hear the humble-bees, and stay to look down on +the rich dandelion disk. Let me see the very thistles opening their +great crowns--I should miss the thistles; the reed-grasses hiding the +moorhen; the bryony bine, at first crudely ambitious and lifted by +force of youthful sap straight above the hedgerow to sink of its own +weight presently and progress with crafty tendrils; swifts shot through +the air with outstretched wings like crescent-headed shaftless arrows +darted from the clouds; the chaffinch with a feather in her bill; all +the living staircase of the spring, step by step, upwards to the great +gallery of the summer--let me watch the same succession year by year. + +Why, I knew the very dates of them all--the reddening elm, the arum, +the hawthorn leaf, the celandine, the may; the yellow iris of the +waters, the heath of the hillside. The time of the nightingale--the +place to hear the first note; onwards to the drooping fern and the time +of the redwing--the place of his first note, so welcome to the +sportsman as the acorn ripens and the pheasant, come to the age of +manhood, feeds himself; onwards to the shadowless days--the long +shadowless winter, for in winter it is the shadows we miss as much as +the light. They lie over the summer sward, design upon design, dark +lace on green and gold; they glorify the sunlight: they repose on the +distant hills like gods upon Olympus; without shadow, what even is the +sun? At the foot of the great cliffs by the sea you may know this, it +is dry glare; mighty ocean is dearer as the shadows of the clouds sweep +over as they sweep over the green corn. Past the shadowless winter, +when it is all shade, and therefore no shadow; onwards to the first +coltsfoot and on to the seed-time again; I knew the dates of all of +them. I did not want change; I wanted the same flowers to return on the +same day, the titlark to rise soaring from the same oak to fetch down +love with a song from heaven to his mate on the nest beneath. No +change, no new thing; if I found a fresh wild-flower in a fresh place, +still it wove at once into the old garland. In vain, the very next year +was different even in the same place--_that_ had been a year of rain, +and the flag flowers were wonderful to see; _this_ was a dry year, and +the flags not half the height, the gold of the flower not so deep; next +year the fatal billhook came and swept away a slow-grown hedge that had +given me crab-blossom in cuckoo-time and hazelnuts in harvest. Never +again the same, even in the same place. + +A little feather droops downwards to the ground--a swallow's feather +fuller of miracle than the Pentateuch--how shall that feather be placed +again in the breast where it grew? Nothing twice. Time changes the +places that knew us, and if we go back in after years, still even then +it is not the old spot; the gate swings differently, new thatch has +been put on the old gables, the road has been widened, and the sward +the driven sheep lingered on is gone. Who dares to think then? For +faces fade as flowers, and there is no consolation. So now I am sure I +was right in always walking the same way by the starry flowers striving +upwards on a slender ancestry of stem; I would follow the plain old +road to-day if I could. Let change be far from me; that irresistible +change must come is bitter indeed. Give me the old road, the same +flowers--they were only stitchwort--the old succession of days and +garland, ever weaving into it fresh wild-flowers from far and near. +Fetch them from distant mountains, discover them on decaying walls, in +unsuspected corners; though never seen before, still they are the same: +there has been a place in the heart waiting for them. + + + +SUNNY BRIGHTON + + +Some of the old streets opening out of the King's Road look very +pleasant on a sunny day. They ran to the north, so that the sun over +the sea shines nearly straight up them, and at the farther end, where +the houses close in on higher ground, the deep blue sky descends to the +rooftrees. The old red tiles, the red chimneys, the green jalousies, +give some colour; and beneath there are shadowy corners and archways. +They are not too wide to whisper across, for it is curious that to be +interesting a street must be narrow, and the pavements are but two or +three bricks broad. These pavements are not for the advantage of foot +passengers; they are merely to prevent cart-wheels from grating against +the houses. There is nothing ancient or carved in these streets, they +are but moderately old, yet turning from the illuminated sea it is +pleasant to glance up them as you pass, in their stillness and shadow, +lying outside the inconsiderate throng walking to and fro, and +contrasting in their irregularity with the set facades of the front. +Opposite, across the King's Road, the mastheads of the fishing boats on +the beach just rise above the rails of the cliff, tipped with +fluttering pennants, or fish-shaped vanes changing to the wind. They +have a pulley at the end of a curved piece of iron for hauling up the +lantern to the top of the mast when trawling; this thin curve, with a +dot at the extremity surmounting the straight and rigid mast, suits the +artist's pencil. The gold-plate shop--there is a bust of Psyche in the +doorway--often attracts the eye in passing; gold and silver plate in +large masses is striking, and it is a very good place to stand a minute +and watch the passers-by. + +It is a Piccadilly crowd by the sea-exactly the same style of people +you meet in Piccadilly, but freer in dress, and particularly in hats. +All fashionable Brighton parades the King's Road twice a day, morning +and afternoon, always on the side of the shops. The route is up and +down the King's Road as far as Preston Street, back again and up East +Street. Riding and driving Brighton extends its Rotten Row sometimes to +Third Avenue, Hove. These well-dressed and leading people never look at +the sea. Watching by the gold-plate shop you will not observe a single +glance in the direction of the sea, beautiful as it is, gleaming under +the sunlight. They do not take the slightest interest in sea, or sun, +or sky, or the fresh breeze calling white horses from the deep. Their +pursuits are purely "social," and neither ladies nor gentlemen ever go +on the beach or lie where the surge comes to the feet. The beach is +ignored; it is almost, perhaps quite vulgar; or rather it is entirely +outside the pale. No one rows, very few sail; the sea is not "the +thing" in Brighton, which is the least nautical of seaside places. +There is more talk of horses. + +The wind coming up the cliff seems to bring with it whole armfuls of +sunshine, and to throw the warmth and light against you as you linger. +The walls and glass reflect the light and push back the wind in puffs +and eddies; the awning flutters; light and wind spring upwards from the +pavement; the sky is richly blue against the parapets overhead; there +are houses on one side, but on the other open space and sea, and dim +clouds in the extreme distance. The atmosphere is full of light, and +gives a sense of liveliness! every atom of it is in motion. How +delicate are the fore legs of these thoroughbred horses passing! Small +and slender, the hoof, as the limb rises, seems to hang by a thread, +yet there is strength and speed in those sinews. Strength is often +associated with size, with the mighty flank, the round barrel, the +great shoulder. But I marvel more at the manner in which that strength +is conveyed through these slender sinews; the huge brawn and breadth of +flesh all depend upon these little cords. It is at these junctions that +the wonder of life is most evident. The succession of well-shaped +horses, overtaking and passing, crossing, meeting, their high-raised +heads and action increase the impression of pleasant movement. Quick +wheels, sometimes a tandem, or a painted coach, towering over the +line,--so rolls the procession of busy pleasure. There is colour in hat +and bonnet, feathers, flowers, and mantles, not brilliant but rapidly +changing, and in that sense bright. Faces on which the sun shines and +the wind blows whether cared for or not, and lit up thereby; faces seen +for a moment and immediately followed by others as interesting; a +flowing gallery of portraits; all life, life! Waiting unobserved under +the awning, occasionally, too, I hear voices as the throng goes by on +the pavement--pleasant tones of people chatting and the human sunshine +of laughter. The atmosphere is full of movement, full of light, and +life streams to and fro. + +Yonder, over the road, a row of fishermen lean against the rails of the +cliff, some with their backs to the sea, some facing it. "The cliff" is +rather a misnomer, it is more like a sea-wall in height. This row of +stout men in blue jerseys, or copper-hued tan frocks, seems to be +always there, always waiting for the tide--or nothing. Each has his +particular position; one, shorter than the rest, leans with his elbows +backwards on the low rail; another hangs over and looks down at the +site of the fish market; an older man stands upright, and from long +habit looks steadily out to sea. They have their hands in their +pockets; they appear fat and jolly, as round as the curves of their +smacks drawn up on the beach beneath them. They are of such that "sleep +o' nights;" no anxious ambition disturbs their placidity. No man in +this world knows how to absolutely do--nothing, like a fisherman. +Sometimes he turns round, sometimes he does not, that is all. The sun +shines, the breeze comes up the cliff, far away a French fishing lugger +is busy enough. The boats on the beach are idle, and swarms of boys are +climbing over them, swinging on a rope from the bowsprit, or playing at +marbles under the cliff. Bigger boys collect under the lee of a smack, +and do nothing cheerfully. The fashionable throng hastens to and fro, +but the row leaning against the railings do not stir. + +Doleful tales they have to tell any one who inquires about the fishing. +There have been "no herrings" these two years. One man went out with +his smack, and after working for hours returned with _one sole_. I can +never get this one sole out of my mind when I see the row by the rails. +While the fisherman was telling me this woeful story, I fancied I heard +voices from a crowd of the bigger boys collected under a smack, voices +that said, "Ho! ho! Go on! you're kidding the man!" Is there much +"kidding" in this business of fish? Another man told me (but he was not +a smack proprietor) that L50, L70, or L80 was a common night's catch. +Some people say that the smacks never put to sea until the men have +spent every shilling they have got, and are obliged to sail. If truth +lies at the bottom of a well, it is the well of a fishing boat, for +there is nothing so hard to get at as the truth about fish. At the time +when society was pluming itself on the capital results attained by the +Fisheries Exhibition in London, and gentlemen described in the papers +how they had been to market and purchased cod at sixpence a pound, one +shilling and eightpence a pound was the price in the Brighton +fishmongers' shops, close to the sea. Not the least effect was produced +in Brighton; fish remains at precisely the same price as before all +this ridiculous trumpeting. But while the fishmongers charge twopence +each for fresh herrings, the old women bring them to the door at +sixteen a shilling. The poor who live in the old part of Brighton, near +the markets, use great quantities of the smaller and cheaper fish, and +their children weary of the taste to such a degree that when the girls +go out to service they ask to be excused from eating it. + +The fishermen say they can often find a better market by sending their +fish to Paris; much of the fish caught off Brighton goes there. It is +fifty miles to London, and 250 to Paris; how then can this be? Fish +somehow slip through ordinary rules, being slimy of surface; the maxims +of the writers on demand and supply are quite ignored, and there is no +groping to the bottom of this well of truth. + +Just at the corner of some of the old streets that come down to the +King's Road one or two old fishermen often stand. The front one props +himself against the very edge of the buildings, and peers round into +the broad sunlit thoroughfare; his brown copper frock makes a distinct +patch of colour at the edge of the house. There is nothing in common +between him and the moving throng: he is quite separate and belongs to +another race; he has come down from the shadow of the old street, and +his copper-hued frock might have come out of the last century. + +The fishing-boats and the fishing, the nets, and all the fishing work +are a great ornament to Brighton. They are real; there is something +about them that forms a link with the facts of the sea, with the forces +of the tides and winds, and the sunlight gleaming on the white crests +of the waves. They speak to thoughts lurking in the mind; they float +between life and death as with a billow on either hand; their anchors +go down to the roots of existence. This is real work, real labour of +man, to draw forth food from the deep as the plough draws it from the +earth. It is in utter contrast to the artificial work--the feathers, +the jewellery, the writing at desks of the town. The writings of a +thousand clerks, the busy factory work, the trimmings and feathers, and +counter attendance do not touch the real. They are all artificial. For +food you must still go to the earth and to the sea, as in primeval +days. Where would your thousand clerks, your trimmers, and +counter-salesmen be without a loaf of bread, without meat, without +fish? The old brown sails and the nets, the anchors and tarry ropes, go +straight to nature. You do not care for nature now? Well! all I can say +is, you will have to go to nature one day--when you die: you will find +nature very real then. I rede you to recognise the sunlight and the +sea, the flowers and woods _now_. + +I like to go down on the beach among the fishing-boats, and to recline +on the shingle by a smack when the wind comes gently from the west, and +the low wave breaks but a few yards from my feet. I like the occasional +passing scent of pitch: they are melting it close by. I confess I like +tar: one's hands smell nice after touching ropes. It is more like home +down on the beach here; the men are doing something real, sometimes +there is the clink of a hammer; behind me there is a screen of brown +net, in which rents are being repaired; a big rope yonder stretches as +the horse goes round, and the heavy smack is drawn slowly up over the +pebbles. The full curves of the rounded bows beside me are pleasant to +the eye, as any curve is that recalls those of woman. Mastheads stand +up against the sky, and a loose rope swings as the breeze strikes it; a +veer of the wind brings a puff of smoke from the funnel of a cabin, +where some one is cooking, but it is not disagreeable, like smoke from +a house chimney-pot; another veer carries it away again,--depend upon +it the simplest thing cooked there is nice. Shingle rattles as it is +shovelled up for ballast--the sound of labour makes me more comfortably +lazy. They are not in a hurry, nor "chivy" over their work either; the +tides rise and fall slowly, and they work in correspondence. No +infernal fidget and fuss. Wonder how long it would take me to pitch a +pebble so as to lodge on the top of that large brown pebble there? I +try, once now and then. + +Far out over the sea there is a peculiar bank of clouds. I was always +fond of watching clouds; these do not move much. In my pocket-book I +see I have several notes about these peculiar sea-clouds. They form a +band not far above the horizon, not very thick but elongated laterally. +The upper edge is curled or wavy, not so heavily as what is called +mountainous, not in the least threatening; this edge is white. The body +of the vapour is a little darker, either because thicker, or because +the light is reflected at a different angle. But it is the lower edge +which is singular: in direct contrast with the curled or wavy edge +above, the under edge is perfectly straight and parallel to the line of +the horizon. It looks as if the level of the sea made this under line. +This bank moves very slowly--scarcely perceptibly--but in course of +hours rises, and as it rises spreads, when the extremities break off in +detached pieces, and these gradually vanish. Sometimes when travelling +I have pointed out the direction of the sea, feeling sure it was there, +and not far off, though invisible, on account of the appearance of the +clouds, whose under edge was cut across so straight. When this peculiar +bank appears at Brighton it is an almost certain sign of continued fine +weather, and I have noticed the same thing elsewhere; once particularly +it remained fine after this appearance despite every threat the sky +could offer of a storm. All the threats came to nothing for three +weeks, not even thunder and lightning could break it up,--"deceitful +flashes," as the Arabs say; for, like the sons of the desert, just then +the farmers longed for rain on their parched fields. To me, while on +the beach among the boats, the value of these clouds lies in their +slowness of movement, and consequent effect in soothing the mind. +Outside the hurry and drive of life a rest comes through the calm of +nature. As the swell of the sea carries up the pebbles, and arranges +the largest farthest inland, where they accumulate and stay unmoved, so +the drifting of the clouds, and the touch of the wind, the sound of the +surge, arrange the molecules of the mind in still layers. It is then +that a dream fills it, and a dream is sometimes better than the best +reality. Laugh at the idea of dreaming where there is an odour of tar +if you like, but you see it is outside intolerable civilisation. It is +a hundred miles from the King's Road, though but just under it. + +There is a scheme on foot for planking over the ocean, beginning at the +bottom of West Street. An immense central pier is proposed, which would +occupy the only available site for beaching the smacks. If carried out, +the whole fishing industry must leave Brighton,--to the fishermen the +injury would be beyond compensation, and the aspect of Brighton itself +would be destroyed. Brighton ought to rise in revolt against it. + +All Brighton chimney-pots are put on with giant cement, in order to +bear the strain of the tremendous winds rushing up from the sea. Heavy +as the gales are, they seldom do much mischief to the roofs, such as +are recorded inland. On the King's Road a plate-glass window is now and +then blown in, so that on hurricane days the shutters are generally +half shut. It is said that the wind gets between the iron shutters and +the plate glass and shakes the windows loose. The heaviest waves roll +in by the West Pier, and at the bottom of East Street. Both sides of +the West Pier are washed by larger waves than can be seen all along the +coast from the Quarter Deck. Great rollers come in at the concrete +groyne at the foot of East Street. Exposed as the coast is, the waves +do not convey so intense an idea of wildness, confusion, and power as +they do at Dover. To see waves in their full vigour go to the Admiralty +Pier and watch the seas broken by the granite wall. Windy Brighton has +not an inch of shelter anywhere in a gale, and the salt rain driven by +the wind penetrates the thickest coat. The windiest spot is at the +corner of Second Avenue, Hove; the wind just there is almost enough to +choke those who face it. Double windows--Russian fashion--are common +all along the sea-front, and are needed. + +After a gale, when the wind changes, as it usually does, it is pleasant +to see the ships work in to the verge of the shore. The sea is turbid +and yellow with sand beaten up by the recent billows,--this yellowness +extends outwards to a certain line, and is there succeeded by the green +of clearer water. Beyond this again the surface looks dark, as if still +half angry, and clouds hang over it, both to retire from the strife. As +bees come out of their hives when the rain ceases and the sun shines, +so the vessels which have been lying-to in harbour, or under shelter of +promontories, are now eagerly making their way down Channel, and, in +order to get as long a tack and as much advantage as possible, they are +brought to the edge of the shallow water. Sometimes fifteen or twenty +or more stand in; all sizes from the ketch to the three-master. The +wind is not strong, but that peculiar drawing breeze which seems to +pull a ship along as if with a tow-rope. The brig stands straight for +the beach, with all sail set; she heels a little, not much; she +scarcely heaves to the swell, and is not checked by meeting waves; she +comes almost to the yellow line of turbid water, when round she goes, +and you can see the sails shiver as the breeze touches them on both +surfaces for a moment. Then again she shows her stern and away she +glides, while another approaches: and all day long they pass. There is +always something shadowy, not exactly unreal, but shadowy about a ship; +it seems to carry a romance, and the imagination fashions a story to +the swelling sails. + +The bright light of Brighton brings all things into clear relief, +giving them an edge and outline; as steel burns with a flame like wood +in oxygen, so the minute particles of iron in the atmosphere seem to +burn and glow in the sunbeams, and a twofold illumination fills the +air. Coming back to the place after a journey this brilliant light is +very striking, and most new visitors notice it. Even a room with a +northern aspect is full of light, too strong for some eyes, till +accustomed to it. I am a great believer in light--sunlight--and of my +free will never let it be shut out with curtains. Light is essential to +life, like air; life is thought; light is as fresh air to the mind. +Brilliant sunshine is reflected from the houses and fills the streets. +The walls of the houses are clean and less discoloured by the deposit +of carbon than usual in most towns, so that the reflection is stronger +from these white surfaces. Shadow there is none in summer, for the +shadows are lit up by diffusion. Something in the atmosphere throws +light down into shaded places as if from a mirror. Waves beat +ceaselessly on the beach, and the undulations of light flow +continuously forwards into the remotest corners. Pure air, free from +suspended matter, lets the light pass freely, and perhaps this absence +of suspended material is the reason that the heat is not so oppressive +as would be supposed considering the glare. Certainly it is not so hot +as London; on going up to town on a July or August day it seems much +hotter there, so much so that one pants for air. Conversely in winter, +London appears much colder, the thick dark atmosphere seems to increase +the bitterness of the easterly winds, and returning to Brighton is +entering a warmer because clearer air. Many complain of the brilliance +of the light; they say the glare is overpowering, but the eyes soon +become acclimatised. This glare is one of the great recommendations of +Brighton; the strong light is evidently one of the causes of its +healthfulness to those who need change. There is no such glowing light +elsewhere along the south coast; these things are very local. + +A demand has been made for trees, to plant the streets and turn them +into boulevards for shade, than which nothing could be more foolish. It +is the dryness of the place that gives it its character. After a storm, +after heavy rain for days, in an hour the pavements are not only dry +but clean; no dirt, sticky and greasy, remains. The only dirt in +Brighton, for three-fourths of the year, is that made by the +water-carts. Too much water is used, and a good clean road covered with +mud an inch thick in August; but this is not the fault of Brighton--it +is the lack of observation on the part of the Cadi who ought to have +noticed the wretched condition of ladies' boots when compelled to cross +these miry promenades. Trees are not wanted in Brighton; it is the +peculiar glory of Brighton to be treeless. Trees are the cause of damp, +they suck down moisture, and fill a circle round them with humidity. +Places full of trees are very trying in spring and autumn even to +robust people, much more so to convalescents and delicate persons. Have +nothing to do with trees, if Brighton is to retain its value. Glowing +light, dry, clear, and clean air, general dryness--these are the +qualities that rendered Brighton a sanatorium; light and glow without +oppressive moist heat; in winter a clear cold. Most terrible of all to +bear is cold when the atmosphere is saturated with water. If any reply +that trees have no leaves in winter and so do not condense moisture, I +at once deny the conclusion; they have no leaves, but they condense +moisture nevertheless. This is effected by the minute twigs, thousands +of twigs and little branches, on which the mists condense, and distil +in drops. Under a large tree, in winter, there is often a perfect +shower, enough to require an umbrella, and it lasts for hours. +Eastbourne is a pleasant place, but visit Eastbourne, which is proud of +its trees, in October, and feel the damp fallen leaves under your feet, +and you would prefer no trees. + +Let nothing check the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight which +fall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up and +wets them, almost before it can slip back the sunshine has dried them +again. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowing +light, bright clear air, dry as dry,--that describes the place. Spain +is the country of sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish +town in England, a Seville. Very bright colours can be worn in summer +because of this powerful light; the brightest are scarcely noticed, for +they seem to be in concert with the sunshine. Is it difficult to paint +in so strong a light? Pictures in summer look dull and out of tune when +this Seville sun is shining. Artificial colours of the palette cannot +live in it. As a race we do not seem to care much for colour or art--I +mean in the common things of daily life--else a great deal of colour +might be effectively used in Brighton in decorating houses and +woodwork. Much more colour might be put in the windows, brighter +flowers and curtains; more, too, inside the rooms; the sober hues of +London furniture and carpets are not in accord with Brighton light. +Gold and ruby and blue, the blue of transparent glass, or purple, might +be introduced, and the romance of colour freely indulged. At high tide +of summer Spanish mantillas, Spanish fans, would not be out of place in +the open air. No tint is too bright--scarlet, cardinal, anything the +imagination fancies; the brightest parasol is a matter of course. +Stand, for instance, by the West Pier, on the Esplanade, looking east +on a full-lit August day. The sea is blue, streaked with green, and is +stilled with heat; the low undulations can scarcely rise and fall for +somnolence. The distant cliffs are white; the houses yellowish-white; +the sky blue, more blue than fabled Italy. Light pours down, and the +bitter salt sea wets the pebbles; to look at them makes the mouth dry, +in the unconscious recollection of the saltness and bitterness. The +flags droop, the sails of the fishing-boats hang idle; the land and the +sea are conquered by the great light of the sun. + +Some people become famous by being always in one attitude. Meet them +when you will, they have invariably got an arm--the same arm--crossed +over the breast, and the hand thrust in between the buttons of the coat +to support it. Morning, noon, or evening, in the street, the carriage, +sitting, reading the paper, always the same attitude; thus they achieve +social distinction; it takes the place of a medal or the red ribbon. +What is a general or a famous orator compared to a man always in the +same attitude? Simply nobody, nobody knows him, everybody knows the +mono-attitude man. Some people make their mark by invariably wearing +the same short pilot coat. Doubtless it has been many times renewed, +still it is the same coat. In winter it is thick, in summer thin, but +identical in cut and colour. Some people sit at the same window of the +reading-room at the same hour every day, all the year round. This is +the way to become marked and famous; winning a battle is nothing to it. +When it was arranged that a military band should play on the Brunswick +Lawns, it became the fashion to stop carriages in the road and listen +to it. Frequently there were carriages four deep, while the gale blew +the music out to sea and no one heard a note. Still they sat content. + +There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in the +world. They are so common that gradually the standard of taste in the +mind rises, and good-looking women who would be admired in other places +pass by without notice. Where all the flowers are roses, you do not see +a rose. They are all plump, not to say fat, which would be rude; very +plump, and have the glow and bloom of youth upon the cheeks. They do +not suffer from "pernicious anaemia," that evil bloodlessness which +London physicians are not unfrequently called upon to cure, when the +cheeks are white as paper and have to be rosied with minute doses of +arsenic. They extract their arsenic from the air. The way they step and +the carriage of the form show how full they are of life and spirits. +Sarah Bernhardt will not come to Brighton if she can help it, lest she +should lose that high art angularity and slipperiness of shape which +suits her _role_. Dresses seem always to fit well, because people +somehow expand to them. It is pleasant to see the girls walk, because +the limbs do not drag, the feet are lifted gaily and with ease. +Horse-exercise adds a deeper glow to the face; they ride up on the +Downs first, out of pure cunning, for the air there is certain to +impart a freshness to the features like dew on a flower, and then +return and walk their horses to and fro the King's Road, certain of +admiration. However often these tricks are played, they are always +successful. Those philanthropic folk who want to reform women's dress, +and call upon the world to observe how the present style contracts the +chest, and forces the organs of the body out of place (what a queer +expression it seems, "organs"!) have not a chance in Brighton. Girls +lace tight and "go in" for the tip of the fashion, yet they bloom and +flourish as green bay trees, and do not find their skirts any obstacle +in walking or tennis. The horse-riding that goes on is a thing to be +chronicled; they are always on horseback, and you may depend upon it +that it is better for them than all the gymnastic exercises ever +invented. The liability to strain, and even serious internal injury, +which is incurred in gymnastic exercises, ought to induce sensible +people to be extremely careful how they permit their daughters to +sacrifice themselves on this scientific altar. Buy them horses to ride, +if you want them to enjoy good health and sound constitutions. Nothing +like horses for women. Send the professors to Suakim, and put the girls +on horseback. Whether Brighton grows handsome girls, or whether they +flock there drawn by instinct, or become lovely by staying there, is an +inquiry too difficult to pursue. + +There they are, one at least in every group, and you have to walk, as +the Spaniards say, with your beard over your shoulder, continually +looking back at those who have passed. The only antidote known is to +get married before you visit the place, and doubts have been expressed +as to its efficacy. In the south-coast Seville there is nothing done +but heart-breaking; it is so common it is like hammering flints for +road mending; nobody cares if your heart is in pieces. They break +hearts on horseback, and while walking, playing tennis, +shopping--actually at shopping, not to mention parties of every kind. +No one knows where the next danger will be encountered--at the very +next corner perhaps. Feminine garments have an irresistible flutter in +the sea-breeze; feathers have a beckoning motion. No one can be +altogether good in Brighton, and that is the great charm of it. The +language of the eyes is cultivated to a marvellous degree; as we say of +dogs, they quite talk with their eyes. Even when you do not chance to +meet an exceptional beauty, still the plainer women are not plain like +the plain women in other places. The average is higher among them, and +they are not so irredeemably uninteresting. The flash of an eye, the +shape of a shoulder, the colour of the hair--something or other +pleases. Women without a single good feature are often good-looking in +New Seville because of an indescribable style or manner. They catch the +charm of the good-looking by living among them, so that if any young +lady desires to acquire the art of attraction she has only to take +train and join them. Delighted with our protectorate of Paphos, Venus +has lately decided to reside on these shores, Every morning the girls' +schools go for their constitutional walks; there seem no end of these +schools--the place has a garrison of girls, and the same thing is +noticeable in their ranks. Too young to have developed actual +loveliness, some in each band distinctly promise future success. After +long residence the people become accustomed to good looks, and do not +see anything especial around them, but on going away for a few days +soon miss these pleasant faces. + +In reconstructing Brighton station, one thing was omitted--a balcony +from which to view the arrival and departure of the trains in summer +and autumn. The scene is as lively and interesting as the stage when a +good play is proceeding. So many happy expectant faces, often very +beautiful; such a mingling of colours, and succession of different +figures; now a brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is +real. The bustle, which is not the careworn anxious haste of business; +the rushing to and fro; the greetings of friends; the smiles; the +shifting of the groups, some coming, and some going--plump and +rosy,--it is really charming. One has a fancy dog, another a +bright-bound novel; very many have cavaliers; and look at the piles of +luggage! What dresses, what changes and elegance concealed +therein!--conjurors' trunks out of which wonders will spring. Can +anything look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, like huge +barnacles, just starting away with its freight? One can imagine such a +fund of enjoyment on its way in that cab. This happy throng seems to +express something that delights the heart. I often used to walk up to +the station just to see it, and left feeling better. + + + +THE PINE WOOD + + +There was a humming in the tops of the young pines as if a swarm of +bees were busy at the green cones. They were not visible through the +thick needles, and on listening longer it seemed as if the sound was +not exactly the note of the bee--a slightly different pitch, and the +hum was different, while bees have a habit of working close together. +Where there is one bee there are usually five or six, and the hum is +that of a group; here there only appeared one or two insects to a pine. +Nor was the buzz like that of the humble-bee, for every now and then +one came along low down, flying between the stems, and his note was +much deeper. By-and-by, crossing to the edge of the plantation, where +the boughs could be examined, being within reach, I found it was wasps. +A yellow wasp wandered over the blue-green needles till he found a pair +with a drop of liquid like dew between them. There he fastened himself +and sucked at it; you could see the drop gradually drying up till it +was gone. The largest of these drops were generally between two +needles--those of the Scotch fir or pine grow in pairs--but there were +smaller drops on the outside of other needles. In searching for this +exuding turpentine the wasps filled the whole plantation with the sound +of their wings. There must have been many thousands of them. They +caused no inconvenience to any one walking in the copse, because they +were high overhead. + +Watching these wasps I found two cocoons of pale yellow silk on a +branch of larch, and by them a green spider. He was quite green--two +shades, lightest on the back, but little lighter than the green larch +bough. An ant had climbed up a pine and over to the extreme end of a +bough; she seemed slow and stupefied in her motions, as if she had +drunken of the turpentine and had lost her intelligence. The soft cones +of the larch could be easily cut down the centre with a penknife, +showing the structure of the cone and the seeds inside each scale. It +is for these seeds that birds frequent the fir copses, shearing off the +scales with their beaks. One larch cone had still the tuft at the +top--a pineapple in miniature. The loudest sound in the wood was the +humming in the trees; there was no wind, no sunshine; a summer day, +still and shadowy, under large clouds high up. To this low humming the +sense of hearing soon became accustomed, and it served but to render +the silence deeper. In time, as I sat waiting and listening, there came +the faintest far-off song of a bird away in the trees; the merest thin +upstroke of sound, slight in structure, the echo of the strong spring +singing. This was the summer repetition, dying away. A willow-wren +still remembered his love, and whispered about it to the silent fir +tops, as in after days we turn over the pages of letters, withered as +leaves, and sigh. So gentle, so low, so tender a song the willow-wren +sang that it could scarce be known as the voice of a bird, but was like +that of some yet more delicate creature with the heart of a woman. + +A butterfly with folded wings clung to a stalk of grass; upon the under +side of his wing thus exposed there were buff spots, and dark dots and +streaks drawn on the finest ground of pearl-grey, through which there +came a tint of blue; there was a blue, too, shut up between the wings, +visible at the edges. The spots, and dots, and streaks were not exactly +the same on each wing; at first sight they appeared similar, but, on +comparing one with the other, differences could be traced. The pattern +was not mechanical; it was hand-painted by Nature, and the painter's +eye and fingers varied in their work. + +How fond Nature is of spot-markings!--the wings of butterflies, the +feathers of birds, the surface of eggs, the leaves and petals of plants +are constantly spotted; so, too, fish--as trout. From the wing of the +butterfly I looked involuntarily at the foxglove I had just gathered; +inside, the bells were thickly spotted--dots and dustings that might +have been transferred to a butterfly's wing. The spotted meadow-orchis; +the brown dots on the cowslips; brown, black, greenish, reddish dots +and spots and dustings on the eggs of the finches, the whitethroats, +and so many others--some of the spots seem as if they had been splashed +on and had run into short streaks, some mottled, some gathered together +at the end; all spots, dots, dustings of minute specks, mottlings, and +irregular markings. The histories, the stories, the library of +knowledge contained in those signs! It was thought a wonderful thing +when at last the strange inscriptions of Assyria were read, made of +nail-headed characters whose sound was lost; it was thought a triumph +when the yet older hieroglyphics of Egypt were compelled to give up +their messages, and the world hoped that we should know the secrets of +life. That hope was disappointed; there was nothing in the records but +superstition and useless ritual. But here we go back to the beginning; +the antiquity of Egypt is nothing to the age of these signs--they date +from unfathomable time. In them the sun has written his commands, and +the wind inscribed deep thought. They were before superstition began; +they were composed in the old, old world, when the Immortals walked on +earth. They have been handed down thousands upon thousands of years to +tell us that to-day we are still in the presence of the heavenly +visitants, if only we will give up the soul to these pure influences. +The language in which they are written has no alphabet, and cannot be +reduced to order. It can only be understood by the heart and spirit. +Look down into this foxglove bell and you will know that; look long and +lovingly at this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will rise to +your consciousness. + +Some time passed, but the butterfly did not move; a touch presently +disturbed him, and flutter, flutter went his blue wings, only for a few +seconds, to another grass-stalk, and so on from grass-stalk to +grass-stalk as compelled, a yard flight at most. He would not go +farther; he settled as if it had been night. There was no sunshine, and +under the clouds he had no animation. A swallow went by singing in the +air, and as he flew his forked tail was shut, and but one streak of +feathers drawn past. Though but young trees, there was a coating of +fallen needles under the firs an inch thick, and beneath it the dry +earth touched warm. A fern here and there came up through it, the +palest of pale green, quite a different colour to the same species +growing in the hedges away from the copse. A yellow fungus, streaked +with scarlet as if blood had soaked into it, stood at the foot of a +tree occasionally. Black fungi, dry, shrivelled, and dead, lay fallen +about, detached from the places where they had grown, and crumbling if +handled. Still more silent after sunset, the wood was utterly quiet; +the swallows no longer passed twittering, the willow-wren was gone, +there was no hum or rustle; the wood was as silent as a shadow. + +But before the darkness a song and an answer arose in a tree, one bird +singing a few notes and another replying side by side. Two goldfinches +sat on the cross of a larch-fir and sang, looking towards the west, +where the light lingered. High up, the larch-fir boughs with the top +shoot form a cross; on this one goldfinch sat, the other was +immediately beneath. At even the birds often turn to the west as they +sing. + +Next morning the August sun shone, and the wood was all a-hum with +insects. The wasps were working at the pine boughs high overhead; the +bees by dozens were crowding to the bramble flowers; swarming on them, +they seemed so delighted; humble-bees went wandering among the ferns in +the copse and in the ditches--they sometimes alight on fern--and +calling at every purple heath-blossom, at the purple knapweeds, purple +thistles, and broad handfuls of yellow-weed flowers. Wasp-like flies +barred with yellow suspended themselves in the air between the +pine-trunks like hawks hovering, and suddenly shot themselves a yard +forward or to one side, as if the rapid vibration of their wings while +hovering had accumulated force which drove them as if discharged from a +cross-bow. The sun had set all things in motion. + +There was a hum under the oak by the hedge, a hum in the pine wood, a +humming among the heath and the dry grass which heat had browned. The +air was alive and merry with sound, so that the day seemed quite +different and twice as pleasant. Three blue butterflies fluttered in +one flowery corner, the warmth gave them vigour; two had a silvery +edging to their wings, one was brown and blue. The nuts reddening at +the tips appeared ripening like apples in the sunshine. This corner is +a favourite with wild bees and butterflies; if the sun shines they are +sure to be found there at the heath-bloom and tall yellow-weed, and +among the dry seeding bennets or grass-stalks. All things, even +butterflies, are local in their habits. Far up on the hillside the blue +green of the pines beneath shone in the sun--a burnished colour; the +high hillside is covered with heath and heather. Where there are open +places a small species of gorse, scarcely six inches high, is in bloom, +the yellow blossom on the extremity of the stalk. + +Some of these gorse plants seemed to have a different flower growing at +the side of the stem, instead of at the extremity. These florets were +cream-coloured, so that it looked like a new species of gorse. On +gathering it to examine the thick-set florets, if was found that a +slender runner or creeper had been torn up with it. Like a thread the +creeper had wound itself round and round the furze, buried in and +hidden by the prickles, and it was this creeper that bore the white or +cream-florets. It was tied round as tightly as thread could be, so that +the florets seemed to start from the stem, deceiving the eye at first. +In some places this parasite plant had grown up the heath and strangled +it, so that the tips turned brown and died. The runners extended in +every direction across the ground, like those of strawberries. One +creeper had climbed up a bennet, or seeding grass-stalk, binding the +stalk and a blade of the grass together, and flowering there. On the +ground there were patches of grey lichen; many of the pillar-like stems +were crowned with a red top. Under a small boulder stone there was an +ants' nest. These boulders, or, as they are called locally, "bowlers," +were scattered about the heath. Many of the lesser stones were spotted +with dark dots of lichen, not unlike a toad. + +Thoughtlessly turning over a boulder about nine inches square, lo! +there was subject enough for thinking underneath it--a subject that has +been thought about many thousand years; for this piece of rock had +formed the roof of an ants' nest. The stone had sunk three inches deep +into the dry soil of sand and peaty mould, and in the floor of the hole +the ants had worked out their excavations, which resembled an outline +map. The largest excavation was like England; at the top, or north, +they had left a narrow bridge, an eighth of an inch wide, under which +to pass into Scotland, and from Scotland again another narrow arch led +to the Orkney Islands; these last, however, were dug in the +perpendicular side of the hole. In the corners of these excavations +tunnels ran deeper into the ground, and the ants immediately began +hurrying their treasures, the eggs, down into these cellars. At one +angle a tunnel went beneath the heath into further excavations beneath +a second boulder stone. Without, a fern grew, and the dead dry stems of +heather crossed each other. + +This discovery led to the turning over of another boulder stone not far +off, and under it there appeared a much more extensive and complete +series of galleries, bridges, cellars and tunnels. In these the whole +life-history of the ant was exposed at a single glance, as if one had +taken off the roofs of a city. One cell contained a dust-like deposit, +another a collection resembling the dust, but now elongated and a +little greenish; a third treasury, much larger, was piled up with +yellowish grains about the size of wheat, each with a black dot on the +top, and looking like minute hop-pockets. Besides these, there was a +pure white substance in a corridor, which the irritated ants seemed +particularly anxious to remove out of sight, and quickly carried away. +Among the ants rushing about there were several with wings; one took +flight; one was seized by a wingless ant and dragged down into a +cellar, as if to prevent its taking wing. A helpless green fly was in +the midst, and round the outside galleries there crept a creature like +a spider, seeming to try to hide itself. If the nest had been formed +under glass, it could not have been more open to view. The stone was +carefully replaced. + +Below the pine wood on the slope of the hill a plough was already at +work, the crop of peas having been harvested. The four horses came up +the slope, and at the ridge swept round in a fine curve to go back and +open a fresh furrow. As soon as they faced down-hill they paused, well +aware of what had to be done, and the ploughman in a manner knocked his +plough to pieces, putting it together again the opposite way, that the +earth he was about to cut with the share might fall on what he had just +turned. With a piece of iron he hammered the edge of the share, to set +it, for the hard ground had bent the edge, and it did not cut properly. +I said his team looked light; they were not so heavily built as the +cart-horses used in many places. No, he said, they did not want heavy +horses. "Dese yer thick-boned hosses be more clutter-headed over the +clots," as he expressed it, _i.e._ more clumsy or thick-headed over the +clods. He preferred comparatively light cart-horses to step well. In +the heat of the sun the furze-pods kept popping and bursting open; they +are often as full of insects as seeds, which come creeping out. A green +and black lady-bird--exactly like a tortoise--flew on to my hand. Again +on the heath, and the grasshoppers rose at every step, sometimes three +or four springing in as many directions. They were winged, and as soon +as they were up spread their vanes and floated forwards. As the force +of the original hop decreased, the wind took their wings and turned +them aside from the straight course before they fell. Down the dusty +road, inches deep in sand, comes a sulphur butterfly, rushing as quick +as if hastening to a butterfly-fair. If only rare, how valued he would +be! His colour is so evident and visible; he fills the road, being +brighter than all, and for the moment is more than the trees and +flowers. + +Coming so suddenly over the hedge into the road close to me, he +startled me as if I had been awakened from a dream--I had been thinking +it was August, and woke to find it February--for the sulphur butterfly +is the February pleasure. Between the dark storms and wintry rains +there is a warm sunny interval of a week in February. Away one goes for +a walk, and presently there appears a bright yellow spot among the +furze, dancing along like a flower let loose. It is a sulphur +butterfly, who thus comes before the earliest chiffchaff--before the +watch begins for the first swallow. I call it the February pleasure, as +each month has its delight. So associated as this butterfly is with +early spring, to see it again after months of leaf and flower--after +June and July--with the wheat in shock and the scent of harvest in the +land, is startling. The summer, then, is a dream! It is still winter; +but no, here are the trees in leaf, the nuts reddening, the hum of +bees, and dry summer dust on the high wiry grass. The sulphur butterfly +comes twice; there is a second brood; but there are some facts that are +always new and surprising, however well known. I may say again, if only +rare, how this butterfly would be prized! Along the hedgerow there are +several spiders' webs. In the centre they are drawn inwards, forming a +funnel, which goes back a few inches into the hedge, and at the bottom +of this the spider waits. If you look down the funnel you see his claws +at the bottom, ready to run up and seize a fly. + +Sitting in the garden after a walk, it is pleasant to watch the +eave-swallows feeding their young on the wing. The young bird follows +the old one; then they face each other and stay a moment in the air, +while the insect food is transferred from beak to beak; with a loud +note they part. There was a constant warfare between the eave-swallows +and the sparrows frequenting a house where I was staying during the +early part of the summer. The sparrows strove their utmost to get +possession of the nests the swallows built, and there was no peace +between them It is common enough for one or two swallows' nests to be +attacked in this way, but here every nest along the eaves was fought +for, and the sparrows succeeded in conquering many of them. The +driven-out swallows after a while began to build again, and I noticed +that more than a pair seemed to work at the same nest. One nest was +worked at by four swallows; often all four came together and twittered +at it. + + + +NATURE ON THE ROOF + + +Increased activity on the housetop marks the approach of spring and +summer exactly as in the woods and hedges, for the roof has its +migrants, its semi-migrants, and its residents. When the first +dandelion is opening on a sheltered bank, and the pale-blue field +veronica flowers in the waste corner, the whistle of the starling comes +from his favourite ledge. Day by day it is heard more and more, till, +when the first green spray appears on the hawthorn, he visits the roof +continually. Besides the roof-tree and the chimney-pot, he has his own +special place, sometimes under an eave, sometimes between two gables; +and as I sit writing, I can see a pair who have a ledge which slightly +projects from the wall between the eaves and the highest window. This +was made by the builder for an ornament; but my two starlings consider +it their own particular possession. They alight with a sort of +half-scream half-whistle just over the window, flap their wings, and +whistle again, run along the ledge to a spot where there is a gable, +and with another note, rise up and enter an aperture between the slates +and the wall. There their nest will be in a little time, and busy +indeed they will be when the young require to be fed, to and fro the +fields and the gable the whole day through; the busiest and the most +useful of birds, for they destroy thousands upon thousands of insects, +and if farmers were wise they would never have one shot, no matter how +the thatch was pulled about. + +My pair of starlings were frequently at this ledge last autumn, very +late in autumn, and I suspect they had a winter brood there. The +starling does rear a brood sometimes in the midst of the winter, +contrary as that may seem to our general ideas of natural history. They +may be called roof-residents, as they visit it all the year round; they +nest in the roof, rearing two and sometimes three broods; and use it as +their club and place of meeting. Towards July the young starlings and +those that have for the time at least finished nesting, flock together, +and pass the day in the fields, returning now and then to their old +home. These flocks gradually increase; the starling is so prolific that +the flocks become immense, till in the latter part of the autumn in +southern fields it is common to see a great elm-tree black with them, +from the highest bough downwards, and the noise of their chattering can +be heard a long distance. They roost in firs or in osier-beds. But in +the blackest days of winter, when frost binds the ground hard as iron, +the starlings return to the roof almost every day; they do not whistle +much, but have a peculiar chuckling whistle at the instant of +alighting. In very hard weather, especially snow, the starlings find it +difficult to obtain a living, and at such times will come to the +premises at the rear, and at farmhouses where cattle are in the yards, +search about among them for insects. + +The whole history of the starling is interesting, but I must here only +mention it as a roof-bird. They are very handsome in their full +plumage, which gleams bronze and green among the darker shades; quick +in their motions, and full of spirit; loaded to the muzzle with energy, +and never still. I hope none of those who are so good as to read what I +have written will ever keep a starling in a cage; the cruelty is +extreme. As for shooting pigeons at a trap, it is mercy in comparison. + +Even before the starling whistles much, the sparrows begin to chirp: in +the dead of winter they are silent; but so soon as the warmer winds +blow, if only for a day, they begin to chirp. In January this year I +used to listen to the sparrows chirping, the starlings whistling, and +the chaffinches' "chink, chink" about eight o'clock, or earlier, in the +morning: the first two on the roof; the latter, which is not a +roof-bird, in some garden shrubs. As the spring advances, the sparrows +sing--it is a short song, it is true, but still it is singing--perched +at the edge of a sunny wall. There is not a place about the house where +they will not build--under the eaves, on the roof, anywhere where there +is a projection or shelter, deep in the thatch, under the tiles, in old +eave-swallows' nest. The last place I noticed as a favourite one in +towns is on the half-bricks left projecting in perpendicular rows at +the sides of unfinished houses, Half a dozen nests may be counted at +the side of a house on these bricks; and like the starlings, they rear +several broods, and some are nesting late in the autumn. By degrees as +the summer advances they leave the houses for the corn, and gather in +vast flocks, rivalling those of the starlings. At this time they desert +the roofs, except those who still have nesting duties. In winter and in +the beginning of the new year, they gradually return; migration thus +goes on under the eyes of those who care to notice it. In London, some +who fed sparrows on the roof found that rooks also came for the crumbs +placed out. I sometimes see a sparrow chasing a rook, as if angry, and +trying to drive it away over the roofs where I live, the thief does not +retaliate, but, like a thief, flees from the scene of his guilt. This +is not only in the breeding season, when the rook steals eggs, but in +winter. Town residents are apt to despise the sparrow, seeing him +always black; but in the country the sparrows are as clean as a pink; +and in themselves they are the most animated, clever little creatures. + +They are easily tamed. The Parisians are fond of taming them. At a +certain hour in the Tuilleries Gardens, you may see a man perfectly +surrounded with a crowd of sparrows--some perching on his shoulder; +some fluttering in the air immediately before his face; some on the +ground like a tribe of followers; and others on the marble seats. He +jerks a crumb of bread into the air--a sparrow dexterously seizes it as +he would a flying insect; he puts a crumb between his lips--a sparrow +takes it out and feeds from his mouth. Meantime they keep up a constant +chirping; those that are satisfied still stay by and adjust their +feathers. He walks on, giving a little chirp with his mouth, and they +follow him along the path--a cloud about his shoulders, and the rest +flying from shrub to shrub, perching, and then following again. They +are all perfectly clean--a contrast to the London Sparrow. I came +across one of these sparrow-tamers by chance, and was much amused at +the scene, which, to any one not acquainted with birds, appears +marvellous; but it is really as simple as possible, and you can repeat +it for yourself if you have patience, for they are so sharp they soon +understand you. They seem to play at nest-making before they really +begin; taking up straws in their beaks, and carrying them half-way to +the roof, then letting the straws float away; and the same with stray +feathers, Neither of these, starlings nor sparrows, seem to like the +dark. Under the roof, between it and the first ceiling, there is a +large open space; if the slates or tiles are kept in good order, very +little light enters, and this space is nearly dark in daylight. Even if +chinks admit a beam of light, it is not enough; they seldom enter or +fly about there, though quite accessible to them. But if the roof is in +bad order, and this space light, they enter freely. Though nesting in +holes, yet they like light. The swallows could easily go in and make +nests upon the beams, but they will not, unless the place is well lit. +They do not like darkness in the daytime. + +The swallows bring us the sunbeams on their wings from Africa to fill +the fields with flowers. From the time of the arrival of the first +swallow the flowers take heart; the few and scanty plants that had +braved the earlier cold are succeeded by a constantly enlarging list, +till the banks and lanes are full of them. The chimney-swallow is +usually the forerunner of the three house-swallows; and perhaps no fact +in natural history has been so much studied as the migration of these +tender birds. The commonest things are always the most interesting. In +summer there is no bird so common everywhere as the swallow, and for +that reason many overlook it, though they rush to see a "white +elephant." But the deepest thinkers have spent hours and hours in +considering the problem of the swallow--its migrations, its flight, its +habits; great poets have loved it; great artists and art-writers have +curiously studied it. The idea that it is necessary to seek the +wilderness or the thickest woods for nature is a total mistake; nature +it, at home, on the roof, close to every one. Eave-swallows, or +house-martins (easily distinguished by the white bar across the tail), +build sometimes in the shelter of the porches of old houses. + +As you go in or out, the swallows visiting or leaving their nests fly +so closely as almost to brush the face. Swallow means porch-bird, and +for centuries and centuries their nests have been placed in the closest +proximity to man. They might be called man's birds, so attached are +they to the human race. I think the greatest ornament a house can have +is the nest of an eave-swallow under the eaves--far superior to the +most elaborate carving, colouring, or arrangement the architect can +devise. There is no ornament like the swallow's nest; the home of a +messenger between man and the blue heavens, between us and the +sunlight, and all the promise of the sky. The joy of life, the highest +and tenderest feelings, thoughts that soar on the swallow's wings, come +to the round nest under the roof. Not only to-day, not only the hopes +of future years, but all the past dwells there. Year after year the +generations and descent of the swallow have been associated with our +homes, and all the events of successive lives have taken place under +their guardianship. The swallow is the genius of good to a house. Let +its nest, then, stay; to me it seems the extremity of barbarism, or +rather stupidity, to knock it down. I wish I could induce them to build +under the eaves of this house; I would if I could discover some means +of communicating with them. + +It is a peculiarity of the swallow that you cannot make it afraid of +you; just the reverse of other birds. The swallow does not understand +being repulsed, but comes back again. Even knocking the nest down will +not drive it away, until the stupid process has been repeated several +years. The robin must be coaxed; the sparrow is suspicious, and though +easy to tame, quick to notice the least alarming movement. The swallow +will not be driven away. He has not the slightest fear of man; he flies +to his nest close to the window, under the low eave, or on the beams in +the out-houses, no matter if you are looking on or not. Bold as the +starlings are, they will seldom do this. But in the swallow the +instinct of suspicion is reversed, an instinct of confidence occupies +its place. In addition to the eave-swallow, to which I have chiefly +alluded, and the chimney-swallow, there is the swift, also a roof-bird, +and making its nest in the slates of houses in the midst of towns. +These three are migrants in the fullest sense, and come to our houses +over thousands of miles of land and sea. + +Robins frequently visit the roof for insects, especially when it is +thatched; so do wrens; and the latter, after they have peered along, +have a habit of perching at the extreme angle of a gable, or the +extreme edge of a corner, and uttering their song. Finches occasionally +fly up to the roofs of country-houses if shrubberies are near, also in +pursuit of insects; but they are not truly roof-birds. Wagtails perch +on roofs; they often have their nests in the ivy, or creepers trained +against walls; they are quite at borne, and are frequently seen on the +ridges of farmhouses. Tits of several species, particularly the great +titmouse and the blue tit, come to thatch for insects, both in summer +and winter. In some districts where they are common, it is not unusual +to see a goatsucker or fern-owl hawk along close to the eaves in the +dusk of the evening for moths. The white owl is a roof-bird (though not +often of the house), building inside the roof, and sitting there all +day in some shaded corner. They do sometimes take up their residence in +the roofs of outhouses attached to dwellings, but not often nowadays, +though still residing in the roofs of old castles. Jackdaws, again, are +roof-birds, building in the roofs of towers. Bats live in roofs, and +hang there wrapped up in their membranous wings till the evening calls +them forth. They are residents in the full sense, remaining all the +year round, though principally seen in the warmer months; but they are +there in the colder, hidden away, and if the temperature rises, will +venture out and hawk to and fro in the midst of the winter. Tame +pigeons and doves hardly come into this paper, but still it is their +habit to use roofs as tree-tops. Rats and mice creep through the +crevices of roofs, and in old country-houses hold a sort of nightly +carnival, racing to and fro under the roof. Weasels sometimes follow +them indoors and up to their roof strongholds. + +When the first warm days of spring sunshine strike against the southern +side of the chimney, sparrows perch there and enjoy it; and again in +autumn, when the general warmth of the atmosphere is declining, they +still find a little pleasant heat there. They make use of the radiation +of heat, as the gardener does who trains his fruit-trees to a wall. +Before the autumn has thinned the leaves, the swallows gather on the +highest ridge of the roof in a row and twitter to each other; they know +the time is approaching when they must depart for another climate. In +winter, many birds seek the thatched roofs to roost. Wrens, tits, and +even blackbirds roost in the holes left by sparrows or starlings. + +Every crevice is the home of insects, or used by them for the deposit +of their eggs--under the tiles or slates, where mortar has dropped out +between the bricks, in the holes of thatch, and on the straws. The +number of insects that frequent a large roof must be very great--all +the robins, wrens, bats, and so on, can scarcely affect them; nor the +spiders, though these, too, are numerous. Then there are the moths, and +those creeping creatures that work out of sight, boring their way +through the rafters and beams. Sometimes a sparrow may be seen clinging +to the bare wall of the house; tits do the same thing. It is surprising +how they manage to hold on. They are taking insects from the apertures +of the mortar. Where the slates slope to the south, the sunshine soon +heats them, and passing butterflies alight on the warm surface, and +spread out their wings, as if hovering over the heat. Flies are +attracted in crowds sometimes to heated slates and tiles, and wasps +will occasionally pause there. Wasps are addicted to haunting houses, +and, in the autumn, feed on the flies. Floating germs carried by the +air must necessarily lodge in numbers against roofs; so do dust and +invisible particles; and together, these make the rain-water collected +in water-butts after a storm turbid and dark; and it soon becomes full +of living organisms. + +Lichen and moss grow on the mortar wherever it has become slightly +disintegrated; and if any mould, however minute, by any means +accumulates between the slates, there, too, they spring up, and even on +the slates themselves. Tiles are often coloured yellow by such growths. +On some old roofs, which have decayed, and upon which detritus has +accumulated, wallflowers may be found; and the house-leek takes +capricious root where it fancies. The stonecrop is the finest of +roof-plants, sometimes forming a broad patch of brilliant yellow. Birds +carry up seeds and grains, and these germinate in moist thatch. +Groundsel, for instance, and stray stalks of wheat, thin and drooping +for lack of soil, are sometimes seen there, besides grasses. Ivy is +familiar as a roof-creeper. Some ferns and the pennywort will grow on +the wall close to the roof. A correspondent tells me that in Wales he +found a cottage perfectly roofed with fern--it grew so thickly as to +conceal the roof. Had a painter put this in a picture, many would have +exclaimed: "How fanciful! He must have made it up; it could never have +grown like that!" Not long after receiving my correspondent's kind +letter, I chanced to find a roof near London upon which the same fern +was growing in lines along the tiles. It grew plentifully, but was not +in so flourishing a condition as that found in Wales. Painters are +sometimes accused of calling upon their imagination when they are +really depicting fact, for the ways of nature vary very much in +different localities, and that which may seem impossible in one place +is common enough in another. + +Where will not ferns grow? We saw one attached to the under-side of a +glass coal-hole cover; its green could be seen through the thick glass +on which people stepped daily. + +Recently, much attention has been paid to the dust which is found on +roofs and ledges at great heights. This meteoric dust, as it is called, +consists of minute particles of iron, which are thought to fall from +the highest part of the atmosphere, or possibly to be attracted to the +earth from space. Lightning usually strikes the roof. The whole subject +of lightning-conductors has been re-opened of late years, there being +reason to think that mistakes have been made in the manner of their +erection. The reason English roofs are high-pitched is not only because +of the rain, that it may shoot off quickly, but on account of snow. +Once now and then there comes a snow-year, and those who live in houses +with flat surfaces anywhere on the roof soon discover how inconvenient +they are. The snow is sure to find its way through, damaging ceilings, +and doing other mischief. Sometimes, in fine summer weather, people +remark how pleasant it would be if the roof were flat, so that it could +be used as a terrace, as it is in warmer climates. But the fact is, the +English roof, although now merely copied and repeated without a thought +of the reason of its shape, grew up from experience of severe winters. +Of old, great care and ingenuity--what we should now call artistic +skill--were employed in contracting the roof. It was not only pleasant +to the eye with its gables, but the woodwork was wonderfully well done. +Such roofs may still be seen on ancient mansions, having endured for +centuries. They are splendid pieces of workmanship, and seen from afar +among foliage, are admired by every one who has the least taste. +Draughtsmen and painters value them highly. No matter whether +reproduced on a large canvas or in a little woodcut, their proportions +please. The roof is much neglected in modern houses; it is either +conventional, or it is full indeed of gables, but gables that do not +agree, as it were, with each other--that are obviously put there on +purpose to look artistic, and fail altogether. Now, the ancient roofs +were true works of art, consistent, and yet each varied to its +particular circumstances, and each impressed with the individuality of +the place and of the designer. The finest old roofs were built of oak +or chestnut; the beams are black with age, and, in that condition, oak +is scarcely distinguishable from chestnut. + +So the roof has its natural history, its science, and art; it has its +seasons, its migrants and residents, of whom a housetop calendar might +be made. The fine old roofs which have just been mentioned are often +associated with historic events and the rise of families; and the +roof-tree, like the hearth, has a range of proverbs or sayings and +ancient lore to itself. More than one great monarch has been slain by a +tile thrown from the housetop, and numerous other incidents have +occurred in connection with it. The most interesting is the story of +the Grecian mother who, with her infant, was on the roof, when, in a +moment of inattention, the child crept to the edge, and was balanced on +the very verge. To call to it, to touch it, would have insured its +destruction; but the mother, without a second's thought, bared her +breast, and the child eagerly turning to it, was saved! + + + +ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS + + +I + +If any one were to get up about half-past five on an August morning and +look out of an eastern window in the country, he would see the distant +trees almost hidden by a white mist. The tops of the larger groups of +elms would appear above it, and by these the line of the hedgerows +could be traced. Tier after tier they stretch along, rising by degrees +on a gentle slope, the space between filled with haze. Whether there +were corn-fields or meadows under this white cloud he could not tell--a +cloud that might have come down from the sky, leaving it a clear azure. +This morning haze means intense heat in the day. It is hot already, +very hot, for the sun is shining with all his strength, and if you wish +the house to be cool it is time to set the sunblinds. + +Roger, the reaper, had slept all night in the cowhouse, lying on the +raised platform of narrow planks put up for cleanliness when the cattle +were there. He had set the wooden window wide open and left the door +ajar when he came stumbling in overnight, long after the late swallows +had settled in their nests in the beams, and the bats had wearied of +moth catching. One of the swallows twittered a little, as much as to +say to his mate, "my love, it is only a reaper, we need not be afraid," +and all was silence and darkness. Roger did not so much as take off his +boots, but flung himself on the boards crash, curled himself up +hedgehog fashion with some old sacks, and immediately began to breathe +heavily. He had no difficulty in sleeping, first because his muscles +had been tried to the utmost, and next because his skin was full to the +brim, not of jolly "good ale and old" but of the very smallest and +poorest of wish-washy beer. In his own words, it "blowed him up till he +very nigh bust." Now the great authorities on dyspepsia, so eagerly +studied by the wealthy folk whose stomachs are deranged, tell us that a +very little flatulence will make the heart beat irregularly and cause +the most distressing symptoms. + +Roger had swallowed at least a gallon of a liquid chemically designed, +one might say, on purpose to utterly upset the internal economy. +Harvest beer is probably the vilest drink in the world. The men say it +is made by pouring muddy water into empty casks returned sour from use, +and then brushing them round and round inside with a besom. This liquid +leaves a stickiness on the tongue and a harsh feeling at the back of +the mouth which soon turns to thirst, so that having once drunk a pint +the drinker must go on drinking. The peculiar dryness caused by this +beer is not like any other throat drought--worse than dust, or heat, or +thirst from work; there is no satisfying it. With it there go down the +germs of fermentation, a sour, yeasty, and, as it were, secondary +fermentation; not that kind which is necessary to make beer, but the +kind that unmakes and spoils beer. It is beer rotting and decomposing +in the stomach. Violent diarrhoea often follows, and then the +exhaustion thus caused induces the men to drink more in order to regain +the strength necessary to do their work. The great heat of the sun and +the heat of hard labour, the strain and perspiration, of course try the +body and weaken the digestion. To distend the stomach with half a +gallon of this liquor, expressly compounded to ferment, is about the +most murderous thing a man could do--murderous because it exposes him +to the risk of sunstroke. So vile a drink there is not elsewhere in the +world; arrack, and potato-spirit, and all the other killing extracts of +the distiller are not equal to it. Upon this abominable mess the golden +harvest of English fields is gathered in. + +Some people have in consequence endeavoured to induce the harvesters to +accept a money payment in place of beer, and to a certain extent +successfully. Even then, however, they must drink something. Many +manage on weak tea after a fashion, but not so well as the abstainers +would have us think. Others have brewed for their men a miserable stuff +in buckets, an infusion of oatmeal, and got a few to drink it; but +English labourers will never drink oatmeal-water unless they are paid +to do it. If they are paid extra beer-money and oatmeal water is made +for them gratis, some will, of course, imbibe it, especially if they +see that thereby they may obtain little favours from their employer by +yielding to his fad. By drinking the crotchet perhaps they may get a +present now and then-food for themselves, cast-off clothes for their +families, and so on. For it is a remarkable feature of human natural +history, the desire to proselytise. The spectacle of John Bull--jovial +John Bull--offering his men a bucket of oatmeal liquor is not a +pleasant one. Such a John Bull ought to be ashamed of himself. + +The truth is the English farmer's man was and is, and will be, a +drinker of beer. Neither tea, nor oatmeal, nor vinegar and water +(coolly recommended by indoor folk) will do for him. His natural +constitution rebels against such "peevish" drink. In winter he wants +beer against the cold and the frosty rime and the heavy raw mist that +hangs about the hollows; in spring and autumn against the rain, and in +summer to support him under the pressure of additional work and +prolonged hours. Those who really wish well to the labourer cannot do +better than see that he really has beer to drink--real beer, genuine +brew of malt and hops, a moderate quantity of which will supply force +to his thews and sinews, and will not intoxicate or injure. If by +giving him a small money payment in lieu of such large quantities you +can induce him to be content with a little, so much the better. If an +employer followed that plan, and at the same time once or twice a day +sent out a moderate supply of genuine beer as a gift to his men, he +would do them all the good in the world, and at the same time obtain +for himself their goodwill and hearty assistance, that hearty work +which is worth so much. + +Roger breathed heavily in his sleep in the cowhouse, because the vile +stuff he had taken puffed him up and obstructed nature. The tongue in +his open mouth became parched and cracked, swollen and dry; he slept +indeed, but he did not rest; he groaned heavily at times and rolled +aside. Once he awoke choking--he could not swallow, his tongue was so +dry and large; he sat up, swore, and again lay down. The rats in the +sties had already discovered that a man slept in the cowhouse, a place +they rarely visited, as there was nothing there to eat; how they found +it out no one knows. They are clever creatures, the despised rats. They +came across in the night and looked under his bed, supposing that he +might have eaten his bread-and-cheese for supper there, and that +fragments might have dropped between the boards. There were none. They +mounted the boards and sniffed round him; they would have stolen the +food from his very pocket if it had been there. Nor could they find a +bundle in a handkerchief, which they would have gnawn through speedily. +Not a scrap of food was there to be smelt at, so they left him. Roger +had indeed gone supperless, as usual; his supper he had swilled and not +eaten. His own fault; he should have exercised self-control. Well, I +don't know; let us consider further before we judge. + +In houses the difficulty often is to get the servants up in the +morning; one cannot wake, and the rest sleep too sound--much the same +thing; yet they have clocks and alarums. The reapers are never behind. +Roger got off his planks, shook himself, went outside the shed, and +tightened his shoelaces in the bright light. His rough hair he just +pushed back from his forehead, and that was his toilet. His dry throat +sent him to the pump, but he did not swallow much of the water--he +washed his mouth out, and that was enough; and so without breakfast he +went to his work. Looking down from the stile on the high ground there +seemed to be a white cloud resting on the valley, through which the +tops of the high trees penetrated; the hedgerows beneath were +concealed, and their course could only be traced by the upper branches +of the elms. Under this cloud the wheat-fields were blotted out; there +seemed neither corn nor grass, work for man nor food for animal; there +could be nothing doing there surely. In the stillness of the August +morning, without song of bird, the sun, shining brilliantly high above +the mist, seemed to be the only living thing, to possess the whole and +reign above absolute peace. It is a curious sight to see the early +harvest morn--all hushed under the burning sun, a morn that you know is +full of life and meaning, yet quiet as if man's foot had never trodden +the land. Only the sun is there, rolling on his endless way. + +Roger's head was bound with brass, but had it not been he would not +have observed anything in the aspect of the earth. Had a brazen band +been drawn firmly round his forehead it could not have felt more +stupefied. His eyes blinked in the sunlight; every now and then he +stopped to save himself from staggering; he was not in a condition to +think. It would have mattered not at all if his head had been clear; +earth, sky, and sun were nothing to him; he knew the footpath, and saw +that the day would be fine and hot, and that was sufficient for him, +because his eyes had never been opened. + +The reaper had risen early to his labour, but the birds had preceded +him hours. Before the sun was up the swallows had left their beams in +the cowshed and twittered out into the air. The rooks and wood-pigeons +and doves had gone to the corn, the blackbird to the stream, the finch +to the hedgerow, the bees to the heath on the hills, the humble-bees to +the clover in the plain. Butterflies rose from the flowers by the +footpath, and fluttered before him to and fro and round and back again +to the place whence they had been driven. Goldfinches tasting the first +thistledown rose from the corner where the thistles grew thickly. A +hundred sparrows came rushing up into the hedge, suddenly filling the +boughs with brown fruit; they chirped and quarrelled in their talk, and +rushed away again back to the corn as he stepped nearer. The boughs +were stripped of their winged brown berries as quickly as they had +grown. Starlings ran before the cows feeding in the aftermath, so close +to their mouths as to seem in danger of being licked up by their broad +tongues. All creatures, from the tiniest insect upward, were in reality +busy under that curtain of white-heat haze. It looked so still, so +quiet, from afar; entering it and passing among the fields, all that +lived was found busy at its long day's work. Roger did not interest +himself in these things, in the wasps that left the gate as he +approached--they were making _papier-mache_ from the wood of the top +bar,--in the bright poppies brushing against his drab unpolished boots, +in the hue of the wheat or the white convolvulus; they were nothing to +him. + +Why should they be? His life was work without skill or thought, the +work of the horse, of the crane that lifts stones and timber. His food +was rough, his drink rougher, his lodging dry planks. His books +were--none; his picture-gallery a coloured print at the alehouse--a +dog, dead, by a barrel, "Trust is dead! Bad Pay killed him." Of thought +he thought nothing; of hope his idea was a shilling a week more wages; +of any future for himself of comfort such as even a good cottage can +give--of any future whatever--he had no more conception than the horse +in the shafts of the waggon. A human animal simply in all this, yet if +you reckoned upon him as simply an animal--as has been done these +centuries--you would now be mistaken. But why should he note the colour +of the butterfly, the bright light of the sun, the hue of the wheat? +This loveliness gave him no cheese for breakfast; of beauty in itself, +for itself, he had no idea. How should he? To many of us the +harvest--the summer--is a time of joy in light and colour; to him it +was a time for adding yet another crust of hardness to the thick skin +of his hands. + +Though the haze looked like a mist it was perfectly dry; the wheat was +as dry as noon; not a speck of dew, and pimpernels wide open for a +burning day. The reaping-machine began to rattle as he came up, and +work was ready for him. At breakfast-time his fellows lent him a +quarter of a loaf, some young onions, and a drink from their tea. He +ate little, and the tea slipped from his hot tongue like water from the +bars of a grate; his tongue was like the heated iron the housemaid +tries before using it on the linen. As the reaping-machine went about +the gradually decreasing square of corn, narrowing it by a broad band +each time, the wheat fell flat on the short stubble. Roger stooped, +and, gathering sufficient together, took a few straws, knotted them to +another handful as you might tie two pieces of string, and twisted the +band round the sheaf. He worked stooping to gather the wheat, bending +to tie it in sheaves; stooping, bending--stooping, bending,--and so +across the field. Upon his head and back the fiery sun poured down the +ceaseless and increasing heat of the August day. His face grew red, his +neck black; the drought of the dry ground rose up and entered his mouth +and nostrils, a warm air seemed to rise from the earth and fill his +chest. His body ached from the ferment of the vile beer, his back ached +with stooping, his forehead was bound tight with a brazen band. They +brought some beer at last; it was like the spring in the desert to him. +The vicious liquor--"a hair of the dog that bit him"--sank down his +throat grateful and refreshing to his disordered palate as if he had +drunk the very shadow of green boughs. Good ale would have seemed +nauseous to him at that moment, his taste and stomach destroyed by so +many gallons of this. He was "pulled together," and worked easier; the +slow hours went on, and it was luncheon. He could have borrowed more +food, but he was content instead with a screw of tobacco for his pipe +and his allowance of beer. + +They sat in the corner of the field. There were no trees for shade; +they had been cut down as injurious to corn, but there were a few maple +bushes and thin ash sprays, which seemed better than the open. The +bushes cast no shade at all, the sun being so nearly overhead, but they +formed a kind of enclosure, an open-air home, for men seldom sit down +if they can help it on the bare and level plain; they go to the bushes, +to the corner, or even to some hollow. It is not really any advantage; +it is habit; or shall we not rather say that it is nature? Brought back +as it were in the open field to the primitive conditions of life, they +resumed the same instincts that controlled man in the ages past. +Ancient man sought the shelter of trees and banks, of caves and +hollows, and so the labourers under somewhat the same conditions came +to the corner where the bushes grew. There they left their coats and +slung up their luncheon-bundles to the branches; there the children +played and took charge of the infants; there the women had their hearth +and hung their kettle over a fire of sticks. + + +II + + +In August the unclouded sun, when there is no wind, shines as fervently +in the harvest-field as in Spain. It is doubtful if the Spanish people +feel the heat so much as our reapers; they have their siesta; their +habits have become attuned to the sun, and it is no special strain upon +them. In India our troops are carefully looked after in the hot +weather, and everything made as easy for them as possible; without care +and special clothing and coverings for the head they could not long +endure. The English simoon of heat drops suddenly on the heads of the +harvesters and finds them entirely unprepared; they have not so much as +a cooling drink ready; they face it, as it were, unarmed. The sun +spares not; It is fire from morn till night. Afar in the town the +sun-blinds are up, there is a tent on the lawn in the shade, people +drink claret-cup and use ice; ice has never been seen in the +harvest-field. Indoors they say they are melting lying on a sofa in a +darkened room, made dusky to keep out the heat. The fire falls straight +from the sky on the heads of the harvesters--men, women, and +children--and the white-hot light beats up again from the dry straw and +the hard ground. + +The tender flowers endure; the wide petal of the poppy, which withers +between the fingers, lies afloat on the air as the lilies on water, +afloat and open to the weight of the heat. The red pimpernel looks +straight up at the sky from the early morning till its hour of closing +in the afternoon. Pale blue speedwell does not fade; the pale blue +stands the warmth equally with the scarlet. Far in the thick wheat the +streaked convolvulus winds up the stalks, and is not smothered for want +of air though wrapped and circled with corn. Beautiful though they are, +they are bloodless, not sensitive; we have given to them our feelings, +they do not share our pain or pleasure. Heat has gone into the hollow +stalks of the wheat and down the yellow tubes to the roots, drying them +in the earth. Heat has dried the leaves upon the hedge, and they touch +rough--dusty rough, as books touch that have been lying unused; the +plants on the bank are drying up and turning white. Heat has gone down +into the cracks of the ground; the bar of the stile is so dry and +powdery in the crevices that if a reaper chanced to drop a match on it +there would seem risk of fire. The still atmosphere is laden with heat, +and does not move in the corner of the field between the bushes. + +Roger the reaper smoked out his tobacco; the children played round and +watched for scraps of food; the women complained of the heat; the men +said nothing. It is seldom that a labourer grumbles much at the +weather, except as interfering with his work. Let the heat increase, so +it would only keep fine. The fire in the sky meant money. Work went on +again; Roger had now to go to another field to pitch--that is, help to +load the waggon; as a young man, that was one of the jobs allotted to +him. This was the reverse. Instead of stooping he had now to strain +himself upright and lift sheaves over his head. His stomach empty of +everything but small ale did not like this any more than his back had +liked the other; but those who work for bare food must not question +their employment. Heavily the day drove on; there was more beer, and +again more beer, because it was desired to clear some fields that +evening. Monotonously pitching the sheaves, Roger laboured by the +waggon till the last had been loaded--till the moon was shining. His +brazen forehead was unbound now; in spite of the beer the work and the +perspiration had driven off the aching. He was weary but well. Nor had +he been dull during the day; he had talked and joked--cumbrously in +labourers' fashion--with his fellows. His aches, his empty stomach, his +labour, and the heat had not overcome the vitality of his spirits. +There was life enough left for a little rough play as the group +gathered together and passed out through the gateway. Life enough left +in him to go with the rest to the alehouse; and what else, oh moralist, +would you have done in his place? This, remember, is not a fancy sketch +of rural poetry; this is the reaper's real existence. + +He had been in the harvest-field fourteen hours, exposed to the intense +heat, not even shielded by a pith helmet; he had worked the day through +with thew and sinew; he had had for food a little dry bread and a few +onions, for drink a little weak tea and a great deal of small beer. The +moon was now shining in the sky, still bright with sunset colours. +Fourteen hours of sun and labour and hard fare! Now tell him what to +do. To go straight to his plank-bed in the cowhouse; to eat a little +more dry bread, borrow some cheese or greasy bacon, munch it alone, and +sit musing till sleep came--he who had nothing to muse about. I think +it would need a very clever man indeed to invent something for him to +do, some way for him to spend his evening. Read! To recommend a man to +read after fourteen hours' burning sun is indeed a mockery; darn his +stockings would be better. There really is nothing whatsoever that the +cleverest and most benevolent person could suggest. Before any +benevolent or well-meaning suggestions could be effective the preceding +circumstances must be changed--the hours and conditions of labour, +everything; and can that be done? The world has been working these +thousands of years, and still it is the same; with our engines, our +electric light, our printing press, still the coarse labour of the +mine, the quarry, the field has to be carried out by human hands. While +that is so, it is useless to recommend the weary reaper to read. For a +man is not a horse: the horse's day's work is over; taken to his stable +he is content, his mind goes no deeper than the bottom of his manger, +and so long as his nose does not feel the wood, so long as it is met by +corn and hay, he will endure happily. But Roger the reaper is not a +horse. + +Just as his body needed food and drink, so did his mind require +recreation, and that chiefly consists of conversation. The drinking and +the smoking are in truth but the attributes of the labourer's +public-house evening. It is conversation that draws him thither, just +as it draws men with money in their pockets to the club and the houses +of their friends. Any one can drink or smoke alone; it needs several +for conversation, for company. You pass a public-house--the reaper's +house--in the summer evening. You see a number of men grouped about +trestle-tables out of doors, and others sitting at the open window; +there is an odour of tobacco, a chink of glasses and mugs. You can +smell the tobacco and see the ale; you cannot see the indefinite power +which holds men there--the magnetism of company and conversation. +_Their_ conversation, not _your_ conversation; not the last book, the +last play; not saloon conversation; but theirs--talk in which neither +you nor any one of your condition could really join. To us there would +seem nothing at all in that conversation, vapid and subjectless; to +them it means much. We have not been through the same circumstances: +our day has been differently spent, and the same words have therefore a +varying value. Certain it is, that it is conversation that takes men to +the public-house. Had Roger been a horse he would have hastened to +borrow some food, and, having eaten that, would have cast himself at +once upon his rude bed. Not being an animal, though his life and work +were animal, he went with his friends to talk. Let none unjustly +condemn him as a blackguard for that--no, not even though they had seen +him at ten o'clock unsteadily walking to his shed, and guiding himself +occasionally with his hands to save himself from stumbling. He +blundered against the door, and the noise set the swallows on the beams +twittering. He reached his bedstead, and sat down and tried to unlace +his boots, but could not. He threw himself upon the sacks and fell +asleep. Such was one twenty-four hours of harvest-time. + +The next and the next, for weeks, were almost exactly similar; now a +little less beer, now a little more; now tying up, now pitching, now +cutting a small field or corner with a fagging-hook. Once now and then +there was a great supper at the farm. Once he fell out with another +fellow, and they had a fight; Roger, however, had had so much ale, and +his opponent so much whisky, that their blows were soft and helpless. +They both fell--that is, they stumbled,--they were picked up, there was +some more beer, and it was settled. One afternoon Roger became suddenly +giddy, and was so ill that he did no more work that day, and very +little on the following. It was something like a sunstroke, but +fortunately a slight attack; on the third day he resumed his place. +Continued labour in the sun, little food and much drink, stomach +derangement, in short, accounted for his illness. Though he resumed his +place and worked on, he was not so well afterwards; the work was more +of an effort to him, and his face lost its fulness, and became drawn +and pointed. Still he laboured, and would not miss an hour, for harvest +was coming to an end, and the extra wages would soon cease. For the +first week or so of haymaking or reaping the men usually get drunk, +delighted with the prospect before them, they then settle down fairly +well. Towards the end they struggle hard to recover lost time and the +money spent in ale. + +As the last week approached, Roger went up into the village and ordered +the shoemaker to make him a good pair of boots. He paid partly for them +then, and the rest next pay-day. This was a tremendous effort. The +labourer usually pays a shilling at a time, but Roger mistrusted +himself. Harvest was practically over, and after all the labour and the +long hours, the exposure to the sun and the rude lodging, he found he +should scarcely have thirty shillings. With the utmost ordinary care he +could have saved a good lump of money. He was a single man, and his +actual keep cost but little. Many married labourers, who had been +forced by hard necessity to economy, contrived to put by enough to buy +clothes for their families. The single man, with every advantage, +hardly had thirty shillings, and even then it showed extraordinary +prudence on his part to go and purchase a pair of boots for the winter. +Very few in his place would have been as thoughtful as that; they would +have got boots somehow in the end, but not beforehand. This life of +animal labour does not grow the spirit of economy. Not only in farming, +but in navvy work, in the rougher work of factories and mines, the same +fact is evident. The man who labours with thew and sinew at horse +labour--crane labour--not for himself, but for others, is not the man +who saves. If he worked for his own hand possibly he might, no matter +how rough his labour and fare; not while working for another. Roger +reached his distant home among the meadows at last, with one golden +half-sovereign in his pocket. That and his new pair of boots, not yet +finished, represented the golden harvest to him. He lodged with his +parents when at home; he was so far fortunate that he had a bed to go +to; therefore in the estimation of his class he was not badly off. But +if we consider his position as regards his own life we must recognise +that he was very badly off indeed, so much precious time and the +strength of his youth having been wasted. + +Often it is stated that the harvest wages recoup the labourer for the +low weekly receipts of the year, and if the money be put down in +figures with pen and ink it is so. But in actual fact the pen-and-ink +figures do not represent the true case; these extra figures have been +paid for, and gold may be bought too dear. Roger had paid heavily for +his half-sovereign and his boots; his pinched face did not look as if +he had benefited greatly. His cautious old father, rendered frugal by +forty years of labour, had done fairly well; the young man not at all. +The old man, having a cottage, in a measure worked for his own hand. +The young man, with none but himself to think of, scattered his money +to the winds. Is money earned with such expenditure of force worth the +having? Look at the arm of a woman labouring in the +harvest-field--thin, muscular, sinewy, black almost, it tells of +continual strain. After much of this she becomes pulled out of shape, +the neck loses its roundness and shows the sinews, the chest flattens. +In time the women find the strain of it tell severely. I am not trying +to make out a case of special hardship, being aware that both men, +women, and children work as hard and perhaps suffer more in cities; I +am simply describing the realities of rural life behind the scenes. The +golden harvest is the first scene: the golden wheat, glorious under the +summer sun. Bright poppies flower in its depths, and convolvulus climbs +the stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the yellow surface as they +might over a lake of colour. To linger by it, to visit it day by day, +at even to watch the sunset by it, and see it pale under the changing +light, is a delight to the thoughtful mind. There is so much in the +wheat, there are books of meditation in it, it is dear to the heart. +Behind these beautiful aspects comes the reality of human labour--hours +upon hours of heat and strain; there comes the reality of a rude life, +and in the end little enough of gain. The wheat is beautiful, but human +life is labour. + + + +THE MODERN THAMES + + +I + +The wild red deer can never again come down to drink at the Thames in +the dusk of the evening as once they did. While modern civilisation +endures, the larger fauna must necessarily be confined to parks or +restrained to well-marked districts; but for that very reason the +lesser creatures of the wood, the field, and the river should receive +the more protection. If this applies to the secluded country, far from +the stir of cities, still more does it apply to the neighbourhood of +London. From a sportsman's point of view, or from that of a naturalist, +the state of the river is one of chaos. There is no order. The Thames +appears free even from the usual rules which are in force upon every +highway. A man may not fire a gun within a certain distance of a road +under a penalty--a law enacted for the safety of passengers, who were +formerly endangered by persons shooting small birds along the hedges +bordering roads. Nor may he shoot at all, not so much as fire off a +pistol (as recently publicly proclaimed by the Metropolitan police to +restrain the use of revolvers), without a licence. But on the river +people do as they choose, and there does not seem to be any law at +all--or at least there is no authority to enforce it, if it exists. +Shooting from boats and from the towing-path is carried on in utter +defiance of the licensing law, of the game law (as applicable to wild +fowl), and of the safety of persons who may be passing. The moorhens +are shot, the kingfishers have been nearly exterminated or driven away +from some parts, the once common black-headed bunting is comparatively +scarce in the more frequented reaches, and if there is nothing else to +shoot at, then the swallows are slaughtered. Some have even taken to +shooting at the rooks in the trees or fields by the river with +small-bore rifles--a most dangerous thing to do. The result is that the +osier-beds on the eyots and by the backwaters--the copses of the +river--are almost devoid of life. A few moorhens creep under the +aquatic grasses and conceal themselves beneath the bushes, water-voles +hide among the flags, but the once extensive host of waterfowl and +river life has been reduced to the smallest limits. Water-fowl cannot +breed because they are shot on the nest, or their eggs taken. As for +rarer birds, of course they have not the slightest chance. The fish +have fared better because they have received the benefit of close +seasons, enforced with more or less vigilance all along the river. They +are also protected by regulations making it illegal to capture them +except in a sportsmanlike manner; snatching, for instance, is unlawful. +Riverside proprietors preserve some reaches, piscatorial societies +preserve others, and the complaint indeed is that the rights of the +public have been encroached upon. The too exclusive preservation of +fish is in a measure responsible for the destruction of water-fowl, +which are cleared off preserved places in order that they may not help +themselves to fry or spawn. On the other hand, the societies may claim +to have saved parts of the river from being entirely deprived of fish, +for it is not long since it appeared as if the stream would be quite +cleared out. Large quantities of fish have also been placed in the +river taken from ponds and bodily transported to the Thames. So that +upon the whole the fish have been well looked after of recent years. + +The more striking of the aquatic plants--such as white +water-lilies--have been much diminished in quantity by the constant +plucking, and injury is said to have been done by careless navigation. +In things of this kind a few persons can do a great deal of damage. Two +or three men with guns, and indifferent to the interests of sport or +natural history, at work every day, can clear a long stretch of river +of waterfowl, by scaring if not by actually killing them. Imagine three +or four such gentry allowed to wander at will in a large game +preserve--in a week they would totally destroy it as a preserve. The +river, after all, is but a narrow band as it were, and is easily +commanded by a gun. So, too, with fish poachers; a very few men with +nets can quickly empty a good piece of water: and flowers like +water-lilies, which grow only in certain spots, are soon pulled or +spoiled. This aspect of the matter--the immense mischief which can be +effected by a very few persons--should be carefully borne in mind in +framing any regulations. For the mischief done on the river is really +the work of a small number, a mere fraction of the thousands of all +classes who frequent it. Not one in a thousand probably perpetrates any +intentional damage to fish, fowl, or flowers. + +As the river above all things is, and ought to be, a place of +recreation, care must be particularly taken that in restraining these +practices the enjoyment of the many be not interfered with. The +rational pleasure of 999 people ought not to be checked because the +last of the thousand acts as a blackguard. This point, too, bears upon +the question of steam-launches. A launch can pass as softly and quietly +as a skiff floating with the stream. And there is a good deal to be +said on the other side, for the puntsmen stick themselves very often in +the way of every one else; and if you analyse fishing for minnows from +a punt you will not find it a noble sport. A river like the Thames, +belonging as it does--or as it ought--to a city like London, should be +managed from the very broadest standpoint. There should be pleasure for +all, and there certainly is no real difficulty in arranging matters to +that end. The Thames should be like a great aquarium, in which a +certain balance of life has to be kept up. When aquaria first came into +favour such things as snails and weeds were excluded as eyesores and +injurious. But it was soon discovered that the despised snails and +weeds were absolutely necessary; an aquarium could not be maintained in +health without them, and now the most perfect aquarium is the one in +which the natural state is most completely copied. On the same +principle it is evident that too exclusive preservation must be +injurious to the true interests of the river. Fish enthusiasts, for +instance, desire the extinction of water-fowl--there is not a single +aquatic bird which they do not accuse of damage to fry, spawn, or +full-grown fish; no, not one, from the heron down to the tiny grebe. +They are nearly as bitter against animals, the poor water-vole (or +water-rat) even is denounced and shot. Any one who chooses may watch +the water-rat feeding on aquatic vegetation; never mind, shoot him +because he's there. There is no other reason. Bitterest, harshest, most +envenomed of all is the outcry and hunt directed against the otter. It +is as if the otter were a wolf--as if he were as injurious as the +mighty boar whom Meleager and his companions chased in the days of dim +antiquity. What, then, has the otter done? Has he ravaged the fields? +does he threaten the homesteads? is he at Temple Bar? are we to run, as +the old song says, from the Dragon? The fact is, the ravages attributed +to the otter are of a local character. They are chiefly committed in +those places where fish are more or less confined. If you keep sheep +close together in a pen the wolf who leaps the hurdles can kill the +flock if he chooses. In narrow waters, and where fish are maintained in +quantities out of proportion to extent, an otter can work doleful woe. +That is to say, those who want too many fish are those who give the +otter his opportunity. + +In a great river like the Thames a few otters cannot do much or lasting +injury except in particular places. The truth is, that the otter is an +ornament to the river, and more worthy of preservation than any other +creature. He is the last and largest of the wild creatures who once +roamed so freely in the forests which enclosed Londinium, that fort in +the woods and marshes--marshes which to this day, though drained and +built over, enwrap the nineteenth-century city in thick mists. The red +deer are gone, the boar is gone, the wolf necessarily destroyed--the +red deer can never again drink at the Thames in the dusk of the evening +while our civilisation endures. The otter alone remains--the wildest, +the most thoroughly self-supporting of all living things left--a living +link going back to the days of Cassivelaunus. London ought to take the +greatest interest in the otters of its river. The shameless way in +which every otter that dares to show itself is shot, trapped, beaten to +death, and literally battered out of existence, should rouse the +indignation of every sportsman and every lover of nature. The late Rev. +John Russell, who, it will be admitted, was a true sportsman, walked +three thousand miles to see an otter. That was a different spirit, was +it not? + +That is the spirit in which the otter in the Thames should be regarded. +Those who offer money rewards for killing Thames otters ought to be +looked on as those who would offer rewards for poisoning foxes in +Leicestershire, I suppose we shall not see the ospreys again; but I +should like to. Again, on the other side of the boundary, in the tidal +waters, the same sort of ravenous destruction is carried on against +everything that ventures up. A short time ago a porpoise came up to +Mortlake; now, just think, a porpoise up from the great sea--that sea +to which Londoners rush with such joy--past Gravesend, past Greenwich, +past the Tower, under London Bridge, past Westminster and the Houses of +Parliament, right up to Mortlake. It is really a wonderful thing that a +denizen of the sea, so large and interesting as a porpoise, should come +right through the vast City of London. In an aquarium, people would go +to see it and admire it, and take their children to see it. What +happened? Some one hastened out in a boat, armed with a gun or a rifle, +and occupied himself with shooting at it. He did not succeed in killing +it, but it was wounded. Some difference here to the spirit of John +Russell. If I may be permitted to express an opinion, I think that +there is not a single creature, from the sand-marten and the +black-headed bunting to the broad-winged heron, from the water-vole to +the otter, from the minnow on one side of the tidal boundary to the +porpoise on the other--big and little, beasts and birds (of prey or +not)--that should not be encouraged and protected on this beautiful +river, morally the property of the greatest city in the world. + + +II + +I looked forward to living by the river with delight, anticipating the +long rows I should have past the green eyots and the old houses +red-tiled among the trees. I should pause below the weir and listen to +the pleasant roar, and watch the fisherman cast again and again with +the "transcendent patience" of genius by which alone the Thames trout +is captured. Twisting the end of a willow bough round my wrist I could +moor myself and rest at ease, though the current roared under the +skiff, fresh from the waterfall. A thousand thousand bubbles rising to +the surface would whiten the stream--a thousand thousand succeeded by +another thousand thousand--and still flowing, no multiple could express +the endless number. That which flows continually by some sympathy is +acceptable to the mind, as if thereby it realised its own existence +without an end. Swallows would skim the water to and fro as yachts +tack, the sandpiper would run along the strand, a black-headed bunting +would perch upon the willow; perhaps, as the man of genius fishing and +myself made no noise, a kingfisher might come, and we might see him +take his prey. + +Or I might quit hold of the osier, and, entering a shallow backwater, +disturb shoals of roach playing where the water was transparent to the +bottom, after their wont. Winding in and out like an Indian in his +canoe, perhaps traces of an otter might be found--his kitchen +modding--and in the sedges moorhens and wildfowl would hide from me. +From its banks I should gather many a flower and notice many a plant, +there would be, too, the beautiful water-lily. Or I should row on up +the great stream by meadows full of golden buttercups, past fields +crimson with trifolium or green with young wheat. Handsome sailing +craft would come down spanking before the breeze, laden with bright +girls--laughter on board, and love the golden fleece of their argosy. + +I should converse with the ancient men of the ferries, and listen to +their river lore; they would show me the mark to which the stream rose +in the famous year of floods. On again to the cool hostelry whose sign +was reflected in the water, where there would be a draught of fine ale +for the heated and thirsty sculler. On again till steeple or tower +rising over the trees marked my journey's end for the day, some old +town where, after rest and refreshment, there would be a ruin or a +timbered house to look at, where I should meet folk full of former days +and quaint tales of yore. Thus to journey on from place to place would +be the great charm of the river--travelling by water, not merely +sculling to and fro, but really travelling. Upon a lake I could but row +across and back again, and however lovely the scenery might be, still +it would always be the same. But the Thames, upon the river I could +really travel, day after day, from Teddington Lock upwards to Windsor, +to Oxford, on to quiet Lechlade, or even farther deep into the meadows +by Cricklade. Every hour there would be something interesting, all the +freshwater life to study, the very barges would amuse me, and at last +there would be the delicious ease of floating home carried by the +stream, repassing all that had pleased before. + +The time came. I lived by the river, not far from its widest reaches, +before the stream meets its tide. I went to the eyot for a boat, and my +difficulties began. The crowd of boats lashed to each other in strings +ready for the hirer disconcerted me. There were so many I could not +choose; the whole together looked like a broad raft. Others were hauled +on the shore. Over on the eyot, a little island, there were more boats, +boats launched, boats being launched, boats being carried by gentlemen +in coloured flannels as carefully as mothers handle their youngest +infants, boats covered in canvas mummy-cases, and dim boats under +roofs, their sharp prows projecting like crocodiles' snouts. Tricksy +outriggers, ready to upset on narrow keel, were held firmly for the +sculler to step daintily into his place. A strong eight shot by up the +stream, the men all pulling together as if they had been one animal. A +strong sculler shot by down the stream, his giant arms bare and the +muscles visible as they rose, knotting and unknotting with the stroke. +Every one on the bank and eyot stopped to watch him--they knew him, he +was training. How could an amateur venture out and make an exhibition +of himself after such splendid rowing! Still it was noticeable that +plenty of amateurs did venture out, till the waterway was almost +concealed--boated over instead of bridged--and how they managed to +escape locking their oars together, I could not understand. + +I looked again at the boats. Some were outriggers. I could not get into +an outrigger after seeing the great sculler. The rest were one and all +after the same pattern, _i.e._ with the stern cushioned and prepared +for a lady. Some were larger, and could carry three or four ladies, but +they were all intended for the same purpose. If the sculler went out in +such a boat by himself he must either sit too forward and so depress +the stem and dig himself, as it were, into the water at each stroke, or +he must sit too much to the rear and depress the stern, and row with +the stem lifted up, sniffing the air. The whole crowd of boats on hire +were exactly the same; in short, they were built for woman and not for +man, for lovely woman to recline, parasol in one hand and tiller ropes +in the other, while man--inferior man--pulled and pulled and pulled as +an ox yoked to the plough. They could only be balanced by man and +woman, that was the only way they could be trimmed on an even keel; +they were like scales, in which the weight on one side must be +counterpoised by a weight in the other. They were dead against +bachelors. They belonged to woman, and she was absolute mistress of the +river. + +As I looked, the boats ground together a little, chafing, laughing at +me, making game of me, asking distinctly what business a man had there +without at least one companion in petticoats? My courage ebbed, and it +was in a feeble voice that I inquired whether there was no such thing +as a little skiff a fellow might paddle about in? No, nothing of the +kind; would a canoe do? Somehow a canoe would not do. I never took +kindly to canoes, excepting always the Canadian birch-bark pattern; +evidently there was no boat for me. There was no place on the great +river for an indolent, dreamy particle like myself, apt to drift up +into nooks, and to spend much time absorbing those pleasures which +enter by the exquisite sensitiveness of the eye--colour, and shade, and +form, and the cadence of glittering ripple and moving leaf. You must be +prepared to pull and push, and struggle for your existence on the +river, as in the vast city hard by men push and crush for money. You +must assert yourself, and insist upon having your share of the +waterway; you must be perfectly convinced that yours is the very best +style of rowing to be seen; every one ought to get out of your way. You +must consult your own convenience only, and drive right into other +people's boats, forcing them up into the willows, or against the +islands. Never slip along the shore, or into quiet backwaters; always +select the more frequented parts, not because you want to go there, but +to make your presence known, and go amongst the crowd; and if a few +sculls get broken, it only proves how very inferior and how very clumsy +other people are. If you see another boat coming down stream, in the +centre of the river with a broad space on either side for others to +pass, at once head your own boat straight at her, and take possession +of the way. Or, better still, never look ahead, but pull straight on, +and let things happen as they may. Annoy everybody, and you are sure to +be right, and to be respected; splash the ladies as you pass with a +dexterous flip of the scull, and soak their summer costumes; it is +capital sport, and they look so sulky--or is it contemptuous? + +There was no such thing as a skiff in which one could quietly paddle +about, or gently make way--mile after mile--up the beautiful stream. +The boating throng grew thicker, and my courage less and less, till I +desperately resorted to the ferry--at all events, I could be rowed over +in the ferry-boat, that would be something; I should be on the water, +after a fashion--and the ferryman would know a good deal. The burly +ferryman cared nothing at all about the river, and merely answered +"Yes," or "No;" he was full of the Derby and Sandown; didn't know about +the fishing; supposed there were fish; didn't see 'em, nor eat 'em; +want a punt? No. So he landed me, desolate and hopeless, on the +opposite bank, and I began to understand how the souls felt after +Charon had got them over. They could not have been more unhappy than I +was on the towing-path, as the ferryboat receded and left me watching +the continuous succession of boats passing up and down the river. + +By-and-by an immense black hulk came drifting round the bend--an empty +barge--almost broadside across the stream, for the current at the curve +naturally carried it out from the shore. This huge helpless monster +occupied the whole river, and had no idea where it was going, for it +had no fins or sweeps to guide its course, and the rudder could only +induce it to submit itself lengthways to the stream after the lapse of +some time. The fairway of the river was entirely taken up by this +irresponsible Frankenstein of the Thames, which some one had started, +but which now did as it liked. Some of the small craft got up into the +willows and waited; some seemed to narrowly escape being crushed +against a wall on the opposite bank. The bright white sails of a yacht +shook and quivered as its steersman tried all he knew to coax his +vessel an inch more into the wind out of the monster's path. In vain! +He had to drop down the stream, and lose what it had taken him half an +hour's skill to gain. What a pleasing monster to meet in the narrow +arches of a bridge! The man in charge leaned on the tiller, and +placidly gazed at the wild efforts of some unskilful oarsmen to escape +collision. In fact, the monster had charge of the man, and did as it +liked with him. + +Down the river they drifted together, Frankenstein swinging round and +thrusting his blunt nose first this way and then that; down the river, +blocking up the narrow passage by the eyot; stopping the traffic at the +lock; out at last into the tidal stream, there to begin a fresh life of +annoyance, and finally to endanger the good speed of many a fine +three-master and ocean steamer off the docks. The Thames barge knows no +law. No judge, no jury, no Palace of Justice, no Chancery, no appeal to +the Lords has any terror for the monster barge. It drifts by the Houses +of Parliament with no more respect than it shows for the lodge of the +lock-keeper. It drifts by Royal Windsor and cares not. The guns of the +Tower are of no account. There is nothing in the world so utterly free +as this monster. + +Often have I asked myself if the bargee at the tiller, now sucking at +his short black pipe, now munching onions and cheese (the little onions +he pitches on the lawns by the river side, there to take root and +flourish)--if this amiable man has any notion of his own incomparable +position. Just some inkling of the irony of the situation must, I +fancy, now and then dimly dawn within his grimy brow. To see all these +gentlemen shoved on one side; to be lying in the way of a splendid +Australian clipper; to stop an incoming vessel, impatient for her +berth; to swing, and sway, and roll as he goes; to bump the big ships, +and force the little ones aside; to slip, and slide, and glide with the +tide, ripples dancing under the prow, and be master of the world-famed +Thames from source to mouth, is not this a joy for ever? Liberty is +beyond price; now no one is really free unless he can crush his +neighbour's interest underfoot, like a horse-roller going over a daisy. +Bargee is free, and the ashes of his pipe are worth a king's ransom. + +Imagine a great van loaded at the East-end of London with the heaviest +merchandise, with bags of iron nails, shot, leaden sheets in rolls, and +pig iron; imagine four strong horses--dray-horses--harnessed thereto. +Then let the waggoner mount behind in a seat comfortably contrived for +him facing the rear, and settle himself down happily among his sacks, +light his pipe, and fold his hands untroubled with any worry of reins. +Away they go through the crowded city, by the Bank of England, and +across into Cheapside, cabs darting this way, carriages that, omnibuses +forced up into side-streets, foot traffic suspended till the monster +has passed; up Fleet-street, clearing the road in front of them--right +through the stream of lawyers always rushing to and fro the Temple and +the New Law Courts, along the Strand, and finally in triumph into +Rotten Row at five o'clock on a June afternoon. See how they scatter! +see how they run! The Row is swept clear from end to end--beauty, +fashion, rank,--what are such trifles of an hour? The monster vans +grind them all to powder. What such a waggoner might do on land, bargee +does on the river. + +Of olden time the silver Thames was the chosen mode of travel of +Royalty--the highest in the land were rowed from palace to city, or +city to palace, between its sunlit banks. Noblemen had their special +oarsmen, and were in like manner conveyed, and could any other mode of +journeying be equally pleasant? The coal-barge has bumped them all out +of the way. + +No man dares send forth the commonest cart unless in proper charge, and +if the horse is not under control a fine is promptly administered. The +coal-barge rolls and turns and drifts as chance and the varying current +please. How huge must be the rent in the meshes of the law to let so +large a fish go through! But in truth there is no law about it, and to +this day no man can confidently affirm that he knows to whom the river +belongs. These curious anomalies are part and parcel of our political +system, and as I watched the black monster slowly go by with the stream +it occurred to me that grimy bargee, with his short pipe and his +onions, was really the guardian of the British Constitution. + +Hardly had he gone past than a loud Pant! pant! pant! began some way +down the river; it came from a tug, whose short puffs of steam produced +a giant echo against the walls and quays and houses on the bank. These +angry pants sounded high above the splash of oars and laughter, and the +chorus of singers in a boat; they conquered all other sounds and +noises, and domineered the place. It was impossible to shut the ears to +them, or to persuade the mind not to heed. The swallows dipped their +breasts; how gracefully they drank on the wing! Pant! pant! pant! The +sunlight gleamed on the wake of a four-oar. Pant! pant! pant! The soft +wind blew among the trees and over the hawthorn hedge. Pant! pant! +pant! Neither the eye nor ear could attend to aught but this hideous +uproar. The tug was weak, the stream strong, the barges behind heavy, +broad, and deeply laden, so that each puff and pant and turn of the +screw barely advanced the mass a foot. There are many feet in a mile, +and for all that weary time--Pant! pant! pant! This dreadful uproar, +like that which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza heard proceeding from the +fulling mill, must be endured. Could not philosophy by stoic firmness +shut out the sound? Can philosophy shut out anything that is real? A +long black streak of smoke hung over the water, fouling the gleaming +surface. A noise of Dante--hideous, uncompromising as the rusty hinge +of the gate which forbids hope. Pant! pant! pant! + +Once upon a time a Queen of England was rowed down the silver Thames to +the sweet low sound of the flute. + +At last the noise grew fainter in the distance, and the black hulls +disappeared round the bend. I walked on up the towing-path. +Accidentally lifting my hand to shade my eyes, I was hailed by a +ferryman on the watch. He conveyed me over without much volition on my +part, and set me ashore by the inn of my imagination. The rooms almost +overhung the water: so far my vision was fulfilled. Within there was an +odour of spirits and spilled ale, a rustle of sporting papers, talk of +racings, and the click of billiard-balls. Without there were two or +three loafers, half boatmen, half vagabonds, waiting to pick up stray +sixpences--a sort of leprosy of rascal and sneak in their faces and the +lounge of their bodies. These Thames-side "beach-combers" are a sorry +lot, a special Pariah class of themselves. Some of them have been men +once: perhaps one retains his sculling skill, and is occasionally +engaged by a gentleman to give him lessons. They regarded me +eagerly--they "spotted" a Thames freshman who might be made to yield +silver; but I walked away down the road into the village. The spire of +the church interested me, being of shingles--_i.e._ of wooden +slates--as the houses are roofed in America, as houses were roofed in +Elizabethan England; for Young America reproduces Old England even in +roofs. Some of the houses so closely approached the churchyard that the +pantry windows on a level with the ground were partly blocked up by the +green mounds of graves. Borage grew thickly all over the yard, dropping +its blue flowers on the dead. The sharp note of a bugle rang in the +air: they were changing guard, I suppose, in Wolsey's Palace. + + +III + +In time I did discover a skiff moored in a little-visited creek, which +the boatman got out for me. The sculls were rough and shapeless--it is +a remarkable fact that sculls always are, unless you have them made and +keep them for your own use. I paddled up the river; I paused by an +osier-grown islet; I slipped past the barges, and avoided an unskilful +party; it was the morning, and none of the uproarious as yet were +about. Certainly, it was very pleasant. The sunshine gleamed on the +water, broad shadows of trees fell across; swans floated in the +by-channels. A peacefulness which peculiarly belongs to water hovered +above the river. A house-boat was moored near the willow-grown shore, +and it was evidently inhabited, for there was a fire smouldering on the +bank, and some linen that had been washed spread on the bushes to +bleach. All the windows of this gipsy-van of the river were wide open, +and the air and light entered freely into every part of the +dwelling-house under which flowed the stream. A lady was dressing +herself before one of these open windows, twining up large braids of +dark hair, her large arms bare to the shoulder, and somewhat farther. I +immediately steered out into the channel to avoid intrusion; but I felt +that she was regarding me with all a matron's contempt for an unknown +man--a mere member of the opposite sex, not introduced, or of her +"set." I was merely a man--no more than a horse on the bank,--and had +she been in her smock she would have been just as indifferent. + +Certainly it was a lovely morning; the old red palace of the Cardinal +seemed to slumber amid its trees, as if the passage of the centuries +had stroked and soothed it into indolent peace. The meadows rested; +even the swallows, the restless swallows, glided in an effortless way +through the busy air. I could see this, and yet I did not quite enjoy +it; something drew me away from perfect contentment, and gradually it +dawned upon me that it was the current causing an unsuspected amount of +labour in sculling. The forceless particles of water, so yielding to +the touch, which slipped aside at the motion of the oar, in their +countless myriads ceaselessly flowing grew to be almost a solid +obstruction to the boat. I had not noticed it for a mile or so; now the +pressure of the stream was becoming evident. I persuaded myself that it +was nothing. I held on by the boathook to a root and rested, and so +went on again. Another mile or more; another rest: decidedly sculling +against a swift current is work--downright work. You have no energy to +spare over and above that needed for the labour of rowing, not enough +even to look round and admire the green loveliness of the shore. I +began to think that I should not get as far as Oxford after all. + +By-and-by, I began to question if rowing on a river is as pleasant as +rowing on a lake, where you can rest on your oars without losing +ground, where no current opposes progress, and after the stroke the +boat slips ahead some distance of its own impetus. On the river the +boat only travels as far as you actually pull it at each stroke; there +is no life in it after the scull is lifted, the impetus dies, and the +craft first pauses and then drifts backward. I crept along the shore, +so near that one scull occasionally grounded, to avoid the main force +of the water, which is in the middle of the river. I slipped behind +eyots and tried all I knew. In vain, the river was stronger than I, and +my arms could not for many hours contend with the Thames. So faded +another part of my dream. The idea of rowing from one town to +another--of expeditions and travelling across the country, so pleasant +to think of--in practice became impossible. An athlete bent on nothing +but athleticism--a canoeist thinking of nothing but his canoe--could +accomplish it, setting himself daily so much work to do, and resolutely +performing it. A dreamer, who wanted to enjoy his passing moment, and +not to keep regular time with his strokes, who wanted to gather +flowers, and indulge his luxurious eyes with effects of light and +shadow and colour, could not succeed. The river is for the man of might. + +With a weary back at last I gave up the struggle at the foot of a weir, +almost in the splash of the cascade. My best friend, the boathook, kept +me stationary without effort, and in time rest restored the strained +muscles to physical equanimity. The roar of the river falling over the +dam soothed the mind--the sense of an immense power at hand, working +with all its might while you are at ease, has a strangely soothing +influence. It makes me sleepy to see the vast beam of an engine +regularly rise and fall in ponderous irresistible labour. Now at last +some fragment of my fancy was realised--a myriad myriad rushing bubbles +whitening the stream burst, and were instantly succeeded by myriads +more; the boat faintly vibrated as the wild waters shot beneath it; the +green cascade, smooth at its first curve, dashed itself into the depth +beneath, broken to a million million particles; the eddies whirled, and +sucked, and sent tiny whirlpools rotating along the surface; the roar +rose or lessened in intensity as the velocity of the wind varied; +sunlight sparkled--the warmth inclined the senses to a drowsy idleness. +Yonder was the trout fisherman, just as I had imagined him, casting and +casting again with that transcendental patience which is genius; his +line and the top of his rod formed momentary curves pleasant to look +at. The kingfisher did not come--no doubt he had been shot--but a +reed-sparrow did, in velvet black cap and dainty brown, pottering about +the willow near me. This was really like the beautiful river I had +dreamed of. If only we could persuade ourselves to remain quiescent +when we are happy! If only we would remain still in the armchair as the +last curl of vapour rises from a cigar that has been enjoyed! If only +we would sit still in the shadow and not go indoors to write that +letter! Let happiness alone. Stir not an inch; speak not a word: +happiness is a coy maiden--hold her hand and be still. + +In an evil moment I spied the corner of a newspaper projecting from the +pocket of my coat in the stern-sheets. Folly led me to open that +newspaper, and in it I saw and read a ghastly paragraph. Two ladies and +a gentleman while boating had been carried by the current against the +piles of a weir. The boat upset; the ladies were rescued, but the +unfortunate gentleman was borne over the fall and drowned. His body had +not been recovered; men were watching the pool day and night till some +chance eddy should bring it to the surface. So perished my dream, and +the coy-maiden happiness left me because I could not be content to be +silent and still. The accident had not happened at this weir, but it +made no difference; I could see all as plainly. A white face, blurred +and indistinct, seemed to rise up from beneath the rushing bubbles +till, just as it was about to jump to the surface, as things do that +come up, down it was drawn again by that terrible underpull which has +been fatal to so many good swimmers. + +Who can keep afloat with a force underneath dragging at the feet? Who +can swim when the water--all bubbles, that is air--gives no resistance +to the hands? Hands and feet slip through the bubbles. You might as +well spring from the parapet of a house and think to float by striking +out as to swim in such a medium. Sinking under, a hundred tons of water +drive the body to the bottom; there it rotates, it rises, it is forced +down again, a hundred tons of water beat upon it; the foot, perhaps, +catches among stones or woodwork, and what was once a living being is +imprisoned in death. Enough of this. I unloosed the boathook, and +drifted down with the stream, anxious to get away from the horrible +weir. + +These accidents, which are entirely preventable, happen year after year +with lamentable monotony. Each weir is a little Niagara, and a boat +once within its influence is certain to be driven to destruction. The +current carries it against the piles, where it is either broken or +upset, the natural and reasonable alarm of the occupants increasing the +risk. In descending the river every boat must approach the weir, and +must pass within a few yards of the dangerous current. If there is a +press of boats one is often forced out of the proper course into the +rapid part of the stream without any negligence on the part of those in +it. There is nothing to prevent this--no fence, or boom; no mark, even, +between what is dangerous and what is not; no division whatever. +Persons ignorant of the river may just as likely as not row right into +danger. A vague caution on a notice-board may or may not be seen; in +either case it gives no directions, and is certainly no protection. Let +the matter be argued from whatever point of view, the fact remains that +these accidents occur from the want of an efficient division between +the dangerous and the safe part of the approach to a weir. A boom or +some kind of fence is required, and how extraordinary it seems that +nothing of the kind is done! It is not done because there is no +authority, no control, no one responsible. Two or three gentlemen +acquainted with aquatics could manage the river from end to end, to the +safety and satisfaction of all, if they were entrusted with +discretionary powers. Stiff rules and rigid control are not needed; +what is wanted is a rational power freely using its discretion. I do +not mean a Board with its attendant follies; I mean a small committee, +unfettered, untrammelled by "legal advisers" and so forth, merely using +their own good sense. + +I drifted away from the weir--now grown hideous--and out of hearing of +its wailing dirge for the unfortunate. I drifted past more barges +coming up, and more steam-tugs; past river lawns, where gay parties +were now sipping claret-cup or playing tennis. By-and-by, I began to +meet pleasure-boats and to admire their manner of progress. First there +came a gentleman in white flannels, walking on the tow-path, with a +rope round his waist, towing a boat in which two ladies were +comfortably seated. In a while came two more gentlemen in striped +flannels, one streaked with gold the other with scarlet, striding side +by side and towing a boat in which sat one lady. They were very +earnestly at work, pacing in step, their bodies slightly leaning +forwards, and every now and then they mopped their faces with +handkerchiefs which they carried in their girdles. Something in their +slightly-bowed attitude reminded me of the captives depicted on +Egyptian monuments, with cords about their necks. How curious is that +instinct which makes each sex, in different ways, the willing slave of +the other! These human steam-tugs paced and pulled, and drew the +varnished craft swiftly against the stream, evidently determined to do +a certain distance by a certain hour. As I drifted by without labour, I +admired them very much. An interval, and still more gentlemen in +flannel, labouring like galley-slaves at the tow-rope, hot, perspiring, +and happy after their kind, and ladies under parasols, comfortably +seated, cool, and happy after their kind. + +Considering upon these things, I began to discern the true and only +manner in which the modern Thames is to be enjoyed. Above all +things--nothing heroic. Don't scull--don't row--don't haul at +tow-ropes--don't swim--don't flourish a fishing-rod. Set your mind at +ease. Make friends with two or more athletes, thorough good fellows, +good-natured, delighting in their thews and sinews. Explain to them +that somehow, don't you see, nature did not bless you with such +superabundant muscularity, although there is nothing under the sun you +admire so much. Forthwith these good fellows will pet you, and your +Thames fortune is made. You take your place in the stern-sheets, +happily protected on either side by feminine human nature, and the +parasols meeting above shield you from the sun. The tow-rope is +adjusted, and the tugs start. The gliding motion soothes the soul. +Feminine boating nature has no antipathy to the cigarette. A delicious +odour, soft as new-mown hay, a hint of spices and distant +flowers--sunshine dried and preserved, sunshine you can handle--rises +from the smouldering fibres. This is smoking summer itself. Yonder in +the fore part of the craft I espy certain vessels of glass on which is +the label of Epernay. And of such is peace. + +Drifting ever downwards, I approached the creek where my skiff had to +be left; but before I reached it a "beach-comber," with a coil of cord +over his shoulder, asked me if he should tow me "up to 'Ampton." I +shook my head, whereupon he abused me in such choice terms that I +listened abashed at my ignorance. It had never occurred to me that +swearing could be done like that. It is true we have been swearing now, +generation after generation, these eight thousand years for certain, +and language expands with use. It is also true that we are all educated +now. Shakespeare is credited with knowing everything, past or future, +but I doubt if he knew how a Thames "beach-comber" can curse in these +days. + +The Thames is swearing free. You must moderate your curses on the +Queen's highway; you must not be even profane in the streets, lest you +be taken before the magistrates; but on the Thames you may swear as the +wind blows--howsoever you list. You may begin at the mouth, off the +Nore, and curse your way up to Cricklade. A hundred miles for swearing +is a fine preserve. It is one of the marvels of our civilisation. + +Aided by scarce a touch of the sculls the stream drifted me up into the +creek, and the boatman took charge of his skiff. "Shall I keep her +handy for you, sir?" he said, thinking to get me down every day as a +newcomer. I begged him not to put himself to any trouble, still he +repeated that he would keep her ready. But in the road I shook off the +dust of my feet against the river, and earnestly resolved never, never +again to have anything to do with it (in the heroic way) lower down +than Henley. + + + +THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN + + +The single-barrel gun has passed out of modern sport; but I remember +mine with regret, and think I shall some day buy another. I still find +that the best double-barrel seems top-heavy in comparison; in poising +it the barrels have a tendency to droop. Guns, of course, are built to +balance and lie level in the hand, so as to almost aim themselves as +they come to the shoulder; and those who have always shot with a +double-barrel are probably quite satisfied with the gun on that score. +To me there seems too much weight in the left hand and towards the end +of the gun. Quickness of firing keeps the double-barrel to the front; +but suppose a repeater were to be invented, some day, capable of +discharging two cartridges in immediate succession? And if two +cartridges, why not three? An easy thought, but a very difficult one to +realise. Something in the _power_ of the double-barrel--the +overwhelming odds it affords the sportsman over bird and +animal--pleases. A man feels master of the copse with a double-barrel; +and such a sense of power, though only over feeble creatures, is +fascinating. Besides, there is the delight of effect; for a clever +right and left is sure of applause and makes the gunner feel "good" in +himself. Doubtless, if three barrels could be managed, three barrels +would be more saleable than doubles. One gun-maker has a four-barrel +gun, quite a light weight too, which would be a tremendous success if +the creatures would obligingly run and fly a little slower, so that all +four cartridges could be got in. But that they will not do. For the +present, the double-barrel is the gun of the time. + +Still I mean some day to buy a single-barrel, and wander with it as of +old along the hedges, aware that if I am not skilful enough to bring +down with the first shot I shall lose my game. It is surprising how +confident of that one shot you may get after a while. On the one hand, +it is necessary to be extremely keen; on the other, to be sure of your +own self-control, not to fire uselessly. The bramble-bushes on the +shore of the ditch ahead might cover a hare. Through the dank and +dark-green aftermath a rabbit might suddenly come bounding, disturbed +from the furrow where he had been feeding. On the sandy paths which the +rabbits have made aslant up the mound, and on their terraces, where +they sit and look out from under the boughs, acorns have dropped ripe +from the tree. Where there are acorns there may be pheasants; they may +crouch in the fern and dry grey grass of the hedge thinking you do not +see them, or else rush through and take wing on the opposite side. The +only chance of a shot is as the bird passes a gap--visible while flying +a yard--just time to pull the trigger. But I would rather have that +chance than have to fire between the bars of a gate; for the horizontal +lines cause an optical illusion, making the object appear in a +different position from what it really is in, and half the pellets are +sure to be buried in the rails. Wood-pigeons, when eagerly stuffing +their crops with acorns, sometimes forget their usual caution; and, +walking slowly, I have often got right underneath one--as unconscious +of his presence as he was of mine, till a sudden dashing of wings +against boughs and leaves announced his departure. This he always makes +on the opposite side of the oak, so as to have the screen of the thick +branches between himself and the gunner. The wood-pigeon, starting like +this from a tree, usually descends in the first part of his flight, a +gentle downward curve followed by an upward rise, and thus comes into +view at the lower part of the curve. He still seems within shot, and to +afford a good mark; and yet experience has taught me that it is +generally in vain to fire. His stout quills protect him at the full +range of the gun. Besides, a wasted shot alarms everything within +several hundred yards; and in stalking with a single-barrel it needs as +much knowledge to choose when not to fire as when you may. + +The most exciting work with the single-barrel was woodcock shooting; +woodcock being by virtue of rarity a sort of royal game, and a miss at +a woodcock a terrible disappointment. They have a trick of skimming +along the very summit of a hedge, and looking so easy to kill; but, as +they fly, the tops of tall briers here, willow-rods next, or an +ash-pole often intervene, and the result is apt to be a bough cut off +and nothing more. Snipes, on the contrary, I felt sure of with the +single-barrel, and never could hit them so well with a double. Either +at starting, before the snipe got into his twist, or waiting till he +had finished that uncertain movement, the single-barrel seemed to drop +the shot with certainty. This was probably because of its perfect +natural balance, so that it moved as if on a pivot. With the single I +had nothing to manage but my own arms; with the other I was conscious +that I had a gun also. With the single I could kill farther, no matter +what it was. The single was quicker at short shots--snap-shots, as at +rabbits darting across a narrow lane; and surer at long shots, as at a +hare put out a good way ahead by the dog. + +For everything but the multiplication of slaughter I liked the single +best; I had more of the sense of woodcraft with it. When we consider +how helpless a partridge is, for instance, before the fierce blow of +shot, it does seem fairer that the gunner should have but one chance at +the bird. Partridges at least might be kept for single-barrels: great +bags of partridges never seemed to be quite right. Somehow it seems to +me that to take so much advantage as the double-barrel confers is not +altogether in the spirit of sport. The double-barrel gives no "law." At +least to those who love the fields, the streams, and woods for their +own sake, the single-barrel will fill the bag sufficiently, and will +permit them to enjoy something of the zest men knew before the +invention of weapons not only of precision but of repetition: +inventions that rendered them too absolute masters of the situation. A +single-barrel will soon make a sportsman the keenest of shots. The gun +itself can be built to an exquisite perfection--lightness, handiness, +workmanship, and performance of the very best. It is said that you can +change from a single-barrel shot-gun to a sporting rifle and shoot with +the rifle almost at once; while many who have been used to the +slap-dash double cannot do anything for some time with a rifle. More +than one African explorer has found his single-barrel smooth-bore the +most useful of all the pieces in his battery; though, of course, of +much larger calibre than required in our fields. + + + +THE HAUNT OF THE HARE + + +It is never so much winter in the country as it is in the town. The +trees are still there, and in and about them birds remain. "Quip! +whip!" sounds from the elms; "Whip! quip!" Redwing thrushes threaten +with the "whip" those who advance towards them; they spend much of the +day in the elm-tops. Thick tussocks of old grass are conspicuous at the +skirt of a hedge; half green, half grey, they contrast with the bare +thorn. From behind one of these tussocks a hare starts, his +black-tipped ears erect, his long hinder limbs throwing him almost like +a grasshopper over the sward--no creature looks so handsome or +startling, and it is always a pleasant surprise to see him. Pheasant or +partridge do not surprise in the least--they are no more than any other +bird; but a hare causes quite a different feeling. He is perfectly +wild, unfed, untended, and then he is the largest animal to be shot in +the fields. A rabbit slips along the mound, under bushes and behind +stoles, but a hare bolts for the open, and hopes in his speed. He +leaves the straining spaniel behind, and the distance between them +increases as they go. The spaniel's broad hind paws are thrown wide +apart as he runs, striking outwards as well as backwards, and his large +ears are lifted by the wind of his progress. Overtaken by the +cartridge, still the hare, as he lies in the dewy grass, is handsome; +lift him up and his fur is full of colour, there are layers of tint, +shadings of brown within it, one under the other, and the surface is +exquisitely clean. The colours are not really bright, at least not +separately; but they are so clean and so clear that they give an +impression of warmth and brightness. Even in the excitement of sport +regret cannot but be felt at the sight of those few drops of blood +about the mouth which indicate that all this beautiful workmanship must +now cease to be. Had he escaped the sportsman would not have been +displeased. + +The black bud-sheaths of the ash may furnish a comparison for his +ear-tips; the brown brake in October might give one hue for his fur; +the yellow or buff bryony leaf perhaps another; the clematis is not +whiter than the white part. His colours, as those of so many of our +native wild creatures, appear selected from the woods, as if they had +been gathered and skilfully mingled together. They can be traced or +paralleled in the trees, the bushes, grasses, or flowers, as if +extracted from them by a secret alchemy. In the plumage of the +partridge there are tints that may be compared with the brown corn, the +brown ripe grains rubbed from the ear; it is in the corn-fields that +the partridge delights. There the young brood are sheltered, there they +feed and grow plump. The red tips of other feathers are reflections of +the red sorrel of the meadows. The grey fur of the rabbit resembles the +grey ash hue of the underwood in which he hides. + +A common plant in moist places, the figwort, bears small velvety +flowers, much the colour of the red velvet topknot of the goldfinch, +the yellow on whose wings is like the yellow bloom of the furze which +he frequents in the winter, perching cleverly on its prickly +extremities. In the woods, in the bark of the trees, the varied shades +of the branches as their size diminishes, the adhering lichens, the +stems of the underwood, now grey, now green; the dry stalks of plants, +brown, white, or dark, all the innumerable minor hues that cross and +interlace, there is suggested the woven texture of tints found on the +wings of birds. For brighter tones the autumn leaves can be resorted +to, and in summer the finches rising from the grass spring upwards from +among flowers that could supply them with all their colours. But it is +not so much the brighter as the undertones that seem to have been drawn +from the woodlands or fields. Although no such influence has really +been exerted by the trees and plants upon the living creatures, yet it +is pleasant to trace the analogy. Those who would convert it into a +scientific fact are met with a dilemma to which they are usually +oblivious, _i.e._ that most birds migrate, and the very tints which in +this country might perhaps, by a stretch of argument, be supposed to +conceal them, in a distant climate with a different foliage, or none, +would render them conspicuous. Yet it is these analogies and +imaginative comparisons which make the country so delightful. + +One day in autumn, after toiling with their guns, which are heavy in +the September heats, across the fields and over the hills, the +hospitable owner of the place suddenly asked his weary and thirsty +friend which he would have, champagne, ale, or spirits. They were just +then in the midst of a cover, the trees kept off the wind, the +afternoon sun was warm, and thirst very natural. They had not been +shooting in the cover, but had to pass through to other cornfields. It +seemed a sorry jest to ask which would be preferred in that lonely and +deserted spot, miles from home or any house whence refreshment could be +obtained--wine, spirits, or ale?--an absurd question, and irritating +under the circumstances. As it was repeated persistently, however, the +reply was at length given, in no very good humour, and wine chosen. +Forthwith putting down his gun, the interrogator pushed in among the +underwood, and from a cavity concealed beneath some bushes drew forth a +bottle of champagne. He had several of these stores hidden in various +parts of the domain, ready whichever way the chance of sport should +direct their footsteps. + +Now the dry wild parsnip, or "gicks," five feet high, stands dead and +dry, its jointed tube of dark stem surmounted with circular frills or +umbels; the teazle heads are brown, the great burdocks leafless, and +their burs, still adhering, are withered; the ground, almost free of +obstruction, is comparatively easy to search over, but the old +sportsman is too cunning to bury his wine twice in the same place, and +it is no use to look about. No birds in last year's nests--the winds +have torn and upset the mossy structures in the bushes; no champagne in +last year's cover. The driest place is under the firs, where the +needles have fallen and strew the surface thickly. Outside the wood, in +the waggon-track, the beech leaves lie on the side of the mound, dry +and shrivelled at the top, but stir them, and under the top layer they +still retain the clear brown of autumn. + +The ivy trailing on the bank is moist and freshly green. There are two +tints of moss; one light, the other deeper--both very pleasant and +restful to the eye. These beds of moss are the greenest and brightest +of the winter's colours. Besides these there are ale-hoof, or +ground-ivy leaves (not the ivy that climbs trees), violet leaves, +celandine mars, primrose mars, foxglove mars, teazle mars, and barren +strawberry leaves, all green in the midst of winter. One tiny white +flower of barren strawberry has ventured to bloom. Round about the +lower end of each maple stick, just at the ground, is a green wrap of +moss. Though leafless above, it is green at the foot. At the verge of +the ploughed field below, exposed as it is, chickweed, groundsel, and +shepherd's-purse are flowering. About a little thorn there hang +withered red berries of bryony, as if the bare thorn bore fruit; the +bine of the climbing plant clings to it still; there are traces of "old +man's beard," the white fluffy relics of clematis bloom, stained brown +by the weather; green catkins droop thickly on the hazel. Every step +presents some item of interest, and thus it is that it is never so much +winter in the country. Where fodder has been thrown down in a pasture +field for horses, a black congregation of rooks has crowded together in +a ring. A solitary pole for trapping hawks stands on the sloping ground +outside the cover. These poles are visited every morning when the trap +is there, and the captured creature put out of pain. Of the cruelty of +the trap itself there can be no doubt; but it is very unjust to assume +that therefore those connected with sport are personally cruel. In a +farmhouse much frequented by rats, and from which they cannot be driven +out, these animals are said to have discovered a means of defying the +gin set for them. One such gin was placed in the cheese-room, near a +hole from which they issued, but they dragged together pieces of straw, +little fragments of wood, and various odds and ends, and so covered the +pan that the trap could not spring. They formed, in fact, a bridge over +it. + +Red and yellow fungi mark decaying places on the trunks and branches of +the trees; their colour is brightest when the boughs are bare. By a +streamlet wandering into the osier beds the winter gnats dance in the +sunshine, round about an old post covered with ivy, on which green +berries are thick. The warm sunshine gladdens the hearts of the +moorhens floating on the water yonder by the bushes, and their singular +note, "coorg-coorg," is uttered at intervals. In the plantation close +to the house a fox resides as safe as King Louis in "Quentin Durward," +surrounded with his guards and archers and fortified towers, though +tokens of his midnight rambles, in the shape of bones, strew the front +of his castle. He crosses the lawn in sight of the windows +occasionally, as if he really knew and understood that his life is +absolutely safe at ordinary times, and that he need beware of nothing +but the hounds. + + + +THE BATHING SEASON + + +Most people who go on the West Pier at Brighton walk at once straight +to the farthest part. This is the order and custom of pier promenading; +you are to stalk along the deck till you reach the end, and there go +round and round the band in a circle like a horse tethered to an iron +pin, or else sit down and admire those who do go round and round. No +one looks back at the gradually extending beach and the fine curve of +the shore. No one lingers where the surf breaks--immediately above +it--listening to the remorseful sigh of the dying wave as it sobs back +to the sea. There, looking downwards, the white edge of the surf +recedes in hollow crescents, curve after curve for a mile or more, one +succeeding before the first can disappear and be replaced by a fresh +wave. A faint mistiness hangs above the beach at some distance, formed +of the salt particles dashed into the air and suspended. At night, if +the tide chances to be up, the white surf rushing in and returning +immediately beneath has a strange effect, especially in its pitiless +regularity. If one wave seems to break a little higher it is only in +appearance, and because you have not watched long enough. In a certain +number of times another will break there again; presently one will +encroach the merest trifle; after a while another encroaches again, and +the apparent irregularity is really sternly regular. The free wave has +no liberty--it does not act for itself,--no real generous wildness. +"Thus far and no farther," is not a merciful saying. Cold and dread and +pitiless, the wave claims its due--it stretches its arms to the fullest +length, and does not pause or hearken to the desire of any human heart. +Hopeless to appeal to is the unseen force that sends the white surge +underneath to darken the pebbles to a certain line. The wetted pebbles +are darker than the dry; even in the dusk they are easily +distinguished. Something merciless is there not in this conjunction of +restriction and impetus? Something outside human hope and +thought--indifferent--cold? + +Considering in this way, I wandered about fifty yards along the pier, +and sat down in an abstracted way on the seat on the right side. +Beneath, the clear green sea rolled in crestless waves towards the +shore--they were moving "without the animation of the wind," which had +deserted them two days ago, and a hundred miles out at sea. Slower and +slower, with an indolent undulation, rising and sinking of mere weight +and devoid of impetus, the waves passed on, scarcely seeming to break +the smoothness of the surface. At a little distance it seemed level; +yet the boats every now and then sank deeply into the trough, and even +a large fishing-smack rolled heavily. For it is the nature of a +groundswell to be exceedingly deceptive. Sometimes the waves are so far +apart that the sea actually is level--smooth as the surface of a +polished dining-table--till presently there appears a darker line +slowly approaching, and a wave of considerable size comes in, advancing +exactly like the crease in the cloth which the housemaid spreads on the +table--the air rolling along underneath it forms a linen imitation of +the groundswell. These unexpected rollers are capital at upsetting +boats just touching the beach; the boat is broadside on and the +occupants in the water in a second. To-day the groundswell was more +active, the waves closer together, not having had time to forget the +force of the extinct gale. Yet the sea looked calm as a millpond--just +the morning for a bath. + +Along the yellow line where sand and pebbles meet there stood a gallant +band, in gay uniforms, facing the water. Like the imperial legions who +were ordered to charge the ocean, and gather the shells as spoils of +war, the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold extended their front +rank--their fighting line one to a yard--along the strand. Some tall +and stately; some tall and slender; some well developed and firm on +their limbs; some gentle in attitude, even in their war dress; some +defiant; perhaps forty or fifty, perhaps more, ladies; a splendid +display of womanhood in the bright sunlight. Blue dresses, pink +dresses, purple dresses, trimmings of every colour; a gallant show. The +eye had but just time to receive these impressions as it were with a +blow of the camera--instantaneous photography--when, boom! the +groundswell was on them, and, heavens, what a change! They disappeared. +An arm projected here, possibly a foot yonder, tresses floated on the +surface like seaweed, but bodily they were gone. The whole rank from +end to end was overthrown--more than that, overwhelmed, buried, +interred in water like Pharaoh's army in the Red Sea. Crush! It had +come on them like a mountain. The wave so clear, so beautifully +coloured, so cool and refreshing, had struck their delicate bodies with +the force of a ton weight. Crestless and smooth to look at, in reality +that treacherous roller weighed at least a ton to a yard. + +Down went each fair bather as if hit with shot from a Gatling gun. Down +she went, frantically, and vainly grasping at a useless rope; down with +water driven into her nostrils, with a fragment, a tiny blade, of +seaweed forced into her throat, choking her; crush on the hard pebbles, +no feather bed, with the pressure of a ton of water overhead, and the +strange rushing roar it makes in the ears. Down she went, and at the +same time was dragged head foremost, sideways, anyhow, but +dragged--_ground_ along on the bitter pebbles some yards higher up the +beach, each pebble leaving its own particular bruise, and the suspended +sand filling the eyes. Then the wave left her, and she awoke from the +watery nightmare to the bright sunlight, and the hissing foam as it +subsided, prone at full length, high and dry like a stranded wreck. +Perhaps her head had tapped the wheel of the machine in a friendly +way--a sort of genial battering ram. The defeat was a perfect rout; yet +they recovered position immediately. I fancy I did see one slip limply +to cover; but the main body rose manfully, and picked their way with +delicate feet on the hard, hard stones back again to the water, again +to meet their inevitable fate. + +The white ankles of the blonde gleaming in the sunshine were +distinguishable, even at that distance, from the flesh tint of the +brunette beside her, and these again from the swarthiness of still +darker ankles, which did not gleam, but had a subdued colour like dead +gold. The foam of a lesser wave ran up and touched their feet +submissively. Three young girls in pink clustered together; one +crouched with her back to the sea and glanced over her timorous +shoulder. Another lesser wave ran up and left a fringe of foam before +them. I looked for a moment out to sea and saw the smack roll heavily, +the big wave was coming. By now the bathers had gathered confidence, +and stepped, a little way at a time, closer and closer down to the +water. Some even stood where each lesser wave rose to their knees. +Suddenly a few leant forwards, pulling their ropes taut, and others +turned sideways; these were the more experienced or observant. Boom! +The big roller broke near the pier and then ran along the shore; it did +not strike the whole length at once, it came in aslant and rushed +sideways. The three in pink went first--they were not far enough from +their machine to receive its full force, it barely reached to the +waist, and really I think it was worse for them. They were lifted off +their feet and shot forward with their heads under water; one appeared +to be under the two others, a confused mass of pink. Their white feet +emerged behind the roller, and as it sank it drew them back, grinding +them over the pebbles: every one knows how pebbles grate and grind +their teeth as a wave subsides. Left lying on their faces, I guessed +from their attitudes that they had dug their finger-nails into the +pebbles in an effort to seize something that would hold. Somehow they +got on their knees and crept up the slope of the beach. Beyond these +three some had been standing about up to their knees; these were simply +buried as before--quite concealed and thrown like beams of timber, head +first, feet first, high up on shore. Group after group went down as the +roller reached them, and the sea was dyed for a minute with blue +dresses, purple dresses, pink dresses; they coloured the wave which +submerged them. From end to end the whole rank was again overwhelmed, +nor did any position prove of advantage; those who sprang up as the +wave came were simply turned over and carried on their backs, those who +tried to dive under were swept back by the tremendous under-rush. +Sitting on the beach, lying at full length, on hands and knees, lying +on this side or that, doubled up--there they were, as the roller +receded, in every disconsolate attitude imaginable; the curtain rose +and disclosed the stage in disorder. Again I thought I saw one or two +limp to their machines, but the main body adjusted themselves and faced +the sea. + +Was there ever such courage? National untaught courage--inbred, and not +built of gradual instruction as it were in hardihood. Yet some people +hesitate to give women the franchise! actually, a miserable privilege +which any poor fool of a man may exercise. + +I was philosophising admirably in this strain when first a shadow came +and then the substance, that is, a gentleman sat down by me and wished +me good morning, in a slightly different accent to that we usually +hear. I looked wistfully at the immense length of empty seats; on both +sides of the pier for two hundred yards or more there extended an +endless empty seat. Why could not he have chosen a spot to himself? Why +must he place himself just here, so close as to touch me? Four hundred +yards of vacant seats, and he could not find room for himself. + +It is a remarkable fact in natural history that one's elbow is sure to +be jogged. It does not matter what you do; suppose you paint in the +most secluded spot, and insert yourself, moreover, in the most +inconspicuous part of that spot, some vacant physiognomy is certain to +intrude, glaring at you with glassy eye. Suppose you do nothing (like +myself), no matter where you do it some inane humanity obtrudes itself. +I took out my note-book once in a great open space at the Tower of +London, a sort of court or place of arms, quite open and a gunshot +across; there was no one in sight, and if there had been half a +regiment they could have passed (and would have passed) without +interference. I had scarcely written three lines when the pencil flew +up the page, some hulking lout having brushed against me. He could not +find room for himself. A hundred yards of width was not room enough for +him to go by. He meant no harm; it did not occur to him that he could +be otherwise than welcome. He was the sort of man who calmly sleeps on +your shoulder in a train, and merely replaces his head if you wake him +twenty times. The very same thing has happened to me in the parks, and +in country fields; particularly it happens at the British Museum and +the picture galleries, there is room sufficient in all conscience; but +if you try to make a note or a rough memorandum sketch you get a jog. +There is a jogger everywhere, just as there is a buzzing fly everywhere +in summer. The jogger travels, too. + +One day, while studying in the Louvre, I am certain three or four +hundred French people went by me, mostly provincials I fancy, +country-folks, in short, from their dress, which was not Parisian, and +their accent, which was not of the Boulevards. Of all these not one +interfered with me; they did not approach within four or five feet. How +grateful I felt towards them! One man and his sweetheart, a fine +southern girl with dark eyes and sun-browned cheeks, sat down near me +on one of the scanty seats provided. The man put his umbrella and his +hat on the seat beside him. What could be more natural? No one else was +there, and there was room for three more couples. Instantly an +official--an authority!--stepped hastily forward from the shadow of +some sculpture (beasts of prey abide in darkness), snatched up the +umbrella and hat, and rudely dashed them on the floor. In a flow of +speech he explained that nothing must be placed on the seats. The man, +who had his handkerchief in his hand, quietly dropped it into his hat +on the floor, and replied nothing. This was an official "jogger." I +felt indignant to see and hear people treated in this rough manner; but +the provincial was used to the jogger system and heeded it not. My own +jogger was coming. Three to four hundred country-folk had gone by +gently and in a gentlemanly way. Then came an English gentleman, +middle-aged, florid, not much tinctured with art or letters, but +garnished with huge gold watchchain and with wealth as it were bulging +out of his waistcoat pocket. This gentleman positively walked into me, +pushed me-literally pushed me aside and took my place, a place valuable +to me at that moment for one special aspect, and having shoved me +aside, gazed about him through his eyeglass, I suppose to discover what +it was interested me. He was a genuine, thoroughbred jogger. The vast +galleries of the Louvre had not room enough for him. He was one of the +most successful joggers in the world, I feel sure; any family might be +proud of him. While I am thus digressing, the bathers have gone over +thrice. + +The individual who had sat himself down by me produced a little box and +offered me a lozenge. I did not accept it; he took one himself in token +that they were harmless. Then he took a second, and a third, and began +to tell me of their virtues; they cured this and they alleviated that, +they were the greatest discovery of the age; this universal lozenge was +health in the waistcoat pocket, a medicine-chest between finger and +thumb; the secret had been extracted at last, and nature had given up +the ghost as it were of her hidden physic. His eloquence conjured up in +my mind a vision of the rocks beside the Hudson river papered over with +acres of advertising posters. But no; by his further conversation I +found that I had mentally slandered him; he was not a proprietor of +patent medicine; he was a man of education and private means; he +belonged to a much higher profession, in fact he was a "jogger" +travelling about from place to place--"globetrotting" from capital city +to watering-place--all over the world in the exercise of his function. +I had wondered if his accent was American (petroleum-American), or +German, or Italian, or Russian, or what. Now I wondered no longer, for +the jogger is cosmopolitan. When he had exhausted his lozenge he told +me how many times the screw of the steamer revolved while carrying him +across the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco. I nearly suggested +that it was about equal to the number of times his tongue had vibrated +in the last ten minutes. The bathers went over twice more. I was +anxious to take note of their bravery, and turned aside, leaning over +the iron back of the seat. He went on just the same; a hint was no more +to him than a feather bed to an ironclad. + +My rigid silence was of no avail; so long as my ears were open he did +not care. He was a very energetic jogger. However, it occurred to me to +try another plan: I turned towards him (he would much rather have had +my back) and began to talk in the most strident tones I could command. +I pointed out to him that the pier was decked like a vessel, that the +cliffs were white, that a lady passing had a dark blue dress on, which +did not suit with the green sea, not because it was blue, but because +it was the wrong tint of blue. I informed him that the Pavilion was +once the residence of royalty, and similar novelties; all in a string +without a semicolon. His eyes opened; he fumbled with his lozenge-box, +said "Good morning," and went on up the pier. I watched him +go--English-Americano-Germano-Franco-Prussian-Russian-Chinese-New +Zealander that he was. But he was not a man of genius; you could choke +him off by talking. Still he had effectually jogged me and spoiled my +contemplative enjoyment of the bathers' courage; upon the whole I +thought I would go down on the beach now and see them a little closer. +The truth is, I suppose, that it is people like myself who are in the +wrong, or are in the way. What business had I to make a note in the +Tower yard, or study in the Louvre? what business have I to think, or +indulge myself in an idea? What business has any man to paint, or +sketch, or do anything of the sort? I suppose the joggers are in the +right. + +Dawdling down Whitehall one day a jogger nailed me--they come to me +like flies to honey--and got me to look at his pamphlet. He went about, +he said, all his time distributing them as a duty for the safety of the +nation. The pamphlet was printed in the smallest type, and consisted of +extracts from various prophetical authors, pointing out the enormity of +the Babylonian Woman, of the City of Scarlet, or some such thing; the +gist being the bitterest--almost scurrilous--attack on the Church of +Rome. The jogger told me, with tears of pride in his eyes and a +glorified countenance, that only a few days before, in the waiting-room +of a railway station, he had the pleasure to present his pamphlet to +Cardinal Manning. And the Cardinal bowed and put it in his pocket. + +Just as everybody walks on the sunny side of Regent-street, so there +are certain spots on the beach where people crowd together. This is one +of them; just west of the West Pier there is a fair between eleven and +one every bright morning. Everybody goes because everybody else does. +Mamma goes down to bathe with her daughters and the little ones; they +take two machines at least; the pater comes to smoke his cigar; the +young fellows of the family-party come to look at "the women," as they +irreverently speak of the sex. So the story runs on _ad infinitum_, +down to the shoeless ones that turn up everywhere. Every seat is +occupied; the boats and small yachts are filled; some of the children +pour pebbles into the boats, some carefully throw them out; wooden +spades are busy; sometimes they knock each other on the head with them, +sometimes they empty pails of sea-water on a sister's frock. There is a +squealing, squalling, screaming, shouting, singing, bawling, howling, +whistling, tin-trumpeting, and every luxury of noise. Two or three +bands work away; niggers clatter their bones; a conjurer in red throws +his heels in the air; several harps strum merrily different strains; +fruit-sellers push baskets into folks' faces; sellers of wretched +needlework and singular baskets coated with shells thrust their rubbish +into people's laps. These shell baskets date from George IV. The +gingerbeer men and the newsboys cease not from troubling. Such a volume +of uproar, such a complete organ of discord I mean a whole organful +cannot be found anywhere else on the face of the earth in so +comparatively small a space. It is a sort of triangular plot of beach +crammed with everything that ordinarily annoys the ears and offends the +sight. + +Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is perfectly comfortable, +perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a preferable spot to any other. A +sparkle of sunshine on the breakers, a dazzling gleam from the white +foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and champagniness; +altogether lovely. The way in which people lie about on the beach, +their legs this way, and their arms that, their hats over their eyes, +their utter give-themselves-up expression of attitude is enough in +itself to make a reasonable being contented. Nobody cares for anybody; +they drowned Mrs. Grundy long ago. The ancient philosopher (who had a +mind to eat a fig) held that a nail driven into wood could only support +a certain weight. After that weight was exceeded either the wood must +break or the nail come out. Yonder is a wooden seat put together with +nails--a flimsy contrivance, which defies all rules of gravity and +adhesion. One leg leans one way, the other in the opposite direction; +very lame legs indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit on it +lest it should come to pieces. The music, I suppose, charms it, for it +holds together in the most marvellous manner. Four people are sitting +on it, four big ones, middle-aged, careful people; every moment the +legs gape wide apart, the structure visibly stretches and yields and +sinks in the pebbles, yet it does not come down. The stoutest of all +sits actually over the lame legs, reading his paper quite oblivious of +the odd angle his plump person makes, quite unconscious of the +threatened crack--crash! It does not happen. A sort of magnetism sticks +it together; it is in the air; it makes things go right that ought to +go wrong. Awfully naughty place; no sort of idea of rightness here. +Humming and strumming, and singing and smoking, splashing, and +sparkling; a buzz of voices and booming of sea! If they could only be +happy like this always! + +Mamma has a tremendous fight over the bathing-dresses, her own, of +course; the bathing woman cannot find them, and denies that she had +them, and by-and-by, after half an hour's exploration, finds them all +right, and claims commendation for having put them away so safely. Then +there is the battle for a machine. The nurse has been keeping guard on +the steps, to seize it the instant the occupant comes out. At last they +get it, and the wonder is how they pack themselves in it. Boom! The +bathers have gone over again, I know. The rope stretches as the men at +the capstan go round, and heave up the machines one by one before the +devouring tide. + +As it is not at all rude, but the proper thing to do, I thought I would +venture a little nearer (not too obtrusively near) and see closer at +hand how brave womanhood faced the rollers. There was a young girl +lying at full length at the edge of the foam. She reclined parallel to +the beach, not with her feet towards the sea, but so that it came to +her side. She was clad in some material of a gauzy and yet opaque +texture, permitting the full outline and the least movement to be seen. +The colour I do not exactly know how to name; they could tell you at +the Magasin du Louvre, where men understand the hues of garments as +well as women. I presume it was one of the many tints that are called +at large "creamy." It suited her perfectly. Her complexion was in the +faintest degree swarthy, and yet not in the least like what a lady +would associate with that word. The difficulty in describing a colour +is that different people take different views of the terms employed; +ladies have one scale founded a good deal on dress, men another, and +painters have a special (and accurate) gamut which they use in the +studio. This was a clear swarthiness a translucent swarthiness clear as +the most delicate white. There was something in the hue of her neck as +freely shown by the loose bathing dress, of her bare arms and feet, +somewhat recalling to mind the kind of beauty attributed to the Queen +of Egypt. But it was more delicate. Her form was almost fully +developed, more so than usual at her age. Again and again the foam +rushed up deep enough to cover her limbs, but not sufficiently so to +hide her chest, as she was partly raised on one arm. Washed thus with +the purest whiteness of the sparkling foam, her beauty gathered +increase from the touch of the sea. She swayed slightly as the water +reached her, she was luxuriously recked to and fro. The waves, toyed +with her; they came and retired, happy in her presence; the breeze and +the sunshine were there. + +Standing somewhat back, the machines hid the waves from me till they +reached the shore, so that I did not observe the heavy roller till it +came and broke. A ton of water fell on her, crush! The edge of the wave +curled and dropped over her, the arch bowed itself above her, the +keystone of the wave fell in. She was under the surge while it rushed +up and while it rushed back; it carried her up to the steps of the +machine and back again to her original position. When it subsided she +simply shook her head, raised herself on one arm, and adjusted herself +parallel to the beach as before. + +Let any one try this, let any one lie for a few minutes just where the +surge bursts, and he will understand what it means. Men go out to the +length of their ropes--past and outside the line of the breakers, or +they swim still farther out and ride at ease where the wave, however +large, merely lifts them pleasantly as it rolls under. But the smashing +force of the wave is where it curls and breaks, and it is there that +the ladies wait for it. It is these breakers in a gale that tear to +pieces and destroy the best-built ships once they touch the shore, +scattering their timbers as the wind scatters leaves. The courage and +the endurance women must possess to face a groundswell like this! + +All the year they live in luxury and ease, and are shielded from +everything that could hurt. A bruise--a lady to receive a bruise; it is +not be to thought of! If a ruffian struck a lady in Hyde Park the world +would rise from its armchair in a fury of indignation. These waves and +pebbles bruise them as they list. They do not even flinch. There must, +then, be a natural power of endurance in them. + +It is unnecessary, and yet I was proud to see it. An English lady could +do it; but could any other?--unless, indeed, an American of English +descent. Still, it is a barbarous thing, for bathing could be easily +rendered pleasant. The cruel roller receded, the soft breeze blew, the +sunshine sparkled, the gleaming foam rushed up and gently rocked her. +The Infanta Cleopatra lifted her arm gleaming wet with spray, and +extended it indolently; the sun had only given her a more seductive +loveliness. How much more enjoyable the sea and breeze and sunshine +when one is gazing at something so beautiful. That arm, rounded and +soft---- + +"Excuse me, sir, but your immortal soul"--a hand was placed on my +elbow. I turned, and saw a beaming face; a young lady, elegantly +dressed, placed a fly-sheet of good intentions in my fingers. The fair +jogger beamed yet more sweetly as I took it, and went on among the +crowd. When I looked back the Infanta Cleopatra had ascended into her +machine. I had lost the last few moments of loveliness. + + + +UNDER THE ACORNS + + +Coming along a woodland lane, a small round and glittering object in +the brushwood caught my attention. The ground was but just hidden in +that part of the wood with a thin growth of brambles, low, and more +like creepers than anything else. These scarcely hid the surface, which +was brown with the remnants of oak-leaves; there seemed so little +cover, indeed, that a mouse might have been seen. But at that spot some +great spurge-plants hung this way and that, leaning aside, as if the +sterns were too weak to uphold the heads of dark-green leaves. Thin +grasses, perfectly white, bleached by the sun and dew, stood in a bunch +by the spurge; their seeds had fallen, the last dregs of sap had dried +within them, there was nothing left but the bare stalks. A creeper of +bramble fenced round one side of the spurge and white grass bunch, and +brown leaves were visible on the surface of the ground through the +interstices of the spray. It was in the midst of this little thicket +that a small, dark, and glittering object caught my attention. I knew +it was the eye of some creature at once, but, supposing it nothing more +than a young rabbit, was passing on, thinking of other matters, when it +occurred to me, before I could finish the step I had taken, so quick is +thought, that the eye was not large enough to be that of a rabbit. I +stopped; the black glittering eye had gone--the creature had lowered +its neck, but immediately noticing that I was looking in that +direction, it cautiously raised itself a little, and I saw at once that +the eye was the eye of a bird. This I knew first by its size, and next +by its position in relation to the head, which was invisible--for had +it been a rabbit or hare, its ears would have projected. The moment +after, the eye itself confirmed this--the nictitating membrane was +rapidly drawn over it, and as rapidly removed. This membrane is the +distinguishing mark of a bird's eye. But what bird? Although I was +within two yards, I could not even see its head, nothing but the +glittering eyeball, on which the light of the sun glinted. The sunbeams +came over my shoulder straight into the bird's face. + +Without moving--which I did not wish to do, as it would disturb the +bird--I could not see its plumage; the bramble spray in front, the +spurge behind, and the bleached grasses at the side, perfectly +concealed it. Only two birds I considered would be likely to squat and +remain quiescent like this--partridge or pheasant; but I could not +contrive to view the least portion of the neck. A moment afterwards the +eye came up again, and the bird slightly moved its head, when I saw its +beak, and knew it was a pheasant immediately. I then stepped +forward--almost on the bird--and a young pheasant rose, and flew +between the tree-trunks to a deep dry watercourse, where it disappeared +under some withering yellow-ferns. + +Of course I could easily have solved the problem long before, merely by +startling the bird; but what would have been the pleasure of that? Any +plough-lad could have forced the bird to rise, and would have +recognised it as a pheasant; to me, the pleasure consisted in +discovering it under every difficulty. That was woodcraft; to kick the +bird up would have been simply nothing at all. Now I found why I could +not see the pheasant's neck or body; it was not really concealed, but +shaded out by the mingled hues of white grasses, the brown leaves of +the surface, and the general grey-brown tints. Now it was gone, there +was a vacant space its plumage had filled up that vacant space with +hues so similar, that, at no farther distance than two yards, I did not +recognise it by colour. Had the bird fully carried out its instinct of +concealment, and kept its head down as well as its body, I should have +passed it. Nor should I have seen its head if it had looked the other +way; the eye betrayed its presence. The dark glittering eye, which the +sunlight touched, caught my attention instantly. There is nothing like +an eye in inanimate nature; no flower, no speck on a bough, no gleaming +stone wet with dew, nothing, indeed, to which it can be compared. The +eye betrayed it; I could not overlook an eye. Neither nature nor +inherited experience had taught the pheasant to hide its eye; the bird +not only wished to conceal itself, but to watch my motions and, looking +up from its cover, was immediately observed. + +At a turn of the lane there was a great heap of oak "chumps," crooked +logs, sawn in lengths, and piled together. They were so crooked, it was +difficult to find a seat, till I hit on one larger than the rest. The +pile of "chunks" rose halfway up the stem of an oak tree, and formed a +wall of wood at my back; the oak-boughs reached over and made a +pleasant shade. The sun was warm enough, to render resting in the open +air delicious, the wind cool enough to prevent the heat becoming too +great; the pile of timber kept off the draught, so that I could stay +and listen to the gentle "hush, rush" of the breeze in the oak above +me; "hush" as it came slowly, "rush" as it came fast, and a low +undertone as it nearly ceased. So thick were the haws on a bush of +thorn opposite, that they tinted the hedge a red colour among the +yellowing hawthorn-leaves. To this red hue the blackberries that were +not ripe, the thick dry red sorrel stalks, a bright canker on a brier +almost as bright as a rose, added their colours. Already the foliage of +the bushes had been thinned, and it was possible to see through the +upper parts of the boughs. The sunlight, therefore, not only touched +their outer surfaces, but passed through and lit up the branches +within, and the wild-fruit upon them. Though the sky was clear and blue +between the clouds, that is, without mist or haze, the sunbeams were +coloured the faintest yellow, as they always are on a ripe autumn day. +This yellow shone back from grass and leaves, from bough and +tree-trunk, and seemed to stain the ground. It is very pleasant to the +eyes, a soft, delicate light, that gives another beauty to the +atmosphere. Some roan cows were wandering down the lane, feeding on the +herbage at the side; their colour, too, was lit up by the peculiar +light, which gave a singular softness to the large shadows of the trees +upon the sward. In a meadow by the wood the oaks cast broad shadows on +the short velvety sward, not so sharp and definite as those of summer, +but tender, and, as it were, drawn with a loving hand. They were large +shadows, though it was mid-day--a sign that the sun was no longer at +his greatest height, but declining. In July, they would scarcely have +extended beyond the rim of the boughs; the rays would have dropped +perpendicularly, now they slanted. Pleasant as it was, there was regret +in the thought that the summer was going fast. Another sign--the grass +by the gateway, an acre of it, was brightly yellow with hawkweeds, and +under these were the last faded brown heads of meadow clover; the +brown, the bright yellow disks, the green grass, the tinted sunlight +falling upon it, caused a wavering colour that fleeted before the +glance. + +All things brown, and yellow, and red, are brought out by the autumn +sun; the brown furrows freshly turned where the stubble was yesterday, +the brown bark of trees, the brown fallen leaves, the brown stalks of +plants; the red haws, the red unripe blackberries, red bryony berries, +reddish-yellow fungi, yellow hawkweed, yellow ragwort, yellow +hazel-leaves, elms, spots in lime or beech; not a speck of yellow, red, +or brown the yellow sunlight does not find out. And these make autumn, +with the caw of rooks, the peculiar autumn caw of laziness and full +feeding, the sky blue as March between the great masses of dry cloud +floating over, the mist in the distant valleys, the tinkle of traces as +the plough turns and the silence of the woodland birds. The lark calls +as he rises from the earth, the swallows still wheeling call as they go +over, but the woodland birds are mostly still and the restless sparrows +gone forth in a cloud to the stubble. Dry clouds, because they +evidently contain no moisture that will fall as rain here; thick mists, +condensed haze only, floating on before the wind. The oaks were not yet +yellow, their leaves were half green, half brown; Time had begun to +invade them, but had not yet indented his full mark. + +Of the year there are two most pleasurable seasons: the spring, when +the oak-leaves come russet-brown on the great oaks; the autumn, when +the oak-leaves begin to turn. At the one, I enjoy the summer that is +coming; at the other, the summer that is going. At either, there is a +freshness in the atmosphere, a colour everywhere, a depth of blue in +the sky, a welcome in the woods. The redwings had not yet come; the +acorns were full, but still green; the greedy rooks longed to see them +riper. They were very numerous, the oaks covered with them, a crop for +the greedy rooks, the greedier pigeons, the pheasants, and the jays. + +One thing I missed--the corn. So quickly was the harvest gathered, that +those who delight in the colour of the wheat had no time to enjoy it. +If any painter had been looking forward to August to enable him to +paint the corn, he must have been disappointed. There was no time; the +sun came, saw, and conquered, and the sheaves were swept from the +field. Before yet the reapers had entered one field of ripe wheat, I +did indeed for a brief evening obtain a glimpse of the richness and +still beauty of an English harvest. The sun was down, and in the west a +pearly grey light spread widely, with a little scarlet drawn along its +lower border. Heavy shadows hung in the foliage of the elms, the clover +had closed, and the quiet moths had taken the place of the humming +bees. Southwards, the full moon, a red-yellow disk, shone over the +wheat, which appeared the finest pale amber. A quiver of colour--an +undulation--seemed to stay in the air, left from the heated day; the +sunset hues and those of the red-tinted moon fell as it were into the +remnant of day, and filled the wheat; they were poured into it, so that +it grew in their colours. Still heavier the shadows deepened in the +elms; all was silence, save for the sound of the reapers on the other +side of the hedge, slash--rustle, slash--rustle, and the drowsy night +came down as softly as an eyelid. + +While I sat on the log under the oak, every now and then wasps came to +the crooked pieces of sawn timber, which had been barked. They did not +appear to be biting it--they can easily snip off fragments of the +hardest oak,--they merely alighted and examined it, and went on again. +Looking at them, I did not notice the lane till something moved, and +two young pheasants ran by along the middle of the track and into the +cover at the side. The grass at the edge which they pushed through +closed behind them, and feeble as it was--grass only--it shut off the +interior of the cover as firmly as iron bars. The pheasant is a strong +lock upon the woods; like one of Chubb's patent locks, he closes the +woods as firmly as an iron safe can be shut. Wherever the pheasant is +artificially reared, and a great "head" kept up for battue-shooting, +there the woods are sealed. No matter if the wanderer approach with the +most harmless of intentions, it is exactly the same as if he were a +species of burglar. The botanist, the painter, the student of nature, +all are met with the high-barred gate and the throat of law. Of course, +the pheasant-lock can be opened by the silver key; still, there is the +fact, that since pheasants have been bred on so large a scale, half the +beautiful woodlands of England have been fastened up. Where there is no +artificial rearing there is much more freedom; those who love the +forest can roam at their pleasure, for it is not the fear of damage +that locks the gate, but the pheasant. In every sense, the so-called +sport of battue-shooting is injurious--injurious to the sportsman, to +the poorer class, to the community. Every true sportsman should +discourage it, and indeed does. I was talking with a thorough sportsman +recently, who told me, to my delight, that he never reared birds by +hand; yet he had a fair supply, and could always give a good day's +sport, judged as any reasonable man would judge sport. Nothing must +enter the domains of the hand-reared pheasant; even the nightingale is +not safe. A naturalist has recorded that in a district he visited, the +nightingales were always shot by the keepers and their eggs smashed, +because the singing of these birds at night disturbed the repose of the +pheasants! They also always stepped on the eggs of the fern-owl, which +are laid on the ground, and shot the bird if they saw it, for the same +reason, as it makes a jarring sound at dusk. The fern-owl, or +goatsucker, is one of the most harmless of birds--a sort of evening +swallow--living on moths, chafers, and similar night-flying insects. + +Continuing my walk, still under the oaks and green acorns, I wondered +why I did not meet any one. There was a man cutting fern in the wood--a +labourer--and another cutting up thistles in a field; but with the +exception of men actually employed and paid, I did not meet a single +person, though the lane I was following is close to several well-to-do +places. I call that a well-to-do place where there are hundreds of +large villas inhabited by wealthy people. It is true that the great +majority of persons have to attend to business, even if they enjoy a +good income; still, making every allowance for such a necessity, it is +singular how few, how very few, seem to appreciate the quiet beauty of +this lovely country. Somehow, they do not seem to see it--to look over +it; there is no excitement in it, for one thing. They can see a great +deal in Paris, but nothing in an English meadow. I have often wondered +at the rarity of meeting any one in the fields, and yet--curious +anomaly--if you point out anything--or describe it, the interest +exhibited is marked. Every one takes an interest, but no one goes to +see for himself. For instance, since the natural history collection was +removed from the British Museum to a separate building at South +Kensington, it is stated that the visitors to the Museum have fallen +from an average of twenty-five hundred a day to one thousand; the +inference is, that out of every twenty-five, fifteen came to see the +natural history cases. Indeed, it is difficult to find a person who +does not take an interest in some department of natural history, and +yet I scarcely ever meet any one in the fields. You may meet many in +the autumn far away in places famous for scenery, but almost none in +the meadows at home. + +I stayed by a large pond to look at the shadows of the trees on the +green surface of duckweed. The soft green of the smooth weed received +the shadows as if specially prepared to show them to advantage. The +more the tree was divided--the more interlaced its branches and less +laden with foliage, the more it "came out" on the green surface; each +slender twig was reproduced, and sometimes even the leaves. From an +oak, and from a lime, leaves had fallen, and remained on the green +weed; the flags by the shore were turning brown; a tint of yellow was +creeping up the rashes, and the great trunk of a fir shone reddish +brown in the sunlight. There was colour even about the still pool, +where the weeds grew so thickly that the moorhens could scarcely swim +through them. + + + +DOWNS + + +A good road is recognised as the groundwork of civilisation. So long as +there is a firm and artificial track under his feet the traveller may +be said to be in contact with city and town, no matter how far they may +be distant. A yard or two outside the railway in America the primeval +forest or prairie often remains untouched, and much in the same way, +though in a less striking degree at first sight, some of our own +highways winding through Down districts are bounded by undisturbed +soil. Such a road wears for itself a hollow, and the bank at the top is +fringed with long rough grass hanging over the crumbling chalk. Broad +discs of greater knapweed with stalks like wire, and yellow toad-flax +with spotted lip grow among it. Grasping this tough grass as a handle +to climb up by, the explorer finds a rising slope of sward, and having +walked over the first ridge, shutting off the road behind him, is at +once out of civilisation. There is no noise. Wherever there are men +there is a hum, even in the harvest-field; and in the road below, +though lonely, there is sometimes the sharp clatter of hoofs or the +grating of wheels on flints. But here the long, long slopes, the +endless ridges, the gaps between, hazy and indistinct, are absolutely +without noise. In the sunny autumn day the peace of the sky overhead is +reflected in the silent earth. Looking out over the steep hills, the +first impression is of an immense void like the sea; but there are +sounds in detail, the twitter of passing swallows, the restless buzz of +bees at the thyme, the rush of the air beaten by a ringdove's wings. +These only increase the sense of silent peace, for in themselves they +soothe; and how minute the bee beside this hill, and the dove to the +breadth of the sky! A white speck of thistledown comes upon a current +too light to swing a harebell or be felt by the cheek. The furze-bushes +are lined with thistledown, blown there by a breeze now still; it is +glossy in the sunbeams, and the yellow hawkweeds cluster beneath. The +sweet, clear air, though motionless at this height, cools the rays; but +the sun seems to pause and neither to rise higher nor decline. It is +the space open to the eye which apparently arrests his movement. There +is no noise, and there are no men. + +Glance along the slope, up the ridge, across to the next, endeavour to +penetrate the hazy gap, but no one is visible. In reality it is not +quite so vacant; there may, perhaps, be four or five men between this +spot and the gap, which would be a pass if the Downs were high enough. +One is not far distant; he is digging flints over the ridge, and, +perhaps, at this moment rubbing the earth from a corroded Roman coin +which he has found in the pit. Another is thatching, for there are +three detached wheat-ricks round a spur of the Down a mile away, where +the plain is arable, and there, too, a plough is at work. A shepherd is +asleep on his back behind the furze a mile in the other direction. The +fifth is a lad trudging with a message; he is in the nut-copse, over +the next hill, very happy. By walking a mile the explorer may, perhaps, +sight one of these, if they have not moved by then and disappeared in +another hollow. And when you have walked the mile--knowing the distance +by the time occupied in traversing it--if you look back you will sigh +at the hopelessness of getting over the hills. The mile is such a +little way, only just along one slope and down into the narrow valley +strewn with flints and small boulders. If that is a mile, it must be +another up to the white chalk quarry yonder, another to the copse on +the ridge; and how far is the hazy horizon where the ridges crowd on +and hide each other? Like rowing at sea, you row and row and row, and +seem where you started--waves in front and waves behind; so you may +walk and walk and walk, and still there is the intrenchment on the +summit, at the foot of which, well in sight, you were resting some +hours ago. + +Rest again by the furze, and some goldfinches come calling shrilly and +feasting undisturbed upon the seeds of thistles and other plants. The +bird-catcher does not venture so far; he would if there was a rail +near; but he is a lazy fellow, fortunately, and likes not the weight of +his own nets. When the stubbles are ploughed there will be troops of +finches and linnets up here, leaving the hedgerows of the valley almost +deserted. Shortly the fieldfares will come, but not generally till the +redwings have appeared below in the valleys; while the fieldfares go +upon the hills, the green plovers, as autumn comes on, gather in flocks +and go down to the plains. Hawks regularly beat along the furze, +darting on a finch now and then, and owls pass by at night. Nightjars, +too, are down-land birds, staying in woods or fern by day, and swooping +on the moths which flutter about the furze in the evening. Crows are +too common, and work on late into the shadows. Sometimes, in getting +over the low hedges which divide the uncultivated sward from the +ploughed lands, you almost step on a crow, and it is difficult to guess +what he can have been about so earnestly, for search reveals +nothing--no dead lamb, hare, or carrion, or anything else is visible. +Rooks, of course, are seen, and larks, and once or twice in a morning a +magpie, seldom seen in the cultivated and preserved valley. There are +more partridges than rigid game preservers would deem possible where +the overlooking, if done at all, is done so carelessly. Partridges will +never cease out of the land while there are untouched downs. Of all +southern inland game, they afford the finest sport; for spoil in its +genuine sense cannot be had without labour, and those who would get +partridges on the hills must work for them. Shot down, coursed, +poached, killed before maturity in the corn, still hares are fairly +plentiful, and couch in the furze and coarse grasses. Rabbits have much +decreased; still there are some. But the larger fir copses, when they +are enclosed, are the resort of all kinds of birds of prey yet left in +the south, and, perhaps, more rare visitors are found there than +anywhere else. Isolated on the open hills, such a copse to birds is +like an island in the sea. Only a very few pheasants frequent it, and +little effort is made to exterminate the wilder creatures, while they +are continually replenished by fresh arrivals. Even ocean birds driven +inland by stress of weather seem to prefer the downs to rest on, and +feel safer there. + +The sward is the original sward, untouched, unploughed, centuries old. +It is that which was formed when the woods that covered the hills were +cleared, whether by British tribes whose markings are still to be +found, by Roman smiths working the ironstone (slag is sometimes +discovered), by Saxon settlers, or however it came about in the process +of the years. Probably the trees would grow again were it not for sheep +and horses, but these preserve the sward. The plough has nibbled at it +and gnawed away great slices, but it extends mile after mile; these are +mere touches on its breadth. It is as wild as wild can be without deer +or savage beasts. The bees like it, and the finches come. It is silent +and peaceful like the sky above. By night the stars shine, not only +overhead and in a narrow circle round the zenith, but down to the +horizon; the walls of the sky are built up of them as well as the roof. +The sliding meteors go silently over the gleaming surface; silently the +planets rise; silently the earth moves to the unfolding east. Sometimes +a lunar rainbow appears; a strange scene at midnight, arching over +almost from the zenith down into the dark hollow of the valley. At the +first glance it seems white, but presently faint prismatic colours are +discerned. + +Already as the summer changes into autumn there are orange specks on +the beeches in the copses, and the firs will presently be leafless. +Then those who live in the farmsteads placed at long intervals begin to +prepare for the possibilities of the winter. There must be a good store +of fuel and provisions, for it will be difficult to go down to the +villages. The ladies had best add as many new volumes as they can to +the bookshelf, for they may be practically imprisoned for weeks +together. Wind and rain are very different here from what they are +where the bulwark of the houses shelters one side of the street, or the +thick hedge protects half the road. The fury of the storm is unchecked, +and nothing can keep out the raindrops which come with the velocity of +shot. If snow falls, as it does frequently, it does not need much to +obscure the path; at all times the path is merely a track, and the ruts +worn down to the white chalk and the white snow confuse the eyes. +Flecks of snow catch against the bunches of grass, against the +furze-bushes, and boulders; if there is a ploughed field, against every +clod, and the result is bewildering. There is nothing to guide the +steps, nothing to give the general direction, and once off the track, +unless well accustomed to the district, the traveller may wander in +vain. After a few inches have fallen the roads are usually blocked, for +all the flakes on miles of hills are swept along and deposited into +hollows where the highways run. To be dug out now and then in the +winter is a contingency the mail-driver reckons as part of his daily +life, and the waggons going to and fro frequently pass between high +walls of frozen snow. In these wild places, which can scarcely be said +to be populated at all, a snow-storm, however, does not block the +King's highways and paralyse traffic as London permits itself to be +paralysed under similar circumstances. Men are set to work and cut a +way through in a very short time, and no one makes the least difficulty +about it. But with the tracks that lead to isolated farmsteads it is +different; there is not enough traffic to require the removal of the +obstruction, and the drifts occasionally accumulate to twenty feet +deep. The ladies are imprisoned, and must be thankful if they have got +down a box of new novels. + +The dread snow-tempest of 1880-81 swept over these places with +tremendous fury, and the most experienced shepherds, whose whole lives +had been spent going to and fro on the downs, frequently lost their +way. There is a story of a waggoner and his lad going slowly along the +road after the thaw, and noticing an odd-looking scarecrow in a field. +They went to it, and found it was a man, dead, and still standing as he +had stiffened in the snow, the clothes hanging on his withered body, +and the eyes gone from the sockets, picked out by the crows. It is only +one of many similar accounts, and it is thought between twenty and +thirty unfortunate persons perished. Such miserable events are of rare +occurrence, but show how open, wild, and succourless the country still +remains. In ordinary winters it is only strangers who need be cautious, +and strangers seldom appear. Even in summer time, however, a stranger, +if he stays till dusk, may easily wander for hours. Once off the +highway, all the ridges and slopes seem alike, and there is no end to +them. + + + +FOREST + + +The beechnuts are already falling in the forest, and the swine are +beginning to search for them while yet the harvest lingers. The nuts +are formed by midsummer, and now, the husk opening, the brown angular +kernel drops out. Many of the husks fall, too; others remain on the +branches till next spring. Under the beeches the ground is strewn with +the mast as hard almost to walk on as pebbles. Rude and uncouth as +swine are in themselves, somehow they look different under trees. The +brown leaves amid which they rout, and the brown-tinted fern behind +lend something of their colour and smooth away their ungainliness. +Snorting as they work with very eagerness of appetite, they are almost +wild, approaching in a measure to their ancestors, the savage boars. +Under the trees the imagination plays unchecked, and calls up the past +as if yew bow and broad arrow were still in the hunter's hands. So +little is changed since then. The deer are here still. Sit down on the +root of this oak (thinly covered with moss), and on that very spot it +is quite possible a knight fresh home from the Crusades may have rested +and feasted his eyes on the lovely green glades of his own unsurpassed +England. The oak was there then, young and strong; it is here now, +ancient, but sturdy. Rarely do you see an oak fall of itself. It decays +to the last stump; it does not fall. The sounds are the same--the tap +as a ripe acorn drops, the rustle of a leaf which comes down slowly, +the quick rushes of mice playing in the fern. A movement at one side +attracts the glance, and there is a squirrel darting about. There is +another at the very top of the beech yonder out on the boughs, nibbling +the nuts. A brown spot a long distance down the glade suddenly moves, +and thereby shows itself to be a rabbit. The bellowing sound that comes +now and then is from the stags, which are preparing to fight. The swine +snort, and the mast and leaves rustle as they thrust them aside. So +little is changed: these are the same sounds and the same movements, +just as in the olden time. + +The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, lights up with colour +the fern, the fronds of which are yellow and brown, the leaves, the +grey grass, and hawthorn sprays already turned. It seems as if the +early morning's mists have the power of tinting leaf and fern, for so +soon as they commence the green hues begin to disappear. There are +swathes of fern yonder, cut down like grass or corn, the harvest of the +forest. It will be used for litter and for thatching sheds. The yellow +stalks--the stubble--will turn brown and wither through the winter, +till the strong spring shoot conies up and the anemones flower. Though +the sunbeams reach the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, +and for one step that you walk in sunlight ten are in shade. Thus, +partly concealed in full day, the forest always contains a mystery. The +idea that there may be something in the dim arches held up by the round +columns of the beeches lures the footsteps onwards. Something must have +been lately in the circle under the oak where the fern and bushes +remain at a distance and wall in a lawn of green. There is nothing on +the grass but the upheld leaves that have dropped, no mark of any +creature, but this is not decisive; if there are no physical signs, +there is a feeling that the shadow is not vacant. In the thickets, +perhaps--the shadowy thickets with front of thorn--it has taken refuge +and eluded us. Still onward the shadows lead us in vain but pleasant +chase. + +These endless trees are a city to the tree-building birds. The round +knot-holes in the beeches, the holes in the elms and oaks; they find +them all out. From these issue the immense flocks of starlings which, +when they alight on an isolated elm in winter, make it suddenly black. +From these, too, come forth the tits, not so welcome to the farmer, as +he considers they reduce his fruit crop; and in these the gaudy +woodpeckers breed. With starlings, wood-pigeons, and rooks the forest +is crowded like a city in spring, but now in autumn it is comparatively +deserted. The birds are away in the fields, some at the grain, others +watching the plough, and following it so soon as a furrow is opened. +But the stoats are busy--they have not left, nor the weasels; and so +eager are they that, though they hide in the fern at first, in a minute +or two they come out again, and so get shot. + +Like the fields, which can only support a certain proportion of cattle, +the forest, wide as it seems, can only maintain a certain number of +deer. Carrying the same thought further, it will be obvious that the +forest, or England in a natural state, could only support a limited +human population. Is this why the inhabitants of countries like France, +where they cultivate every rood and try to really keep a man to a rood, +do not increase in number? Certainly there is a limit in nature which +can only be overcome by artificial aid. After wandering for some time +in a forest like this, the impression arises that the fauna is not now +large enough to be in thorough keeping with the trees--their age and +size and number. The breadth of the arboreal landscape requires a +longer list of living creatures, and creatures of greater bulk. The +stoat and weasel are lost in bramble and fern, the squirrels in the +branches; the fox is concealed, and the badger; the rabbit, too, is +small. There are only the deer, and there is a wide gap between them +and the hares. Even the few cattle which are permitted to graze are +better than nothing; though not wild, yet standing in fern to their +shoulders and browsing on the lower branches, they are, at all events, +animals for the time in nearly a natural state. By watching them it is +apparent how well the original wild cattle agreed with the original +scenery of the island. One almost regrets the marten and polecat, +though both small creatures, and wishes that the fox would come forth +more by day. These acres of bracken and impenetrable thickets need more +inhabitants; how well they are fitted for the wild boar! Such thoughts +are, of course, only thoughts, and we must be thankful that we have as +many wild creatures left as we have. + +Looking at the soil as we walk, where it is exposed by the roots of a +fallen tree, or where there is an old gravel pit, the question occurs +whether forests, managed as they are in old countries, ever really +increase the fertility of the earth? That decaying vegetation produces +a fine mould cannot be disputed; but it seems here that there is no +more decaying vegetation than is required for the support of the trees +themselves. The leaves that fall--the million million leaves--blown to +and fro, at last disappear, absorbed into the ground. So with +quantities of the lesser twigs and branches; but these together do not +supply more material to the soil than is annually abstracted by the +extensive roots of trees, of bushes, and by the fern. If timber is +felled, it is removed, and the bark and boughs with it; the stump, too, +is grubbed and split for firewood. If a tree dies it is presently sawn +off and cut up for some secondary use or other. The great branches +which occasionally fall are some one's perquisite. When the thickets +are thinned out, the fagots are carted away, and much of the fern is +also removed. How, then, can there be any accumulation of fertilising +material? Rather the reverse; it is, if anything, taken away, and the +soil must be less rich now than it was in bygone centuries. Left to +itself the process would be the reverse, every tree as it fell slowly +enriching the spot where it mouldered, and all the bulk of the timber +converted into fertile earth. It was in this way that the American +forests laid the foundation of the inexhaustible wheat-lands there. But +the modern management of a forest tends in the opposite direction--too +much is removed; for if it is wished to improve a soil by the growth of +timber, something must be left in it besides the mere roots. The +leaves, even, are not all left; they have a value for gardening +purposes: though, of course, the few cartloads collected make no +appreciable difference. There is always something going on in the +forest; and more men are employed than would be supposed. In the winter +the selected elms are thrown and the ash poles cut; in the spring the +oak timber comes down and is barked; in the autumn the fern is cut. +Splitting up wood goes on nearly all the year round, so that you may +always hear the axe. No charcoal-burning is practised, but the mere +maintenance of the fences, as, for instance, round the pheasant +enclosures, gives much to do. Deer need attention in winter, like +cattle; the game has its watchers; and ferreting lasts for months. So +that the forest is not altogether useless from the point of view of +work. But in so many hundred acres of trees these labourers are lost to +sight, and do not in the least detract from its wild appearance. +Indeed, the occasional ring of the axe or the smoke rising from the +woodman's fire accentuates the fact that it is a forest. The oaks keep +a circle round their base and stand at a majestic distance from each +other, so that the wind and the sunshine enter, and their precincts are +sweet and pleasant. The elms gather together, rubbing their branches in +the gale till the bark is worn off and the boughs die; the shadow is +deep under them, and moist, favourable to rank grass and coarse +mushrooms. Beneath the ashes, after the first frost, the air is full of +the bitterness of their blackened leaves, which have all come down at +once. By the beeches there is little underwood, and the hollows are +filled ankle-deep with their leaves. From the pines comes a fragrant +odour, and thus the character of each group dominates the surrounding +ground. The shade is too much for many flowers, which prefer the nooks +of hedgerows. If there is no scope for the use of "express" rifles, +this southern forest really is a forest and not an open hillside. It is +a forest of trees, and there are no woodlands so beautiful and +enjoyable as these, where it is possible to be lost a while without +fear of serious consequences; where you can walk without stepping up to +the waist in a decayed tree-trunk, or floundering in a bog; where +neither venomous snake not torturing mosquito causes constant +apprehensions and constant irritation. To the eye there is nothing but +beauty; to the imagination pleasant pageants of old time; to the ear +the soothing cadence of the leaves as the gentle breeze goes over. The +beeches rear their Gothic architecture, the oaks are planted firm like +castles, unassailable. Quick squirrels climb and dart hither and +thither, deer cross the distant glade, and, occasionally, a hawk passes +like thought. + +The something that may be in the shadow or the thicket, the vain, +pleasant chase that beckons us on, still leads the footsteps from tree +to tree, till by-and-by a lark sings, and, going to look for it, we +find the stubble outside the forest--stubble still bright with the blue +and white flowers of grey speedwell. One of the earliest to bloom in +the spring, it continues till the plough comes again in autumn. Now +looking back from the open stubble on the high wall of trees, the touch +of autumn here and there is the more visible--oaks dotted with brown, +horse chestnuts yellow, maples orange, and the bushes beneath red with +haws. + + + +BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY + + +I--THE MAKING OF BEAUTY + +It takes a hundred and fifty years to make a beauty--a hundred and +fifty years out-of-doors. Open air, hard manual labour or continuous +exercise, good food, good clothing, some degree of comfort, all of +these, but most especially open air, must play their part for five +generations before a beautiful woman can appear. These conditions can +only be found in the country, and consequently all beautiful women come +from the country. Though the accident of birth may cause their register +to be signed in town, they are always of country extraction. + +Let us glance back a hundred and fifty years, say to 1735, and suppose +a yeoman to have a son about that time. That son would be bred upon the +hardest fare, but, though hard, it would be plentiful and of honest +sort. The bread would be home-baked, the beef salted at home, the ale +home-brewed. He would work all day in the fields with the labourers, +but he would have three great advantages over them--in good and +plentiful food, in good clothing, and in home comforts. He would ride, +and join all the athletic sports of the time. Mere manual labour +stiffens the limbs, gymnastic exercises render them supple. Thus he +would obtain immense strength from simple hard work, and agility from +exercise. Here, then, is a sound constitution, a powerful frame, well +knit, hardened--an almost perfect physical existence. + +He would marry, if fortunate, at thirty or thirty-five, naturally +choosing the most charming of his acquaintances. She would be equally +healthy and proportionally as strong, for the ladies of those days were +accustomed to work from childhood. By custom soon after marriage she +would work harder than before, notwithstanding her husband's fair store +of guineas in the iron-bound box. The house, the dairy, the +cheese-loft, would keep her arms in training. Even since I recollect, +the work done by ladies in country houses was something astonishing, +ladies by right of well-to-do parents, by right of education and +manners. Really, it seems that there is no work a woman cannot do with +the best results for herself, always provided that it does not throw a +strain upon the loins. Healthy children sprung from such parents, while +continuing the general type, usually tend towards a refinement of the +features. Under such natural and healthy conditions, if the mother have +a good shape, the daughter is finer; if the father be of good height, +the son is taller. These children in their turn go through the same +open-air training. In course of years, the family guineas increasing, +home comforts increase, and manners are polished. Another generation +sees the cast of countenance smoothed of its original ruggedness, while +preserving its good proportion. The hard chin becomes rounded and not +too prominent, the cheek-bones sink, the ears are smaller, a softness +spreads itself over the whole face. That which was only honest now +grows tender. Again another generation, and it is a settled axiom that +the family are handsome. The country-side, as it gossips, agrees that +the family are marked out as good-looking. Like seeks like, as we know; +the handsome intermarry with the handsome. Still, the beauty has not +arrived yet, nor is it possible to tell whether she will appear from +the female or male branches. But in the fifth generation appear she +does, with the original features so moulded and softened by time, so +worked and refined and sweetened, so delicate and yet so rich in blood, +that she seems like a new creation that has suddenly started into +being. No one has watched and recorded the slow process which has thus +finally resulted. No one could do so, because it has spread over a +century and a half. If any one will consider, they will agree that the +sentiment at the sight of a perfect beauty is as much amazement as +admiration. It is so astounding, so outside ordinary experience, that +it wears the aspect of magic. + +A stationary home preserves the family intact, so that the influences +already described have time to produce their effect. There is nothing +uncommon in a yeoman's family continuing a hundred and fifty years in +the same homestead. Instances are known of such occupation extending +for over two hundred years; cases of three hundred years may be found: +now and then one is known to exceed that, and there is said to be one +that has not moved for six hundred. Granting the stock in its origin to +have been fairly well proportioned, and to have been subject for such a +lapse of time to favourable conditions, the rise of beauty becomes +intelligible. + +Cities labour under every disadvantage. First, families have no +stationary home, but constantly move, so that it is rare to find one +occupying a house fifty years, and will probably become much rarer in +the future. Secondly, the absence of fresh air, and that volatile +essence, as it were, of woods, and fields, and hills, which can be felt +but not fixed. Thirdly, the sedentary employment. Let a family be never +so robust, these must ultimately affect the constitution. If beauty +appears it is too often of the unhealthy order; there is no physique, +no vigour, no richness of blood. Beauty of the highest order is +inseparable from health; it is the outcome of health--centuries of +health--and a really beautiful woman is, in proportion, stronger than a +man. It is astonishing with what persistence a type of beauty once +established in the country will struggle to perpetuate itself against +all the drawbacks of town life after the family has removed thither. + +When such results are produced under favourable conditions at the +yeoman's homestead, no difficulty arises in explaining why loveliness +so frequently appears in the houses of landed proprietors. Entailed +estates fix the family in one spot, and tend, by inter-marriage, to +deepen any original physical excellence. Constant out-of-door exercise, +riding, hunting, shooting, takes the place of manual labour. All the +refinements that money can purchase, travel, education, are here at +work. That the culture of the mind can alter the expression of the +individual is certain; if continued for many generations, possibly it +may leave its mark upon the actual bodily frame. Selection exerts a +most powerful influence in these cases. The rich and titled have so +wide a range to choose from. Consider these things working through +centuries, perhaps in a more or less direct manner, since the Norman +Conquest. The fame of some such families for handsome features and +well-proportioned frames is widely spread, so much so that a descendant +not handsome is hardly regarded by the outside world as legitimate. But +even with all these advantages beauty in the fullest sense does not +appear regularly. Few indeed are those families that can boast of more +than one. It is the best of all boasts; it is almost as if the +Immortals had especially favoured their house. Beauty has no period; it +comes at intervals, unexpected! it cannot be fixed. No wonder the earth +is at its feet. + +The fisherman's daughter ere now has reached very high in the scale of +beauty. Hardihood is the fisherman's talent by which he wins his living +from the sea. Tribal in his ways, his settlements are almost exclusive, +and his descent pure. The wind washed by the sea enriches his blood, +and of labour he has enough. Here are the same constant factors; the +stationary home keeping the family intact, the out-door life, the air, +the sea, the sun. Refinement is absent, but these alone are so powerful +that now and then beauty appears. The lovely Irish girls, again: their +forefathers have dwelt on the mountainside since the days of Fingal, +and all the hardships of their lot cannot destroy the natural tendency +to shape and enchanting feature. Without those constant factors beauty +cannot be, but yet they will not alone produce it. There must be +something in the blood which these influences gradually ripen. If it is +not there centuries are in vain; but if it is there then it needs these +conditions. Erratic, meteor-like beauty! for how many thousand years +has man been your slave! Let me repeat, the sentiment at the sight of a +perfect beauty is as much amazement as admiration. It so draws the +heart out of itself as to seem like magic. + +She walks, and the very earth smiles beneath her feet. Something comes +with her that is more than mortal; witness the yearning welcome that +stretches towards her from all. As the sunshine lights up the aspect of +things, so her presence sweetens the very flowers like dew. But the +yearning welcome is, I think, the most remarkable of the evidence that +may be accumulated about it. So deep, so earnest, so forgetful of the +rest the passion of beauty is almost sad in its intense abstraction. It +is a passion, this yearning. She walks in the glory of young life; she +is really centuries old. + +A hundred and fifty years at the least--more probably twice that--have +passed away, while from all enchanted things of earth and air this +preciousness has been drawn. From the south wind that breathed a +century and a half ago over the green wheat. From the perfume of the +growing grasses waving over honey-laden clover and laughing veronica, +hiding the greenfinches, baffling the bee. From rose-loved hedges, +woodbine, and cornflower azure-blue, where yellowing wheat-stalks crowd +up under the shadow of green firs. All the devious brooklet's sweetness +where the iris stays the sunlight; all the wild woods hold the beauty; +all the broad hill's thyme and freedom: thrice a hundred years +repeated. A hundred years of cowslips, blue-bells, violets; purple +spring and golden autumn; sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the +night immortal; all the rhythm of Time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten +and past all power of writing: who shall preserve a record of the +petals that fell from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the +housetops three hundred times--think a moment of that. Thence she +sprang, and the world yearns towards her beauty as to flowers that are +past. The loveliness of seventeen is centuries old. Is this why passion +is almost sad? + + +II--THE FORCE OF FORM + +Her shoulders were broad, but not too broad--just enough to accentuate +the waist, and to give a pleasant sense of ease and power. She was +strong, upright, self-reliant, finished in herself. Her bust was full, +but not too prominent--more after nature than the dressmaker. There was +something, though, of the corset-maker in her waist, it appeared +naturally fine, and had been assisted to be finer. But it was in the +hips that the woman was perfect:--fulness without coarseness; large but +not big: in a word, nobly proportioned. Now imagine a black dress +adhering to this form. From the shoulders to the ankles it fitted "like +a glove." There was not a wrinkle, a fold, a crease, smooth as if cast +in a mould, and yet so managed that she moved without effort. Every +undulation of her figure, as she stepped lightly forward flowed to the +surface. The slight sway of the hip as the foot was lifted, the upward +and _inward_ movement of the limb as the knee was raised, the +straightening as the instep felt her weight, each change as the limb +described the curves of walking was repeated in her dress. At every +change of position she was as gracefully draped as before. All was +revealed, yet all concealed. As she passed there was the sense of a +presence--the presence of perfect form. She was lifted as she moved +above the ground by the curves of beauty as rapid revolution in a curve +suspends the down-dragging of gravity. A force went by--the force of +animated perfect form. + +Merely as an animal, how grand and beautiful is a perfect woman! Simply +as a living, breathing creature, can anything imaginable come near her? + +There is such strength in shape--such force in form. Without muscular +development shape conveys the impression of the greatest of all +strength--that is, of completeness in itself. The ancient philosophy +regarded a globe as the most perfect of all bodies, because it was the +same--that is, it was perfect and complete in itself--from whatever +point it was contemplated. Such is woman's form when nature's intent is +fulfilled in beauty, and that beauty gives the idea of self-contained +power. + +A full-grown woman is, too, physically stronger than a man. Her +physique excels man's. Look at her torso, at the size, the fulness, the +rounded firmness, the depth of the chest. There is a nobleness about +it. Shoulders, arms, limbs, all reach a breadth of make seldom seen in +man. There is more than merely sufficient--there is a luxuriance +indicating a surpassing vigour. And this occurs without effort. She +needs no long manual labour, no exhaustive gymnastic exercise, nor any +special care in food or training. It is difficult not to envy the +superb physique and beautiful carriage of some women. They are so +strong without effort. + + +III--AN ARM + +A large white arm, bare, in the sunshine, to the shoulder, carelessly +leant against a low red wall, lingers in my memory. There was a house +roofed with old grey stone slates in the background, and peaches +trained up by the window. The low garden wall of red brick--ancient red +brick, not the pale, dusty blocks of these days--was streaked with dry +mosses hiding the mortar. Clear and brilliant, the gaudy sun of morning +shone down upon her as she stood in the gateway, resting her arm on the +red wall, and pressing on the mosses which the heat had dried. Her face +I do not remember, only the arm. She had come out from dairy work, +which needs bare arms, and stood facing the bold sun. It was very +large--some might have called it immense--and yet natural and justly +proportioned to the woman, her work, and her physique. So immense an +arm was like a revelation of the vast physical proportions which our +race is capable of attaining under favourable conditions. Perfectly +white--white as the milk in which it was often plunged--smooth and +pleasant in the texture of the skin, it was entirely removed from +coarseness. The might of its size was chiefly by the shoulder; the +wrist was not large, nor the hand. Colossal, white, sunlit, bare--among +the trees and the meads around it was a living embodiment of the limbs +we attribute to the first dwellers on earth. + + +IV--LIPS + +The mouth is the centre of woman's beauty. To the lips the glance is +attracted the moment she approaches, and their shape remains in the +memory longest. Curve, colour, and substance are the three essentials +of the lips, but these are nothing without mobility, the soul of the +mouth. If neither sculpture, nor the palette with its varied resources, +can convey the spell of perfect lips, how can it be done in black +letters of ink only? Nothing is so difficult, nothing so beautiful. +There are lips which have an elongated curve (of the upper one), ending +with a slight curl, like a ringlet at the end of a tress, like those +tiny wavelets on a level sand which float in before the tide, or like a +frond of fern unrolling. In this curl there lurks a smile, so that she +can scarcely open her mouth without a laugh, or the look of one. These +upper lips are drawn with parallel lines, the verge is defined by two +lines near together, enclosing the narrowest space possible, which is +ever so faintly less coloured than the substance of the lip. This makes +the mouth appear larger than it really is; the bow, too, is more +flattened than in the pure Greek lip. It is beautiful, but not perfect, +tempting, mischievous, not retiring, and belongs to a woman who is +never long alone. To describe it first is natural, because this mouth +is itself the face, and the rest of the features are grouped to it. If +you think of her you think of her mouth only--the face appears as +memory acts, but the mouth is distinct, the remainder uncertain. She +laughs and the curl runs upwards, so that you must laugh too, you +cannot help it. Had the curl gone downwards, as with habitually +melancholy people, you might have withstood her smile. The room is +never dull where she is, for there is a distinct character in it--a +woman--and not a mere living creature, and it is noticeable that if +there are five or six or more present, somehow the conversation centres +round her. + +There was a lady I knew who had lips like these. Of the kind they were +perfect. Though she was barely fourteen she was _the_ woman of that +circle by the magnetism of her mouth. When we all met together in the +evening all that went on in some way or other centred about her. By +consent the choice of what game should be played was left to her to +decide. She was asked if it was not time for some one to sing, and the +very mistress of the household referred to her whether we should have +another round or go in to supper. Of course, she always decided as she +supposed the hostess wished. At supper, if there was a delicacy on the +table it was invariably offered to her. The eagerness of the elderly +gentlemen, who presumed on their grey locks and conventional +harmlessness to press their attentions upon her, showed who was the +most attractive person in the room. Younger men feel a certain reserve, +and do not reveal their inclinations before a crowd, but the harmless +old gentleman makes no secret of his admiration. She managed them all, +old and young, with unconscious tact, and never left the ranks of the +other ladies as a crude flirt would have done. This tact and way of +modestly holding back when so many would have pushed her too much to +the front retained for her the good word of her own sex. If a dance was +proposed it was left to her to say yes or no, and if it was not too +late the answer was usually in the affirmative. So in the morning, +should we make an excursion to some view or pleasant wood, all eyes +rested upon her, and if she thought it fine enough away we went. + +Her features were rather fine, but not especially so; her complexion a +little dusky, eyes grey, and dark hair; her figure moderately tall, +slender but shapely. She was always dressed well; a certain taste +marked her in everything. Upon introduction no one would have thought +anything of her; they would have said, "insignificant--plain;" in half +an hour, "different to most girls;" in an hour, "extremely pleasant;" +in a day, "a singularly attractive girl;" and so on, till her empire +was established. It was not the features--it was the mouth, the curling +lips, the vivacity and life that sparkled in them. There is wine, +deep-coloured, strong, but smooth at the surface. There is champagne +with its richness continually rushing to the rim. Her lips flowed with +champagne. It requires a clever man indeed to judge of men; now how +could so young and inexperienced a creature distinguish the best from +so many suitors? + + + +OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY + + +The cawing of the rooks in February shows that the time is coming when +their nests will be re-occupied. They resort to the trees, and perch +above the old nests to indicate their rights; for in the rookery +possession is the law, and not nine-tenths of it only. In the slow dull +cold of winter even these noisy birds are quiet, and as the vast flocks +pass over, night and morning, to and from the woods in which they +roost, there is scarcely a sound. Through the mist their black wings +advance in silence, the jackdaws with them are chilled into unwonted +quiet, and unless you chance to look up the crowd may go over +unnoticed. But so soon as the waters begin to make a sound in February, +running in the ditches and splashing over stones, the rooks commence +the speeches and conversations which will continue till late into the +following autumn. + +The general idea is that they pair in February, but there are some +reasons for thinking that the rooks, in fact, choose their males at the +end of the preceding summer. They are then in large flocks, and if only +casually glanced at appear mixed together without any order or +arrangement. They move on the ground and fly in the air so close, one +beside the other, that at the first glance or so you cannot distinguish +them apart. Yet if you should be lingering along the by-ways of the +fields as the acorns fall, and the leaves come rustling down in the +warm sunny autumn afternoons, and keep an observant eye upon the rooks +in the trees, or on the fresh-turned furrows, they will be seen to act +in couples. On the ground couples alight near each other, on the trees +they perch near each other, and in the air fly side by side. Like +soldiers each has his comrade. Wedged in the ranks every man looks like +his fellow, and there seems no tie between them but a common +discipline. Intimate acquaintance with barrack or camp life would show +that every one had his friend. There is also the mess, or companionship +of half a dozen, or dozen, or more, and something like this exists part +of the year in the armies of the rooks. After the nest time is over +they flock together, and each family of three or four flies in concert. +Later on they apparently choose their own particular friends, that is +the young birds do so. All through the winter after, say October, these +pairs keep together, though lost in the general mass to the passing +spectator. If you alarm them while feeding on the ground in winter, +supposing you have not got a gun, they merely rise up to the nearest +tree, and it may then be observed that they do this in pairs. One +perches on a branch and a second comes to him. When February arrives, +and they resort to the nests to look after or seize on the property +there, they are in fact already paired, though the almanacs put down +St. Valentine's day as the date of courtship. + +There is very often a warm interval in February, sometimes a few days +earlier and sometimes later, but as a rule it happens that a week or so +of mild sunny weather occurs about this time. Released from the grip of +the frost, the streams trickle forth from the fields and pour into the +ditches, so that while walking along the footpath there is a murmur all +around coming from the rush of water. The murmur of the poets is indeed +louder in February than in the more pleasant days of summer, for then +the growth of aquatic grasses checks the flow and stills it, whilst in +February every stone, or flint, or lump of chalk divides the current +and causes a vibration, With this murmur of water, and mild time, the +rooks caw incessantly, and the birds at large essay to utter their +welcome of the sun. The wet furrows reflect the rays so that the dark +earth gleams, and in the slight mist that stays farther away the light +pauses and fills the vapour with radiance. Through this luminous mist +the larks race after each other twittering, and as they turn aside, +swerving in their swift flight, their white breasts appear for a +moment. As while standing by a pool the fishes came into sight, +emerging as they swim round from the shadow of the deeper water, so the +larks dart over the low edge, and through the mist, and pass before +you, and are gone again. All at once one checks his pursuit, forgets +the immediate object, and rises, singing as he soars. The notes fall +from the air over the dark wet earth, over the dank grass, and broken +withered fern of the hedge, and listening to them it seems for a moment +spring. There is sunshine in the song; the lark and the light are one. +He gives us a few minutes of summer in February days. In May he rises +before as yet the dawn is come, and the sunrise flows down to us under +through his notes. On his breast, high above the earth, the first rays +fall as the rim of the sun edges up at the eastward hill. The lark and +the light are as one, and wherever he glides over the wet furrows the +glint of the sun goes with him. Anon alighting he runs between the +lines of the green corn. In hot summer, when the open hillside is +burned with bright light, the larks are then singing and soaring. +Stepping up the hill laboriously, suddenly a lark starts into the light +and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. With bright light, +and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the bird is so associated in +the mind, that even to see him in the frosty days of wjnter, at least +assures us that summer will certainly return. + +Ought not winter, in allegorical designs, the rather to be represented +with such things that might suggest hope than such as convey a cold and +grim despair? The withered leaf, the snowflake, the hedging bill that +cuts and destroys, why these? Why not rather the dear larks for one? +They fly in flocks, and amid the white expanse of snow (in the south) +their pleasant twitter or call is heard as they sweep along seeking +some grassy spot cleared by the wind. The lark, the bird of the light, +is there in the bitter short days. Put the lark then for winter, a sign +of hope, a certainty of summer. Put, too, the sheathed bud, for if you +search the hedge you will find the buds there, on tree and bush, +carefully wrapped around with the case which protects them as a cloak. +Put, too, the sharp needles of the green corn; let the wind clear it of +snow a little way, and show that under cold clod and colder snow the +green thing pushes up, knowing that summer must come. Nothing despairs +but man. Set the sharp curve of the white new moon in the sky: she is +white in true frost, and yellow a little if it is devising change. Set +the new moon as something that symbols an increase. Set the shepherd's +crook in a corner as a token that the flocks are already enlarged in +number. The shepherd is the symbolic man of the hardest winter time. +His work is never more important than then. Those that only roam the +fields when they are pleasant in May, see the lambs at play in the +meadow, and naturally think of lambs and May flowers. But the lamb was +born in the adversity of snow. Or you might set the morning star, for +it burns and burns and glitters in the winter dawn, and throws forth +beams like those of metal consumed in oxygen. There is nought that I +know by comparison with which I might indicate the glory of the morning +star, while yet the dark night hides in the hollows. The lamb is born +in the fold. The morning star glitters in the sky. The bud is alive in +its sheath; the green corn under the snow; the lark twitters as he +passes. Now these to me are the allegory of winter. + +These mild hours in February check the hold which winter has been +gaining, and as it were, tear his claws out of the earth, their prey. +If it has not been so bitter previously, when this Gulf stream or +current of warmer air enters the expanse it may bring forth a butterfly +and tenderly woo the first violet into flower. But this depends on its +having been only moderately cold before, and also upon the stratum, +whether it is backward clay, or forward gravel and sand. Spring dates +are quite different according to the locality, and when violets may be +found in one district, in another there is hardly a woodbine-leaf out. +The border line may be traced, and is occasionally so narrow, one may +cross over it almost at a step. It would sometimes seem as if even the +nut-tree bushes bore larger and finer nuts on the warmer soil, and that +they ripened quicker. Any curious in the first of things, whether it be +a leaf, or flower, or a bird, should bear this in mind, and not be +discouraged because he hears some one else has already discovered or +heard something. + +A little note taken now at this bare time of the kind of earth may lead +to an understanding of the district. It is plain where the plough has +turned it, where the rabbits have burrowed and thrown it out, where a +tree has been felled by the gales, by the brook where the bank is worn +away, or by the sediment at the shallow places. Before the grass and +weeds, and corn and flowers have hidden it, the character of the soil +is evident at these natural sections without the aid of a spade. Going +slowly along the footpath--indeed you cannot go fast in moist +February--it is a good time to select the places and map them out where +herbs and flowers will most likely come first. All the autumn lies +prone on the ground. Dead dark leaves, some washed to their woody +frames, short grey stalks, some few decayed hulls of hedge fruit, and +among these the mars or stocks of the plants that do not die away, but +lie as it were on the surface waiting. Here the strong teazle will +presently stand high; here the ground-ivy will dot the mound with +bluish-purple. But it will be necessary to walk slowly to find the +ground-ivy flowers under the cover of the briers. These bushes will be +a likely place for a blackbird's nest; this thick close hawthorn for a +bullfinch; these bramble thickets with remnants of old nettle stalks +will be frequented by the whitethroat after a while. The hedge is now +but a lattice-work which will before long be hung with green. Now it +can be seen through, and now is the time to arrange for future +discovery. In May everything will be hidden, and unless the most +promising places are selected beforehand, it will not be easy to search +them out. The broad ditch will be arched over, the plants rising on the +mound will meet the green boughs drooping, and all the vacancy will be +filled. But having observed the spot in winter you can almost make +certain of success in spring. + +It is this previous knowledge which invests those who are always on the +spot, those who work much in the fields or have the care of woods, with +their apparent prescience. They lead the new comer to a hedge, or the +corner of a copse, or a bend of the brook, announcing beforehand that +they feel assured something will be found there; and so it is. This, +too, is one reason why a fixed observer usually sees more than one who +rambles a great deal and covers ten times the space. The fixed observer +who hardly goes a mile from home is like the man who sits still by the +edge of a crowd, and by-and-by his lost companion returns to him. To +walk about in search of persons in a crowd is well known to be the +worst way of recovering them. Sit still and they will often come by. In +a far more certain manner this is the case with birds and animals. They +all come back. During a twelvemonth probably every creature would pass +over a given locality: every creature that is not confined to certain +places. The whole army of the woods and hedges marches across a single +farm in twelve months. A single tree--especially an old tree--is +visited by four-fifths of the birds that ever perch in the course of +that period. Every year, too, brings something fresh, and adds new +visitors to the list. Even the wild sea birds are found inland, and +some that scarce seem able to fly at all are cast far ashore by the +gales. It is difficult to believe that one would not see more by +extending the journey, but, in fact, experience proves that the longer +a single locality is studied the more is found in it. But you should +know the places in winter as well as in tempting summer, when song and +shade and colour attract every one to the field. You should face the +mire and slippery path. Nature yields nothing to the sybarite. The +meadow glows with buttercups in spring, the hedges are green, the woods +lovely; but these are not to be enjoyed in their full significance +unless you have traversed the same places when bare, and have watched +the slow fulfilment of the flowers. + +The moist leaves that remain upon the mounds do not rustle, and the +thrush moves among them unheard. The sunshine may bring out a rabbit, +feeding along the slope of the mound, following the paths or runs. He +picks his way, he does not like wet. Though out at night in the dewy +grass of summer, in the rain-soaked grass of winter, and living all his +life in the earth, often damp nearly to his burrows, no time, and no +succession of generations can make him like wet. He endures it, but he +picks his way round the dead fern and the decayed leaves. He sits in +the bunches of long grass, but he does not like the drops of dew on it +to touch him. Water lays his fur close, and mats it, instead of running +off and leaving him sleek. As he hops a little way at a time on the +mound he chooses his route almost as we pick ours in the mud and pools +of February. By the shore of the ditch there still stand a few dry, +dead dock stems, with some dry reddish-brown seed adhering. Some dry +brown nettle stalks remain; some grey and broken thistles; some teazles +leaning on the bushes. The power of winter has reached its utmost now, +and can go no farther. These bines which still hang in the bushes are +those of the greater bindweed, and will be used in a month or so by +many birds as conveniently curved to fit about their nests. The stem of +wild clematis, grey and bowed, could scarcely look more dead. Fibres +are peeling from it, they come off at the touch of the fingers. The few +brown feathers that perhaps still adhere where the flowers once were +are stained and discoloured by the beating of the rain. It is not dead: +it will flourish again ere long. It is the sturdiest of creepers, +facing the ferocious winds of the hills, the tremendous rains that blow +up from the sea, and bitter frost, if only it can get its roots into +soil that suits it. In some places it takes the place of the hedge +proper and becomes itself the hedge. Many of the trunks of the elms are +swathed in minute green vegetation which has flourished in the winter, +as the clematis will in in the summer. Of all, the brambles bear the +wild works of winter best. Given only a little shelter, in the corner +of the hedges or under trees and copses they retain green leaves till +the buds burst again. The frosts tint them in autumn with crimson, but +not all turn colour or fall. The brambles are the bowers of the birds; +in these still leafy bowers they do the courting of the spring, and +under the brambles the earliest arum, and cleaver, or avens, push up. +Round about them the first white nettle flowers, not long now; latest +too, in the autumn. The white nettle sometimes blooms so soon (always +according to locality), and again so late, that there seems but a brief +interval between, as if it flowered nearly all the year round. So the +berries on the holly if let alone often stay till summer is in, and new +berries begin to appear shortly afterwards. The ivy, too, bears its +berries far into the summer. Perhaps if the country be taken at large +there is never a time when there is not a flower of some kind out, in +this or that warm southern nook. The sun never sets, nor do the flowers +ever die. There is life always, even in the dry fir-cone that looks so +brown and sapless. + +The path crosses the uplands where the lapwings stand on the parallel +ridges of the ploughed field like a drilled company; if they rise they +wheel as one, and in the twilight move across the fields in bands +invisible as they sweep near the ground, but seen against the sky in +rising over the trees and the hedges. There is a plantation of fir and +ash on the slope, and a narrow waggon-way enters it, and seems to lose +itself in the wood. Always approach this spot quietly, for whatever is +in the wood is sure at some time or other to come to the open space of +the track. Wood-pigeons, pheasants, squirrels, magpies, hares, +everything feathered or furred, down to the mole, is sure to seek the +open way. Butterflies flutter through the copse by it in summer, just +as you or I might use the passage between the trees. Towards the +evening the partridges may run through to join their friends before +roost-time on the ground. Or you may see a covey there now and then, +creeping slowly with humped backs, and at a distance not unlike +hedgehogs in their motions. The spot therefore should be approached +with care; if it is only a thrush out it is a pleasure to see him at +his ease and, as he deems, unobserved. If a bird or animal thinks +itself noticed it seldom does much, some will cease singing immediately +they are looked at. The day is perceptibly longer already. As the sun +goes down, the western sky often takes a lovely green tint in this +month, and one stays to look at it, forgetting the dark and miry way +homewards. I think the moments when we forget the mire of the world are +the most precious. After a while the green corn rises higher out of the +rude earth. + +Pure colour almost always gives the idea of fire, or rather it is +perhaps as if a light shone through as well as colour itself. The fresh +green blade of corn is like this, so pellucid, so clear and pure in its +green as to seem to shine with colour. It is not brilliant--not a +surface gleam or an enamel,--it is stained through. Beside the moist +clods the slender flags arise filled with the sweetness of the earth. +Out of the darkness under--that darkness which knows no day save when +the ploughshare opens its chinks--they have come to the light. To the +light they have brought a colour which will attract the sunbeams from +now till harvest. They fall more pleasantly on the corn, toned, as if +they mingled with it. Seldom do we realise that the world is +practically no thicker to us than the print of our footsteps on the +path. Upon that surface we walk and act our comedy of life, and what is +beneath is nothing to us. But it is out from that under-world, from the +dead and the unknown, from the cold moist ground, that these green +blades have sprung. Yonder a steam-plough pants up the hill, groaning +with its own strength, yet all that strength and might of wheels, and +piston, and chains, cannot drag from the earth one single blade like +these. Force cannot make it; it must grow--an easy word to speak or +write, in fact full of potency. It is this mystery of growth and life, +of beauty, and sweetness, and colour, starting forth from the clods +that gives the corn its power over me. Somehow I identify myself with +it; I live again as I see it. Year by year it is the same, and when I +see it I feel that I have once more entered on a new life. And I think +the spring, with its green corn, its violets, and hawthorn-leaves, and +increasing song, grows yearly dearer and more dear to this our ancient +earth. So many centuries have flown! Now it is the manner with all +natural things to gather as it were by smallest particles. The merest +grain of sand drifts unseen into a crevice, and by-and-by another; +after a while there is a heap; a century and it is a mound, and then +every one observes and comments on it. Time itself has gone on like +this; the years have accumulated, first in drifts, then in heaps, and +now a vast mound, to which the mountains are knolls, rises up and +overshadows us. Time lies heavy on the world. The old, old earth is +glad to turn from the cark and care of drifted centuries to the first +sweet blades of green. + +There is sunshine to-day after rain, and every lark is singing. Across +the vale a broad cloud-shadow descends the hillside, is lost in the +hollow, and presently, without warning, slips over the edge, coming +swiftly along the green tips. The sunshine follows--the warmer for its +momentary absence. Far, far down in a grassy coomb stands a solitary +cornrick, conical roofed, casting a lonely shadow--marked because so +solitary, and beyond it on the rising slope is a brown copse. The +leafless branches take a brown tint in the sunlight; on the summit +above there is furze; then more hill lines drawn against the sky. In +the tops of the dark pines at the corner of the copse, could the glance +sustain itself to see them, there are finches warming themselves in the +sunbeams. The thick needles shelter them, from the current of air, and +the sky is bluer above the pines. Their hearts are full already of the +happy days to come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the lichen +on the fir-trunk, and the loose fibres caught in the fork of an +unbending bough, shall furnish forth a sufficient mansion for their +young. Another broad cloud-shadow, and another warm embrace of +sunlight. All the serried ranks of the green corn bow at the word of +command as the wind rushes over them. + +There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as the down and free as the +wind, the thought can roam high over the narrow roofs in the vale. +Nature has affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, and walls, +and crooked fences deep down yonder are artificial. The fetters and +traditions, the routine, the dull roundabout which deadens the spirit +like the cold moist earth, are the merest nothings. Here it is easy +with the physical eye to look over the highest roof. The moment the eye +of the mind is filled with the beauty of things natural an equal +freedom and width of view come to it. Step aside from the trodden +footpath of personal experience, throwing away the petty cynicism born +of petty hopes disappointed. Step out upon the broad down beside the +green corn, and let its freshness become part of life. + +The wind passes, and it bends--let the wind, too, pass over the spirit. +From the cloud-shadow it emerges to the sunshine--let the heart come +out from the shadow of roofs to the open glow of the sky. High above, +the songs of the larks fall as rain--receive it with open hands. Pure +is the colour of the green flags, the slender-pointed blades--let the +thought be pure as the light that shines through that colour. Broad are +the downs and open the aspect--gather the breadth and largeness of +view. Never can that view be wide enough and large enough, there will +always be room to aim higher. As the air of the hills enriches the +blood, so let the presence of these beautiful things enrich the inner +sense. One memory of the green corn, fresh beneath the sun and wind, +will lift up the heart from the clods. + + + +HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING + + +I--WINTER + +Coming like a white wall the rain reaches me, and in an instant +everything is gone from sight that is more than ten yards distant. The +narrow upland road is beaten to a darker hue, and two runnels of water +rush along at the sides, where, when the chalk-laden streamlets dry, +blue splinters of flint will be exposed in the channels. For a moment +the air seems driven away by the sudden pressure, and I catch my breath +and stand still with one shoulder forward to receive the blow. Hiss, +the land shudders under the cold onslaught; hiss, and on the blast +goes, and the sound with it, for the very fury of the rain, after the +first second, drowns its own noise. There is not a single creature +visible, the low and stunted hedgerows, bare of leaf, could conceal +nothing; the rain passes straight through to the ground. Crooked and +gnarled, the bushes are locked together as if in no other way could +they hold themselves against the gales. Such little grass as there is +on the mounds is thin and short, and could not hide a mouse. There is +no finch, sparrow, thrush, blackbird. As the wave of rain passes over +and leaves a hollow between the waters, that which has gone and that to +come, the ploughed lands on either side are seen to be equally bare. In +furrows full of water, a hare would not sit, nor partridge run; the +larks, the patient larks which endure almost everything, even they have +gone. Furrow on furrow with flints dotted on their slopes, and chalk +lumps, that is all. The cold earth gives no sweet petal of flower, nor +can any bud of thought or bloom of imagination start forth in the mind. +But step by step, forcing a way through the rain and over the ridge, I +find a small and stunted copse down in the next hollow. It is rather a +wide hedge than a copse, and stands by the road in the corner of a +field. The boughs are bare; still they break the storm, and it is a +relief to wait a while there and rest. After a minute or so the eye +gets accustomed to the branches and finds a line of sight through the +narrow end of the copse. Within twenty yards--just outside the +copse--there are a number of lapwings, dispersed about the furrows. One +runs a few feet forward and picks something from the ground; another +runs in the same manner to one side; a third rushes in still a third +direction. Their crests, their green-tinted wings, and white breasts +are not disarranged by the torrent. Something in the style of the birds +recalls the wagtail, though they are so much larger. Beyond these are +half a dozen more, and in a straggling line others extend out into the +field. They have found some slight shelter here from the sweeping of +the rain and wind, and are not obliged to face it as in the open. +Minutely searching every clod they gather their food in imperceptible +items from the surface. + +Sodden leaves lie in the furrows along the side of the copse; broken +and decaying burdocks still uphold their jagged stems, but will be +soaked away by degrees; dank grasses droop outwards! the red seed of a +dock is all that remains of the berries and fruit, the seeds and grain +of autumn. Like the hedge, the copse is vacant. Nothing moves within, +watch as carefully as I may. The boughs are blackened by wet and would +touch cold. From the grasses to the branches there is nothing any one +would like to handle, and I stand apart even from the bush that keeps +away the rain. The green plovers are the only things of life that save +the earth from utter loneliness. Heavily as the rain may fall, cold as +the saturated wind may blow, the plovers remind us of the beauty of +shape, colour, and animation. They seem too slender to withstand the +blast--they should have gone with the swallows--too delicate for these +rude hours; yet they alone face them. + +Once more the wave of rain has passed, and yonder the hills appear; +these are but uplands. The nearest and highest has a green rampart, +visible for a moment against the dark sky, and then again wrapped in a +toga of misty cloud. So the chilled Roman drew his toga around him in +ancient days as from that spot he looked wistfully southwards and +thought of Italy. Wee-ah-wee! Some chance movement has been noticed by +the nearest bird, and away they go at once as if with the same wings, +sweeping overhead, then to the right, then to the left, and then back +again, till at last lost in the coming shower. After they have thus +vibrated to and fro long enough, like a pendulum coming to rest, they +will alight in the open field on the ridge behind. There in drilled +ranks, well closed together, all facing the same way, they will stand +for hours. Let us go also and let the shower conceal them. Another time +my path leads over the hills. + +It is afternoon, which in winter is evening. The sward of the down is +dry under foot, but hard, and does not lift the instep with the springy +feel of summer. The sky is gone, it is not clouded, it is swathed in +gloom. Upwards the still air thickens, and there is no arch or vault of +heaven. Formless and vague, it seems some vast shadow descending. The +sun has disappeared, and the light there still is, is left in the +atmosphere enclosed by the gloomy mist as pools are left by a receding +tide. Through the sand the water slips, and through the mist the light +glides away. Nearer comes the formless shadow and the visible earth +grows smaller. The path has faded, and there are no means on the open +downs of knowing whether the direction pursued is right or wrong, till +a boulder (which is a landmark) is perceived. Thence the way is down +the slope, the last and limit of the hills there. It is a rough +descent, the paths worn by sheep may at any moment cause a stumble. At +the foot is a waggon-track beside a low hedge, enclosing the first +arable field. The hedge is a guide, but the ruts are deep, and it still +needs slow and careful walking. Wee-ah-wee! Up from the dusky surface +of the arable field springs a plover, and the notes are immediately +repeated by another. They can just be seen as darker bodies against the +shadow as they fly overhead. Wee-ah-wee! The sound grows fainter as +they fetch a longer circle in the gloom. + +There is another winter resort of plovers in the valley where a barren +waste was ploughed some years ago. A few furze bushes still stand in +the hedges about it, and the corners are full of rushes. Not all the +grubbing of furze and bushes, the deep ploughing and draining, has +succeeded in rendering the place fertile like the adjacent fields. The +character of a marsh adheres to it still. So long as there is a crop, +the lapwings keep away, but as soon as the ploughs turn up the ground +in autumn they return. The place lies low, and level with the waters in +the ponds and streamlets. A mist hangs about it in the evening, and +even when there is none, there is a distinct difference in the +atmosphere while passing it. From their hereditary home the lapwings +cannot be entirely driven away. Out of the mist comes their plaintive +cry; they are hidden, and their exact locality is not to be discovered. +Where winter rules most ruthlessly, where darkness is deepest in +daylight, there the slender plovers stay undaunted. + + +II--SPRING + +A soft sound of water moving among thousands of grass-blades--to the +hearing it is as the sweetness of spring air to the scent. It is so +faint and so diffused that the exact spot whence it issues cannot be +discerned, yet it is distinct, and my footsteps are slower as I listen. +Yonder, in the corners of the mead, the atmosphere is full of some +ethereal vapour. The sunshine stays in the air there, as if the green +hedges held the wind from brushing it away. Low and plaintive come the +notes of a lapwing; the same notes, but tender with love. + +On this side, by the hedge, the ground is a little higher and dry, hung +over with the lengthy boughs of an oak, which give some shade. I always +feel a sense of regret when I see a seedling oak in the grass. The two +green leaves--the little stem so upright and confident, and, though but +a few inches high, already so completely a tree--are in themselves +beautiful. Power, endurance, grandeur are there; you can grasp all with +your hand, and take a ship between the finger and thumb. Time, that +sweeps away everything, is for a while repelled; the oak will grow when +the time we know is forgotten, and when felled will be the mainstay and +safety of a generation in a future century. That the plant should start +among the grass, to be severed by the scythe or crushed by cattle, is +very pitiful; I cannot help wishing that it could be transplanted and +protected. Of the countless acorns that drop in autumn not one in a +million is permitted to become a tree--a vast waste of strength and +beauty. From the bushes by the stile on the left hand, which I have +just passed, follows the long whistle of a nightingale. His nest is +near; he sings night and day. Had I waited on the stile, in a few +minutes, becoming used to my presence, he would have made the hawthorn +vibrate, so powerful in his voice when heard close at hand. There is +not another nightingale along this path for at least a mile, though it +crosses meadows and runs by hedges to all appearance equally suitable; +but nightingales will not pass their limits; they seem to have a +marked-out range as strictly defined as the lines of a geological map. +They will not go over to the next hedge--hardly into the field on one +side of a favourite spot, nor a yard farther along the mound, Opposite +the oak is a low fence of serrated green. Just projecting above the +edge of a brook, fast-growing flags have thrust up their bayonet-tips. +Beneath their stalks are so thick in the shallow places that a pike can +scarcely push a way between them. Over the brook stand some high maple +trees; to their thick foliage wood-pigeons come. The entrance to a +coomb, the widening mouth of a valley, is beyond, with copses on the +slopes. + +Again the plover's notes; this time in the field immediately behind; +repeated, too, in the field on the right hand. One comes over, and as +he flies he jerks a wing upwards and partly turns on his side in the +air, rolling like a vessel in a swell. He seems to beat the air +sideways, as if against a wall, not downwards. This habit makes his +course appear so uncertain; he may go there, or yonder, or in a third +direction, more undecided than a startled snipe. Is there a little +vanity in that wanton flight? Is there a little consciousness of the +spring-freshened colours of his plumage, and pride in the dainty touch +of his wings on the sweet wind? His love is watching his wayward +course. He prolongs it. He has but a few yards to fly to reach the +well-known feeding-ground by the brook where the grass is short; +perhaps it has been eaten off by sheep. It is a straight and easy line +as a starling would fly. The plover thinks nothing of a straight line; +he winds first with the course of the hedge, then rises aslant, +uttering his cry, wheels, and returns; now this way, direct at me, as +if his object was to display his snowy breast; suddenly rising aslant +again, he wheels once more, and goes right away from his object over +above the field whence he came. Another moment and he returns; and so +to and fro, and round and round, till with a sidelong, unexpected sweep +he alights by the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his cry, and +runs a yard or so forward. In a little while a second plover arrives +from the field behind. He too dances a maze in the air before he +settles. Soon a third joins them. They are visible at that spot because +the grass is short, elsewhere they would be hidden. If one of these +rises and flies to and fro almost instantly another follows, and then +it is, indeed, a dance before they alight. The wheeling, maze-tracing, +devious windings continue till the eye wearies and rests with pleasure +on a passing butterfly. These birds have nests in the meadows +adjoining; they meet here as a common feeding-ground. Presently they +will disperse, each returning to his mate at the nest. Half an hour +afterwards they will meet once more, either here or on the wing. + +In this manner they spend their time from dawn through the +flower-growing day till dusk. When the sun arises over the hill into +the sky already blue the plovers have been up a long while. All the +busy morning they go to and fro--the busy morning, when the +wood-pigeons cannot rest in the copses on the coomb-side, but +continually fly in and out; when the blackbirds whistle in the oaks, +when the bluebells gleam with purplish lustre. At noontide, in the dry +heat, it is pleasant to listen to the sound of water moving among the +thousand thousand grass-blades of the mead. The flower-growing day +lengthens out beyond the sunset, and till the hedges are dim the +lapwings do not cease. + +Leaving now the shade of the oak, I follow the path into the meadow on +the right, stepping by the way over a streamlet, which diffuses its +rapid current broadcast over the sward till it collects again and pours +into the brook. This next meadow is somewhat more raised, and not +watered; the grass is high and full of buttercups. Before I have gone +twenty yards a lapwing rises out in the field, rushes towards me +through the air, and circles round my head, making as if to dash at me, +and uttering shrill cries. Immediately another comes from the mead +behind the oak; then a third from over the hedge, and all those that +have been feeding by the brook, till I am encircled with them. They +wheel round, dive, rise aslant, cry, and wheel again, always close over +me, till I have walked some distance, when, one by one, they fall off, +and, still uttering threats, retire. There is a nest in this meadow, +and, although it is, no doubt, a long way from the path, my presence +even in the field, large as it is, is resented. The couple who imagine +their possessions threatened are quickly joined by their friends, and +there is no rest till I have left their treasures far behind. + + + +OUTSIDE LONDON + + +I + +There was something dark on the grass under an elm in the field by the +barn. It rose and fell; and we saw that it was a wing--a single black +wing, striking the ground instead of the air; indeed, it seemed to come +out of the earth itself, the body of the bird being hidden by the +grass. This black wing flapped and flapped, but could not lift +itself--a single wing of course could not fly. A rook had dropped out +of the elm and was lying helpless at the foot of the tree--it is a +favourite tree with rooks; they build in it, and at that moment there +were twenty or more perched aloft, cawing and conversing comfortably, +without the least thought of their dying comrade. Not one of all the +number descended to see what was the matter, nor even fluttered +half-way down. This elm is their clubhouse, where they meet every +afternoon as the sun gets low to discuss the scandals of the day, +before retiring to roost in the avenues and tree-groups of the park +adjacent. While we looked, a peacock came round the corner of the barn; +he had caught sight of the flapping wing, and approached with long +deliberate steps and outstretched neck. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! What's this? +What's this?" he inquired in bird-language. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! My friends, +see here!" Gravely, and step by step, he came nearer and nearer, +slowly, and not without some fear, till curiosity had brought him +within a yard. In a moment or two a peahen followed and also stretched +out her neck--the two long necks pointing at the black flapping wing. A +second peacock and peahen approached, and the four great birds +stretched out their necks towards the dying rook--a "crowner's quest" +upon the unfortunate creature. + +If any one had been at hand to sketch it, the scene would have been +very grotesque, and not without a ludicrous sadness. There was the tall +elm tinted with yellow, the black rooks high above flying in and out, +yellow leaves twirling down, the blue peacocks with their crests, the +red barn behind, the golden sun afar shining low through the trees of +the park, the brown autumn sward, a grey horse, orange maple bushes. +There was the quiet tone of the coming evening--the early evening of +October--such an evening as the rook had seen many a time from the tops +of the trees. A man dies, and the crowd goes on passing under the +window along the street without a thought. The rook died, and his +friends, who had that day been with him in the oaks feasting on acorns, +who had been with him in the fresh-turned furrows, born perhaps in the +same nest, utterly forgot him before he was dead. With a great common +caw--a common shout--they suddenly left the tree in a bevy and flew +towards the park. The peacocks having brought in their verdict, +departed, and the dead bird was left alone. + +In falling out of the elm, the rook had alighted partly on his side and +partly on his back, so that he could only flutter one wing, the other +being held down by his own weight. He had probably died from picking up +poisoned grain somewhere, or from a parasite. The weather had been +open, and he could not have been starved. At a distance, the rook's +plumage appears black; but close at hand it will be found a fine +blue-black, glossy, and handsome. + +These peacocks are the best "rain-makers" in the place; whenever they +cry much, it is sure to rain; and if they persist day after day, the +rain is equally continuous. From the wall by the barn, or the +elm-branch above, their cry resounds like the wail of a gigantic cat, +and is audible half a mile or more. In the summer, I found one of them, +a peacock in the fall brilliance of his colours, on a rail in the hedge +under a spreading maple bush. His rich-hued neck, the bright light and +shadow, the tall green meadow grass, brought together the finest +colours. It is curious that a bird so distinctly foreign, plumed for +the Asiatic sun, should fit so well with English meads. His splendid +neck immediately pleases, pleases the first time it is seen, and on the +fiftieth occasion. I see these every day, and always stop to look at +them; the colour excites the sense of beauty in the eye, and the shape +satisfies the idea of form. The undulating curve of the neck is at once +approved by the intuitive judgment of the mind, and it is a pleasure to +the mind to reiterate that judgment frequently. It needs no teaching to +see its beauty--the feeling comes of itself. + +How different with the turkey-cock which struts round the same barn! A +fine big bird he is, no doubt; but there is no intrinsic beauty about +him; on the contrary, there is something fantastic in his style and +plumage. He has a way of drooping his wings as if they were +armour-plates to shield him from a shot. The ornaments upon his head +and beak are in the most awkward position. He was put together in a +dream, of uneven and odd pieces that live and move, but do not fit. +Ponderously gawky, he steps as if the world was his, like a "motley" +crowned in sport. He is good eating, but he is not beautiful. After the +eye has been accustomed to him for some time--after you have fed him +every day and come to take an interest in him--after you have seen a +hundred turkey-cocks, then he may become passable, or, if you have the +fancier's taste, exquisite. Education is requisite first; you do not +fall in love at first sight. The same applies to fancy-pigeons, and +indeed many pet animals, as pugs, which come in time to be animated +with a soul in some people's eyes. Compare a pug with a greyhound +straining at the leash. Instantly he is slipped he is gone as a wave +let loose. His flexible back bends and undulates, arches and unarches, +rises and falls as a wave rises and rolls on. His pliant ribs open; his +whole frame "gives" and stretches, and closing again in a curve, +springs forward. Movement is as easy to him as to the wave, which +melting, is remoulded, and sways onward. The curve of the greyhound is +not only the line of beauty, but a line which suggests motion; and it +is the idea of motion, I think, which so strongly appeals to the mind. + +We are often scornfully treated as a nation by people who write about +art, because they say we have no taste; we cannot make art jugs for the +mantelpiece, crockery for the bracket, screens for the fire; we cannot +even decorate the wall of a room as it should be done. If these are the +standards by which a sense of art is to be tried, their scorn is to a +certain degree just. But suppose we try another standard. Let us put +aside the altogether false opinion that art consists alone in something +actually made, or painted, or decorated, in carvings, colourings, +touches of brush or chisel. Let us look at our lives. I mean to say +that there is no nation so thoroughly and earnestly artistic as the +English in their lives, their joys, their thoughts, their hopes. Who +loves nature like an Englishman? Do Italians care for their pale skies? +I never heard so. We go all over the world in search of beauty--to the +keen north, to the cape whence the midnight sun is visible, to the +extreme south, to the interior of Africa, gazing at the vast expanse of +Tanganyika or the marvellous falls of the Zambesi. We admire the +temples and tombs and palaces of India; we speak of the Alhambra of +Spain almost in whispers, so deep is our reverent admiration; we visit +the Parthenon. There is not a picture or a statue in Europe we have not +sought. We climb the mountains for their views and the sense of +grandeur they inspire; we roam over the wide ocean to the coral islands +of the far Pacific; we go deep into the woods of the West; and we stand +dreamily under the Pyramids of the East. What part is there of the +English year which has not been sung by the poets? all of whom are full +of its loveliness; and our greatest of all, Shakespeare, carries, as it +were, armfuls of violets, and scatters roses and golden wheat across +his pages, which are simply fields written with human life. + +This is art indeed--art in the mind and soul, infinitely deeper, +surely, than the construction of crockery, jugs for the mantelpiece, +dados, or even of paintings. The lover of nature has the highest art in +his soul. So, I think, the bluff English farmer who takes such pride +and delight in his dogs and horses, is a much greater man of art than +any Frenchman preparing with cynical dexterity of hand some coloured +presentment of flashy beauty for the _salon_. The English girl who +loves her horse--and English girls _do_ love their horses most +intensely--is infinitely more artistic in that fact than the cleverest +painter on enamel. They who love nature are the real artists; the +"artists" are copyists, St. John the naturalist, when exploring the +recesses of the Highlands, relates how he frequently came in contact +with men living in the rude Highland way--forty years since, no +education then--whom at first you would suppose to be morose, +unobservant, almost stupid. But when they found out that their visitor +would stay for hours gazing in admiration at their glens and mountains, +their demeanour changed. Then the truth appeared: they were fonder than +he was himself of the beauties of their hills and lakes; they could see +the art _there_, though perhaps they had never seen a picture in their +lives, certainly not any blue-and-white crockery. The Frenchman flings +his fingers dexterously over the canvas, but he has never had that in +his heart which the rude Highlander had. + +The path across the arable field was covered with a design of bird's +feet. The reversed broad arrow of the fore-claws, and the straight line +of the hinder claw, trailed all over it in curving lines. In the dry +dust, their feet were marked as clearly as a seal on wax--their trails +wound this way and that, and crossed as their quick eyes had led them +to turn to find something. For fifty or sixty yards the path was worked +with an inextricable design; it was a pity to step on it and blot out +the traces of those little feet. Their hearts so happy, their eyes so +observant, the earth so bountiful to them with its supply of food, and +the late warmth of the autumn sun lighting up their life. They know and +feel the different loveliness of the seasons as much as we do. Every +one must have noticed their joyousness in spring; they are quiet, but +so very, very busy in the height of summer; as autumn comes on they +obviously delight in the occasional hours of warmth. The marks of their +little feet are almost sacred--a joyous life has been there--do not +obliterate it. It is so delightful to know that something is happy. + +The hawthorn hedge that goes down the slope is more coloured than the +hedges in the sheltered plain. Yonder, a low bush on the brow is a deep +crimson; the hedge as it descends varies from brown to yellow, dotted +with red haws, and by the gateway has another spot of crimson. The lime +trees turn yellow from top to bottom, all the leaves together; the elms +by one or two branches at a time. A lime tree thus entirely coloured +stands side by side with an elm, their boughs intermingling; the elm is +green except a line at the outer extremity of its branches. A red light +as of fire plays in the beeches, so deep is their orange tint in which +the sunlight is caught. An oak is dotted with buff, while yet the main +body of the foliage is untouched. With these tints and sunlight, nature +gives us so much more than the tree gives. A tree is nothing but a tree +in itself: but with light and shadow, green leaves moving, a bird +singing, another moving to and fro--in autumn with colour--the boughs +are filled with imagination. There then seems so much more than the +mere tree; the timber of the trunk, the mere sticks of the branches, +the wooden framework is animated with a life. High above, a lark sings, +not for so long as in spring--the October song is shorter--but still he +sings. If you love colour, plant maple; maple bushes colour a whole +hedge. Upon the bank of a pond, the brown oak-leaves which have fallen +are reflected in the still deep water. + +It is from the hedges that taste must be learned. A garden abuts on +these fields, and being on slightly rising ground, the maple bushes, +the brown and yellow and crimson hawthorn, the limes and elms, are all +visible from it; yet it is surrounded by stiff, straight iron railings, +unconcealed even by the grasses, which are carefully cut down with the +docks and nettles, that do their best, three or four times in the +summer, to hide the blank iron. Within these iron railings stands a row +of _arbor vitae_, upright, and stiff likewise, and among them a few +other evergreens; and that is all the shelter the lawn and flower-beds +have from the east wind, blowing for miles over open country, or from +the glowing sun of August. This garden belongs to a gentleman who would +certainly spare no moderate expense to improve it, and yet there it +remains, the blankest, barest, most miserable-looking square of ground +the eye can find; the only piece of ground from which the eye turns +away; for even the potato-field close by, the common potato-field, had +its colour in bright poppies, and there were partridges in it, and at +the edges, fine growths of mallow and its mauve flowers. Wild parsley, +still green in the shelter of the hazel stoles, is there now on the +bank, a thousand times sweeter to the eye than bare iron and cold +evergreens. Along that hedge, the white bryony wound itself in the most +beautiful manner, completely covering the upper part of the thick +brambles, a robe thrown over the bushes; its deep cut leaves, its +countless tendrils, its flowers, and presently the berries, giving +pleasure every time one passed it. Indeed, you could not pass without +stopping to look at it, and wondering if any one ever so skilful, even +those sure-handed Florentines Mr. Ruskin thinks so much of, could ever +draw that intertangled mass of lines. Nor could you easily draw the +leaves and head of the great parsley--commonest of hedge-plants--the +deep indented leaves, and the shadow by which to express them. There +was work enough in that short piece of hedge by the potato-field for a +good pencil every day the whole summer. And when done, you would not +have been satisfied with it, but only have learned how complex and how +thoughtful and far reaching Nature is in the simplest of things. But +with a straight-edge or ruler, any one could draw the iron railings in +half an hour, and a surveyor's pupil could make them look as well as +Millais himself. Stupidity to stupidity, genius to genius; any hard +fist can manage iron railings; a hedge is a task for the greatest. + +Those, therefore, who really wish their gardens or grounds, or any +place, beautiful, must get that greatest of geniuses, Nature, to help +them, and give their artist freedom to paint to fancy, for it is +Nature's imagination which delights us--as I tried to explain about the +tree, the imagination, and not the fact of the timber and sticks. For +those white bryony leaves and slender spirals and exquisitely defined +flowers are full of imagination, products of a sunny dream, and tinted +so tastefully, that although they are green, and all about them is +green too, yet the plant is quite distinct, and in no degree confused +or lost in the mass of leaves under and by it. It stands out, and yet +without violent contrast. All these beauties of form and colour +surround the place, and try, as it were, to march in and take +possession, but are shut out by straight iron railings. Wonderful it is +that education should make folk tasteless! Such, certainly, seems to be +the case in a great measure, and not in our own country only, for those +who know Italy tell us that the fine old gardens there, dating back to +the days of the Medici, are being despoiled of ilex and made formal and +straight. Is all the world to be Versaillised? + +Scarcely two hundred yards from these cold iron railings, which even +nettles and docks would hide if they could, and thistles strive to +conceal, but are not permitted, there is an old cottage by the +roadside. The roof is of old tile, once red, now dull from weather; the +walls some tone of yellow; the folk are poor. Against it there grows a +vigorous plant of jessamine, a still finer rose, a vine covers the +lean-to at one end, and tea-plant the corner of the wall; beside these, +there is a yellow-flowering plant, the name of which I forget at the +moment, also trained to the walls; and ivy. Altogether, six plants grow +up the walls of the cottage; and over the wicket-gate there is a rude +arch--a framework of tall sticks--from which droop thick bunches of +hops. It is a very commonplace sort of cottage; nothing artistically +picturesque about it, no effect of gable or timber-work; it stands by +the roadside in the most commonplace way, and yet it pleases. They have +called in Nature, that great genius, and let the artist have his own +way. In Italy, the art-country, they cut down the ilex trees, and get +the surveyor's pupil with straight-edge and ruler to put it right and +square for them. Our over-educated and well-to-do people set iron +railings round about their blank pleasure-grounds, which the +potato-field laughs at in bright poppies; and actually one who has some +fine park-grounds has lifted up on high a mast and weather-vane! a +thing useful on the sea-board at coastguard stations for signalling, +but oh! how repellent and straight and stupid among clumps of graceful +elms! + + +II + +The dismal pits in a disused brickfield, unsightly square holes in a +waste, are full in the shallow places of an aquatic grass, Reed Canary +Grass, I think, which at this time of mists stretches forth +sharp-pointed tongues over the stagnant water. These sharp-pointed +leaf-tongues are all on one side of the stalks, so that the most +advanced project across the surface, as if the water were the canvas, +and the leaves drawn on it. For water seems always to rise away from +you--to slope slightly upwards; even a pool has that appearance, and +therefore anything standing in it is drawn on it as you might sketch on +this paper. You see the water beyond and above the top of the plant, +and the smooth surface gives the leaf and stalk a sharp, clear +definition. But the mass of the tall grass crowds together, every leaf +painted yellow by the autumn, a thick cover at the pit-side. This tall +grass always awakes my fancy, its shape partly, partly its thickness, +perhaps; and yet these feelings are not to be analysed. I like to look +at it; I like to stand or move among it on the bank of a brook, to feel +it touch and rustle against me. A sense of wildness comes with its +touch, and I feel a little as I might feel if there was a vast forest +round about. As a few strokes from a loving hand will soothe a weary +forehead, so the gentle pressure of the wild grass soothes and strokes +away the nervous tension born of civilised life. + +I could write a whole history of it; the time when the leaves were +fresh and green, and the sedge-birds frequented it; the time when the +moorhen's young crept after their mother through its recesses; from the +singing of the cuckoo by the river, till now brown and yellow leaves +strew the water. They strew, too, the dry brown grass of the land, +thick tuffets, and lie even among the rushes, blown hither from the +distant trees. The wind works its full will over the exposed waste, and +drives through the reed-grass, scattering the stalks aside, and scarce +giving them time to spring together again, when the following blast a +second time divides them. + +A cruder piece of ground, ruder and more dismal in its unsightly holes, +could not be found; and yet, because of the reed-grass, it is made as +it were full of thought. I wonder the painters, of whom there are so +many nowadays, armies of amateurs, do not sometimes take these scraps +of earth and render into them the idea which fills a clod with beauty. +In one such dismal pit--not here--I remember there grew a great +quantity of bulrushes. Another was surrounded with such masses of +swamp-foliage that it reminded those who saw it of the creeks in +semi-tropical countries. But somehow they do not seem to see these +things, but go on the old mill-round of scenery, exhausted many a year +since. They do not see them, perhaps, because most of those who have +educated themselves in the technique of painting are city-bred, and can +never have the _feeling_ of the country, however fond they may be of it. + +In those fields of which I was writing the other day, I found an artist +at work at his easel; and a pleasant nook be had chosen. His brush did +its work with a steady and sure stroke that indicated command of his +materials. He could delineate whatever he selected with technical skill +at all events. He had pitched his easel where two hedges formed an +angle, and one of them was full of oak-trees. The hedge was singularly +full of "bits"--bryony, tangles of grasses, berries, boughs half-tinted +and boughs green, hung as it were with pictures like the wall of a +room. Standing as near as I could without disturbing him, I found that +the subject of his canvas was none of these. It was that old stale and +dull device of a rustic bridge spanning a shallow stream crossing a +lane. Some figure stood on the bridge--the old, old trick. He was +filling up the hedge of the lane with trees from the hedge, and they +were cleverly executed. But why drag them into this fusty scheme, which +has appeared in every child's sketch-book for fifty years? Why not have +simply painted the beautiful hedge at hand, purely and simply, a hedge +hung with pictures for any one to copy? The field in which he had +pitched his easel is full of fine trees and good "effects." But no; we +must have the ancient and effete old story. This is not all the +artist's fault, because he must in many cases paint what he can sell; +and if his public will only buy effete old stories, he cannot help it. +Still, I think if a painter _did_ paint that hedge in its fulness of +beauty, just simply as it stands in the mellow autumn light, it would +win approval of the best people, and that ultimately, a succession of +such work would pay. + +The clover was dying down, and the plough would soon be among it--the +earth was visible in patches. Out in one of these bare patches there +was a young mouse, so chilled by the past night that his dull senses +did not appear conscious of my presence. He had crept out on the bare +earth evidently to feel the warmth of the sun, almost the last hour he +would enjoy. He looked about for food, but found none; his short span +of life was drawing to a close; even when at last he saw me, he could +only run a few inches under cover of a dead clover-plant. Thousands +upon thousands of mice perish like this as the winter draws on, born +too late in the year to grow strong enough or clever enough to prepare +a store. Other kinds of mice perish like leaves at the first blast of +cold air. Though but a mouse, to me it was very wretched to see the +chilled creature, so benumbed as to have almost lost its sense of +danger. There is something so ghastly in birth that immediately leads +to death; a sentient creature born only to wither. The earth offered it +no help, nor the declining sun; all things organised seem to depend so +much on circumstances. Nothing but pity can be felt for thousands upon +thousands of such organisms. But thus, too, many a miserable human +being has perished in the great Metropolis, dying, chilled and +benumbed, of starvation, and finding the hearts of fellow-creatures as +bare and cold as the earth of the clover-field. + +In these fields outside London the flowers are peculiarly rich in +colour. The common mallow, whose flower is usually a light mauve, has +here a deep, almost purple bloom; the bird's-foot lotus is a deep +orange. The fig-wort, which is generally two or three feet high, stands +in one ditch fully eight feet, and the stem is more than half an inch +square. A fertile soil has doubtless something to do with this colour +and vigour. The red admiral butterflies, too, seemed in the summer more +brilliant than usual. One very fine one, whose broad wings stretched +out like fans, looked simply splendid floating round and round the +willows which marked the margin of a dry pool. His blue markings were +really blue--blue velvet--his red, and the white stroke shone as if +sunbeams were in his wings. I wish there were more of these +butterflies; in summer, dry summer, when the flowers seem gone and the +grass is not so dear to us, and the leaves are dull with heat, a little +colour is so pleasant. To me, colour is a sort of food; every spot of +colour is a drop of wine to the spirit. I used to take my folding-stool +on those long, heated days, which made the summer of 1884 so +conspicuous among summers, down to the shadow of a row of elms by a +common cabbage-field. Their shadow was nearly as hot as the open +sunshine; the dry leaves did not absorb the heat that entered them, and +the dry hedge and dry earth poured heat up as the sun poured it down. +Dry, dead leaves--dead with heat, as with frost--strewed the grass, +dry, too, and withered at my feet. + +But among the cabbages, which were very small, there grew thousands of +poppies, fifty times more poppies than cabbage, so that the pale green +of the cabbage-leaves was hidden by the scarlet petals falling wide +open to the dry air. There was a broad band of scarlet colour all along +the side of the field, and it was this which brought me to the shade of +those particular elms. The use of the cabbages was in this way: they +fetched for me all the white butterflies of the neighbourhood, and they +fluttered, hundreds and hundreds of white butterflies, a constant +stream and flow of them over the broad band of scarlet. Humble-bees +came too; bur-bur-bur; and the buzz, and the flutter of the white wings +over those fixed red butterflies the poppies, the flutter and sound and +colour pleased me in the dry heat of the day. Sometimes I set my +camp-stool by a humble-bees' nest. I like to see and hear them go in +and out, so happy, busy, and wild; the humble-bee is a favourite. That +summer their nests were very plentiful; but although the heat might +have seemed so favourable to them, the flies were not at all numerous, +I mean out-of-doors. Wasps, on the contrary, flourished to an +extraordinary degree. One willow tree particularly took their fancy; +there was a swarm in the tree for weeks, attracted by some secretion; +the boughs and leaves were yellow with wasps. But it seemed curious +that flies should not be more numerous than usual; they are dying now +fast enough, except a few of the large ones, that still find some sugar +in the flowers of the ivy. The finest show of ivy flower is among some +yew trees; the dark ivy has filled the dark yew tree, and brought out +its pale yellow-green flowers in the sombre boughs. Last night, a great +fly, the last in the house, buzzed into my candle. I detest flies, but +I was sorry for his scorched wings; the fly itself hateful, its wings +so beautifully made. I have sometimes picked a feather from the dirt of +the road and placed it on the grass. It is contrary to one's feelings +to see so beautiful a thing lying in the mud. Towards my window now, as +I write, there comes suddenly a shower of yellow leaves, wrested out by +main force from the high elms; the blue sky behind them, they droop +slowly, borne onward, twirling, fluttering towards me--a cloud of +autumn butterflies. + +A spring rises on the summit of a green brow that overlooks the meadows +for miles. The spot is not really very high, still it is the highest +ground in that direction for a long distance, and it seems singular to +find water on the top of the hill, a thing common enough, but still +sufficiently opposed to general impressions to appear remarkable. In +this shallow water, says a faint story--far off, faint and uncertain, +like the murmur of a distant cascade--two ladies and some soldiers lost +their lives. The brow is defended by thick bramble-bushes, which bore a +fine crop of blackberries that autumn, to the delight of the boys; and +these bushes partly conceal the sharpness of the short descent. But +once your attention is drawn to it, you see that it has all the +appearance of having been artificially sloped, like a rampart, or +rather a glacis. The grass is green and the sward soft, being moistened +by the spring, except in one spot, where the grass is burnt up under +the heat of the summer sun, indicating the existence of foundations +beneath. + +There is a beautiful view from this spot; but leaving that now, and +wandering on among the fields, presently you may find a meadow of +peculiar shape, extremely long and narrow, half a mile long, perhaps; +and this the folk will tell you was the King's Drive, or ride. Stories +there are, too, of subterranean passages--there are always such stories +in the neighbourhood of ancient buildings--I remember one, said to be +three miles long; it led to an abbey. The lane leads on, bordered with +high hawthorn hedges, and occasionally a stout hawthorn tree, hardy and +twisted by the strong hands of the passing years; thick now with red +haws, and the haunt of the redwings, whose "chuck-chuck" is heard every +minute; but the birds themselves always perch on the outer side of the +hedge. They are not far ahead, but they always keep on the safe side, +flying on twenty yards or so, but never coming to my side. + +The little pond, which in summer was green with weed, is now yellow +with the fallen hawthorn-leaves; the pond is choked with them. The lane +has been slowly descending; and now, on looking through a gateway, an +ancient building stands up on the hill, sharply defined against the +sky. It is the banqueting hall of a palace of old times, in which kings +and princes once sat at their meat after the chase. This is the centre +of those dim stories which float like haze over the meadows around. +Many a wild red stag has been carried thither after the hunt, and many +a wild boar slain in the glades of the forest. + +The acorns are dropping now as they dropped five centuries since, in +the days when the wild boars fed so greedily upon them; the oaks are +broadly touched with brown; the bramble thickets in which the boars +hid, green, but strewn with the leaves that have fallen from the lofty +trees. Though meadow, arable, and hop-fields hold now the place of the +forest, a goodly remnant remains, for every hedge is full of oak and +elm and ash; maple too, and the lesser bushes. At a little distance, so +thick are the trees, the whole country appears a wood, and it is easy +to see what a forest it must have been centuries ago. + +The Prince leaving the grim walls of the Tower of London by the +Water-gate, and dropping but a short way down with the tide, could +mount his horse on the opposite bank, and reach his palace here, in the +midst of the thickest woods and wildest country, in half an hour. +Thence every morning setting forth upon the chase, he could pass the +day in joyous labours, and the evening in feasting, still within +call--almost within sound of horn--of the Tower, if any weighty matter +demanded his presence. + +In our time, the great city has widened out, and comes at this day down +to within three miles of the hunting-palace. There still intervenes a +narrow space between the last house of London and the ancient Forest +Hall, a space of corn-field and meadow; the last house, for although +not nominally London, there is no break of continuity in the bricks and +mortar thence to London Bridge. London is within a stone's-throw, as it +were, and yet, to this day the forest lingers, and it is country. The +very atmosphere is different. That smoky thickness characteristic of +the suburbs ceases as you ascend the gradual rise, and leave the +outpost of bricks and mortar behind. The air becomes clear and strong, +till on the brow by the spring on a windy day it is almost like +sea-air. It comes over the trees, over the hills, and is sweet with the +touch of grass and leaf. There is no gas, no sulphurous acid in that. +As the Edwards and Henries breathed it centuries since, so it can be +inhaled now. The sun that shone on the red deer is as bright now as +then; the berries are thick on the bushes; there is colour in the leaf. +The forest is gone; but the spirit of nature stays, and can be found by +those who search for it. Dearly as I love the open air, I cannot regret +the mediaeval days. I do not wish them back again, I would sooner fight +in the foremost ranks of Time. Nor do we need them, for the spirit of +nature stays, and will always be here, no matter to how high a pinnacle +of thought the human mind may attain; still the sweet air, and the +hills, and the sea, and the sun, will always be with us. + + + +ON THE LONDON ROAD + + +The road comes straight from London, which is but a very short distance +off, within a walk, yet the village it passes is thoroughly a village, +and not suburban, not in the least like Sydenham, or Croydon, or +Balham, or Norwood, as perfect a village in every sense as if it stood +fifty miles in the country. There is one long street, just as would be +found in the far west, with fields at each end. But through this long +street, and on and out into the open, is continually pouring the human +living undergrowth of that vast forest of life, London. The nondescript +inhabitants of the thousand and one nameless streets of the unknown +east are great travellers, and come forth into the country by this main +desert route. For what end? Why this tramping and ceaseless movement? +what do they buy, what do they sell, how do they live? They pass +through the village street and out into the country in an endless +stream on the shutter on wheels. This is the true London vehicle, the +characteristic conveyance, as characteristic as the Russian droshky, +the gondola at Venice, or the caique at Stamboul. It is the camel of +the London desert routes; routes which run right through civilisation, +but of which daily paper civilisation is ignorant. People who can pay +for a daily paper are so far above it; a daily paper is the mark of the +man who is in civilisation. + +Take an old-fashioned shutter and balance it on the axle of a pair of +low wheels, and you have the London camel in principle. To complete it +add shafts in front, and at the rear run a low free-board, as a sailor +would say, along the edge, that the cargo may not be shaken off. All +the skill of the fashionable brougham-builders in Long Acre could not +contrive a vehicle which would meet the requirements of the case so +well as this. On the desert routes of Palestine a donkey becomes +romantic; in a coster-monger's barrow he is only an ass; the donkey +himself doesn't see the distinction. He draws a good deal of human +nature about in these barrows, and perhaps finds it very much the same +in Surrey and Syria. For if any one thinks the familiar barrow is +merely a truck for the conveyance of cabbages and carrots, and for the +exposure of the same to the choice of housewives in Bermondsey, he is +mistaken. Far beyond that, it is the symbol, the solid expression, of +life itself to the owner, his family, and circle of connections, more +so than even the ship to the sailor, as the sailor, no matter how he +may love his ship, longs for port, and the joys of the shore, but the +barrow folk are always at sea on land, Such care has to be taken of the +miserable pony or the shamefaced jackass; he has to be groomed, and +fed, and looked to in his shed, and this occupies three or four of the +family at least, lads and strapping young girls, night and morning. +Besides which, the circle of connections look in to see how he is going +on, and to hear the story of the day's adventures, and what is proposed +for to-morrow. Perhaps one is invited to join the next excursion, and +thinks as much of it as others might do of an invitation for a cruise +in the Mediterranean. Any one who watches the succession of barrows +driving along through the village out into the fields of Kent can +easily see how they bear upon their wheels the fortunes of whole +families and of their hangers-on. Sometimes there is a load of pathos, +of which the race of the ass has carried a good deal in all ages. More +often it is a heavy lump of dull, evil, and exceedingly stupid cunning. +The wild evil of the Spanish contrabandistas seems atoned by that +wildness; but this dull wickedness has no flush of colour, no poppy on +its dirt heaps. + +Over one barrow the sailors had fixed up a tent--canvas stretched from +corner poles, two fellows sat almost on the shafts outside; they were +well. Under the canvas there lay a young fellow white and emaciated, +whose face was drawn down with severe suffering of some kind, and his +dark eyes, enlarged and accentuated, looked as if touched with +belladonna. The family council at home in the close and fetid court had +resolved themselves into a medical board and ordered him to the sunny +Riviera. The ship having been fitted up for the invalid, away they +sailed for the south, out from the ends of the earth of London into the +ocean of green fields and trees, thence past many an island village, +and so to the shores where the Kentish hops were yellowing fast for the +pickers. There, in the vintage days, doubtless he found solace, and +possibly recovery. To catch a glimpse of that dark and cavernous eye +under the shade of the travelling tent reminded me of the eyes of the +wounded in the ambulance-waggons that came pouring into Brussels after +Sedan. In the dusk of the lovely September evenings--it was a beautiful +September, the lime-leaves were just tinted with orange--the waggons +came in a long string, the wounded and maimed lying in them, packed +carefully, and rolled round, as it were, with wadding to save them from +the jolts of the ruts and stones. It is fifteen years ago, and yet I +can still distinctly see the eyes of one soldier looking at me from his +berth in the waggon. The glow of intense pain--the glow of +long-continued agony--lit them up as coals that smouldering are +suddenly fanned. Pain brightens the eyes as much as joy, there is a +fire in the brain behind it; it is the flame in the mind you see, and +not the eyeball. A thought that might easily be rendered romantic, but +consider how these poor fellows appeared afterwards. Bevies of them +hopped about Brussels in their red-and-blue uniforms, some on crutches, +some with two sticks, some with sleeves pinned to their breasts, +looking exactly like a company of dolls a cruel child had mutilated, +snapping a foot off here, tearing out a leg here, and battering the +face of a third. Little men most of them--the bowl of a German pipe +inverted would have covered them all, within which, like bees in a +hive, they might hum "Te Deum Bismarckum Laudamus." But the romantic +flame in the eye is not always so beautiful to feel as to read about. + +Another shutter on wheels went by one day with one little pony in the +shafts, and a second harnessed in some way at the side, so as to assist +in pulling, but without bearing any share of the load. On this shutter +eight men and boys balanced themselves; enough for the Olympian height +of a four-in-hand. Eight fellows perched round the edge like +shipwrecked mariners, clinging to one plank. They were so balanced as +to weigh chiefly on the axle, yet in front of such a mountain of men, +such a vast bundle of ragged clothes, the ponies appeared like rats. + +On a Sunday morning two fellows came along on their shutter: they +overtook a girl who was walking on the pavement, and one of them, more +sallow and cheeky than his companion, began to talk to her. "That's a +nice nosegay, now--give us a rose. Come and ride--there's plenty of +room. Won't speak? Now, you'll tell us if this is the road to London +Bridge." She nodded. She was dressed in full satin for Sunday; her +class think much of satin. She was leading two children, one in each +hand, clean and well-dressed. She walked more lightly than a servant +does, and evidently lived at home; she did not go to service. Tossing +her head, she looked the other way, for you see the fellow on the +shutter was dirty, not "dressed" at all, though it was Sunday, poor +folks' ball-day; a dirty, rough fellow, with a short clay pipe in his +mouth, a chalky-white face--apparently from low dissipation--a +disreputable rascal, a monstrously impudent "chap," a true London +mongrel. He "cheeked" her; she tossed her head, and looked the other +way. But by-and-by she could not help a sly glance at him, not an angry +glance--a look as much as to say, "You're a man, anyway, and you've the +good taste to admire me, and the courage to speak to me; you're dirty, +but you're a man. If you were well-dressed, or if it wasn't Sunday, or +if it was dark, or nobody about, I wouldn't mind; I'd let you 'cheek' +me, though I have got satin on." The fellow "cheeked" her again, told +her she had a pretty face, "cheeked" her right and left. She looked +away, but half smiled; she had to keep up her dignity, she did not feel +it. She would have liked to have joined company with him. His leer grew +leerier--the low, cunning leer, so peculiar to the London mongrel, that +seems to say, "I am so intensely knowing; I am so very much all there;" +and yet the leerer always remains in a dirty dress, always smokes the +coarsest tobacco in the nastiest of pipes, and rides on a barrow to the +end of his life. For his leery cunning is so intensely stupid that, in +fact, he is as "green" as grass; his leer and his foul mouth keep him +in the gutter to his very last day. How much more successful plain, +simple straightforwardness would be! The pony went on a little, but +they drew rein, and waited for the girl again; and again he "cheeked" +her. Still, she looked away, but she did not make any attempt to escape +by the side-path, nor show resentment. No; her face began to glow, and +once or twice she answered him, but still she would not quite join +company. If only it had not been Sunday--if it had been a lonely road, +and not so near the village, if she had not had the two tell-tale +children with her--she would have been very good friends with the +dirty, chalky, ill-favoured, and ill-savoured wretch. At the parting of +the roads each went different ways, but she could not help looking back. + +He was a thorough specimen of the leery London mongrel. That hideous +leer is so repulsive--one cannot endure it--but it is so common; you +see it on the faces of four-fifths of the ceaseless stream that runs +out from the ends of the earth of London into the green sea of the +country. It disfigures the faces of the carters who go with the waggons +and other vehicles--not nomads, but men in steady employ; it +defaces--absolutely defaces--the workmen who go forth with vans, with +timber, with carpenters' work, and the policeman standing at the +corners, in London itself particularly. The London leer hangs on their +faces. The Mosaic account of the Creation is discredited in these days, +the last revelation took place at Beckenham; the Beckenham revelation +is superior to Mount Sinai, yet the consideration of that leer might +suggest the idea of a fall of man even to an Amoebist. The horribleness +of it is in this way, it hints--it does more than hint, it conveys the +leerer's decided opinion--that you, whether you may be man or woman, +must necessarily be as coarse as himself. Especially he wants to +impress that view upon every woman who chances to cross his glance. The +fist of Hercules is needed to dash it out of his face. + + + +RED ROOFS OF LONDON + + +Tiles and tile roofs have a curious way of tumbling to pieces in an +irregular and eye-pleasing manner. The roof-tree bends, bows a little +under the weight, curves in, and yet preserves a sharpness at each end. +The Chinese exaggerate this curve of set purpose. Our English curve is +softer, being the product of time, which always works in true taste. +The mystery of tile-laying is not known to every one; for to all +appearance tiles seem to be put on over a thin bed of hay or hay-like +stuff. Lately they have begun to use some sort of tarpaulin or a coarse +material of that kind; but the old tiles, I fancy, were comfortably +placed on a shake-down of hay. When one slips off, little bits of hay +stick up; and to these the sparrows come, removing it bit by bit to +line their nests. If they can find a gap they get in, and a fresh +couple is started in life. By-and-by a chimney is overthrown during a +twist of the wind, and half a dozen tiles are shattered. Time passes; +and at last the tiler arrives to mend the mischief. His labour leaves a +light red patch on the dark dull red of the breadth about it. After +another while the leaks along the ridge need plastering: mortar is laid +on to stay the inroad of wet, adding a dull white and forming a rough, +uncertain undulation along the general drooping curve. Yellow edgings +of straw project under the eaves--the work of the sparrows. A cluster +of blue-tinted pigeons gathers about the chimney-side; the smoke that +comes out of the stack droops and floats sideways, downwards, as if the +chimney enjoyed the smother as a man enjoys his pipe. Shattered here +and cracked yonder, some missing, some overlapping in curves, the tiles +have an aspect of irregular existence. They are not fixed, like slates, +as it were for ever: they have a newness, and then a middle-age, and a +time of decay like human beings. + +One roof is not much; but it is often a study. Put a thousand roofs, +say rather thousands of red-tiled roofs, and overlook them--not at a +great altitude but at a pleasant easy angle--and then you have the +groundwork of the first view of London over Bermondsey from the +railway. I say groundwork, because the roofs seem the level and surface +of the earth, while the glimpses of streets are glimpses of catacombs. +A city--as something to look at--depends very much on its roofs. If a +city have no character in its roofs it stirs neither heart nor thought. +These red-tiled roofs of Bermondsey, stretching away mile upon mile, +and brought up at the extremity with thin masts rising above the +mist--these red-tiled roofs have a distinctiveness, a character; they +are something to think about. Nowhere else is there an entrance to a +city like this. The roads by which you approach them give you distant +aspects--minarets, perhaps, in the East, domes in Italy; but, coming +nearer, the highway somehow plunges into houses, confounding you with +facades, and the real place is hidden. Here from the railway you see at +once the vastness of London. Roof-tree behind roof-tree, ridge behind +ridge, is drawn along in succession, line behind line till they become +as close together as the test-lines used for microscopes. Under this +surface of roofs what a profundity of life there is! Just as the great +horses in the waggons of London streets convey the idea of strength, so +the endlessness of the view conveys the idea of a mass of life. Life +converges from every quarter. The iron way has many ruts: the rails are +its ruts; and by each of these a ceaseless stream of men and women +pours over the tiled roofs into London. They come from the populous +suburbs, from far-away towns and quiet villages, and from over sea. + +Glance down as you pass into the excavations, the streets, beneath the +red surface: you catch a glimpse of men and women hastening to and fro, +of vehicles, of horses struggling with mighty loads, of groups at the +corners, and fragments, as it were, of crowds. Busy life everywhere: no +stillness, no quiet, no repose. Life crowded and crushed together; life +that has hardly room to live. If the train slackens, look in at the +open windows of the houses level with the line--they are always open +for air, smoke-laden as it is--and see women and children with scarce +room to move, the bed and the dining-table in the same apartment. For +they dine and sleep and work and play all at the same time. A man works +at night and sleeps by day: he lies yonder as calmly as if in a quiet +country cottage. The children have no place to play in but the +living-room or the street. It is not squalor--it is crowded life. The +people are pushed together by the necessities of existence. These +people have no dislike to it at all: it is right enough to them, and so +long as business is brisk they are happy. The man who lies sleeping so +calmly seems to me to indicate the immensity of the life around more +than all the rest. He is oblivious of it all; it does not make him +nervous or wakeful; he is so used to it, and bred to it, that it seems +to him nothing. When he is awake lie does not see it; now he sleeps he +does not hear it. It is only in great woods that you cannot see the +trees. He is like a leaf in a forest--he is not conscious of it. Long +hours of work have given him slumber; and as he sleeps he seems to +express by contrast the immensity and endlessness of the life around +him. + +Sometimes a floating haze, now thicker here, and now lit up yonder by +the sunshine, brings out objects more distinctly than a clear +atmosphere. Away there tall thin masts stand out, rising straight up +above the red roofs. There is a faint colour on them; the yards are +dark--being inclined, they do not reflect the light at an angle to +reach us. Half-furled canvas droops in folds, now swelling a little as +the wind blows, now heavily sinking. One white sail is set and gleams +alone among the dusky folds; for the canvas at large is dark with +coal-dust, with smoke, with the grime that settles everywhere where men +labour with bare arms and chests. Still and quiet as trees the masts +rise into the hazy air; who would think, merely to look at them, of the +endless labour they mean? The labour to load, and the labour to unload; +the labour at sea, and the long hours of ploughing the waves by night; +the labour at the warehouses; the labour in the fields, the mines, the +mountains; the labour in the factories. Ever and again the sunshine +gleams now on this group of masts, now on that; for they stand in +groups as trees often grow, a thicket here and a thicket yonder. Labour +to obtain the material, labour to bring it hither, labour to force it +into shape--work without end. Masts are always dreamy to look at: they +speak a romance of the sea; of unknown lands; of distant forests aglow +with tropical colours and abounding with strange forms of life. In the +hearts of most of us there is always a desire for something beyond +experience. Hardly any of us but have thought, Some day I will go on a +long voyage; but the years go by, and still we have not sailed. + + + +A WET NIGHT IN LONDON + + +Opaque from rain drawn in slant streaks by wind and speed across the +pane, the window of the railway carriage lets nothing be seen but stray +flashes of red lights--the signals rapidly passed. Wrapped in thick +overcoat, collar turned up to his ears, warm gloves on his hands, and a +rug across his knees, the traveller may well wonder how those red +signals and the points are worked out in the storms of wintry London, +Rain blown in gusts through the misty atmosphere, gas and smoke-laden, +deepens the darkness; the howl of the blast humming in the telegraph +wires, hurtling round the chimney-pots on a level with the line, +rushing up from the archways; steam from the engines, roar, and +whistle, shrieking brakes, and grinding wheels--how is the traffic +worked at night in safety over the inextricable windings of the iron +roads into the City? + +At London Bridge the door is opened by some one who gets out, and the +cold air comes in; there is a rush of people in damp coats, with +dripping umbrellas, and time enough to notice the archaeologically +interesting wooden beams which support the roof of the South-Eastern +station. Antique beams they are, good old Norman oak, such as you may +sometimes find in very old country churches that have not been +restored, such as yet exist in Westminster Hall, temp. Rufus or +Stephen, or so. Genuine old woodwork, worth your while to go and see. +Take a sketch-book and make much of the ties and angles and bolts; ask +Whistler or Macbeth, or some one to etch them, get the Royal +Antiquarian Society to pay a visit and issue a pamphlet; gaze at them +reverently and earnestly, for they are not easily to be matched in +London. Iron girders and spacious roofs are the modern fashion; here we +have the Middle Ages well-preserved--slam! the door is banged-to, +onwards, over the invisible river, more red signals and rain, and +finally the terminus. Five hundred well-dressed and civilised savages, +wet, cross, weary, all anxious to get in--eager for home and dinner; +five hundred stiffened and cramped folk equally eager to get out--mix +on a narrow platform, with a train running off one side, and a detached +engine gliding gently after it. Push, wriggle, wind in and out, bumps +from portmanteaus, and so at last out into the street. + +Now, how are you going to get into an omnibus? The street is "up," the +traffic confined to half a narrow thoroughfare, the little space +available at the side crowded with newsvendors whose contents bills are +spotted and blotted with wet, crowded, too, with young girls, +bonnetless, with aprons over their heads, whose object is simply to do +nothing--just to stand in the rain and chaff; the newsvendors yell +their news in your ears, then, finding you don't purchase, they "Yah!" +at you; an aged crone begs you to buy "lights"; a miserable young +crone, with pinched face, offers artificial flowers--oh, Naples! Rush +comes the rain, and the gas-lamps are dimmed; whoo-oo comes the wind +like a smack; cold drops get in the ears and eyes; clean wristbands are +splotched; greasy mud splashed over shining boots; some one knocks the +umbrella round, and the blast all but turns it. "Wake up!"--"Now +then--stop here all night?"--"Gone to sleep?" They shout, they curse, +they put their hands to their mouths trumpet wise and bellow at each +other, these cabbies, vanmen, busmen, all angry at the block in the +narrow way. The 'bus-driver, with London stout, and plenty of it, +polishing his round cheeks like the brasswork of a locomotive, his neck +well wound and buttressed with thick comforter and collar, heedeth not, +but goes on his round, now fast, now slow, always stolid and rubicund, +the rain running harmlessly from him as if he were oiled. The +conductor, perched like the showman's monkey behind, hops and twists, +and turns now on one foot and now on the other as if the plate were +red-hot; now holds on with one hand, and now dexterously shifts his +grasp; now shouts to the crowd and waves his hands towards the +pavement, and again looks round the edge of the 'bus forwards and +curses somebody vehemently. "Near side up! Look alive! Full +inside"--curses, curses, curses; rain, rain, rain, and no one can tell +which is most plentiful. + +The cab-horse's head comes nearly inside the 'bus, the 'bus-pole +threatens to poke the hansom in front; the brougham would be careful, +for varnish sake, but is wedged and must take its chance; van-wheels +catch omnibus hubs; hurry, scurry, whip, and drive; slip, slide, bump, +rattle, jar, jostle, an endless stream clattering on, in, out, and +round. On, on--"Stanley, on"--the first and last words of cabby's life; +on, on, the one law of existence in a London street--drive on, stumble +or stand, drive on--strain sinews, crack, splinter--drive on; what a +sight to watch as you wait amid the newsvendors and bonnetless girls +for the 'bus that will not come! Is it real? It seems like a dream, +those nightmare dreams in which you know that you must run, and do run, +and yet cannot lift the legs that are heavy as lead, with the demon +behind pursuing, the demon of Drive-on. Move, or cease to be--pass out +of Time or be stirring quickly; if you stand you must suffer even here +on the pavement, splashed with greasy mud, shoved by coarse ruffianism, +however good your intentions--just dare to stand still! Ideas here for +moralising, but I can't preach with the roar and the din and the wet in +my ears, and the flickering street lamps flaring. That's the 'bus--no; +the tarpaulin hangs down and obscures the inscription; yes. Hi! No +heed; how could you be so confiding as to imagine conductor or driver +would deign to see a signalling passenger; the game is to drive on. + +A gentleman makes a desperate rush and grabs the handrail; his foot +slips on the asphalt or wood, which is like oil, he slides, his hat +totters; happily he recovers himself and gets in. In the block the 'bus +is stayed a moment, and somehow we follow, and are landed--"somehow" +advisedly. For how do we get into a 'bus? After the pavement, even this +hard seat would be nearly an easy-chair, were it not for the damp smell +of soaked overcoats, the ceaseless rumble, and the knockings overhead +outside. The noise is immensely worse than the shaking or the steamy +atmosphere, the noise ground into the ears, and wearying the mind to a +state of drowsy narcotism--you become chloroformed through the sense of +hearing, a condition of dreary resignation and uncomfortable ease. The +illuminated shops seem to pass like an endless window without division +of doors; there are groups of people staring in at them in spite of the +rain; ill-clad, half-starving people for the most part; the +well-dressed hurry onwards; they have homes. A dull feeling of +satisfaction creeps over you that you are at least in shelter; the +rumble is a little better than the wind and the rain and the puddles. +If the Greek sculptors were to come to life again and cut us out in +bas-relief for another Parthenon, they would have to represent us +shuffling along, heads down and coat-tails flying, splash-splosh--a +nation of umbrellas. + +Under a broad archway, gaily lighted, the broad and happy way to a +theatre, there is a small crowd waiting, and among them two ladies, +with their backs to the photographs and bills, looking out into the +street. They stand side by side, evidently quite oblivious and +indifferent to the motley folk about them, chatting and laughing, +taking the wet and windy wretchedness of the night as a joke. They are +both plump and rosy-cheeked, dark eyes gleaming and red lips parted; +both decidedly good-looking, much too rosy and full-faced, too well fed +and comfortable to take a prize from Burne-Jones, very worldly people +in the roast-beef sense. Their faces glow in the bright light--merry +sea coal-fire faces; they have never turned their backs on the good +things of this life. "Never shut the door on good fortune," as Queen +Isabella of Spain says. Wind and rain may howl and splash, but here are +two faces they never have touched--rags and battered shoes drift along +the pavement--no wet feet or cold necks here. Best of all they glow +with good spirits, they laugh, they chat; they are full of enjoyment, +clothed thickly with health and happiness, as their shoulders--good +wide shoulders--are thickly wrapped in warmest furs. The 'bus goes on, +and they are lost to view; if you came back in an hour you would find +them still there without doubt--still jolly, chatting, smiling, waiting +perhaps for the stage, but anyhow far removed, like the goddesses on +Olympus, from the splash and misery of London. Drive on. + +The head of a great grey horse in a van drawn up by the pavement, the +head and neck stand out and conquer the rain and misty dinginess by +sheer force of beauty, sheer strength of character. He turns his +head--his neck forms a fine curve, his face is full of intelligence, in +spite of the half dim light and the driving rain, of the thick +atmosphere, and the black hollow of the covered van behind, his head +and neck stand out, just as in old portraits the face is still bright, +though surrounded with crusted varnish. It would be a glory to any man +to paint him. Drive on. + +How strange the dim, uncertain faces of the crowd, half-seen, seem in +the hurry and rain; faces held downwards and muffled by the +darkness--not quite human in their eager and intensely concentrated +haste. No one thinks of or notices another--on, on--splash, shove, and +scramble; an intense selfishness, so selfish as not to be selfish, if +that can be understood, so absorbed as to be past observing that any +one lives but themselves. Human beings reduced to mere hurrying +machines, worked by wind and rain, and stern necessities of life; +driven on; something very hard and unhappy in the thought of this. They +seem reduced to the condition of the wooden cabs--the mere +vehicles--pulled along by the irresistible horse Circumstance. They +shut their eyes mentally, wrap themselves in the overcoat of +indifference, and drive on, drive on. It is time to get out at last. +The 'bus stops on one side of the street, and you have to cross to the +other. Look up and down--lights are rushing each way, but for the +moment none are close. The gas-lamps shine in the puddles of thick +greasy water, and by their gleam you can guide yourself round them. Cab +coming! Surely he will give way a little and not force you into that +great puddle; no, he neither sees, nor cares, Drive on, drive on. Qick! +the shafts! Step in the puddle and save your life! + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Open Air, by Richard Jefferies + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OPEN AIR *** + +***** This file should be named 6981.txt or 6981.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/9/8/6981/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, +Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Open Air + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6981] +[This file was first posted on February 19, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE OPEN AIR *** + + + + +Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE OPEN AIR + + + +RICHARD JEFFERIES + + + + + +NOTE + +For permission to collect these papers my thanks are due to the +Editors of the following publications: _The Standard_, _English +Illustrated Magazine_, _Longman's Magazine_, _St. James's Gazette_, +_Chambers's Journal_, _Manchester Guardian_, _Good Words_, and _Pall Mall +Gazette_. + R.J. + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +SAINT GUIDO + +GOLDEN-BROWN + +WILD FLOWERS + +SUNNY BRIGHTON + +THE PINE WOOD + +NATURE ON THE ROOF + +ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS + +THE MODERN THAMES + +THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN + +THE HAUNT OF THE HARE + +THE BATHING SEASON + +UNDER THE ACORNS + +DOWNS + +FOREST + +BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY + +OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY + +HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING + +OUTSIDE LONDON + +ON THE LONDON ROAD + +RED ROOFS OF LONDON + +A WET NIGHT IN LONDON + + + + +SAINT GUIDO + + +St. Guido ran out at the garden gate into a sandy lane, and down the lane +till he came to a grassy bank. He caught hold of the bunches of grass and +so pulled himself up. There was a footpath on the top which went straight +in between fir-trees, and as he ran along they stood on each side of him +like green walls. They were very near together, and even at the top the +space between them was so narrow that the sky seemed to come down, and +the clouds to be sailing but just over them, as if they would catch and +tear in the fir-trees. The path was so little used that it had grown +green, and as he ran he knocked dead branches out of his way. Just as he +was getting tired of running he reached the end of the path, and came out +into a wheat-field. The wheat did not grow very closely, and the spaces +were filled with azure corn-flowers. St. Guido thought he was safe away +now, so he stopped to look. + +Those thoughts and feelings which are not sharply defined but have a haze +of distance and beauty about them are always the dearest. His name was +not really Guido, but those who loved him had called him so in order to +try and express their hearts about him. For they thought if a great +painter could be a little boy, then he would be something like this one. +They were not very learned in the history of painters: they had heard of +Raphael, but Raphael was too elevated, too much of the sky, and of +Titian, but Titian was fond of feminine loveliness, and in the end +somebody said Guido was a dreamy name, as if it belonged to one who was +full of faith. Those golden curls shaking about his head as he ran and +filling the air with radiance round his brow, looked like a Nimbus or +circlet of glory. So they called him St. Guido, and a very, very wild +saint he was. + +St. Guido stopped in the cornfield, and looked all round. There were the +fir-trees behind him--a thick wall of green--hedges on the right and the +left, and the wheat sloped down towards an ash-copse in the hollow. No +one was in the field, only the fir-trees, the green hedges, the yellow +wheat, and the sun overhead, Guido kept quite still, because he expected +that in a minute the magic would begin, and something would speak to him. +His cheeks which had been flushed with running grew less hot, but I +cannot tell you the exact colour they were, for his skin was so white and +clear, it would not tan under the sun, yet being always out of doors it +had taken the faintest tint of golden brown mixed with rosiness. His blue +eyes which had been wide open, as they always were when full of mischief, +became softer, and his long eyelashes drooped over them. But as the magic +did not begin, Guido walked on slowly into the wheat, which rose nearly +to his head, though it was not yet so tall as it would be before the +reapers came. He did not break any of the stalks, or bend them down and +step on them; he passed between them, and they yielded on either side. +The wheat-ears were pale gold, having only just left off their green, and +they surrounded him on all sides as if he were bathing. + +A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating along +the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was a little +higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly was inclined to +settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the butterfly, forgetting +his secret in his desire to touch it. The butterfly was too quick--with a +snap of his wings disdainfully mocking the idea of catching him, away he +went. Guido nearly stepped on a humble-bee--buzz-zz!--the bee was so +alarmed he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even then +knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido kept +quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that he should +not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that humble-bees have +stings though people often say they have not, and the reason people think +they do not possess them is because humble-bees are so good-natured and +never sting unless they are very much provoked. + +Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller than the +great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were not golden but +coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, and he nearly +tumbled--it was a bine of bindweed which went twisting round and round +two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding them together as if some one had +wound string about them. There was one ear of wheat which had black +specks on it, and another which had so much black that the grains seemed +changed and gone leaving nothing but blackness. He touched it and it +stained his hands like a dark powder, and then he saw that it was not +perfectly black as charcoal is, it was a little red. Something was +burning up the corn there just as if fire had been set to the ears. Guido +went on and found another place where there was hardly any wheat at all, +and those stalks that grew were so short they only came above his knee. +The wheat-ears were thin and small, and looked as if there was nothing +but chaff. But this place being open was full of flowers, such lovely +azure cornflowers which the people call bluebottles. + +Guido took two; they were curious flowers with knobs surrounded with +little blue flowers like a lady's bonnet. They were a beautiful blue, not +like any other blue, not like the violets in the garden, or the sky over +the trees, or the geranium in the grass, or the bird's-eyes by the path. +He loved them and held them tight in his hand, and went on, leaving the +red pimpernel wide open to the dry air behind him, but the May-weed was +everywhere. The May-weed had white flowers like a moon-daisy, but not so +large, and leaves like moss. He could not walk without stepping on these +mossy tufts, though he did not want to hurt them. So he stooped and +stroked the moss-like leaves and said, "I do not want to hurt you, but +you grow so thick I cannot help it." In a minute afterwards as he was +walking he heard a quick rush, and saw the wheat-ears sway this way and +that as if a puff of wind had struck them. + +Guido stood still and his eyes opened very wide, he had forgotten to cut +a stick to fight with: he watched the wheat-ears sway, and could see them +move for some distance, and he did not know what it was. Perhaps it was a +wild boar or a yellow lion, or some creature no one had ever seen; he +would not go back, but he wished he had cut a nice stick. Just then a +swallow swooped down and came flying over the wheat so close that Guido +almost felt the flutter of his wings, and as he passed he whispered to +Guido that it was only a hare. "Then why did he run away?" said Guido; "I +should not have hurt him." But the swallow had gone up high into the sky +again, and did not hear him. All the time Guido was descending the slope, +for little feet always go down the hill as water does, and when he looked +back he found that he had left the fir-trees so far behind he was in the +middle of the field. If any one had looked they could hardly have seen +him, and if he had taken his cap off they could not have done so because +the yellow curls would be so much the same colour as the yellow corn. He +stooped to see how nicely he could hide himself, then he knelt, and in a +minute sat down, so that the wheat rose up high above him. + +Another humble-bee went over along the tips of the wheat--burr-rr--as he +passed; then a scarlet fly, and next a bright yellow wasp who was telling +a friend flying behind him that he knew where there was such a capital +piece of wood to bite up into tiny pieces and make into paper for the +nest in the thatch, but his friend wanted to go to the house because +there was a pear quite ripe there on the wall. Next came a moth, and +after the moth a golden fly, and three gnats, and a mouse ran along the +dry ground with a curious sniffling rustle close to Guido. A shrill cry +came down out of the air, and looking up he saw two swifts turning +circles, and as they passed each other they shrieked--their voices were +so shrill they shrieked. They were only saying that in a month their +little swifts in the slates would be able to fly. While he sat so quiet +on the ground and hidden by the wheat, he heard a cuckoo such a long way +off it sounded like a watch when it is covered up. "Cuckoo" did not come +full and distinct--it was such a tiny little "cuckoo" caught in the +hollow of Guido's ear. The cuckoo must have been a mile away. + +Suddenly he thought something went over, and yet he did not see +it--perhaps it was the shadow--and he looked up and saw a large bird not +very far up, not farther than he could fling, or shoot his arrows, and +the bird was fluttering his wings, but did not move away farther, as if +he had been tied in the air. Guido knew it was a hawk, and the hawk was +staying there to see if there was a mouse or a little bird in the wheat. +After a minute the hawk stopped fluttering and lifted his wings together +as a butterfly does when he shuts his, and down the hawk came, straight +into the corn. "Go away!" shouted Guido jumping up, and flinging his cap, +and the hawk, dreadfully frightened and terribly cross, checked himself +and rose again with an angry rush. So the mouse escaped, but Guido could +not find his cap for some time. Then he went on, and still the ground +sloping sent him down the hill till he came close to the copse. + +Some sparrows came out from the copse, and he stopped and saw one of them +perch on a stalk of wheat, with one foot above the other sideways, so +that he could pick at the ear and get the corn. Guido watched the sparrow +clear the ear, then he moved, and the sparrows flew back to the copse, +where they chattered at him for disturbing them. There was a ditch +between the corn and the copse, and a streamlet; he picked up a stone and +threw it in, and the splash frightened a rabbit, who slipped over the +bank and into a hole. The boughs of an oak reached out across to the +corn, and made so pleasant a shade that Guido, who was very hot from +walking in the sun, sat down on the bank of the streamlet with his feet +dangling over it, and watched the floating grass sway slowly as the water +ran. Gently he leaned back till his back rested on the sloping ground--he +raised one knee, and left the other foot over the verge where the tip of +the tallest rushes touched it. Before he had been there a minute he +remembered the secret which a fern had taught him. + +First, if he wanted to know anything, or to hear a story, or what the +grass was saying, or the oak-leaves singing, he must be careful not to +interfere as he had done just now with the butterfly by trying to catch +him. Fortunately, that butterfly was a nice butterfly, and very +kindhearted, but sometimes, if you interfered with one thing, it would +tell another thing, and they would all know in a moment, and stop +talking, and never say a word. Once, while they were all talking +pleasantly, Guido caught a fly in his hand, he felt his hand tickle as +the fly stepped on it, and he shut up his little fist so quickly he +caught the fly in the hollow between the palm and his fingers. The fly +went buzz, and rushed to get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed +again, and just told the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and +everything knew in a moment, and Guido never heard another word all that +day. Yet sometimes now they all knew something about him, they would go +on talking. You see, they all rather petted and spoiled him. Next, if +Guido did not hear them conversing, the fern said he must touch a little +piece of grass and put it against his cheek, or a leaf, and kiss it, and +say, "Leaf, leaf, tell them I am here." + +Now, while he was lying down, and the tip of the rushes touched his foot, +he remembered this, so he moved the rush with his foot and said, "Rush, +rush, tell them I am here." Immediately there came a little wind, and the +wheat swung to and fro, the oak-leaves rustled, the rushes bowed, and the +shadows slipped forwards and back again. Then it was still, and the +nearest wheat-ear to Guido nodded his head, and said in a very low tone, +"Guido, dear, just this minute I do not feel very happy, although the +sunshine is so warm, because I have been thinking, for we have been in +one or other of these fields of your papa's a thousand years this very +year. Every year we have been sown, and weeded, and reaped, and garnered. +Every year the sun has ripened us and the rain made us grow; every year +for a thousand years." + +"What did you see all that time?" said Guido. + +"The swallows came," said the Wheat, "and flew over us, and sang a little +sweet song, and then they went up into the chimneys and built their +nests." + +"At my house?" said Guido. + +"Oh, no, dear, the house I was then thinking of is gone, like a leaf +withered and lost. But we have not forgotten any of the songs they sang +us, nor have the swallows that you see to-day--one of them spoke to you +just now--forgotten what we said to their ancestors. Then the blackbirds +came out in us and ate the creeping creatures, so that they should not +hurt us, and went up into the oaks and whistled such beautiful sweet low +whistles. Not in those oaks, dear, where the blackbirds whistle to-day; +even the very oaks have gone, though they were so strong that one of them +defied the lightning, and lived years and years after it struck him. One +of the very oldest of the old oaks in the copse, dear, is his grandchild. +If you go into the copse you will find an oak which has only one branch; +he is so old, he has only that branch left. He sprang up from an acorn +dropped from an oak that grew from an acorn dropped from the oak the +lightning struck. So that is three oak lives, Guido dear, back to the +time I was thinking of just now. And that oak under whose shadow you are +now lying is the fourth of them, and he is quite young, though he is so +big. + +"A jay sowed the acorn from which he grew up; the jay was in the oak with +one branch, and some one frightened him, and as he flew he dropped the +acorn which he had in his bill just there, and now you are lying in the +shadow of the tree. So you see, it is a very long time ago, when the +blackbirds came and whistled up in those oaks I was thinking of, and that +was why I was not very happy." + +"But you have heard the blackbirds whistling ever since?" said Guido; +"and there was such a big black one up in our cherry tree this morning, +and I shot my arrow at him and very nearly hit him. Besides, there is a +blackbird whistling now--you listen. There, he's somewhere in the copse. +Why can't you listen to him, and be happy now?" + +"I will be happy, dear, as you are here, but still it is a long, long +time, and then I think, after I am dead, and there is more wheat in my +place, the blackbirds will go on whistling for another thousand years +after me. For of course I did not hear them all that time ago myself, +dear, but the wheat which was before me heard them and told me. They told +me, too, and I know it is true, that the cuckoo came and called all day +till the moon shone at night, and began again in the morning before the +dew had sparkled in the sunrise. The dew dries very soon on wheat, Guido +dear, because wheat is so dry; first the sunrise makes the tips of the +wheat ever so faintly rosy, then it grows yellow, then as the heat +increases it becomes white at noon, and golden in the afternoon, and +white again under the moonlight. Besides which wide shadows come over +from the clouds, and a wind always follows the shadow and waves us, and +every time we sway to and fro that alters our colour. A rough wind gives +us one tint, and heavy rain another, and we look different on a cloudy +day to what we do on a sunny one. All these colours changed on us when +the blackbird was whistling in the oak the lightning struck, the fourth +one backwards from me; and it makes me sad to think that after four more +oaks have gone, the same colours will come on the wheat that will grow +then. It is thinking about those past colours, and songs, and leaves, and +of the colours and the sunshine, and the songs, and the leaves that will +come in the future that makes to-day so much. It makes to-day a thousand +years long backwards, and a thousand years long forwards, and makes the +sun so warm, and the air so sweet, and the butterflies so lovely, and the +hum of the bees, and everything so delicious. We cannot have enough of +it." + +"No, that we cannot," said Guido. "Go on, you talk so nice and low. I +feel sleepy and jolly. Talk away, old Wheat." + +"Let me see," said the Wheat. "Once on a time while the men were knocking +us out of the ear on a floor with flails, which are sticks with little +hinges--" + +"As if I did not know what a flail was!" said Guido. "I hit old John with +the flail, and Ma gave him a shilling not to be cross." + +"While they were knocking us with the hard sticks," the Wheat went on, +"we heard them talking about a king who was shot with an arrow like yours +in the forest--it slipped from a tree, and went into him instead of into +the deer. And long before that the men came up the river--the stream in +the ditch there runs into the river--in rowing ships--how you would like +one to play in, Guido! For they were not like the ships now which are +machines, they were rowing ships--men's ships--and came right up into the +land ever so far, all along the river up to the place where the stream in +the ditch runs in; just where your papa took you in the punt, and you got +the waterlilies, the white ones." + +"And wetted my sleeve right up my arm--oh, I know! I can row you, old +Wheat; I can row as well as my papa can." + +"But since the rowing ships came, the ploughs have turned up this ground +a thousand times," said the Wheat; "and each time the furrows smelt +sweeter, and this year they smelt sweetest of all. The horses have such +glossy coats, and such fine manes, and they are so strong and beautiful. +They drew the ploughs along and made the ground give up its sweetness and +savour, and while they were doing it, the spiders in the copse spun their +silk along from the ashpoles, and the mist in the morning weighed down +their threads. It was so delicious to come out of the clods as we pushed +our green leaves up and felt the rain, and the wind, and the warm sun. +Then a little bird came in the copse and called, 'Sip-sip, sip, sip, +sip,' such a sweet low song, and the larks ran along the ground in +between us, and there were bluebells in the copse, and anemones; till +by-and-by the sun made us yellow, and the blue flowers that you have in +your hand came out. I cannot tell you how many there have been of these +flowers since the oak was struck by the lightning, in all the thousand +years there must have been altogether--I cannot tell you how many." + +"Why didn't I pick them all?" said Guido. + +"Do you know," said the Wheat, "we have thought so much more, and felt so +much more, since your people took us, and ploughed for us, and sowed us, +and reaped us. We are not like the same wheat we used to be before your +people touched us, when we grew wild, and there were huge great things in +the woods and marshes which I will not tell you about lest you should be +frightened. Since we have felt your hands, and you have touched us, we +have felt so much more. Perhaps that was why I was not very happy till +you came, for I was thinking quite as much about your people as about us, +and how all the flowers of all those thousand years, and all the songs, +and the sunny days were gone, and all the people were gone too, who had +heard the blackbirds whistle in the oak the lightning struck. And those +that are alive now--there will be cuckoos calling, and the eggs in the +thrushes' nests, and blackbirds whistling, and blue cornflowers, a +thousand years after every one of them is gone. + +"So that is why it is so sweet this minute, and why I want you, and your +people, dear, to be happy now and to have all these things, and to agree +so as not to be so anxious and careworn, but to come out with us, or sit +by us, and listen to the blackbirds, and hear the wind rustle us, and be +happy. Oh, I wish I could make them happy, and do away with all their +care and anxiety, and give you all heaps and heaps of flowers! Don't go +away, darling, do you lie still, and I will talk and sing to you, and you +can pick some more flowers when you get up. There is a beautiful shadow +there, and I heard the streamlet say that he would sing a little to you; +he is not very big, he cannot sing very loud. By-and-by, I know, the sun +will make us as dry as dry, and darker, and then the reapers will come +while the spiders are spinning their silk again--this time it will come +floating in the blue air, for the air seems blue if you look up. + +"It is a great joy to your people, dear, when the reaping time arrives: +the harvest is a great joy to you when the thistledown comes rolling +along in the wind. So that I shall be happy even when the reapers cut me +down, because I know it is for you, and your people, my love. The strong +men will come to us gladly, and the women, and the little children will +sit in the shade and gather great white trumpets of convolvulus, and come +to tell their mothers how they saw the young partridges in the next +field. But there is one thing we do not like, and that is, all the labour +and the misery. Why cannot your people have us without so much labour, +and why are so many of you unhappy? Why cannot they be all happy with us +as you are, dear? For hundreds and hundreds of years now the wheat every +year has been sorrowful for your people, and I think we get more +sorrowful every year about it, because as I was telling you just now the +flowers go, and the swallows go, the old, old oaks go, and that oak will +go, under the shade of which you are lying, Guido; and if your people do +not gather the flowers now, and watch the swallows, and listen to the +blackbirds whistling, as you are listening now while I talk, then Guido, +my love, they will never pick any flowers, nor hear any birds' songs. +They think they will, they think that when they have toiled, and worked a +long time, almost all their lives, then they will come to the flowers, +and the birds, and be joyful in the sunshine. But no, it will not be so, +for then they will be old themselves, and their ears dull, and their eyes +dim, so that the birds will sound a great distance off, and the flowers +will not seem bright. + +"Of course, we know that the greatest part of your people cannot help +themselves, and must labour on like the reapers till their ears are full +of the dust of age. That only makes us more sorrowful, and anxious that +things should be different. I do not suppose we should think about them +had we not been in man's hand so long that now we have got to feel with +man. Every year makes it more pitiful because then there are more flowers +gone, and added to the vast numbers of those gone before, and never +gathered or looked at, though they could have given so much pleasure. And +all the work and labour, and thinking, and reading and learning that your +people do ends in nothing--not even one flower. We cannot understand why +it should be so. There are thousands of wheat-ears in this field, more +than you would know how to write down with your pencil, though you have +learned your tables, sir. Yet all of us thinking, and talking, cannot +understand why it is when we consider how clever your people are, and how +they bring ploughs, and steam-engines, and put up wires along the roads +to tell you things when you are miles away, and sometimes we are sown +where we can hear the hum, hum, all day of the children learning in the +school. The butterflies flutter over us, and the sun shines, and the +doves are very, very happy at their nest, but the children go on hum, hum +inside this house, and learn, learn. So we suppose you must be very +clever, and yet you cannot manage this. All your work is wasted, and you +labour in vain--you dare not leave it a minute. + +"If you left it a minute it would all be gone; it does not mount up and +make a store, so that all of you could sit by it and be happy. Directly +you leave off you are hungry, and thirsty, and miserable like the beggars +that tramp along the dusty road here. All the thousand years of labour +since this field was first ploughed have not stored up anything for you. +It would not matter about the work so much if you were only happy; the +bees work every year, but they are happy; the doves build a nest every +year, but they are very, very happy. We think it must be because you do +not come out to us and be with us, and think more as we do. It is not +because your people have not got plenty to eat and drink--you have as +much as the bees. Why just look at us! Look at the wheat that grows all +over the world; all the figures that were ever written in pencil could +not tell how much, it is such an immense quantity. Yet your people starve +and die of hunger every now and then, and we have seen the wretched +beggars tramping along the road. We have known of times when there was a +great pile of us, almost a hill piled up, it was not in this country, it +was in another warmer country, and yet no one dared to touch it--they +died at the bottom of the hill of wheat. The earth is full of skeletons +of people who have died of hunger. They are dying now this minute in your +big cities, with nothing but stones all round them, stone walls and stone +streets; not jolly stones like those you threw in the water, dear--hard, +unkind stones that make them cold and let them die, while we are growing +here, millions of us, in the sunshine with the butterflies floating over +us. This makes us unhappy; I was very unhappy this morning till you came +running over and played with us. + +"It is not because there is not enough: it is because your people are so +short-sighted, so jealous and selfish, and so curiously infatuated with +things that are not so good as your old toys which you have flung away +and forgotten. And you teach the children hum, hum, all day to care about +such silly things, and to work for them and to look to them as the object +of their lives. It is because you do not share us among you without price +or difference; because you do not share the great earth among you fairly, +without spite and jealousy and avarice; because you will not agree; you +silly, foolish people to let all the flowers wither for a thousand years +while you keep each other at a distance, instead of agreeing and sharing +them! Is there something in you--as there is poison in the nightshade, +you know it, dear, your papa told you not to touch it--is there a sort of +poison in your people that works them up into a hatred of one another? +Why, then, do you not agree and have all things, all the great earth can +give you, just as we have the sunshine and the rain? How happy your +people could be if they would only agree! But you go on teaching even the +little children to follow the same silly objects, hum, hum, hum, all the +day, and they will grow up to hate each other, and to try which can get +the most round things--you have one in your pocket." + +"Sixpence," said Guido. "It's quite a new one." + +"And other things quite as silly," the Wheat continued. "All the time the +flowers are flowering, but they will go, even the oaks will go. We think +the reason you do not all have plenty, and why you do not do only just a +little work, and why you die of hunger if you leave off, and why so many +of you are unhappy in body and mind, and all the misery is because you +have not got a spirit like the wheat, like us; you will not agree, and +you will not share, and you will hate each other, and you will be so +avaricious, and you will _not_ touch the flowers, or go into the sunshine +(you would rather half of you died among the hard stones first), and you +will teach your children hum, hum, to follow in some foolish course that +has caused you all this unhappiness a thousand years, and you will _not_ +have a spirit like us, and feel like us. Till you have a spirit like us, +and feel like us, you will never, never be happy. Lie still, dear; the +shadow of the oak is broad and will not move from you for a long time +yet." + +"But perhaps Paul will come up to my house, and Percy and Morna." + +"Look up in the oak very quietly, don't move, just open your eyes and +look," said the Wheat, who was very cunning. Guido looked and saw a +lovely little bird climbing up a branch. It was chequered, black and +white, like a very small magpie, only without such a long tail, and it +had a spot of red about its neck. It was a pied woodpecker, not the large +green woodpecker, but another kind. Guido saw it go round the branch, and +then some way up, and round again till it came to a place that pleased +it, and then the woodpecker struck the bark with its bill, tap-tap. The +sound was quite loud, ever so much more noise than such a tiny bill +seemed able to make. Tap-tap! If Guido had not been still so that the +bird had come close he would never have found it among the leaves. +Tap-tap! After it had picked out all the insects there, the woodpecker +flew away over the ashpoles of the copse. + +"I should just like to stroke him," said Guido. "If I climbed up into the +oak perhaps he would come again, and I could catch him." + +"No," said the Wheat, "he only comes once a day," + +"Then tell me stories," said Guido, imperiously. + +"I will if I can," said the Wheat. "Once upon a time, when the oak the +lightning struck was still living, and when the wheat was green in this +very field, a man came staggering out of the wood, and walked out into +it. He had an iron helmet on, and he was wounded, and his blood stained +the green wheat red as he walked. He tried to get to the streamlet, which +was wider then, Guido dear, to drink, for he knew it was there, but he +could not reach it. He fell down and died in the green wheat, dear, for +he was very much hurt with a sharp spear, but more so with hunger and +thirst." + +"I am so sorry," said Guido; "and now I look at you, why you are all +thirsty and dry, you nice old Wheat, and the ground is as dry as dry +under you; I will get you something to drink." + +And down he scrambled into the ditch, setting his foot firm on a root, +for though he was so young, he knew how to get down to the water without +wetting his feet, or falling in, and how to climb up a tree, and +everything jolly. Guido dipped his hand in the streamlet, and flung the +water over the wheat, five or six good sprinklings till the drops hung on +the wheat-ears. Then he said, "Now you are better." + +"Yes, dear, thank you, my love," said the Wheat, who was very pleased, +though of course the water was not enough to wet its roots. Still it was +pleasant, like a very little shower. Guido lay down on his chest this +time, with his elbows on the ground, propping his head up, and as he now +faced the wheat he could see in between the stalks. + +"Lie still," said the Wheat, "the corncrake is not very far off, he has +come up here since your papa told the mowers to mow the meadow, and very +likely if you stay quiet you will see him. If you do not understand all I +say, never mind, dear; the sunshine is warm, but not too warm in the +shade, and we all love you, and want you to be as happy as ever you can +be." + +"It is jolly to be quite hidden like this," said Guido. "No one could +find me; if Paul were to look all day he would never find me; even Papa +could not find me. Now go on and tell me stories." + +"Ever so many times, when the oak the lightning struck was young," said +the Wheat, "great stags used to come out of the wood and feed on the +green wheat; it was early in the morning when they came. Such great +stags, and so proud, and yet so timid, the least thing made them go +bound, bound, bound." + +"Oh, I know!" said Guido; "I saw some jump over the fence in the +forest--I am going there again soon. If I take my bow I will shoot one!" + +"But there are no deer here now," said the Wheat; "they have been gone a +long, long time; though I think your papa has one of their antlers," + +"Now, how did you know that?" said Guido; "you have never been to our +house, and you cannot see in from here because the fir copse is in the +way; how do you find out these things?" + +"Oh!" said the Wheat, laughing, "we have lots of ways of finding out +things. Don't you remember the swallow that swooped down and told you not +to be frightened at the hare? The swallow has his nest at your house, and +he often flies by your windows and looks in, and he told me. The birds +tell us lots of things, and all about what is over the sea." + +"But that is not a story," said Guido. + +"Once upon a time," said the Wheat, "when the oak the lightning struck +was alive, your papa's papa's papa, ever so much farther back than that, +had all the fields round here, all that you can see from Acre Hill. And +do you know it happened that in time every one of them was lost or sold, +and your family, Guido dear, were homeless--no house, no garden or +orchard, and no dogs or guns, or anything jolly. One day the papa that +was then came along the road with _his_ little Guido, and they were +beggars, dear, and had no place to sleep, and they slept all night in the +wheat in this very field close to where the hawthorn bush grows +now--where you picked the May flowers, you know, my love. They slept +there all the summer night, and the fern owls flew to and fro, and the +bats and crickets chirped, and the stars shone faintly, as if they were +made pale by the heat. The poor papa never had a house, but that little +Guido lived to grow up a great man, and he worked so hard, and he was so +clever, and every one loved him, which was the best of all things. He +bought this very field and then another, and another, and got such a lot +of the old fields back again, and the goldfinches sang for joy, and so +did the larks and the thrushes, because they said what a kind man he was. +Then his son got some more of them, till at last your papa bought ever so +many more. But we often talk about the little boy who slept in the wheat +in this field, which was his father's father's field. If only the wheat +then could have helped him, and been kind to him, you may be sure it +would. We love you so much we like to see the very crumbs left by the men +who do the hoeing when they eat their crusts; we wish they could have +more to eat, but we like to see their crumbs, which you know are made of +wheat, so that we have done them some good at least." + +"That's not a story," said Guido. + +"There's a gold coin here somewhere," said the Wheat, "such a pretty one, +it would make a capital button for your jacket, dear, or for your mamma; +that is all any sort of money is good for; I wish all the coins were made +into buttons for little Guido." + +"Where is it?" said Guido. + +"I can't exactly tell where it is," said the Wheat. "It was very near me +once, and I thought the next thunder's rain would wash it down into the +streamlet--it has been here ever so long, it came here first just after +the oak the lightning split died. And it has been rolled about by the +ploughs ever since, and no one has ever seen it; I thought it must go +into the ditch at last, but when the men came to hoe one of them knocked +it back, and then another kicked it along--it was covered with earth--and +then, one day, a rook came and split the clod open with his bill, and +pushed the pieces first one side and then the other, and the coin went +one way, but I did not see; I must ask a humble-bee, or a mouse, or a +mole, or some one who knows more about it. It is very thin, so that if +the rook's bill had struck it, his strong bill would have made a dint in +it, and there is, I think, a ship marked on it." + +"Oh, I must have it! A ship! Ask a humble-bee directly; be quick!" + +Bang! There was a loud report, a gun had gone off in the copse. + +"That's my papa," shouted Guido. "I'm sure that was my papa's gun!" Up he +jumped, and getting down the ditch, stepped across the water, and, +seizing a hazel-bough to help himself, climbed up the bank. At the top he +slipped through the fence by the oak and so into the copse. He was in +such a hurry he did not mind the thistles or the boughs that whipped him +as they sprang back, he scrambled through, meeting the vapour of the +gunpowder and the smell of sulphur. In a minute he found a green path, +and in the path was his papa, who had just shot a cruel crow. The crow +had been eating the birds' eggs, and picking the little birds to pieces. + + + +GOLDEN-BROWN + + +Three fruit-pickers--women--were the first people I met near the village +(in Kent). They were clad in "rags and jags," and the face of the eldest +was in "jags" also. It was torn and scarred by time and weather; +wrinkled, and in a manner twisted like the fantastic turns of a gnarled +tree-trunk, hollow and decayed. Through these jags and tearings of +weather, wind, and work, the nakedness of the countenance--the barren +framework--was visible; the cheekbones like knuckles, the chin of brown +stoneware, the upper-lip smooth, and without the short groove which +should appear between lip and nostrils. Black shadows dwelt in the +hollows of the cheeks and temples, and there was a blackness about the +eyes. This blackness gathers in the faces of the old who have been much +exposed to the sun, the fibres of the skin are scorched and half-charred, +like a stick thrust in the fire, and withdrawn before the flames seize +it. Beside her were two young women, both in the freshness of youth and +health. Their faces glowed with a golden-brown, and so great is the +effect of colour that their plain features were transfigured. The +sunlight under their faces made them beautiful. The summer light had been +absorbed by the skin and now shone forth from it again; as certain +substances exposed to the day absorb light and emit a phosphorescent +gleam in the darkness of night, so the sunlight had been drank up by the +surface of the skin, and emanated from it. + +Hour after hour in the gardens and orchards they worked in the full beams +of the sun, gathering fruit for the London market, resting at midday in +the shade of the elms in the corner. Even then they were in the +sunshine--even in the shade, for the air carries it, or its influence, as +it carries the perfumes of flowers. The heated air undulates over the +field in waves which are visible at a distance; near at hand they are not +seen, but roll in endless ripples through the shadows of the trees, +bringing with them the actinic power of the sun. Not actinic--alchemic-- +some intangible mysterious power which cannot be supplied in any other +form but the sun's rays. It reddens the cherry, it gilds the apple, it +colours the rose, it ripens the wheat, it touches a woman's face with +the golden-brown of ripe life--ripe as a plum. There is no other hue so +beautiful as this human sunshine tint. + +The great painters knew it--Rubens, for instance; perhaps he saw it on +the faces of the women who gathered fruit or laboured at the harvest in +the Low Countries centuries since. He could never have seen it in a city +of these northern climes, that is certain. Nothing in nature that I know, +except the human face, ever attains this colour. Nothing like it is ever +seen in the sky, either at dawn or sunset; the dawn is often golden, +often scarlet, or purple and gold; the sunset crimson, flaming bright, or +delicately grey and scarlet; lovely colours all of them, but not like +this. Nor is there any flower comparable to it, nor any gem. It is purely +human, and it is only found on the human face which has felt the sunshine +continually. There must, too, I suppose, be a disposition towards it, a +peculiar and exceptional condition of the fibres which build up the skin; +for of the numbers who work out of doors, very, very few possess it; they +become brown, red, or tanned, sometimes of a parchment hue--they do not +get this colour. + +These two women from the fruit gardens had the golden-brown in their +faces, and their plain features were transfigured. They were walking in +the dusty road; there was as background a high, dusty hawthorn hedge +which had lost the freshness of spring and was browned by the work of +caterpillars; they were in rags and jags, their shoes had split, and +their feet looked twice as wide in consequence. Their hands were black; +not grimy, but absolutely black, and neither hands nor necks ever knew +water, I am sure. There was not the least shape to their garments; their +dresses simply hung down in straight ungraceful lines; there was no +colour of ribbon or flower, to light up the dinginess. But they had the +golden-brown in their faces, and they were beautiful. + +The feet, as they walked, were set firm on the ground, and the body +advanced with measured, deliberate, yet lazy and confident grace; +shoulders thrown back--square, but not over-square (as those who have +been drilled); hips swelling at the side in lines like the full bust, +though longer drawn; busts well filled and shapely, despite the rags and +jags and the washed-out gaudiness of the shawl. There was that in their +cheeks that all the wealth of London could not purchase--a superb health +in their carriage princesses could not obtain. It came, then, from the +air and sunlight, and still more, from some alchemy unknown to the +physician or the physiologist, some faculty exercised by the body, +happily endowed with a special power of extracting the utmost richness +and benefit from the rudest elements. Thrice blessed and fortunate, +beautiful golden-brown in their cheeks, superb health in their gait, they +walked as the immortals on earth. + +As they passed they regarded me with bitter envy, jealousy, and hatred +written in their eyes; they cursed me in their hearts. I verily +believe--so unmistakably hostile were their glances--that had opportunity +been given, in the dead of night and far from help, they would gladly +have taken me unawares with some blow of stone or club, and, having +rendered me senseless, would have robbed me, and considered it a +righteous act. Not that there was any blood-thirstiness or exceptional +evil in their nature more than in that of the thousand-and-one toilers +that are met on the highway, but simply because they worked--such hard +work of hands and stooping backs, and I was idle, for all they knew. +Because they were going from one field of labour to another field of +labour, and I walked slowly and did no visible work. My dress showed no +stain, the weather had not battered it; there was no rent, no rags and +jags. At an hour when they were merely changing one place of work for +another place of work, to them it appeared that I had found idleness +indoors wearisome and had just come forth to exchange it for another +idleness. They saw no end to their labour; they had worked from +childhood, and could see no possible end to labour until limbs failed or +life closed. Why should they be like this? Why should I do nothing? They +were as good as I was, and they hated me. Their indignant glances spoke +it as plain as words, and far more distinctly than I can write it. You +cannot read it with such feeling as I received their looks. + +Beautiful golden-brown, superb health, what would I not give for these? +To be the thrice-blessed and chosen of nature, what inestimable fortune! +To be indifferent to any circumstances--to be quite thoughtless as to +draughts and chills, careless of heat, indifferent to the character of +dinners, able to do well on hard, dry bread, capable of sleeping in the +open under a rick, or some slight structure of a hurdle, propped on a few +sticks and roughly thatched with straw, and to sleep sound as an oak, and +wake strong as an oak in the morning-gods, what a glorious life! I envied +them; they fancied I looked askance at their rags and jags. I envied +them, and considered their health and hue ideal. I envied them that +unwearied step, that firm uprightness, and measured yet lazy gait, but +most of all the power which they possessed, though they did not exercise +it intentionally, of being always in the sunlight, the air, and abroad +upon the earth. If so they chose, and without stress or strain, they +could see the sunrise, they could be with him as it were--unwearied and +without distress--the livelong day; they could stay on while the moon +rose over the corn, and till the silent stars at silent midnight shone in +the cool summer night, and on and on till the cock crew and the faint +dawn appeared. The whole time in the open air, resting at mid-day under +the elms with the ripple of heat flowing through the shadow; at midnight +between the ripe corn and the hawthorn hedge on the white wild camomile +and the poppy pale in the duskiness, with face upturned to the thoughtful +heaven. + +Consider the glory of it, the life above this life to be obtained from +constant presence with the sunlight and the stars. I thought of them all +day, and envied them (as they envied me), and in the evening I found them +again. It was growing dark, and the shadow took away something of the +coarseness of the group outside one of the village "pothouses." Green +foliage overhung them and the men with whom they were drinking; the white +pipes, the blue smoke, the flash of a match, the red sign which had so +often swung to and fro in the gales now still in the summer eve, the rude +seats and blocks, the reaping-hooks bound about the edge with hay, the +white dogs creeping from knee to knee, some such touches gave an interest +to the scene. But a quarrel had begun; the men swore, but the women did +worse. It is impossible to give a hint of the language they used, +especially the elder of the three whose hollow face was blackened by time +and exposure. The two golden-brown girls were so heavily intoxicated they +could but stagger to and fro and mouth and gesticulate, and one held a +quart from which, as she moved, she spilled the ale. + + + +WILD FLOWERS + + +A fir-tree is not a flower, and yet it is associated in my mind with +primroses. There was a narrow lane leading into a wood, where I used to +go almost every day in the early months of the year, and at one corner it +was overlooked by three spruce firs. The rugged lane there began to +ascend the hill, and I paused a moment to look back. Immediately the high +fir-trees guided the eye upwards, and from their tops to the deep azure +of the March sky over, but a step from the tree to the heavens. So it has +ever been to me, by day or by night, summer or winter, beneath trees the +heart feels nearer to that depth of life the far sky means. The rest of +spirit found only in beauty, ideal and pure, comes there because the +distance seems within touch of thought. To the heaven thought can reach +lifted by the strong arms of the oak, carried up by the ascent of the +flame-shaped fir. Round the spruce top the blue was deepened, +concentrated by the fixed point; the memory of that spot, as it were, of +the sky is still fresh--I can see it distinctly--still beautiful and full +of meaning. It is painted in bright colour in my mind, colour thrice +laid, and indelible; as one passes a shrine and bows the head to the +Madonna, so I recall the picture and stoop in spirit to the aspiration it +yet arouses. For there is no saint like the sky, sunlight shining from +its face. + +The fir-tree flowered thus before the primroses--the first of all to give +me a bloom, beyond reach but visible, while even the hawthorn buds +hesitated to open. Primroses were late there, a high district and thin +soil; you could read of them as found elsewhere in January; they rarely +came much before March, and but sparingly then. On the warm red sand +(red, at least, to look at, but green by geological courtesy, I think) of +Sussex, round about Hurst of the Pierre-points, primroses are seen soon +after the year has turned. In the lanes about that curious old mansion, +with its windows reaching from floor to roof, that stands at the base of +Wolstanbury Hill, they grow early, and ferns linger in sheltered overhung +banks. The South Down range, like a great wall, shuts off the sea, and +has a different climate on either hand; south by the sea--hard, harsh, +flowerless, almost grassless, bitter, and cold; on the north side, just +over the hill--warm, soft, with primroses and fern, willows budding and +birds already busy. It is a double England there, two countries side by +side. + +On a summer's day Wolstanbury Hill is an island in sunshine; you may lie +on the grassy rampart, high up in the most delicate air--Grecian air, +pellucid--alone, among the butterflies and humming bees at the thyme, +alone and isolated; endless masses of hills on three sides, endless weald +or valley on the fourth; all warmly lit with sunshine, deep under liquid +sunshine like the sands under the liquid sea, no harshness of man-made +sound to break the insulation amid nature, on an island in a far Pacific +of sunshine. Some people would hesitate to walk down the staircase cut in +the turf to the beech-trees beneath; the woods look so small beneath, so +far down and steep, and no handrail. Many go to the Dyke, but none to +Wolstanbury Hill. To come over the range reminds one of what travellers +say of coming over the Alps into Italy; from harsh sea-slopes, made dry +with salt as they sow salt on razed cities that naught may grow, to warm +plains rich in all things, and with great hills as pictures hung on a +wall to gaze at. Where there are beech-trees the land is always +beautiful; beech-trees at the foot of this hill, beech-trees at Arundel +in that lovely park which the Duke of Norfolk, to his glory, leaves open +to all the world, and where the anemones flourish in unusual size and +number; beech-trees in Marlborough Forest; beech-trees at the summit to +which the lane leads that was spoken of just now. Beech and beautiful +scenery go together. + +But the primroses by that lane did not appear till late; they covered the +banks under the thousand thousand ash-poles; foxes slipped along there +frequently, whose friends in scarlet coats could not endure the pale +flowers, for they might chink their spurs homewards. In one meadow near +primroses were thicker than the grass, with gorse interspersed, and the +rabbits that came out fed among flowers. The primroses last on to the +celandines and cowslips, through the time of the bluebells, past the +violets--one dies but passes on the life to another, one sets light to +the next, till the ruddy oaks and singing cuckoos call up the tall mowing +grass to fringe summer. + +Before I had any conscious thought it was a delight to me to find wild +flowers, just to see them. It was a pleasure to gather them and to take +them home; a pleasure to show them to others--to keep them as long as +they would live, to decorate the room with them, to arrange them +carelessly with grasses, green sprays, tree-bloom--large branches of +chestnut snapped off, and set by a picture perhaps. Without conscious +thought of seasons and the advancing hours to light on the white wild +violet, the meadow orchis, the blue veronica, the blue meadow cranesbill; +feeling the warmth and delight of the increasing sun-rays, but not +recognising whence or why it was joy. All the world is young to a boy, +and thought has not entered into it; even the old men with grey hair do +not seem old; different but not aged, the idea of age has not been +mastered. A boy has to frown and study, and then does not grasp what long +years mean. The various hues of the petals pleased without any knowledge +of colour-contrasts, no note even of colour except that it was bright, +and the mind was made happy without consideration of those ideals and +hopes afterwards associated with the azure sky above the fir-tree. A +fresh footpath, a fresh flower, a fresh delight. The reeds, the grasses, +the rushes--unknown and new things at every step--something always to +find; no barren spot anywhere, or sameness. Every day the grass painted +anew, and its green seen for the first time; not the old green, but a +novel hue and spectacle, like the first view of the sea. + +If we had never before looked upon the earth, but suddenly came to it man +or woman grown, set down in the midst of a summer mead, would it not seem +to us a radiant vision? The hues, the shapes, the song and life of birds, +above all the sunlight, the breath of heaven, resting on it; the mind +would be filled with its glory, unable to grasp it, hardly believing that +such things could be mere matter and no more. Like a dream of some +spirit-land it would appear, scarce fit to be touched lest it should fall +to pieces, too beautiful to be long watched lest it should fade away. So +it seemed to me as a boy, sweet and new like this each morning; and even +now, after the years that have passed, and the lines they have worn in +the forehead, the summer mead shines as bright and fresh as when my foot +first touched the grass. It has another meaning now; the sunshine and the +flowers speak differently, for a heart that has once known sorrow reads +behind the page, and sees sadness in joy. But the freshness is still +there, the dew washes the colours before dawn. Unconscious happiness in +finding wild flowers--unconscious and unquestioning, and therefore +unbounded. + +I used to stand by the mower and follow the scythe sweeping down +thousands of the broad-flowered daisies, the knotted knapweeds, the blue +scabious, the yellow rattles, sweeping so close and true that nothing +escaped; and, yet although I had seen so many hundreds of each, although +I had lifted armfuls day after day, still they were fresh. They never +lost their newness, and even now each time I gather a wild flower it +feels a new thing. The greenfinches came to the fallen swathe so near to +us they seemed to have no fear; but I remember the yellowhammers most, +whose colour, like that of the wild flowers and the sky, has never faded +from my memory. The greenfinches sank into the fallen swathe, the loose +grass gave under their weight and let them bathe in flowers. + +One yellowhammer sat on a branch of ash the livelong morning, still +singing in the sun; his bright head, his clean bright yellow, gaudy as +Spain, was drawn like a brush charged heavily with colour across the +retina, painting it deeply, for there on the eye's memory it endures, +though that was boyhood and this is manhood, still unchanged. The field-- +Stewart's Mash--the very tree, young ash timber, the branch projecting +over the sward, I could make a map of them. Sometimes I think sun-painted +colours are brighter to me than to many, and more strongly affect the +nerves of the eye. Straw going by the road on a dusky winter's day seems +so pleasantly golden, the sheaves lying aslant at the top, and these +bundles of yellow tubes thrown up against the dark ivy on the opposite +wall. Tiles, red burned, or orange coated, the sea sometimes cleanly +definite, the shadows of trees in a thin wood where there is room for +shadows to form and fall; some such shadows are sharper than light, and +have a faint blue tint. Not only in summer but in cold winter, and not +only romantic things but plain matter-of-fact things, as a waggon freshly +painted red beside the wright's shop, stand out as if wet with colour and +delicately pencilled at the edges. It must be out of doors; nothing +indoors looks like this. + +Pictures are very dull and gloomy to it, and very contrasted colours like +those the French use are necessary to fix the attention. Their dashes of +pink and scarlet bring the faint shadow of the sun into the room. As for +our painters, their works are hung behind a curtain, and we have to peer +patiently through the dusk of evening to see what they mean. Out-of-door +colours do not need to be gaudy--a mere dull stake of wood thrust in the +ground often stands out sharper than the pink flashes of the French +studio; a faggot; the outline of a leaf; low tints without reflecting +power strike the eye as a bell the ear. To me they are intensely clear, +and the clearer the greater the pleasure. It is often too great, for it +takes me away from solid pursuits merely to receive the impression, as +water is still to reflect the trees. To me it is very painful when +illness blots the definition of outdoor things, so wearisome not to see +them rightly, and more oppressive than actual pain. I feel as if I was +struggling to wake up with dim, half-opened lids and heavy mind. This one +yellowhammer still sits on the ash branch in Stewart's Mash over the +sward, singing in the sun, his feathers freshly wet with colour, the same +sun-song, and will sing to me so long as the heart shall beat. + +The first conscious thought about wild flowers was to find out their +names--the first conscious pleasure,--and then I began to see so many +that I had not previously noticed. Once you wish to identify them there +is nothing escapes, down to the little white chickweed of the path and +the moss of the wall. I put my hand on the bridge across the brook to +lean over and look down into the water. Are there any fish? The bricks of +the pier are covered with green, like a wall-painting to the surface of +the stream, mosses along the lines of the mortar, and among the moss +little plants--what are these? In the dry sunlit lane I look up to the +top of the great wall about some domain, where the green figs look over +upright on their stalks; there are dry plants on the coping--what are +these? Some growing thus, high in the air, on stone, and in the chinks of +the tower, suspended in dry air and sunshine; some low down under the +arch of the bridge over the brook, out of sight utterly, unless you stoop +by the brink of the water and project yourself forward to examine under. +The kingfisher sees them as he shoots through the barrel of the culvert. +There the sun direct never shines upon them, but the sunlight thrown up +by the ripples runs all day in bright bars along the vault of the arch, +playing on them. The stream arranges the sand in the shallow in bars, +minute fixed undulations; the stream arranges the sunshine in successive +flashes, undulating as if the sun, drowsy in the heat, were idly closing +and unclosing his eyelids for sleep. + +Plants everywhere, hiding behind every tree, under the leaves, in the +shady places, behind the dry furrows of the field; they are only just +behind something, hidden openly. The instant you look for them they +multiply a hundredfold; if you sit on the beach and begin to count the +pebbles by you, their number instantly increases to infinity by virtue of +that conscious act. + +The bird's-foot lotus was the first. The boy must have seen it, must have +trodden on it in the bare woodland pastures, certainly run about on it, +with wet naked feet from the bathing; but the boy was not conscious of +it. This was the first, when the desire came to identify and to know, +fixing upon it by means of a pale and feeble picture. In the largest +pasture there were different soils and climates; it was so large it +seemed a little country of itself then--the more so because the ground +rose and fell, making a ridge to divide the view and enlarge by +uncertainty. The high sandy soil on the ridge where the rabbits had their +warren; the rocky soil of the quarry; the long grass by the elms where +the rooks built, under whose nests there were vast unpalatable +mushrooms--the true mushrooms with salmon gills grew nearer the warren; +the slope towards the nut-tree hedge and spring. Several climates in one +field: the wintry ridge over which leaves were always driving in all four +seasons of the year; the level sunny plain and fallen cromlech still tall +enough for a gnomon and to cast its shadow in the treeless drought; the +moist, warm, grassy depression; the lotus-grown slope, warm and dry. + +If you have been living in one house in the country for some time, and +then go on a visit to another, though hardly half a mile distant, you +will find a change in the air, the feeling, and tone of the place. It is +close by, but it is not the same. To discover these minute differences, +which make one locality healthy and home happy, and the next adjoining +unhealthy, the Chinese have invented the science of Feng-shui, spying +about with cabalistic mystery, casting the horoscope of an acre. There is +something in all superstitions; they are often the foundation of science. +Superstition having made the discovery, science composes a lecture on the +reason why, and claims the credit. Bird's-foot lotus means a fortunate +spot, dry, warm--so far as soil is concerned. If you were going to live +out of doors, you might safely build your kibitka where you found it. +Wandering with the pictured flower-book, just purchased, over the windy +ridge where last year's skeleton leaves, blown out from the alder copse +below, came on with grasshopper motion--lifted and laid down by the wind, +lifted and laid down--I sat on the sward of the sheltered slope, and +instantly recognised the orange-red claws of the flower beside me. That +was the first; and this very morning, I dread to consider how many years +afterwards, I found a plant on a wall which I do not know. I shall have +to trace out its genealogy and emblazon its shield. So many years and +still only at the beginning--the beginning, too, of the beginning--for +as yet I have not thought of the garden or conservatory flowers (which +are wild flowers somewhere), or of the tropics, or the prairies. + +The great stone of the fallen cromlech, crouching down afar off in the +plain behind me, cast its shadow in the sunny morn as it had done, so +many summers, for centuries--for thousands of years: worn white by the +endless sunbeams--the ceaseless flood of light--the sunbeams of +centuries, the impalpable beams polishing and grinding like rushing +water: silent, yet witnessing of the Past; shadowing the Present on the +dial of the field: a mere dull stone; but what is it the mind will not +employ to express to itself its own thoughts? + +There was a hollow near in which hundreds of skeleton leaves had settled, +a stage on their journey from the alder copse, so thick as to cover the +thin grass, and at the side of the hollow a wasp's nest had been torn out +by a badger. On the soft and spreading sand thrown out from his burrow +the print of his foot looked as large as an elephant might make. The wild +animals of our fields are so small that the badger's foot seemed foreign +in its size, calling up thought of the great game of distant forests. He +was a bold badger to make his burrow there in the open warren, +unprotected by park walls or preserve laws, where every one might see who +chose. I never saw him by daylight: that they do get about in daytime is, +however, certain, for one was shot in Surrey recently by sportsmen; they +say he weighed forty pounds. + +In the mind all things are written in pictures--there is no alphabetical +combination of letters and words; all things are pictures and symbols. +The bird's-foot lotus is the picture to me of sunshine and summer, and of +that summer in the heart which is known only in youth, and then not +alone. No words could write that feeling: the bird's-foot lotus writes +it. + +When the efforts to photograph began, the difficulty was to fix the scene +thrown by the lens upon the plate. There the view appeared perfect to the +least of details, worked out by the sun, and made as complete in +miniature as that he shone upon in nature. But it faded like the shadows +as the summer sun declines. Have you watched them in the fields among the +flowers?--the deep strong mark of the noonday shadow of a tree such as +the pen makes drawn heavily on the paper; gradually it loses its darkness +and becomes paler and thinner at the edge as it lengthens and spreads, +till shadow and grass mingle together. Image after image faded from the +plates, no more to be fixed than the reflection in water of the trees by +the shore. Memory, like the sun, paints to me bright pictures of the +golden summer time of lotus; I can see them, but how shall I fix them for +you? By no process can that be accomplished. It is like a story that +cannot be told because he who knows it is tongue-tied and dumb. Motions +of hands, wavings and gestures, rudely convey the framework, but the +finish is not there. + +To-day, and day after day, fresh pictures are coloured instantaneously in +the retina as bright and perfect in detail and hue. This very power is +often, I think, the cause of pain to me. To see so clearly is to value so +highly and to feel too deeply. The smallest of the pencilled branches of +the bare ash-tree drawn distinctly against the winter sky, waving lines +one within the other, yet following and partly parallel, reproducing in +the curve of the twig the curve of the great trunk; is it not a pleasure +to trace each to its ending? The raindrops as they slide from leaf to +leaf in June, the balmy shower that reperfumes each wild flower and green +thing, drops lit with the sun, and falling to the chorus of the refreshed +birds; is not this beautiful to see? On the grasses tall and heavy the +purplish blue pollen, a shimmering dust, sown broadcast over the ripening +meadow from July's warm hand--the bluish pollen, the lilac pollen of the +grasses, a delicate mist of blue floating on the surface, has always been +an especial delight to me. Finches shake it from the stalks as they rise. +No day, no hour of summer, no step but brings new mazes--there is no word +to express design without plan, and these designs of flower and leaf and +colours of the sun cannot be reduced to set order. The eye is for ever +drawn onward and finds no end. To see these always so sharply, wet and +fresh, is almost too much sometimes for the wearied yet insatiate eye. I +am obliged to turn away--to shut my eyes and say I will not see, I will +not observe; I will concentrate my mind on my own little path of life, +and steadily gaze downwards. In vain. Who can do so? who can care alone +for his or her petty trifles of existence, that has once entered amongst +the wild flowers? How shall I shut out the sun? Shall I deny the +constellations of the night? They are there; the Mystery is for ever +about us--the question, the hope, the aspiration cannot be put out. So +that it is almost a pain not to be able to cease observing and tracing +the untraceable maze of beauty. + +Blue veronica was the next identified, sometimes called germander +speedwell, sometimes bird's-eye, whose leaves are so plain and petals so +blue. Many names increase the trouble of identification, and confusion is +made certain by the use of various systems of classification. The flower +itself I knew, its name I could not be sure of--not even from the +illustration, which was incorrectly coloured; the central white spot of +the flower was reddish in the plate. This incorrect colouring spoils much +of the flower-picturing done; pictures of flowers and birds are rarely +accurate unless hand-painted. Any one else, however, would have been +quite satisfied that the identification was right. I was too desirous to +be correct, too conscientious, and thus a summer went by with little +progress. If you really wish to identify with certainty, and have no +botanist friend and no _magnum opus_ of Sowerby to refer to, it is very +difficult indeed to be quite sure. There was no Sowerby, no Bentham, no +botanist friend--no one even to give the common country names; for it is +a curious fact that the country people of the time rarely know the names +put down as the vernacular for flowers in the books. + +No one there could tell me the name of the marsh-marigold which grew +thickly in the water-meadows--"A sort of big buttercup," that was all +they knew. Commonest of common plants is the "sauce alone"--in every +hedge, on every bank, the whitish-green leaf is found--yet _I_ could not +make certain of it. If some one tells you a plant, you know it at once +and never forget it, but to learn it from a book is another matter; it +does not at once take root in the mind, it has to be seen several times +before you are satisfied--you waver in your convictions. The leaves were +described as large and heart-shaped, and to remain green (at the ground) +through the winter; but the colour of the flower was omitted, though it +was stated that the petals of the hedge-mustard were yellow. The plant +that seemed to me to be probably "sauce alone" had leaves somewhat +heart-shaped, but so confusing is _partial_ description that I began to +think I had hit on "ramsons" instead of "sauce alone," especially as +ramsons was said to be a very common plant. So it is in some counties, +but, as I afterwards found, there was not a plant of ramsons, or garlic, +throughout the whole of that district. When, some years afterwards, I saw +a white-flowered plant with leaves like the lily of the valley, smelling +of garlic, in the woods of Somerset, I recognised It immediately. The +plants that are really common--common everywhere--are not numerous, and +if you are studying you must be careful to understand that word locally. +My "sauce alone" identification was right; to be right and not certain is +still unsatisfactory. + +There shone on the banks white stars among the grass. Petals delicately +white in a whorl of rays--light that had started radiating from a centre +and become fixed--shining among the flowerless green. The slender stem +had grown so fast it had drawn its own root partly out of the ground, and +when I tried to gather it, flower, stem and root came away together. The +wheat was springing, the soft air full of the growth and moisture, +blackbirds whistling, wood-pigeons nesting, young oak-leaves out; a sense +of swelling, sunny fulness in the atmosphere. The plain road was made +beautiful by the advanced boughs that overhung and cast their shadows on +the dust--boughs of ash-green, shadows that lay still, listening to the +nightingale. A place of enchantment in the mornings where was felt the +power of some subtle influence working behind bough and grass and +bird-song. The orange-golden dandelion in the sward was deeply laden with +colour brought to it anew again and again by the ships of the flowers, +the humble-bees--to their quays they come, unlading priceless essences of +sweet odours brought from the East over the green seas of wheat, unlading +priceless colours on the broad dandelion disks, bartering these things +for honey and pollen. Slowly tacking aslant, the pollen ship hums in the +south wind. The little brown wren finds her way through the great thicket +of hawthorn. How does she know her path, hidden by a thousand thousand +leaves? Tangled and crushed together by their own growth, a crown of +thorns hangs over the thrush's nest; thorns for the mother, hope for the +young. Is there a crown of thorns over your heart? A spike has gone deep +enough into mine. The stile looks farther away because boughs have pushed +forward and made it smaller. The willow scarce holds the sap that +tightens the bark and would burst it if it did not enlarge to the +pressure. + +Two things can go through the solid oak; the lightning of the clouds that +rends the iron timber, the lightning of the spring--the electricity of +the sunbeams forcing him to stretch forth and lengthen his arms with joy. +Bathed in buttercups to the dewlap, the roan cows standing in the golden +lake watched the hours with calm frontlet; watched the light descending, +the meadows filling, with knowledge of long months of succulent clover. +On their broad brows the year falls gently; their great, beautiful eyes, +which need but a tear or a smile to make them human,--without these, +such eyes, so large and full, seem above human life, eyes of the +immortals enduring without passion,--in these eyes, as a mirror, nature +is reflected. + +I came every day to walk slowly up and down the plain road, by the starry +flowers under the ash-green boughs; ash is the coolest, softest green. +The bees went drifting over by my head; as they cleared the hedges they +passed by my ears, the wind singing in their shrill wings. White +tent-walls of cloud--a warm white, being full to overflowing of +sunshine--stretched across from ash-top to ash-top, a cloud-canvas roof, +a tent-palace of the delicious air. For of all things there is none so +sweet as sweet air--one great flower it is, drawn round about, over, and +enclosing, like Aphrodite's arms; as if the dome of the sky were a +bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical essence of it filling +all the room of the earth. Sweetest of all things is wild-flower air. +Full of their ideal the starry flowers strained upwards on the bank, +striving to keep above the rude grasses that pushed by them; genius has +ever had such a struggle. The plain road was made beautiful by the many +thoughts it gave. I came every morning to stay by the starlit bank. + +A friend said, "Why do you go the same road every day? Why not have a +change and walk somewhere else sometimes? Why keep on up and down the +same place?" I could not answer; till then it had not occurred to me that +I did always go one way; as for the reason of it I could not tell; I +continued in my old mind while the summers went away. Not till years +afterwards was I able to see why I went the same round and did not care +for change. I do not want change: I want the same old and loved things, +the same wild-flowers, the same trees and soft ash-green; the +turtle-doves, the blackbirds, the coloured yellowhammer sing, sing, +singing so long as there is light to cast a shadow on the dial, for such +is the measure of his song, and I want them in the same place. Let me +find them morning after morning, the starry-white petals radiating, +striving upwards to their ideal. Let me see the idle shadows resting on +the white dust; let me hear the humble-bees, and stay to look down on the +rich dandelion disk. Let me see the very thistles opening their great +crowns--I should miss the thistles; the reed-grasses hiding the moorhen; +the bryony bine, at first crudely ambitious and lifted by force of +youthful sap straight above the hedgerow to sink of its own weight +presently and progress with crafty tendrils; swifts shot through the air +with outstretched wings like crescent-headed shaftless arrows darted from +the clouds; the chaffinch with a feather in her bill; all the living +staircase of the spring, step by step, upwards to the great gallery of +the summer--let me watch the same succession year by year. + +Why, I knew the very dates of them all--the reddening elm, the arum, the +hawthorn leaf, the celandine, the may; the yellow iris of the waters, the +heath of the hillside. The time of the nightingale--the place to hear +the first note; onwards to the drooping fern and the time of the +redwing--the place of his first note, so welcome to the sportsman as the +acorn ripens and the pheasant, come to the age of manhood, feeds himself; +onwards to the shadowless days--the long shadowless winter, for in winter +it is the shadows we miss as much as the light. They lie over the summer +sward, design upon design, dark lace on green and gold; they glorify the +sunlight: they repose on the distant hills like gods upon Olympus; +without shadow, what even is the sun? At the foot of the great cliffs by +the sea you may know this, it is dry glare; mighty ocean is dearer as the +shadows of the clouds sweep over as they sweep over the green corn. Past +the shadowless winter, when it is all shade, and therefore no shadow; +onwards to the first coltsfoot and on to the seed-time again; I knew the +dates of all of them. I did not want change; I wanted the same flowers to +return on the same day, the titlark to rise soaring from the same oak to +fetch down love with a song from heaven to his mate on the nest beneath. +No change, no new thing; if I found a fresh wild-flower in a fresh place, +still it wove at once into the old garland. In vain, the very next year +was different even in the same place--_that_ had been a year of rain, +and the flag flowers were wonderful to see; _this_ was a dry year, and +the flags not half the height, the gold of the flower not so deep; next +year the fatal billhook came and swept away a slow-grown hedge that had +given me crab-blossom in cuckoo-time and hazelnuts in harvest. Never +again the same, even in the same place. + +A little feather droops downwards to the ground--a swallow's feather +fuller of miracle than the Pentateuch--how shall that feather be placed +again in the breast where it grew? Nothing twice. Time changes the places +that knew us, and if we go back in after years, still even then it is not +the old spot; the gate swings differently, new thatch has been put on the +old gables, the road has been widened, and the sward the driven sheep +lingered on is gone. Who dares to think then? For faces fade as flowers, +and there is no consolation. So now I am sure I was right in always +walking the same way by the starry flowers striving upwards on a slender +ancestry of stem; I would follow the plain old road to-day if I could. +Let change be far from me; that irresistible change must come is bitter +indeed. Give me the old road, the same flowers--they were only +stitchwort--the old succession of days and garland, ever weaving into it +fresh wild-flowers from far and near. Fetch them from distant mountains, +discover them on decaying walls, in unsuspected corners; though never +seen before, still they are the same: there has been a place in the heart +waiting for them. + + + +SUNNY BRIGHTON + + +Some of the old streets opening out of the King's Road look very pleasant +on a sunny day. They ran to the north, so that the sun over the sea +shines nearly straight up them, and at the farther end, where the houses +close in on higher ground, the deep blue sky descends to the rooftrees. +The old red tiles, the red chimneys, the green jalousies, give some +colour; and beneath there are shadowy corners and archways. They are not +too wide to whisper across, for it is curious that to be interesting a +street must be narrow, and the pavements are but two or three bricks +broad. These pavements are not for the advantage of foot passengers; they +are merely to prevent cart-wheels from grating against the houses. There +is nothing ancient or carved in these streets, they are but moderately +old, yet turning from the illuminated sea it is pleasant to glance up +them as you pass, in their stillness and shadow, lying outside the +inconsiderate throng walking to and fro, and contrasting in their +irregularity with the set facades of the front. Opposite, across the +King's Road, the mastheads of the fishing boats on the beach just rise +above the rails of the cliff, tipped with fluttering pennants, or +fish-shaped vanes changing to the wind. They have a pulley at the end of +a curved piece of iron for hauling up the lantern to the top of the mast +when trawling; this thin curve, with a dot at the extremity surmounting +the straight and rigid mast, suits the artist's pencil. The gold-plate +shop--there is a bust of Psyche in the doorway--often attracts the eye in +passing; gold and silver plate in large masses is striking, and it is a +very good place to stand a minute and watch the passers-by. + +It is a Piccadilly crowd by the sea-exactly the same style of people you +meet in Piccadilly, but freer in dress, and particularly in hats. All +fashionable Brighton parades the King's Road twice a day, morning and +afternoon, always on the side of the shops. The route is up and down the +King's Road as far as Preston Street, back again and up East Street. +Riding and driving Brighton extends its Rotten Row sometimes to Third +Avenue, Hove. These well-dressed and leading people never look at the +sea. Watching by the gold-plate shop you will not observe a single glance +in the direction of the sea, beautiful as it is, gleaming under the +sunlight. They do not take the slightest interest in sea, or sun, or sky, +or the fresh breeze calling white horses from the deep. Their pursuits +are purely "social," and neither ladies nor gentlemen ever go on the +beach or lie where the surge comes to the feet. The beach is ignored; it +is almost, perhaps quite vulgar; or rather it is entirely outside the +pale. No one rows, very few sail; the sea is not "the thing" in Brighton, +which is the least nautical of seaside places. There is more talk of +horses. + +The wind coming up the cliff seems to bring with it whole armfuls of +sunshine, and to throw the warmth and light against you as you linger. +The walls and glass reflect the light and push back the wind in puffs and +eddies; the awning flutters; light and wind spring upwards from the +pavement; the sky is richly blue against the parapets overhead; there are +houses on one side, but on the other open space and sea, and dim clouds +in the extreme distance. The atmosphere is full of light, and gives a +sense of liveliness! every atom of it is in motion. How delicate are the +fore legs of these thoroughbred horses passing! Small and slender, the +hoof, as the limb rises, seems to hang by a thread, yet there is strength +and speed in those sinews. Strength is often associated with size, with +the mighty flank, the round barrel, the great shoulder. But I marvel more +at the manner in which that strength is conveyed through these slender +sinews; the huge brawn and breadth of flesh all depend upon these little +cords. It is at these junctions that the wonder of life is most evident. +The succession of well-shaped horses, overtaking and passing, crossing, +meeting, their high-raised heads and action increase the impression of +pleasant movement. Quick wheels, sometimes a tandem, or a painted coach, +towering over the line,--so rolls the procession of busy pleasure. There +is colour in hat and bonnet, feathers, flowers, and mantles, not +brilliant but rapidly changing, and in that sense bright. Faces on which +the sun shines and the wind blows whether cared for or not, and lit up +thereby; faces seen for a moment and immediately followed by others as +interesting; a flowing gallery of portraits; all life, life! Waiting +unobserved under the awning, occasionally, too, I hear voices as the +throng goes by on the pavement--pleasant tones of people chatting and +the human sunshine of laughter. The atmosphere is full of movement, full +of light, and life streams to and fro. + +Yonder, over the road, a row of fishermen lean against the rails of the +cliff, some with their backs to the sea, some facing it. "The cliff" is +rather a misnomer, it is more like a sea-wall in height. This row of +stout men in blue jerseys, or copper-hued tan frocks, seems to be always +there, always waiting for the tide--or nothing. Each has his particular +position; one, shorter than the rest, leans with his elbows backwards on +the low rail; another hangs over and looks down at the site of the fish +market; an older man stands upright, and from long habit looks steadily +out to sea. They have their hands in their pockets; they appear fat and +jolly, as round as the curves of their smacks drawn up on the beach +beneath them. They are of such that "sleep o' nights;" no anxious +ambition disturbs their placidity. No man in this world knows how to +absolutely do--nothing, like a fisherman. Sometimes he turns round, +sometimes he does not, that is all. The sun shines, the breeze comes up +the cliff, far away a French fishing lugger is busy enough. The boats on +the beach are idle, and swarms of boys are climbing over them, swinging +on a rope from the bowsprit, or playing at marbles under the cliff. +Bigger boys collect under the lee of a smack, and do nothing cheerfully. +The fashionable throng hastens to and fro, but the row leaning against +the railings do not stir. + +Doleful tales they have to tell any one who inquires about the fishing. +There have been "no herrings" these two years. One man went out with his +smack, and after working for hours returned with _one sole_. I can never +get this one sole out of my mind when I see the row by the rails. While +the fisherman was telling me this woeful story, I fancied I heard voices +from a crowd of the bigger boys collected under a smack, voices that +said, "Ho! ho! Go on! you're kidding the man!" Is there much "kidding" in +this business of fish? Another man told me (but he was not a smack +proprietor) that L50, L70, or L80 was a common night's catch. Some +people say that the smacks never put to sea until the men have spent +every shilling they have got, and are obliged to sail. If truth lies at +the bottom of a well, it is the well of a fishing boat, for there is +nothing so hard to get at as the truth about fish. At the time when +society was pluming itself on the capital results attained by the +Fisheries Exhibition in London, and gentlemen described in the papers how +they had been to market and purchased cod at sixpence a pound, one +shilling and eightpence a pound was the price in the Brighton +fishmongers' shops, close to the sea. Not the least effect was produced +in Brighton; fish remains at precisely the same price as before all this +ridiculous trumpeting. But while the fishmongers charge twopence each for +fresh herrings, the old women bring them to the door at sixteen a +shilling. The poor who live in the old part of Brighton, near the +markets, use great quantities of the smaller and cheaper fish, and their +children weary of the taste to such a degree that when the girls go out +to service they ask to be excused from eating it. + +The fishermen say they can often find a better market by sending their +fish to Paris; much of the fish caught off Brighton goes there. It is +fifty miles to London, and 250 to Paris; how then can this be? Fish +somehow slip through ordinary rules, being slimy of surface; the maxims +of the writers on demand and supply are quite ignored, and there is no +groping to the bottom of this well of truth. + +Just at the corner of some of the old streets that come down to the +King's Road one or two old fishermen often stand. The front one props +himself against the very edge of the buildings, and peers round into the +broad sunlit thoroughfare; his brown copper frock makes a distinct patch +of colour at the edge of the house. There is nothing in common between +him and the moving throng: he is quite separate and belongs to another +race; he has come down from the shadow of the old street, and his +copper-hued frock might have come out of the last century. + +The fishing-boats and the fishing, the nets, and all the fishing work are +a great ornament to Brighton. They are real; there is something about +them that forms a link with the facts of the sea, with the forces of the +tides and winds, and the sunlight gleaming on the white crests of the +waves. They speak to thoughts lurking in the mind; they float between +life and death as with a billow on either hand; their anchors go down to +the roots of existence. This is real work, real labour of man, to draw +forth food from the deep as the plough draws it from the earth. It is in +utter contrast to the artificial work--the feathers, the jewellery, the +writing at desks of the town. The writings of a thousand clerks, the busy +factory work, the trimmings and feathers, and counter attendance do not +touch the real. They are all artificial. For food you must still go to +the earth and to the sea, as in primeval days. Where would your thousand +clerks, your trimmers, and counter-salesmen be without a loaf of bread, +without meat, without fish? The old brown sails and the nets, the anchors +and tarry ropes, go straight to nature. You do not care for nature now? +Well! all I can say is, you will have to go to nature one day--when you +die: you will find nature very real then. I rede you to recognise the +sunlight and the sea, the flowers and woods _now_. + +I like to go down on the beach among the fishing-boats, and to recline on +the shingle by a smack when the wind comes gently from the west, and the +low wave breaks but a few yards from my feet. I like the occasional +passing scent of pitch: they are melting it close by. I confess I like +tar: one's hands smell nice after touching ropes. It is more like home +down on the beach here; the men are doing something real, sometimes there +is the clink of a hammer; behind me there is a screen of brown net, in +which rents are being repaired; a big rope yonder stretches as the horse +goes round, and the heavy smack is drawn slowly up over the pebbles. The +full curves of the rounded bows beside me are pleasant to the eye, as any +curve is that recalls those of woman. Mastheads stand up against the sky, +and a loose rope swings as the breeze strikes it; a veer of the wind +brings a puff of smoke from the funnel of a cabin, where some one is +cooking, but it is not disagreeable, like smoke from a house chimney-pot; +another veer carries it away again,--depend upon it the simplest thing +cooked there is nice. Shingle rattles as it is shovelled up for +ballast--the sound of labour makes me more comfortably lazy. They are not +in a hurry, nor "chivy" over their work either; the tides rise and fall +slowly, and they work in correspondence. No infernal fidget and fuss. +Wonder how long it would take me to pitch a pebble so as to lodge on the +top of that large brown pebble there? I try, once now and then. + +Far out over the sea there is a peculiar bank of clouds. I was always +fond of watching clouds; these do not move much. In my pocket-book I see +I have several notes about these peculiar sea-clouds. They form a band +not far above the horizon, not very thick but elongated laterally. The +upper edge is curled or wavy, not so heavily as what is called +mountainous, not in the least threatening; this edge is white. The body +of the vapour is a little darker, either because thicker, or because the +light is reflected at a different angle. But it is the lower edge which +is singular: in direct contrast with the curled or wavy edge above, the +under edge is perfectly straight and parallel to the line of the horizon. +It looks as if the level of the sea made this under line. This bank moves +very slowly--scarcely perceptibly--but in course of hours rises, and as +it rises spreads, when the extremities break off in detached pieces, and +these gradually vanish. Sometimes when travelling I have pointed out the +direction of the sea, feeling sure it was there, and not far off, though +invisible, on account of the appearance of the clouds, whose under edge +was cut across so straight. When this peculiar bank appears at Brighton +it is an almost certain sign of continued fine weather, and I have +noticed the same thing elsewhere; once particularly it remained fine +after this appearance despite every threat the sky could offer of a +storm. All the threats came to nothing for three weeks, not even thunder +and lightning could break it up,--"deceitful flashes," as the Arabs say; +for, like the sons of the desert, just then the farmers longed for rain +on their parched fields. To me, while on the beach among the boats, the +value of these clouds lies in their slowness of movement, and consequent +effect in soothing the mind. Outside the hurry and drive of life a rest +comes through the calm of nature. As the swell of the sea carries up the +pebbles, and arranges the largest farthest inland, where they accumulate +and stay unmoved, so the drifting of the clouds, and the touch of the +wind, the sound of the surge, arrange the molecules of the mind in still +layers. It is then that a dream fills it, and a dream is sometimes better +than the best reality. Laugh at the idea of dreaming where there is an +odour of tar if you like, but you see it is outside intolerable +civilisation. It is a hundred miles from the King's Road, though but just +under it. + +There is a scheme on foot for planking over the ocean, beginning at the +bottom of West Street. An immense central pier is proposed, which would +occupy the only available site for beaching the smacks. If carried out, +the whole fishing industry must leave Brighton,--to the fishermen the +injury would be beyond compensation, and the aspect of Brighton itself +would be destroyed. Brighton ought to rise in revolt against it. + +All Brighton chimney-pots are put on with giant cement, in order to bear +the strain of the tremendous winds rushing up from the sea. Heavy as the +gales are, they seldom do much mischief to the roofs, such as are +recorded inland. On the King's Road a plate-glass window is now and then +blown in, so that on hurricane days the shutters are generally half shut. +It is said that the wind gets between the iron shutters and the plate +glass and shakes the windows loose. The heaviest waves roll in by the +West Pier, and at the bottom of East Street. Both sides of the West Pier +are washed by larger waves than can be seen all along the coast from the +Quarter Deck. Great rollers come in at the concrete groyne at the foot of +East Street. Exposed as the coast is, the waves do not convey so intense +an idea of wildness, confusion, and power as they do at Dover. To see +waves in their full vigour go to the Admiralty Pier and watch the seas +broken by the granite wall. Windy Brighton has not an inch of shelter +anywhere in a gale, and the salt rain driven by the wind penetrates the +thickest coat. The windiest spot is at the corner of Second Avenue, Hove; +the wind just there is almost enough to choke those who face it. Double +windows--Russian fashion--are common all along the sea-front, and are +needed. + +After a gale, when the wind changes, as it usually does, it is pleasant +to see the ships work in to the verge of the shore. The sea is turbid and +yellow with sand beaten up by the recent billows,--this yellowness +extends outwards to a certain line, and is there succeeded by the green +of clearer water. Beyond this again the surface looks dark, as if still +half angry, and clouds hang over it, both to retire from the strife. As +bees come out of their hives when the rain ceases and the sun shines, so +the vessels which have been lying-to in harbour, or under shelter of +promontories, are now eagerly making their way down Channel, and, in +order to get as long a tack and as much advantage as possible, they are +brought to the edge of the shallow water. Sometimes fifteen or twenty or +more stand in; all sizes from the ketch to the three-master. The wind is +not strong, but that peculiar drawing breeze which seems to pull a ship +along as if with a tow-rope. The brig stands straight for the beach, with +all sail set; she heels a little, not much; she scarcely heaves to the +swell, and is not checked by meeting waves; she comes almost to the +yellow line of turbid water, when round she goes, and you can see the +sails shiver as the breeze touches them on both surfaces for a moment. +Then again she shows her stern and away she glides, while another +approaches: and all day long they pass. There is always something +shadowy, not exactly unreal, but shadowy about a ship; it seems to carry +a romance, and the imagination fashions a story to the swelling sails. + +The bright light of Brighton brings all things into clear relief, giving +them an edge and outline; as steel burns with a flame like wood in +oxygen, so the minute particles of iron in the atmosphere seem to burn +and glow in the sunbeams, and a twofold illumination fills the air. +Coming back to the place after a journey this brilliant light is very +striking, and most new visitors notice it. Even a room with a northern +aspect is full of light, too strong for some eyes, till accustomed to it. +I am a great believer in light--sunlight--and of my free will never let +it be shut out with curtains. Light is essential to life, like air; life +is thought; light is as fresh air to the mind. Brilliant sunshine is +reflected from the houses and fills the streets. The walls of the houses +are clean and less discoloured by the deposit of carbon than usual in +most towns, so that the reflection is stronger from these white surfaces. +Shadow there is none in summer, for the shadows are lit up by diffusion. +Something in the atmosphere throws light down into shaded places as if +from a mirror. Waves beat ceaselessly on the beach, and the undulations +of light flow continuously forwards into the remotest corners. Pure air, +free from suspended matter, lets the light pass freely, and perhaps this +absence of suspended material is the reason that the heat is not so +oppressive as would be supposed considering the glare. Certainly it is +not so hot as London; on going up to town on a July or August day it +seems much hotter there, so much so that one pants for air. Conversely in +winter, London appears much colder, the thick dark atmosphere seems to +increase the bitterness of the easterly winds, and returning to Brighton +is entering a warmer because clearer air. Many complain of the brilliance +of the light; they say the glare is overpowering, but the eyes soon +become acclimatised. This glare is one of the great recommendations of +Brighton; the strong light is evidently one of the causes of its +healthfulness to those who need change. There is no such glowing light +elsewhere along the south coast; these things are very local. + +A demand has been made for trees, to plant the streets and turn them into +boulevards for shade, than which nothing could be more foolish. It is the +dryness of the place that gives it its character. After a storm, after +heavy rain for days, in an hour the pavements are not only dry but clean; +no dirt, sticky and greasy, remains. The only dirt in Brighton, for +three-fourths of the year, is that made by the water-carts. Too much +water is used, and a good clean road covered with mud an inch thick in +August; but this is not the fault of Brighton--it is the lack of +observation on the part of the Cadi who ought to have noticed the +wretched condition of ladies' boots when compelled to cross these miry +promenades. Trees are not wanted in Brighton; it is the peculiar glory of +Brighton to be treeless. Trees are the cause of damp, they suck down +moisture, and fill a circle round them with humidity. Places full of +trees are very trying in spring and autumn even to robust people, much +more so to convalescents and delicate persons. Have nothing to do with +trees, if Brighton is to retain its value. Glowing light, dry, clear, and +clean air, general dryness--these are the qualities that rendered +Brighton a sanatorium; light and glow without oppressive moist heat; in +winter a clear cold. Most terrible of all to bear is cold when the +atmosphere is saturated with water. If any reply that trees have no +leaves in winter and so do not condense moisture, I at once deny the +conclusion; they have no leaves, but they condense moisture nevertheless. +This is effected by the minute twigs, thousands of twigs and little +branches, on which the mists condense, and distil in drops. Under a large +tree, in winter, there is often a perfect shower, enough to require an +umbrella, and it lasts for hours. Eastbourne is a pleasant place, but +visit Eastbourne, which is proud of its trees, in October, and feel the +damp fallen leaves under your feet, and you would prefer no trees. + +Let nothing check the descent of those glorious beams of sunlight which +fall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; the foam runs up and +wets them, almost before it can slip back the sunshine has dried them +again. So they are alternately wetted and dried. Bitter sea and glowing +light, bright clear air, dry as dry,--that describes the place. Spain is +the country of sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish town in +England, a Seville. Very bright colours can be worn in summer because of +this powerful light; the brightest are scarcely noticed, for they seem to +be in concert with the sunshine. Is it difficult to paint in so strong a +light? Pictures in summer look dull and out of tune when this Seville sun +is shining. Artificial colours of the palette cannot live in it. As a +race we do not seem to care much for colour or art--I mean in the common +things of daily life--else a great deal of colour might be effectively +used in Brighton in decorating houses and woodwork. Much more colour +might be put in the windows, brighter flowers and curtains; more, too, +inside the rooms; the sober hues of London furniture and carpets are not +in accord with Brighton light. Gold and ruby and blue, the blue of +transparent glass, or purple, might be introduced, and the romance of +colour freely indulged. At high tide of summer Spanish mantillas, Spanish +fans, would not be out of place in the open air. No tint is too +bright--scarlet, cardinal, anything the imagination fancies; the +brightest parasol is a matter of course. Stand, for instance, by the West +Pier, on the Esplanade, looking east on a full-lit August day. The sea is +blue, streaked with green, and is stilled with heat; the low undulations +can scarcely rise and fall for somnolence. The distant cliffs are white; +the houses yellowish-white; the sky blue, more blue than fabled Italy. +Light pours down, and the bitter salt sea wets the pebbles; to look at +them makes the mouth dry, in the unconscious recollection of the saltness +and bitterness. The flags droop, the sails of the fishing-boats hang +idle; the land and the sea are conquered by the great light of the sun. + +Some people become famous by being always in one attitude. Meet them when +you will, they have invariably got an arm--the same arm--crossed over the +breast, and the hand thrust in between the buttons of the coat to support +it. Morning, noon, or evening, in the street, the carriage, sitting, +reading the paper, always the same attitude; thus they achieve social +distinction; it takes the place of a medal or the red ribbon. What is a +general or a famous orator compared to a man always in the same attitude? +Simply nobody, nobody knows him, everybody knows the mono-attitude man. +Some people make their mark by invariably wearing the same short pilot +coat. Doubtless it has been many times renewed, still it is the same +coat. In winter it is thick, in summer thin, but identical in cut and +colour. Some people sit at the same window of the reading-room at the +same hour every day, all the year round. This is the way to become marked +and famous; winning a battle is nothing to it. When it was arranged that +a military band should play on the Brunswick Lawns, it became the fashion +to stop carriages in the road and listen to it. Frequently there were +carriages four deep, while the gale blew the music out to sea and no one +heard a note. Still they sat content. + +There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in the +world. They are so common that gradually the standard of taste in the +mind rises, and good-looking women who would be admired in other places +pass by without notice. Where all the flowers are roses, you do not see a +rose. They are all plump, not to say fat, which would be rude; very +plump, and have the glow and bloom of youth upon the cheeks. They do not +suffer from "pernicious anaemia," that evil bloodlessness which London +physicians are not unfrequently called upon to cure, when the cheeks are +white as paper and have to be rosied with minute doses of arsenic. They +extract their arsenic from the air. The way they step and the carriage of +the form show how full they are of life and spirits. Sarah Bernhardt will +not come to Brighton if she can help it, lest she should lose that high +art angularity and slipperiness of shape which suits her _role_. Dresses +seem always to fit well, because people somehow expand to them. It is +pleasant to see the girls walk, because the limbs do not drag, the feet +are lifted gaily and with ease. Horse-exercise adds a deeper glow to the +face; they ride up on the Downs first, out of pure cunning, for the air +there is certain to impart a freshness to the features like dew on a +flower, and then return and walk their horses to and fro the King's Road, +certain of admiration. However often these tricks are played, they are +always successful. Those philanthropic folk who want to reform women's +dress, and call upon the world to observe how the present style contracts +the chest, and forces the organs of the body out of place (what a queer +expression it seems, "organs"!) have not a chance in Brighton. Girls lace +tight and "go in" for the tip of the fashion, yet they bloom and flourish +as green bay trees, and do not find their skirts any obstacle in walking +or tennis. The horse-riding that goes on is a thing to be chronicled; +they are always on horseback, and you may depend upon it that it is +better for them than all the gymnastic exercises ever invented. The +liability to strain, and even serious internal injury, which is incurred +in gymnastic exercises, ought to induce sensible people to be extremely +careful how they permit their daughters to sacrifice themselves on this +scientific altar. Buy them horses to ride, if you want them to enjoy good +health and sound constitutions. Nothing like horses for women. Send the +professors to Suakim, and put the girls on horseback. Whether Brighton +grows handsome girls, or whether they flock there drawn by instinct, or +become lovely by staying there, is an inquiry too difficult to pursue. + +There they are, one at least in every group, and you have to walk, as the +Spaniards say, with your beard over your shoulder, continually looking +back at those who have passed. The only antidote known is to get married +before you visit the place, and doubts have been expressed as to its +efficacy. In the south-coast Seville there is nothing done but +heart-breaking; it is so common it is like hammering flints for road +mending; nobody cares if your heart is in pieces. They break hearts on +horseback, and while walking, playing tennis, shopping--actually at +shopping, not to mention parties of every kind. No one knows where the +next danger will be encountered--at the very next corner perhaps. +Feminine garments have an irresistible flutter in the sea-breeze; +feathers have a beckoning motion. No one can be altogether good in +Brighton, and that is the great charm of it. The language of the eyes is +cultivated to a marvellous degree; as we say of dogs, they quite talk +with their eyes. Even when you do not chance to meet an exceptional +beauty, still the plainer women are not plain like the plain women in +other places. The average is higher among them, and they are not so +irredeemably uninteresting. The flash of an eye, the shape of a shoulder, +the colour of the hair--something or other pleases. Women without a +single good feature are often good-looking in New Seville because of an +indescribable style or manner. They catch the charm of the good-looking +by living among them, so that if any young lady desires to acquire the +art of attraction she has only to take train and join them. Delighted +with our protectorate of Paphos, Venus has lately decided to reside on +these shores, Every morning the girls' schools go for their +constitutional walks; there seem no end of these schools--the place has +a garrison of girls, and the same thing is noticeable in their ranks. Too +young to have developed actual loveliness, some in each band distinctly +promise future success. After long residence the people become accustomed +to good looks, and do not see anything especial around them, but on going +away for a few days soon miss these pleasant faces. + +In reconstructing Brighton station, one thing was omitted--a balcony from +which to view the arrival and departure of the trains in summer and +autumn. The scene is as lively and interesting as the stage when a good +play is proceeding. So many happy expectant faces, often very beautiful; +such a mingling of colours, and succession of different figures; now a +brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is real. The bustle, +which is not the careworn anxious haste of business; the rushing to and +fro; the greetings of friends; the smiles; the shifting of the groups, +some coming, and some going--plump and rosy,--it is really charming. One +has a fancy dog, another a bright-bound novel; very many have cavaliers; +and look at the piles of luggage! What dresses, what changes and elegance +concealed therein!--conjurors' trunks out of which wonders will spring. +Can anything look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, like huge +barnacles, just starting away with its freight? One can imagine such a +fund of enjoyment on its way in that cab. This happy throng seems to +express something that delights the heart. I often used to walk up to the +station just to see it, and left feeling better. + + + +THE PINE WOOD + + +There was a humming in the tops of the young pines as if a swarm of bees +were busy at the green cones. They were not visible through the thick +needles, and on listening longer it seemed as if the sound was not +exactly the note of the bee--a slightly different pitch, and the hum was +different, while bees have a habit of working close together. Where there +is one bee there are usually five or six, and the hum is that of a group; +here there only appeared one or two insects to a pine. Nor was the buzz +like that of the humble-bee, for every now and then one came along low +down, flying between the stems, and his note was much deeper. By-and-by, +crossing to the edge of the plantation, where the boughs could be +examined, being within reach, I found it was wasps. A yellow wasp +wandered over the blue-green needles till he found a pair with a drop of +liquid like dew between them. There he fastened himself and sucked at it; +you could see the drop gradually drying up till it was gone. The largest +of these drops were generally between two needles--those of the Scotch +fir or pine grow in pairs--but there were smaller drops on the outside of +other needles. In searching for this exuding turpentine the wasps filled +the whole plantation with the sound of their wings. There must have been +many thousands of them. They caused no inconvenience to any one walking +in the copse, because they were high overhead. + +Watching these wasps I found two cocoons of pale yellow silk on a branch +of larch, and by them a green spider. He was quite green--two shades, +lightest on the back, but little lighter than the green larch bough. An +ant had climbed up a pine and over to the extreme end of a bough; she +seemed slow and stupefied in her motions, as if she had drunken of the +turpentine and had lost her intelligence. The soft cones of the larch +could be easily cut down the centre with a penknife, showing the +structure of the cone and the seeds inside each scale. It is for these +seeds that birds frequent the fir copses, shearing off the scales with +their beaks. One larch cone had still the tuft at the top--a pineapple in +miniature. The loudest sound in the wood was the humming in the trees; +there was no wind, no sunshine; a summer day, still and shadowy, under +large clouds high up. To this low humming the sense of hearing soon +became accustomed, and it served but to render the silence deeper. In +time, as I sat waiting and listening, there came the faintest far-off +song of a bird away in the trees; the merest thin upstroke of sound, +slight in structure, the echo of the strong spring singing. This was the +summer repetition, dying away. A willow-wren still remembered his love, +and whispered about it to the silent fir tops, as in after days we turn +over the pages of letters, withered as leaves, and sigh. So gentle, so +low, so tender a song the willow-wren sang that it could scarce be known +as the voice of a bird, but was like that of some yet more delicate +creature with the heart of a woman. + +A butterfly with folded wings clung to a stalk of grass; upon the under +side of his wing thus exposed there were buff spots, and dark dots and +streaks drawn on the finest ground of pearl-grey, through which there +came a tint of blue; there was a blue, too, shut up between the wings, +visible at the edges. The spots, and dots, and streaks were not exactly +the same on each wing; at first sight they appeared similar, but, on +comparing one with the other, differences could be traced. The pattern +was not mechanical; it was hand-painted by Nature, and the painter's eye +and fingers varied in their work. + +How fond Nature is of spot-markings!--the wings of butterflies, the +feathers of birds, the surface of eggs, the leaves and petals of plants +are constantly spotted; so, too, fish--as trout. From the wing of the +butterfly I looked involuntarily at the foxglove I had just gathered; +inside, the bells were thickly spotted--dots and dustings that might have +been transferred to a butterfly's wing. The spotted meadow-orchis; the +brown dots on the cowslips; brown, black, greenish, reddish dots and +spots and dustings on the eggs of the finches, the whitethroats, and so +many others--some of the spots seem as if they had been splashed on and +had run into short streaks, some mottled, some gathered together at the +end; all spots, dots, dustings of minute specks, mottlings, and irregular +markings. The histories, the stories, the library of knowledge contained +in those signs! It was thought a wonderful thing when at last the strange +inscriptions of Assyria were read, made of nail-headed characters whose +sound was lost; it was thought a triumph when the yet older hieroglyphics +of Egypt were compelled to give up their messages, and the world hoped +that we should know the secrets of life. That hope was disappointed; +there was nothing in the records but superstition and useless ritual. But +here we go back to the beginning; the antiquity of Egypt is nothing to +the age of these signs--they date from unfathomable time. In them the sun +has written his commands, and the wind inscribed deep thought. They were +before superstition began; they were composed in the old, old world, when +the Immortals walked on earth. They have been handed down thousands upon +thousands of years to tell us that to-day we are still in the presence of +the heavenly visitants, if only we will give up the soul to these pure +influences. The language in which they are written has no alphabet, and +cannot be reduced to order. It can only be understood by the heart and +spirit. Look down into this foxglove bell and you will know that; look +long and lovingly at this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will +rise to your consciousness. + +Some time passed, but the butterfly did not move; a touch presently +disturbed him, and flutter, flutter went his blue wings, only for a few +seconds, to another grass-stalk, and so on from grass-stalk to +grass-stalk as compelled, a yard flight at most. He would not go farther; +he settled as if it had been night. There was no sunshine, and under the +clouds he had no animation. A swallow went by singing in the air, and as +he flew his forked tail was shut, and but one streak of feathers drawn +past. Though but young trees, there was a coating of fallen needles under +the firs an inch thick, and beneath it the dry earth touched warm. A fern +here and there came up through it, the palest of pale green, quite a +different colour to the same species growing in the hedges away from the +copse. A yellow fungus, streaked with scarlet as if blood had soaked into +it, stood at the foot of a tree occasionally. Black fungi, dry, +shrivelled, and dead, lay fallen about, detached from the places where +they had grown, and crumbling if handled. Still more silent after sunset, +the wood was utterly quiet; the swallows no longer passed twittering, the +willow-wren was gone, there was no hum or rustle; the wood was as silent +as a shadow. + +But before the darkness a song and an answer arose in a tree, one bird +singing a few notes and another replying side by side. Two goldfinches +sat on the cross of a larch-fir and sang, looking towards the west, where +the light lingered. High up, the larch-fir boughs with the top shoot form +a cross; on this one goldfinch sat, the other was immediately beneath. At +even the birds often turn to the west as they sing. + +Next morning the August sun shone, and the wood was all a-hum with +insects. The wasps were working at the pine boughs high overhead; the +bees by dozens were crowding to the bramble flowers; swarming on them, +they seemed so delighted; humble-bees went wandering among the ferns in +the copse and in the ditches--they sometimes alight on fern--and calling +at every purple heath-blossom, at the purple knapweeds, purple thistles, +and broad handfuls of yellow-weed flowers. Wasp-like flies barred with +yellow suspended themselves in the air between the pine-trunks like hawks +hovering, and suddenly shot themselves a yard forward or to one side, as +if the rapid vibration of their wings while hovering had accumulated +force which drove them as if discharged from a cross-bow. The sun had set +all things in motion. + +There was a hum under the oak by the hedge, a hum in the pine wood, a +humming among the heath and the dry grass which heat had browned. The air +was alive and merry with sound, so that the day seemed quite different +and twice as pleasant. Three blue butterflies fluttered in one flowery +corner, the warmth gave them vigour; two had a silvery edging to their +wings, one was brown and blue. The nuts reddening at the tips appeared +ripening like apples in the sunshine. This corner is a favourite with +wild bees and butterflies; if the sun shines they are sure to be found +there at the heath-bloom and tall yellow-weed, and among the dry seeding +bennets or grass-stalks. All things, even butterflies, are local in their +habits. Far up on the hillside the blue green of the pines beneath shone +in the sun--a burnished colour; the high hillside is covered with heath +and heather. Where there are open places a small species of gorse, +scarcely six inches high, is in bloom, the yellow blossom on the +extremity of the stalk. + +Some of these gorse plants seemed to have a different flower growing at +the side of the stem, instead of at the extremity. These florets were +cream-coloured, so that it looked like a new species of gorse. On +gathering it to examine the thick-set florets, if was found that a +slender runner or creeper had been torn up with it. Like a thread the +creeper had wound itself round and round the furze, buried in and hidden +by the prickles, and it was this creeper that bore the white or +cream-florets. It was tied round as tightly as thread could be, so that +the florets seemed to start from the stem, deceiving the eye at first. In +some places this parasite plant had grown up the heath and strangled it, +so that the tips turned brown and died. The runners extended in every +direction across the ground, like those of strawberries. One creeper had +climbed up a bennet, or seeding grass-stalk, binding the stalk and a +blade of the grass together, and flowering there. On the ground there +were patches of grey lichen; many of the pillar-like stems were crowned +with a red top. Under a small boulder stone there was an ants' nest. +These boulders, or, as they are called locally, "bowlers," were scattered +about the heath. Many of the lesser stones were spotted with dark dots of +lichen, not unlike a toad. + +Thoughtlessly turning over a boulder about nine inches square, lo! there +was subject enough for thinking underneath it--a subject that has been +thought about many thousand years; for this piece of rock had formed the +roof of an ants' nest. The stone had sunk three inches deep into the dry +soil of sand and peaty mould, and in the floor of the hole the ants had +worked out their excavations, which resembled an outline map. The largest +excavation was like England; at the top, or north, they had left a narrow +bridge, an eighth of an inch wide, under which to pass into Scotland, and +from Scotland again another narrow arch led to the Orkney Islands; these +last, however, were dug in the perpendicular side of the hole. In the +corners of these excavations tunnels ran deeper into the ground, and the +ants immediately began hurrying their treasures, the eggs, down into +these cellars. At one angle a tunnel went beneath the heath into further +excavations beneath a second boulder stone. Without, a fern grew, and the +dead dry stems of heather crossed each other. + +This discovery led to the turning over of another boulder stone not far +off, and under it there appeared a much more extensive and complete +series of galleries, bridges, cellars and tunnels. In these the whole +life-history of the ant was exposed at a single glance, as if one had +taken off the roofs of a city. One cell contained a dust-like deposit, +another a collection resembling the dust, but now elongated and a little +greenish; a third treasury, much larger, was piled up with yellowish +grains about the size of wheat, each with a black dot on the top, and +looking like minute hop-pockets. Besides these, there was a pure white +substance in a corridor, which the irritated ants seemed particularly +anxious to remove out of sight, and quickly carried away. Among the ants +rushing about there were several with wings; one took flight; one was +seized by a wingless ant and dragged down into a cellar, as if to prevent +its taking wing. A helpless green fly was in the midst, and round the +outside galleries there crept a creature like a spider, seeming to try to +hide itself. If the nest had been formed under glass, it could not have +been more open to view. The stone was carefully replaced. + +Below the pine wood on the slope of the hill a plough was already at +work, the crop of peas having been harvested. The four horses came up the +slope, and at the ridge swept round in a fine curve to go back and open a +fresh furrow. As soon as they faced down-hill they paused, well aware of +what had to be done, and the ploughman in a manner knocked his plough to +pieces, putting it together again the opposite way, that the earth he was +about to cut with the share might fall on what he had just turned. With a +piece of iron he hammered the edge of the share, to set it, for the hard +ground had bent the edge, and it did not cut properly. I said his team +looked light; they were not so heavily built as the cart-horses used in +many places. No, he said, they did not want heavy horses. "Dese yer +thick-boned hosses be more clutter-headed over the clots," as he +expressed it, _i.e._ more clumsy or thick-headed over the clods. He +preferred comparatively light cart-horses to step well. In the heat of +the sun the furze-pods kept popping and bursting open; they are often as +full of insects as seeds, which come creeping out. A green and black +lady-bird--exactly like a tortoise--flew on to my hand. Again on the +heath, and the grasshoppers rose at every step, sometimes three or four +springing in as many directions. They were winged, and as soon as they +were up spread their vanes and floated forwards. As the force of the +original hop decreased, the wind took their wings and turned them aside +from the straight course before they fell. Down the dusty road, inches +deep in sand, comes a sulphur butterfly, rushing as quick as if hastening +to a butterfly-fair. If only rare, how valued he would be! His colour is +so evident and visible; he fills the road, being brighter than all, and +for the moment is more than the trees and flowers. + +Coming so suddenly over the hedge into the road close to me, he startled +me as if I had been awakened from a dream--I had been thinking it was +August, and woke to find it February--for the sulphur butterfly is the +February pleasure. Between the dark storms and wintry rains there is a +warm sunny interval of a week in February. Away one goes for a walk, and +presently there appears a bright yellow spot among the furze, dancing +along like a flower let loose. It is a sulphur butterfly, who thus comes +before the earliest chiffchaff--before the watch begins for the first +swallow. I call it the February pleasure, as each month has its delight. +So associated as this butterfly is with early spring, to see it again +after months of leaf and flower--after June and July--with the wheat in +shock and the scent of harvest in the land, is startling. The summer, +then, is a dream! It is still winter; but no, here are the trees in leaf, +the nuts reddening, the hum of bees, and dry summer dust on the high wiry +grass. The sulphur butterfly comes twice; there is a second brood; but +there are some facts that are always new and surprising, however well +known. I may say again, if only rare, how this butterfly would be prized! +Along the hedgerow there are several spiders' webs. In the centre they +are drawn inwards, forming a funnel, which goes back a few inches into +the hedge, and at the bottom of this the spider waits. If you look down +the funnel you see his claws at the bottom, ready to run up and seize a +fly. + +Sitting in the garden after a walk, it is pleasant to watch the +eave-swallows feeding their young on the wing. The young bird follows the +old one; then they face each other and stay a moment in the air, while +the insect food is transferred from beak to beak; with a loud note they +part. There was a constant warfare between the eave-swallows and the +sparrows frequenting a house where I was staying during the early part of +the summer. The sparrows strove their utmost to get possession of the +nests the swallows built, and there was no peace between them It is +common enough for one or two swallows' nests to be attacked in this way, +but here every nest along the eaves was fought for, and the sparrows +succeeded in conquering many of them. The driven-out swallows after a +while began to build again, and I noticed that more than a pair seemed to +work at the same nest. One nest was worked at by four swallows; often all +four came together and twittered at it. + + + +NATURE ON THE ROOF + + +Increased activity on the housetop marks the approach of spring and +summer exactly as in the woods and hedges, for the roof has its migrants, +its semi-migrants, and its residents. When the first dandelion is opening +on a sheltered bank, and the pale-blue field veronica flowers in the +waste corner, the whistle of the starling comes from his favourite ledge. +Day by day it is heard more and more, till, when the first green spray +appears on the hawthorn, he visits the roof continually. Besides the +roof-tree and the chimney-pot, he has his own special place, sometimes +under an eave, sometimes between two gables; and as I sit writing, I can +see a pair who have a ledge which slightly projects from the wall between +the eaves and the highest window. This was made by the builder for an +ornament; but my two starlings consider it their own particular +possession. They alight with a sort of half-scream half-whistle just over +the window, flap their wings, and whistle again, run along the ledge to a +spot where there is a gable, and with another note, rise up and enter an +aperture between the slates and the wall. There their nest will be in a +little time, and busy indeed they will be when the young require to be +fed, to and fro the fields and the gable the whole day through; the +busiest and the most useful of birds, for they destroy thousands upon +thousands of insects, and if farmers were wise they would never have one +shot, no matter how the thatch was pulled about. + +My pair of starlings were frequently at this ledge last autumn, very late +in autumn, and I suspect they had a winter brood there. The starling does +rear a brood sometimes in the midst of the winter, contrary as that may +seem to our general ideas of natural history. They may be called +roof-residents, as they visit it all the year round; they nest in the +roof, rearing two and sometimes three broods; and use it as their club +and place of meeting. Towards July the young starlings and those that +have for the time at least finished nesting, flock together, and pass the +day in the fields, returning now and then to their old home. These flocks +gradually increase; the starling is so prolific that the flocks become +immense, till in the latter part of the autumn in southern fields it is +common to see a great elm-tree black with them, from the highest bough +downwards, and the noise of their chattering can be heard a long +distance. They roost in firs or in osier-beds. But in the blackest days +of winter, when frost binds the ground hard as iron, the starlings return +to the roof almost every day; they do not whistle much, but have a +peculiar chuckling whistle at the instant of alighting. In very hard +weather, especially snow, the starlings find it difficult to obtain a +living, and at such times will come to the premises at the rear, and at +farmhouses where cattle are in the yards, search about among them for +insects. + +The whole history of the starling is interesting, but I must here only +mention it as a roof-bird. They are very handsome in their full plumage, +which gleams bronze and green among the darker shades; quick in their +motions, and full of spirit; loaded to the muzzle with energy, and never +still. I hope none of those who are so good as to read what I have +written will ever keep a starling in a cage; the cruelty is extreme. As +for shooting pigeons at a trap, it is mercy in comparison. + +Even before the starling whistles much, the sparrows begin to chirp: in +the dead of winter they are silent; but so soon as the warmer winds blow, +if only for a day, they begin to chirp. In January this year I used to +listen to the sparrows chirping, the starlings whistling, and the +chaffinches' "chink, chink" about eight o'clock, or earlier, in the +morning: the first two on the roof; the latter, which is not a roof-bird, +in some garden shrubs. As the spring advances, the sparrows sing--it is a +short song, it is true, but still it is singing--perched at the edge of a +sunny wall. There is not a place about the house where they will not +build--under the eaves, on the roof, anywhere where there is a projection +or shelter, deep in the thatch, under the tiles, in old eave-swallows' +nest. The last place I noticed as a favourite one in towns is on the +half-bricks left projecting in perpendicular rows at the sides of +unfinished houses, Half a dozen nests may be counted at the side of a +house on these bricks; and like the starlings, they rear several broods, +and some are nesting late in the autumn. By degrees as the summer +advances they leave the houses for the corn, and gather in vast flocks, +rivalling those of the starlings. At this time they desert the roofs, +except those who still have nesting duties. In winter and in the +beginning of the new year, they gradually return; migration thus goes on +under the eyes of those who care to notice it. In London, some who fed +sparrows on the roof found that rooks also came for the crumbs placed +out. I sometimes see a sparrow chasing a rook, as if angry, and trying to +drive it away over the roofs where I live, the thief does not retaliate, +but, like a thief, flees from the scene of his guilt. This is not only in +the breeding season, when the rook steals eggs, but in winter. Town +residents are apt to despise the sparrow, seeing him always black; but in +the country the sparrows are as clean as a pink; and in themselves they +are the most animated, clever little creatures. + +They are easily tamed. The Parisians are fond of taming them. At a +certain hour in the Tuilleries Gardens, you may see a man perfectly +surrounded with a crowd of sparrows--some perching on his shoulder; some +fluttering in the air immediately before his face; some on the ground +like a tribe of followers; and others on the marble seats. He jerks a +crumb of bread into the air--a sparrow dexterously seizes it as he would +a flying insect; he puts a crumb between his lips--a sparrow takes it out +and feeds from his mouth. Meantime they keep up a constant chirping; +those that are satisfied still stay by and adjust their feathers. He +walks on, giving a little chirp with his mouth, and they follow him along +the path--a cloud about his shoulders, and the rest flying from shrub to +shrub, perching, and then following again. They are all perfectly +clean--a contrast to the London Sparrow. I came across one of these +sparrow-tamers by chance, and was much amused at the scene, which, to any +one not acquainted with birds, appears marvellous; but it is really as +simple as possible, and you can repeat it for yourself if you have +patience, for they are so sharp they soon understand you. They seem to +play at nest-making before they really begin; taking up straws in their +beaks, and carrying them half-way to the roof, then letting the straws +float away; and the same with stray feathers, Neither of these, starlings +nor sparrows, seem to like the dark. Under the roof, between it and the +first ceiling, there is a large open space; if the slates or tiles are +kept in good order, very little light enters, and this space is nearly +dark in daylight. Even if chinks admit a beam of light, it is not enough; +they seldom enter or fly about there, though quite accessible to them. +But if the roof is in bad order, and this space light, they enter freely. +Though nesting in holes, yet they like light. The swallows could easily +go in and make nests upon the beams, but they will not, unless the place +is well lit. They do not like darkness in the daytime. + +The swallows bring us the sunbeams on their wings from Africa to fill the +fields with flowers. From the time of the arrival of the first swallow +the flowers take heart; the few and scanty plants that had braved the +earlier cold are succeeded by a constantly enlarging list, till the banks +and lanes are full of them. The chimney-swallow is usually the forerunner +of the three house-swallows; and perhaps no fact in natural history has +been so much studied as the migration of these tender birds. The +commonest things are always the most interesting. In summer there is no +bird so common everywhere as the swallow, and for that reason many +overlook it, though they rush to see a "white elephant." But the deepest +thinkers have spent hours and hours in considering the problem of the +swallow--its migrations, its flight, its habits; great poets have loved +it; great artists and art-writers have curiously studied it. The idea +that it is necessary to seek the wilderness or the thickest woods for +nature is a total mistake; nature it, at home, on the roof, close to +every one. Eave-swallows, or house-martins (easily distinguished by the +white bar across the tail), build sometimes in the shelter of the porches +of old houses. + +As you go in or out, the swallows visiting or leaving their nests fly so +closely as almost to brush the face. Swallow means porch-bird, and for +centuries and centuries their nests have been placed in the closest +proximity to man. They might be called man's birds, so attached are they +to the human race. I think the greatest ornament a house can have is the +nest of an eave-swallow under the eaves--far superior to the most +elaborate carving, colouring, or arrangement the architect can devise. +There is no ornament like the swallow's nest; the home of a messenger +between man and the blue heavens, between us and the sunlight, and all +the promise of the sky. The joy of life, the highest and tenderest +feelings, thoughts that soar on the swallow's wings, come to the round +nest under the roof. Not only to-day, not only the hopes of future years, +but all the past dwells there. Year after year the generations and +descent of the swallow have been associated with our homes, and all the +events of successive lives have taken place under their guardianship. The +swallow is the genius of good to a house. Let its nest, then, stay; to me +it seems the extremity of barbarism, or rather stupidity, to knock it +down. I wish I could induce them to build under the eaves of this house; +I would if I could discover some means of communicating with them. + +It is a peculiarity of the swallow that you cannot make it afraid of you; +just the reverse of other birds. The swallow does not understand being +repulsed, but comes back again. Even knocking the nest down will not +drive it away, until the stupid process has been repeated several years. +The robin must be coaxed; the sparrow is suspicious, and though easy to +tame, quick to notice the least alarming movement. The swallow will not +be driven away. He has not the slightest fear of man; he flies to his +nest close to the window, under the low eave, or on the beams in the +out-houses, no matter if you are looking on or not. Bold as the starlings +are, they will seldom do this. But in the swallow the instinct of +suspicion is reversed, an instinct of confidence occupies its place. In +addition to the eave-swallow, to which I have chiefly alluded, and the +chimney-swallow, there is the swift, also a roof-bird, and making its +nest in the slates of houses in the midst of towns. These three are +migrants in the fullest sense, and come to our houses over thousands of +miles of land and sea. + +Robins frequently visit the roof for insects, especially when it is +thatched; so do wrens; and the latter, after they have peered along, have +a habit of perching at the extreme angle of a gable, or the extreme edge +of a corner, and uttering their song. Finches occasionally fly up to the +roofs of country-houses if shrubberies are near, also in pursuit of +insects; but they are not truly roof-birds. Wagtails perch on roofs; they +often have their nests in the ivy, or creepers trained against walls; +they are quite at borne, and are frequently seen on the ridges of +farmhouses. Tits of several species, particularly the great titmouse and +the blue tit, come to thatch for insects, both in summer and winter. In +some districts where they are common, it is not unusual to see a +goatsucker or fern-owl hawk along close to the eaves in the dusk of the +evening for moths. The white owl is a roof-bird (though not often of the +house), building inside the roof, and sitting there all day in some +shaded corner. They do sometimes take up their residence in the roofs of +outhouses attached to dwellings, but not often nowadays, though still +residing in the roofs of old castles. Jackdaws, again, are roof-birds, +building in the roofs of towers. Bats live in roofs, and hang there +wrapped up in their membranous wings till the evening calls them forth. +They are residents in the full sense, remaining all the year round, +though principally seen in the warmer months; but they are there in the +colder, hidden away, and if the temperature rises, will venture out and +hawk to and fro in the midst of the winter. Tame pigeons and doves hardly +come into this paper, but still it is their habit to use roofs as +tree-tops. Rats and mice creep through the crevices of roofs, and in old +country-houses hold a sort of nightly carnival, racing to and fro under +the roof. Weasels sometimes follow them indoors and up to their roof +strongholds. + +When the first warm days of spring sunshine strike against the southern +side of the chimney, sparrows perch there and enjoy it; and again in +autumn, when the general warmth of the atmosphere is declining, they +still find a little pleasant heat there. They make use of the radiation +of heat, as the gardener does who trains his fruit-trees to a wall. +Before the autumn has thinned the leaves, the swallows gather on the +highest ridge of the roof in a row and twitter to each other; they know +the time is approaching when they must depart for another climate. In +winter, many birds seek the thatched roofs to roost. Wrens, tits, and +even blackbirds roost in the holes left by sparrows or starlings. + +Every crevice is the home of insects, or used by them for the deposit of +their eggs--under the tiles or slates, where mortar has dropped out +between the bricks, in the holes of thatch, and on the straws. The number +of insects that frequent a large roof must be very great--all the robins, +wrens, bats, and so on, can scarcely affect them; nor the spiders, though +these, too, are numerous. Then there are the moths, and those creeping +creatures that work out of sight, boring their way through the rafters +and beams. Sometimes a sparrow may be seen clinging to the bare wall of +the house; tits do the same thing. It is surprising how they manage to +hold on. They are taking insects from the apertures of the mortar. Where +the slates slope to the south, the sunshine soon heats them, and passing +butterflies alight on the warm surface, and spread out their wings, as if +hovering over the heat. Flies are attracted in crowds sometimes to heated +slates and tiles, and wasps will occasionally pause there. Wasps are +addicted to haunting houses, and, in the autumn, feed on the flies. +Floating germs carried by the air must necessarily lodge in numbers +against roofs; so do dust and invisible particles; and together, these +make the rain-water collected in water-butts after a storm turbid and +dark; and it soon becomes full of living organisms. + +Lichen and moss grow on the mortar wherever it has become slightly +disintegrated; and if any mould, however minute, by any means accumulates +between the slates, there, too, they spring up, and even on the slates +themselves. Tiles are often coloured yellow by such growths. On some old +roofs, which have decayed, and upon which detritus has accumulated, +wallflowers may be found; and the house-leek takes capricious root where +it fancies. The stonecrop is the finest of roof-plants, sometimes forming +a broad patch of brilliant yellow. Birds carry up seeds and grains, and +these germinate in moist thatch. Groundsel, for instance, and stray +stalks of wheat, thin and drooping for lack of soil, are sometimes seen +there, besides grasses. Ivy is familiar as a roof-creeper. Some ferns and +the pennywort will grow on the wall close to the roof. A correspondent +tells me that in Wales he found a cottage perfectly roofed with fern--it +grew so thickly as to conceal the roof. Had a painter put this in a +picture, many would have exclaimed: "How fanciful! He must have made it +up; it could never have grown like that!" Not long after receiving my +correspondent's kind letter, I chanced to find a roof near London upon +which the same fern was growing in lines along the tiles. It grew +plentifully, but was not in so flourishing a condition as that found in +Wales. Painters are sometimes accused of calling upon their imagination +when they are really depicting fact, for the ways of nature vary very +much in different localities, and that which may seem impossible in one +place is common enough in another. + +Where will not ferns grow? We saw one attached to the under-side of a +glass coal-hole cover; its green could be seen through the thick glass on +which people stepped daily. + +Recently, much attention has been paid to the dust which is found on +roofs and ledges at great heights. This meteoric dust, as it is called, +consists of minute particles of iron, which are thought to fall from the +highest part of the atmosphere, or possibly to be attracted to the earth +from space. Lightning usually strikes the roof. The whole subject of +lightning-conductors has been re-opened of late years, there being reason +to think that mistakes have been made in the manner of their erection. +The reason English roofs are high-pitched is not only because of the +rain, that it may shoot off quickly, but on account of snow. Once now and +then there comes a snow-year, and those who live in houses with flat +surfaces anywhere on the roof soon discover how inconvenient they are. +The snow is sure to find its way through, damaging ceilings, and doing +other mischief. Sometimes, in fine summer weather, people remark how +pleasant it would be if the roof were flat, so that it could be used as a +terrace, as it is in warmer climates. But the fact is, the English roof, +although now merely copied and repeated without a thought of the reason +of its shape, grew up from experience of severe winters. Of old, great +care and ingenuity--what we should now call artistic skill--were employed +in contracting the roof. It was not only pleasant to the eye with its +gables, but the woodwork was wonderfully well done. Such roofs may still +be seen on ancient mansions, having endured for centuries. They are +splendid pieces of workmanship, and seen from afar among foliage, are +admired by every one who has the least taste. Draughtsmen and painters +value them highly. No matter whether reproduced on a large canvas or in a +little woodcut, their proportions please. The roof is much neglected in +modern houses; it is either conventional, or it is full indeed of gables, +but gables that do not agree, as it were, with each other--that are +obviously put there on purpose to look artistic, and fail altogether. +Now, the ancient roofs were true works of art, consistent, and yet each +varied to its particular circumstances, and each impressed with the +individuality of the place and of the designer. The finest old roofs were +built of oak or chestnut; the beams are black with age, and, in that +condition, oak is scarcely distinguishable from chestnut. + +So the roof has its natural history, its science, and art; it has its +seasons, its migrants and residents, of whom a housetop calendar might be +made. The fine old roofs which have just been mentioned are often +associated with historic events and the rise of families; and the +roof-tree, like the hearth, has a range of proverbs or sayings and +ancient lore to itself. More than one great monarch has been slain by a +tile thrown from the housetop, and numerous other incidents have occurred +in connection with it. The most interesting is the story of the Grecian +mother who, with her infant, was on the roof, when, in a moment of +inattention, the child crept to the edge, and was balanced on the very +verge. To call to it, to touch it, would have insured its destruction; +but the mother, without a second's thought, bared her breast, and the +child eagerly turning to it, was saved! + + + +ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS + + +I + +If any one were to get up about half-past five on an August morning and +look out of an eastern window in the country, he would see the distant +trees almost hidden by a white mist. The tops of the larger groups of +elms would appear above it, and by these the line of the hedgerows could +be traced. Tier after tier they stretch along, rising by degrees on a +gentle slope, the space between filled with haze. Whether there were +corn-fields or meadows under this white cloud he could not tell--a cloud +that might have come down from the sky, leaving it a clear azure. This +morning haze means intense heat in the day. It is hot already, very hot, +for the sun is shining with all his strength, and if you wish the house +to be cool it is time to set the sunblinds. + +Roger, the reaper, had slept all night in the cowhouse, lying on the +raised platform of narrow planks put up for cleanliness when the cattle +were there. He had set the wooden window wide open and left the door ajar +when he came stumbling in overnight, long after the late swallows had +settled in their nests in the beams, and the bats had wearied of moth +catching. One of the swallows twittered a little, as much as to say to +his mate, "my love, it is only a reaper, we need not be afraid," and all +was silence and darkness. Roger did not so much as take off his boots, +but flung himself on the boards crash, curled himself up hedgehog fashion +with some old sacks, and immediately began to breathe heavily. He had no +difficulty in sleeping, first because his muscles had been tried to the +utmost, and next because his skin was full to the brim, not of jolly +"good ale and old" but of the very smallest and poorest of wish-washy +beer. In his own words, it "blowed him up till he very nigh bust." Now +the great authorities on dyspepsia, so eagerly studied by the wealthy +folk whose stomachs are deranged, tell us that a very little flatulence +will make the heart beat irregularly and cause the most distressing +symptoms. + +Roger had swallowed at least a gallon of a liquid chemically designed, +one might say, on purpose to utterly upset the internal economy. Harvest +beer is probably the vilest drink in the world. The men say it is made by +pouring muddy water into empty casks returned sour from use, and then +brushing them round and round inside with a besom. This liquid leaves a +stickiness on the tongue and a harsh feeling at the back of the mouth +which soon turns to thirst, so that having once drunk a pint the drinker +must go on drinking. The peculiar dryness caused by this beer is not like +any other throat drought--worse than dust, or heat, or thirst from work; +there is no satisfying it. With it there go down the germs of +fermentation, a sour, yeasty, and, as it were, secondary fermentation; +not that kind which is necessary to make beer, but the kind that unmakes +and spoils beer. It is beer rotting and decomposing in the stomach. +Violent diarrhoea often follows, and then the exhaustion thus caused +induces the men to drink more in order to regain the strength necessary +to do their work. The great heat of the sun and the heat of hard labour, +the strain and perspiration, of course try the body and weaken the +digestion. To distend the stomach with half a gallon of this liquor, +expressly compounded to ferment, is about the most murderous thing a man +could do--murderous because it exposes him to the risk of sunstroke. So +vile a drink there is not elsewhere in the world; arrack, and +potato-spirit, and all the other killing extracts of the distiller are +not equal to it. Upon this abominable mess the golden harvest of English +fields is gathered in. + +Some people have in consequence endeavoured to induce the harvesters to +accept a money payment in place of beer, and to a certain extent +successfully. Even then, however, they must drink something. Many manage +on weak tea after a fashion, but not so well as the abstainers would have +us think. Others have brewed for their men a miserable stuff in buckets, +an infusion of oatmeal, and got a few to drink it; but English labourers +will never drink oatmeal-water unless they are paid to do it. If they are +paid extra beer-money and oatmeal water is made for them gratis, some +will, of course, imbibe it, especially if they see that thereby they may +obtain little favours from their employer by yielding to his fad. By +drinking the crotchet perhaps they may get a present now and then-food +for themselves, cast-off clothes for their families, and so on. For it is +a remarkable feature of human natural history, the desire to proselytise. +The spectacle of John Bull--jovial John Bull--offering his men a bucket +of oatmeal liquor is not a pleasant one. Such a John Bull ought to be +ashamed of himself. + +The truth is the English farmer's man was and is, and will be, a drinker +of beer. Neither tea, nor oatmeal, nor vinegar and water (coolly +recommended by indoor folk) will do for him. His natural constitution +rebels against such "peevish" drink. In winter he wants beer against the +cold and the frosty rime and the heavy raw mist that hangs about the +hollows; in spring and autumn against the rain, and in summer to support +him under the pressure of additional work and prolonged hours. Those who +really wish well to the labourer cannot do better than see that he really +has beer to drink--real beer, genuine brew of malt and hops, a moderate +quantity of which will supply force to his thews and sinews, and will not +intoxicate or injure. If by giving him a small money payment in lieu of +such large quantities you can induce him to be content with a little, so +much the better. If an employer followed that plan, and at the same time +once or twice a day sent out a moderate supply of genuine beer as a gift +to his men, he would do them all the good in the world, and at the same +time obtain for himself their goodwill and hearty assistance, that hearty +work which is worth so much. + +Roger breathed heavily in his sleep in the cowhouse, because the vile +stuff he had taken puffed him up and obstructed nature. The tongue in his +open mouth became parched and cracked, swollen and dry; he slept indeed, +but he did not rest; he groaned heavily at times and rolled aside. Once +he awoke choking--he could not swallow, his tongue was so dry and large; +he sat up, swore, and again lay down. The rats in the sties had already +discovered that a man slept in the cowhouse, a place they rarely visited, +as there was nothing there to eat; how they found it out no one knows. +They are clever creatures, the despised rats. They came across in the +night and looked under his bed, supposing that he might have eaten his +bread-and-cheese for supper there, and that fragments might have dropped +between the boards. There were none. They mounted the boards and sniffed +round him; they would have stolen the food from his very pocket if it had +been there. Nor could they find a bundle in a handkerchief, which they +would have gnawn through speedily. Not a scrap of food was there to be +smelt at, so they left him. Roger had indeed gone supperless, as usual; +his supper he had swilled and not eaten. His own fault; he should have +exercised self-control. Well, I don't know; let us consider further +before we judge. + +In houses the difficulty often is to get the servants up in the morning; +one cannot wake, and the rest sleep too sound--much the same thing; yet +they have clocks and alarums. The reapers are never behind. Roger got off +his planks, shook himself, went outside the shed, and tightened his +shoelaces in the bright light. His rough hair he just pushed back from +his forehead, and that was his toilet. His dry throat sent him to the +pump, but he did not swallow much of the water--he washed his mouth out, +and that was enough; and so without breakfast he went to his work. +Looking down from the stile on the high ground there seemed to be a white +cloud resting on the valley, through which the tops of the high trees +penetrated; the hedgerows beneath were concealed, and their course could +only be traced by the upper branches of the elms. Under this cloud the +wheat-fields were blotted out; there seemed neither corn nor grass, work +for man nor food for animal; there could be nothing doing there surely. +In the stillness of the August morning, without song of bird, the sun, +shining brilliantly high above the mist, seemed to be the only living +thing, to possess the whole and reign above absolute peace. It is a +curious sight to see the early harvest morn--all hushed under the burning +sun, a morn that you know is full of life and meaning, yet quiet as if +man's foot had never trodden the land. Only the sun is there, rolling on +his endless way. + +Roger's head was bound with brass, but had it not been he would not have +observed anything in the aspect of the earth. Had a brazen band been +drawn firmly round his forehead it could not have felt more stupefied. +His eyes blinked in the sunlight; every now and then he stopped to save +himself from staggering; he was not in a condition to think. It would +have mattered not at all if his head had been clear; earth, sky, and sun +were nothing to him; he knew the footpath, and saw that the day would be +fine and hot, and that was sufficient for him, because his eyes had never +been opened. + +The reaper had risen early to his labour, but the birds had preceded him +hours. Before the sun was up the swallows had left their beams in the +cowshed and twittered out into the air. The rooks and wood-pigeons and +doves had gone to the corn, the blackbird to the stream, the finch to the +hedgerow, the bees to the heath on the hills, the humble-bees to the +clover in the plain. Butterflies rose from the flowers by the footpath, +and fluttered before him to and fro and round and back again to the place +whence they had been driven. Goldfinches tasting the first thistledown +rose from the corner where the thistles grew thickly. A hundred sparrows +came rushing up into the hedge, suddenly filling the boughs with brown +fruit; they chirped and quarrelled in their talk, and rushed away again +back to the corn as he stepped nearer. The boughs were stripped of their +winged brown berries as quickly as they had grown. Starlings ran before +the cows feeding in the aftermath, so close to their mouths as to seem in +danger of being licked up by their broad tongues. All creatures, from the +tiniest insect upward, were in reality busy under that curtain of +white-heat haze. It looked so still, so quiet, from afar; entering it and +passing among the fields, all that lived was found busy at its long day's +work. Roger did not interest himself in these things, in the wasps that +left the gate as he approached--they were making _papier-mache_ from the +wood of the top bar,--in the bright poppies brushing against his drab +unpolished boots, in the hue of the wheat or the white convolvulus; they +were nothing to him. + +Why should they be? His life was work without skill or thought, the work +of the horse, of the crane that lifts stones and timber. His food was +rough, his drink rougher, his lodging dry planks. His books were--none; +his picture-gallery a coloured print at the alehouse--a dog, dead, by a +barrel, "Trust is dead! Bad Pay killed him." Of thought he thought +nothing; of hope his idea was a shilling a week more wages; of any future +for himself of comfort such as even a good cottage can give--of any +future whatever--he had no more conception than the horse in the shafts +of the waggon. A human animal simply in all this, yet if you reckoned +upon him as simply an animal--as has been done these centuries--you would +now be mistaken. But why should he note the colour of the butterfly, the +bright light of the sun, the hue of the wheat? This loveliness gave him +no cheese for breakfast; of beauty in itself, for itself, he had no idea. +How should he? To many of us the harvest--the summer--is a time of joy +in light and colour; to him it was a time for adding yet another crust of +hardness to the thick skin of his hands. + +Though the haze looked like a mist it was perfectly dry; the wheat was as +dry as noon; not a speck of dew, and pimpernels wide open for a burning +day. The reaping-machine began to rattle as he came up, and work was +ready for him. At breakfast-time his fellows lent him a quarter of a +loaf, some young onions, and a drink from their tea. He ate little, and +the tea slipped from his hot tongue like water from the bars of a grate; +his tongue was like the heated iron the housemaid tries before using it +on the linen. As the reaping-machine went about the gradually decreasing +square of corn, narrowing it by a broad band each time, the wheat fell +flat on the short stubble. Roger stooped, and, gathering sufficient +together, took a few straws, knotted them to another handful as you might +tie two pieces of string, and twisted the band round the sheaf. He worked +stooping to gather the wheat, bending to tie it in sheaves; stooping, +bending--stooping, bending,--and so across the field. Upon his head and +back the fiery sun poured down the ceaseless and increasing heat of the +August day. His face grew red, his neck black; the drought of the dry +ground rose up and entered his mouth and nostrils, a warm air seemed to +rise from the earth and fill his chest. His body ached from the ferment +of the vile beer, his back ached with stooping, his forehead was bound +tight with a brazen band. They brought some beer at last; it was like the +spring in the desert to him. The vicious liquor--"a hair of the dog that +bit him"--sank down his throat grateful and refreshing to his disordered +palate as if he had drunk the very shadow of green boughs. Good ale would +have seemed nauseous to him at that moment, his taste and stomach +destroyed by so many gallons of this. He was "pulled together," and +worked easier; the slow hours went on, and it was luncheon. He could have +borrowed more food, but he was content instead with a screw of tobacco +for his pipe and his allowance of beer. + +They sat in the corner of the field. There were no trees for shade; they +had been cut down as injurious to corn, but there were a few maple bushes +and thin ash sprays, which seemed better than the open. The bushes cast +no shade at all, the sun being so nearly overhead, but they formed a kind +of enclosure, an open-air home, for men seldom sit down if they can help +it on the bare and level plain; they go to the bushes, to the corner, or +even to some hollow. It is not really any advantage; it is habit; or +shall we not rather say that it is nature? Brought back as it were in the +open field to the primitive conditions of life, they resumed the same +instincts that controlled man in the ages past. Ancient man sought the +shelter of trees and banks, of caves and hollows, and so the labourers +under somewhat the same conditions came to the corner where the bushes +grew. There they left their coats and slung up their luncheon-bundles to +the branches; there the children played and took charge of the infants; +there the women had their hearth and hung their kettle over a fire of +sticks. + + +II + + +In August the unclouded sun, when there is no wind, shines as fervently +in the harvest-field as in Spain. It is doubtful if the Spanish people +feel the heat so much as our reapers; they have their siesta; their +habits have become attuned to the sun, and it is no special strain upon +them. In India our troops are carefully looked after in the hot weather, +and everything made as easy for them as possible; without care and +special clothing and coverings for the head they could not long endure. +The English simoon of heat drops suddenly on the heads of the harvesters +and finds them entirely unprepared; they have not so much as a cooling +drink ready; they face it, as it were, unarmed. The sun spares not; It is +fire from morn till night. Afar in the town the sun-blinds are up, there +is a tent on the lawn in the shade, people drink claret-cup and use ice; +ice has never been seen in the harvest-field. Indoors they say they are +melting lying on a sofa in a darkened room, made dusky to keep out the +heat. The fire falls straight from the sky on the heads of the +harvesters--men, women, and children--and the white-hot light beats up +again from the dry straw and the hard ground. + +The tender flowers endure; the wide petal of the poppy, which withers +between the fingers, lies afloat on the air as the lilies on water, +afloat and open to the weight of the heat. The red pimpernel looks +straight up at the sky from the early morning till its hour of closing in +the afternoon. Pale blue speedwell does not fade; the pale blue stands +the warmth equally with the scarlet. Far in the thick wheat the streaked +convolvulus winds up the stalks, and is not smothered for want of air +though wrapped and circled with corn. Beautiful though they are, they are +bloodless, not sensitive; we have given to them our feelings, they do not +share our pain or pleasure. Heat has gone into the hollow stalks of the +wheat and down the yellow tubes to the roots, drying them in the earth. +Heat has dried the leaves upon the hedge, and they touch rough--dusty +rough, as books touch that have been lying unused; the plants on the bank +are drying up and turning white. Heat has gone down into the cracks of +the ground; the bar of the stile is so dry and powdery in the crevices +that if a reaper chanced to drop a match on it there would seem risk of +fire. The still atmosphere is laden with heat, and does not move in the +corner of the field between the bushes. + +Roger the reaper smoked out his tobacco; the children played round and +watched for scraps of food; the women complained of the heat; the men +said nothing. It is seldom that a labourer grumbles much at the weather, +except as interfering with his work. Let the heat increase, so it would +only keep fine. The fire in the sky meant money. Work went on again; +Roger had now to go to another field to pitch--that is, help to load the +waggon; as a young man, that was one of the jobs allotted to him. This +was the reverse. Instead of stooping he had now to strain himself upright +and lift sheaves over his head. His stomach empty of everything but small +ale did not like this any more than his back had liked the other; but +those who work for bare food must not question their employment. Heavily +the day drove on; there was more beer, and again more beer, because it +was desired to clear some fields that evening. Monotonously pitching the +sheaves, Roger laboured by the waggon till the last had been loaded--till +the moon was shining. His brazen forehead was unbound now; in spite of +the beer the work and the perspiration had driven off the aching. He was +weary but well. Nor had he been dull during the day; he had talked and +joked--cumbrously in labourers' fashion--with his fellows. His aches, +his empty stomach, his labour, and the heat had not overcome the vitality +of his spirits. There was life enough left for a little rough play as the +group gathered together and passed out through the gateway. Life enough +left in him to go with the rest to the alehouse; and what else, oh +moralist, would you have done in his place? This, remember, is not a +fancy sketch of rural poetry; this is the reaper's real existence. + +He had been in the harvest-field fourteen hours, exposed to the intense +heat, not even shielded by a pith helmet; he had worked the day through +with thew and sinew; he had had for food a little dry bread and a few +onions, for drink a little weak tea and a great deal of small beer. The +moon was now shining in the sky, still bright with sunset colours. +Fourteen hours of sun and labour and hard fare! Now tell him what to do. +To go straight to his plank-bed in the cowhouse; to eat a little more dry +bread, borrow some cheese or greasy bacon, munch it alone, and sit musing +till sleep came--he who had nothing to muse about. I think it would need +a very clever man indeed to invent something for him to do, some way for +him to spend his evening. Read! To recommend a man to read after fourteen +hours' burning sun is indeed a mockery; darn his stockings would be +better. There really is nothing whatsoever that the cleverest and most +benevolent person could suggest. Before any benevolent or well-meaning +suggestions could be effective the preceding circumstances must be +changed--the hours and conditions of labour, everything; and can that be +done? The world has been working these thousands of years, and still it +is the same; with our engines, our electric light, our printing press, +still the coarse labour of the mine, the quarry, the field has to be +carried out by human hands. While that is so, it is useless to recommend +the weary reaper to read. For a man is not a horse: the horse's day's +work is over; taken to his stable he is content, his mind goes no deeper +than the bottom of his manger, and so long as his nose does not feel the +wood, so long as it is met by corn and hay, he will endure happily. But +Roger the reaper is not a horse. + +Just as his body needed food and drink, so did his mind require +recreation, and that chiefly consists of conversation. The drinking and +the smoking are in truth but the attributes of the labourer's +public-house evening. It is conversation that draws him thither, just as +it draws men with money in their pockets to the club and the houses of +their friends. Any one can drink or smoke alone; it needs several for +conversation, for company. You pass a public-house--the reaper's +house--in the summer evening. You see a number of men grouped about +trestle-tables out of doors, and others sitting at the open window; there +is an odour of tobacco, a chink of glasses and mugs. You can smell the +tobacco and see the ale; you cannot see the indefinite power which holds +men there--the magnetism of company and conversation. _Their_ +conversation, not _your_ conversation; not the last book, the last play; +not saloon conversation; but theirs--talk in which neither you nor any +one of your condition could really join. To us there would seem nothing +at all in that conversation, vapid and subjectless; to them it means +much. We have not been through the same circumstances: our day has been +differently spent, and the same words have therefore a varying value. +Certain it is, that it is conversation that takes men to the +public-house. Had Roger been a horse he would have hastened to borrow +some food, and, having eaten that, would have cast himself at once upon +his rude bed. Not being an animal, though his life and work were animal, +he went with his friends to talk. Let none unjustly condemn him as a +blackguard for that--no, not even though they had seen him at ten o'clock +unsteadily walking to his shed, and guiding himself occasionally with his +hands to save himself from stumbling. He blundered against the door, and +the noise set the swallows on the beams twittering. He reached his +bedstead, and sat down and tried to unlace his boots, but could not. He +threw himself upon the sacks and fell asleep. Such was one twenty-four +hours of harvest-time. + +The next and the next, for weeks, were almost exactly similar; now a +little less beer, now a little more; now tying up, now pitching, now +cutting a small field or corner with a fagging-hook. Once now and then +there was a great supper at the farm. Once he fell out with another +fellow, and they had a fight; Roger, however, had had so much ale, and +his opponent so much whisky, that their blows were soft and helpless. +They both fell--that is, they stumbled,--they were picked up, there was +some more beer, and it was settled. One afternoon Roger became suddenly +giddy, and was so ill that he did no more work that day, and very little +on the following. It was something like a sunstroke, but fortunately a +slight attack; on the third day he resumed his place. Continued labour in +the sun, little food and much drink, stomach derangement, in short, +accounted for his illness. Though he resumed his place and worked on, he +was not so well afterwards; the work was more of an effort to him, and +his face lost its fulness, and became drawn and pointed. Still he +laboured, and would not miss an hour, for harvest was coming to an end, +and the extra wages would soon cease. For the first week or so of +haymaking or reaping the men usually get drunk, delighted with the +prospect before them, they then settle down fairly well. Towards the end +they struggle hard to recover lost time and the money spent in ale. + +As the last week approached, Roger went up into the village and ordered +the shoemaker to make him a good pair of boots. He paid partly for them +then, and the rest next pay-day. This was a tremendous effort. The +labourer usually pays a shilling at a time, but Roger mistrusted himself. +Harvest was practically over, and after all the labour and the long +hours, the exposure to the sun and the rude lodging, he found he should +scarcely have thirty shillings. With the utmost ordinary care he could +have saved a good lump of money. He was a single man, and his actual keep +cost but little. Many married labourers, who had been forced by hard +necessity to economy, contrived to put by enough to buy clothes for their +families. The single man, with every advantage, hardly had thirty +shillings, and even then it showed extraordinary prudence on his part to +go and purchase a pair of boots for the winter. Very few in his place +would have been as thoughtful as that; they would have got boots somehow +in the end, but not beforehand. This life of animal labour does not grow +the spirit of economy. Not only in farming, but in navvy work, in the +rougher work of factories and mines, the same fact is evident. The man +who labours with thew and sinew at horse labour--crane labour--not for +himself, but for others, is not the man who saves. If he worked for his +own hand possibly he might, no matter how rough his labour and fare; not +while working for another. Roger reached his distant home among the +meadows at last, with one golden half-sovereign in his pocket. That and +his new pair of boots, not yet finished, represented the golden harvest +to him. He lodged with his parents when at home; he was so far fortunate +that he had a bed to go to; therefore in the estimation of his class he +was not badly off. But if we consider his position as regards his own +life we must recognise that he was very badly off indeed, so much +precious time and the strength of his youth having been wasted. + +Often it is stated that the harvest wages recoup the labourer for the low +weekly receipts of the year, and if the money be put down in figures with +pen and ink it is so. But in actual fact the pen-and-ink figures do not +represent the true case; these extra figures have been paid for, and gold +may be bought too dear. Roger had paid heavily for his half-sovereign and +his boots; his pinched face did not look as if he had benefited greatly. +His cautious old father, rendered frugal by forty years of labour, had +done fairly well; the young man not at all. The old man, having a +cottage, in a measure worked for his own hand. The young man, with none +but himself to think of, scattered his money to the winds. Is money +earned with such expenditure of force worth the having? Look at the arm +of a woman labouring in the harvest-field--thin, muscular, sinewy, black +almost, it tells of continual strain. After much of this she becomes +pulled out of shape, the neck loses its roundness and shows the sinews, +the chest flattens. In time the women find the strain of it tell +severely. I am not trying to make out a case of special hardship, being +aware that both men, women, and children work as hard and perhaps suffer +more in cities; I am simply describing the realities of rural life behind +the scenes. The golden harvest is the first scene: the golden wheat, +glorious under the summer sun. Bright poppies flower in its depths, and +convolvulus climbs the stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the yellow +surface as they might over a lake of colour. To linger by it, to visit it +day by day, at even to watch the sunset by it, and see it pale under the +changing light, is a delight to the thoughtful mind. There is so much in +the wheat, there are books of meditation in it, it is dear to the heart. +Behind these beautiful aspects comes the reality of human labour--hours +upon hours of heat and strain; there comes the reality of a rude life, +and in the end little enough of gain. The wheat is beautiful, but human +life is labour. + + + +THE MODERN THAMES + + +I + +The wild red deer can never again come down to drink at the Thames in the +dusk of the evening as once they did. While modern civilisation endures, +the larger fauna must necessarily be confined to parks or restrained to +well-marked districts; but for that very reason the lesser creatures of +the wood, the field, and the river should receive the more protection. If +this applies to the secluded country, far from the stir of cities, still +more does it apply to the neighbourhood of London. From a sportsman's +point of view, or from that of a naturalist, the state of the river is +one of chaos. There is no order. The Thames appears free even from the +usual rules which are in force upon every highway. A man may not fire a +gun within a certain distance of a road under a penalty--a law enacted +for the safety of passengers, who were formerly endangered by persons +shooting small birds along the hedges bordering roads. Nor may he shoot +at all, not so much as fire off a pistol (as recently publicly proclaimed +by the Metropolitan police to restrain the use of revolvers), without a +licence. But on the river people do as they choose, and there does not +seem to be any law at all--or at least there is no authority to enforce +it, if it exists. Shooting from boats and from the towing-path is carried +on in utter defiance of the licensing law, of the game law (as applicable +to wild fowl), and of the safety of persons who may be passing. The +moorhens are shot, the kingfishers have been nearly exterminated or +driven away from some parts, the once common black-headed bunting is +comparatively scarce in the more frequented reaches, and if there is +nothing else to shoot at, then the swallows are slaughtered. Some have +even taken to shooting at the rooks in the trees or fields by the river +with small-bore rifles--a most dangerous thing to do. The result is that +the osier-beds on the eyots and by the backwaters--the copses of the +river--are almost devoid of life. A few moorhens creep under the aquatic +grasses and conceal themselves beneath the bushes, water-voles hide among +the flags, but the once extensive host of waterfowl and river life has +been reduced to the smallest limits. Water-fowl cannot breed because they +are shot on the nest, or their eggs taken. As for rarer birds, of course +they have not the slightest chance. The fish have fared better because +they have received the benefit of close seasons, enforced with more or +less vigilance all along the river. They are also protected by +regulations making it illegal to capture them except in a sportsmanlike +manner; snatching, for instance, is unlawful. Riverside proprietors +preserve some reaches, piscatorial societies preserve others, and the +complaint indeed is that the rights of the public have been encroached +upon. The too exclusive preservation of fish is in a measure responsible +for the destruction of water-fowl, which are cleared off preserved places +in order that they may not help themselves to fry or spawn. On the other +hand, the societies may claim to have saved parts of the river from being +entirely deprived of fish, for it is not long since it appeared as if the +stream would be quite cleared out. Large quantities of fish have also +been placed in the river taken from ponds and bodily transported to the +Thames. So that upon the whole the fish have been well looked after of +recent years. + +The more striking of the aquatic plants--such as white water-lilies--have +been much diminished in quantity by the constant plucking, and injury is +said to have been done by careless navigation. In things of this kind a +few persons can do a great deal of damage. Two or three men with guns, +and indifferent to the interests of sport or natural history, at work +every day, can clear a long stretch of river of waterfowl, by scaring if +not by actually killing them. Imagine three or four such gentry allowed +to wander at will in a large game preserve--in a week they would totally +destroy it as a preserve. The river, after all, is but a narrow band as +it were, and is easily commanded by a gun. So, too, with fish poachers; a +very few men with nets can quickly empty a good piece of water: and +flowers like water-lilies, which grow only in certain spots, are soon +pulled or spoiled. This aspect of the matter--the immense mischief which +can be effected by a very few persons--should be carefully borne in mind +in framing any regulations. For the mischief done on the river is really +the work of a small number, a mere fraction of the thousands of all +classes who frequent it. Not one in a thousand probably perpetrates any +intentional damage to fish, fowl, or flowers. + +As the river above all things is, and ought to be, a place of recreation, +care must be particularly taken that in restraining these practices the +enjoyment of the many be not interfered with. The rational pleasure of +999 people ought not to be checked because the last of the thousand acts +as a blackguard. This point, too, bears upon the question of +steam-launches. A launch can pass as softly and quietly as a skiff +floating with the stream. And there is a good deal to be said on the +other side, for the puntsmen stick themselves very often in the way of +every one else; and if you analyse fishing for minnows from a punt you +will not find it a noble sport. A river like the Thames, belonging as it +does--or as it ought--to a city like London, should be managed from the +very broadest standpoint. There should be pleasure for all, and there +certainly is no real difficulty in arranging matters to that end. The +Thames should be like a great aquarium, in which a certain balance of +life has to be kept up. When aquaria first came into favour such things +as snails and weeds were excluded as eyesores and injurious. But it was +soon discovered that the despised snails and weeds were absolutely +necessary; an aquarium could not be maintained in health without them, +and now the most perfect aquarium is the one in which the natural state +is most completely copied. On the same principle it is evident that too +exclusive preservation must be injurious to the true interests of the +river. Fish enthusiasts, for instance, desire the extinction of +water-fowl--there is not a single aquatic bird which they do not accuse +of damage to fry, spawn, or full-grown fish; no, not one, from the heron +down to the tiny grebe. They are nearly as bitter against animals, the +poor water-vole (or water-rat) even is denounced and shot. Any one who +chooses may watch the water-rat feeding on aquatic vegetation; never +mind, shoot him because he's there. There is no other reason. Bitterest, +harshest, most envenomed of all is the outcry and hunt directed against +the otter. It is as if the otter were a wolf--as if he were as injurious +as the mighty boar whom Meleager and his companions chased in the days of +dim antiquity. What, then, has the otter done? Has he ravaged the fields? +does he threaten the homesteads? is he at Temple Bar? are we to run, as +the old song says, from the Dragon? The fact is, the ravages attributed +to the otter are of a local character. They are chiefly committed in +those places where fish are more or less confined. If you keep sheep +close together in a pen the wolf who leaps the hurdles can kill the flock +if he chooses. In narrow waters, and where fish are maintained in +quantities out of proportion to extent, an otter can work doleful woe. +That is to say, those who want too many fish are those who give the otter +his opportunity. + +In a great river like the Thames a few otters cannot do much or lasting +injury except in particular places. The truth is, that the otter is an +ornament to the river, and more worthy of preservation than any other +creature. He is the last and largest of the wild creatures who once +roamed so freely in the forests which enclosed Londinium, that fort in +the woods and marshes--marshes which to this day, though drained and +built over, enwrap the nineteenth-century city in thick mists. The red +deer are gone, the boar is gone, the wolf necessarily destroyed--the red +deer can never again drink at the Thames in the dusk of the evening while +our civilisation endures. The otter alone remains--the wildest, the most +thoroughly self-supporting of all living things left--a living link going +back to the days of Cassivelaunus. London ought to take the greatest +interest in the otters of its river. The shameless way in which every +otter that dares to show itself is shot, trapped, beaten to death, and +literally battered out of existence, should rouse the indignation of +every sportsman and every lover of nature. The late Rev. John Russell, +who, it will be admitted, was a true sportsman, walked three thousand +miles to see an otter. That was a different spirit, was it not? + +That is the spirit in which the otter in the Thames should be regarded. +Those who offer money rewards for killing Thames otters ought to be +looked on as those who would offer rewards for poisoning foxes in +Leicestershire, I suppose we shall not see the ospreys again; but I +should like to. Again, on the other side of the boundary, in the tidal +waters, the same sort of ravenous destruction is carried on against +everything that ventures up. A short time ago a porpoise came up to +Mortlake; now, just think, a porpoise up from the great sea--that sea to +which Londoners rush with such joy--past Gravesend, past Greenwich, past +the Tower, under London Bridge, past Westminster and the Houses of +Parliament, right up to Mortlake. It is really a wonderful thing that a +denizen of the sea, so large and interesting as a porpoise, should come +right through the vast City of London. In an aquarium, people would go to +see it and admire it, and take their children to see it. What happened? +Some one hastened out in a boat, armed with a gun or a rifle, and +occupied himself with shooting at it. He did not succeed in killing it, +but it was wounded. Some difference here to the spirit of John Russell. +If I may be permitted to express an opinion, I think that there is not a +single creature, from the sand-marten and the black-headed bunting to the +broad-winged heron, from the water-vole to the otter, from the minnow on +one side of the tidal boundary to the porpoise on the other--big and +little, beasts and birds (of prey or not)--that should not be encouraged +and protected on this beautiful river, morally the property of the +greatest city in the world. + + +II + +I looked forward to living by the river with delight, anticipating the +long rows I should have past the green eyots and the old houses red-tiled +among the trees. I should pause below the weir and listen to the pleasant +roar, and watch the fisherman cast again and again with the "transcendent +patience" of genius by which alone the Thames trout is captured. Twisting +the end of a willow bough round my wrist I could moor myself and rest at +ease, though the current roared under the skiff, fresh from the +waterfall. A thousand thousand bubbles rising to the surface would whiten +the stream--a thousand thousand succeeded by another thousand +thousand--and still flowing, no multiple could express the endless +number. That which flows continually by some sympathy is acceptable to +the mind, as if thereby it realised its own existence without an end. +Swallows would skim the water to and fro as yachts tack, the sandpiper +would run along the strand, a black-headed bunting would perch upon the +willow; perhaps, as the man of genius fishing and myself made no noise, a +kingfisher might come, and we might see him take his prey. + +Or I might quit hold of the osier, and, entering a shallow backwater, +disturb shoals of roach playing where the water was transparent to the +bottom, after their wont. Winding in and out like an Indian in his canoe, +perhaps traces of an otter might be found--his kitchen modding--and in +the sedges moorhens and wildfowl would hide from me. From its banks I +should gather many a flower and notice many a plant, there would be, too, +the beautiful water-lily. Or I should row on up the great stream by +meadows full of golden buttercups, past fields crimson with trifolium or +green with young wheat. Handsome sailing craft would come down spanking +before the breeze, laden with bright girls--laughter on board, and love +the golden fleece of their argosy. + +I should converse with the ancient men of the ferries, and listen to +their river lore; they would show me the mark to which the stream rose in +the famous year of floods. On again to the cool hostelry whose sign was +reflected in the water, where there would be a draught of fine ale for +the heated and thirsty sculler. On again till steeple or tower rising +over the trees marked my journey's end for the day, some old town where, +after rest and refreshment, there would be a ruin or a timbered house to +look at, where I should meet folk full of former days and quaint tales of +yore. Thus to journey on from place to place would be the great charm of +the river--travelling by water, not merely sculling to and fro, but +really travelling. Upon a lake I could but row across and back again, and +however lovely the scenery might be, still it would always be the same. +But the Thames, upon the river I could really travel, day after day, from +Teddington Lock upwards to Windsor, to Oxford, on to quiet Lechlade, or +even farther deep into the meadows by Cricklade. Every hour there would +be something interesting, all the freshwater life to study, the very +barges would amuse me, and at last there would be the delicious ease of +floating home carried by the stream, repassing all that had pleased +before. + +The time came. I lived by the river, not far from its widest reaches, +before the stream meets its tide. I went to the eyot for a boat, and my +difficulties began. The crowd of boats lashed to each other in strings +ready for the hirer disconcerted me. There were so many I could not +choose; the whole together looked like a broad raft. Others were hauled +on the shore. Over on the eyot, a little island, there were more boats, +boats launched, boats being launched, boats being carried by gentlemen in +coloured flannels as carefully as mothers handle their youngest infants, +boats covered in canvas mummy-cases, and dim boats under roofs, their +sharp prows projecting like crocodiles' snouts. Tricksy outriggers, ready +to upset on narrow keel, were held firmly for the sculler to step +daintily into his place. A strong eight shot by up the stream, the men +all pulling together as if they had been one animal. A strong sculler +shot by down the stream, his giant arms bare and the muscles visible as +they rose, knotting and unknotting with the stroke. Every one on the bank +and eyot stopped to watch him--they knew him, he was training. How could +an amateur venture out and make an exhibition of himself after such +splendid rowing! Still it was noticeable that plenty of amateurs did +venture out, till the waterway was almost concealed--boated over instead +of bridged--and how they managed to escape locking their oars together, I +could not understand. + +I looked again at the boats. Some were outriggers. I could not get into +an outrigger after seeing the great sculler. The rest were one and all +after the same pattern, _i.e._ with the stern cushioned and prepared for +a lady. Some were larger, and could carry three or four ladies, but they +were all intended for the same purpose. If the sculler went out in such a +boat by himself he must either sit too forward and so depress the stem +and dig himself, as it were, into the water at each stroke, or he must +sit too much to the rear and depress the stern, and row with the stem +lifted up, sniffing the air. The whole crowd of boats on hire were +exactly the same; in short, they were built for woman and not for man, +for lovely woman to recline, parasol in one hand and tiller ropes in the +other, while man--inferior man--pulled and pulled and pulled as an ox +yoked to the plough. They could only be balanced by man and woman, that +was the only way they could be trimmed on an even keel; they were like +scales, in which the weight on one side must be counterpoised by a weight +in the other. They were dead against bachelors. They belonged to woman, +and she was absolute mistress of the river. + +As I looked, the boats ground together a little, chafing, laughing at me, +making game of me, asking distinctly what business a man had there +without at least one companion in petticoats? My courage ebbed, and it +was in a feeble voice that I inquired whether there was no such thing as +a little skiff a fellow might paddle about in? No, nothing of the kind; +would a canoe do? Somehow a canoe would not do. I never took kindly to +canoes, excepting always the Canadian birch-bark pattern; evidently there +was no boat for me. There was no place on the great river for an +indolent, dreamy particle like myself, apt to drift up into nooks, and to +spend much time absorbing those pleasures which enter by the exquisite +sensitiveness of the eye--colour, and shade, and form, and the cadence of +glittering ripple and moving leaf. You must be prepared to pull and push, +and struggle for your existence on the river, as in the vast city hard by +men push and crush for money. You must assert yourself, and insist upon +having your share of the waterway; you must be perfectly convinced that +yours is the very best style of rowing to be seen; every one ought to get +out of your way. You must consult your own convenience only, and drive +right into other people's boats, forcing them up into the willows, or +against the islands. Never slip along the shore, or into quiet +backwaters; always select the more frequented parts, not because you want +to go there, but to make your presence known, and go amongst the crowd; +and if a few sculls get broken, it only proves how very inferior and how +very clumsy other people are. If you see another boat coming down stream, +in the centre of the river with a broad space on either side for others +to pass, at once head your own boat straight at her, and take possession +of the way. Or, better still, never look ahead, but pull straight on, and +let things happen as they may. Annoy everybody, and you are sure to be +right, and to be respected; splash the ladies as you pass with a +dexterous flip of the scull, and soak their summer costumes; it is +capital sport, and they look so sulky--or is it contemptuous? + +There was no such thing as a skiff in which one could quietly paddle +about, or gently make way--mile after mile--up the beautiful stream. The +boating throng grew thicker, and my courage less and less, till I +desperately resorted to the ferry--at all events, I could be rowed over +in the ferry-boat, that would be something; I should be on the water, +after a fashion--and the ferryman would know a good deal. The burly +ferryman cared nothing at all about the river, and merely answered "Yes," +or "No;" he was full of the Derby and Sandown; didn't know about the +fishing; supposed there were fish; didn't see 'em, nor eat 'em; want a +punt? No. So he landed me, desolate and hopeless, on the opposite bank, +and I began to understand how the souls felt after Charon had got them +over. They could not have been more unhappy than I was on the +towing-path, as the ferryboat receded and left me watching the continuous +succession of boats passing up and down the river. + +By-and-by an immense black hulk came drifting round the bend--an empty +barge--almost broadside across the stream, for the current at the curve +naturally carried it out from the shore. This huge helpless monster +occupied the whole river, and had no idea where it was going, for it had +no fins or sweeps to guide its course, and the rudder could only induce +it to submit itself lengthways to the stream after the lapse of some +time. The fairway of the river was entirely taken up by this +irresponsible Frankenstein of the Thames, which some one had started, but +which now did as it liked. Some of the small craft got up into the +willows and waited; some seemed to narrowly escape being crushed against +a wall on the opposite bank. The bright white sails of a yacht shook and +quivered as its steersman tried all he knew to coax his vessel an inch +more into the wind out of the monster's path. In vain! He had to drop +down the stream, and lose what it had taken him half an hour's skill to +gain. What a pleasing monster to meet in the narrow arches of a bridge! +The man in charge leaned on the tiller, and placidly gazed at the wild +efforts of some unskilful oarsmen to escape collision. In fact, the +monster had charge of the man, and did as it liked with him. + +Down the river they drifted together, Frankenstein swinging round and +thrusting his blunt nose first this way and then that; down the river, +blocking up the narrow passage by the eyot; stopping the traffic at the +lock; out at last into the tidal stream, there to begin a fresh life of +annoyance, and finally to endanger the good speed of many a fine +three-master and ocean steamer off the docks. The Thames barge knows no +law. No judge, no jury, no Palace of Justice, no Chancery, no appeal to +the Lords has any terror for the monster barge. It drifts by the Houses +of Parliament with no more respect than it shows for the lodge of the +lock-keeper. It drifts by Royal Windsor and cares not. The guns of the +Tower are of no account. There is nothing in the world so utterly free as +this monster. + +Often have I asked myself if the bargee at the tiller, now sucking at his +short black pipe, now munching onions and cheese (the little onions he +pitches on the lawns by the river side, there to take root and +flourish)--if this amiable man has any notion of his own incomparable +position. Just some inkling of the irony of the situation must, I fancy, +now and then dimly dawn within his grimy brow. To see all these gentlemen +shoved on one side; to be lying in the way of a splendid Australian +clipper; to stop an incoming vessel, impatient for her berth; to swing, +and sway, and roll as he goes; to bump the big ships, and force the +little ones aside; to slip, and slide, and glide with the tide, ripples +dancing under the prow, and be master of the world-famed Thames from +source to mouth, is not this a joy for ever? Liberty is beyond price; now +no one is really free unless he can crush his neighbour's interest +underfoot, like a horse-roller going over a daisy. Bargee is free, and +the ashes of his pipe are worth a king's ransom. + +Imagine a great van loaded at the East-end of London with the heaviest +merchandise, with bags of iron nails, shot, leaden sheets in rolls, and +pig iron; imagine four strong horses--dray-horses--harnessed thereto. +Then let the waggoner mount behind in a seat comfortably contrived for +him facing the rear, and settle himself down happily among his sacks, +light his pipe, and fold his hands untroubled with any worry of reins. +Away they go through the crowded city, by the Bank of England, and across +into Cheapside, cabs darting this way, carriages that, omnibuses forced +up into side-streets, foot traffic suspended till the monster has passed; +up Fleet-street, clearing the road in front of them--right through the +stream of lawyers always rushing to and fro the Temple and the New Law +Courts, along the Strand, and finally in triumph into Rotten Row at five +o'clock on a June afternoon. See how they scatter! see how they run! The +Row is swept clear from end to end--beauty, fashion, rank,--what are such +trifles of an hour? The monster vans grind them all to powder. What such +a waggoner might do on land, bargee does on the river. + +Of olden time the silver Thames was the chosen mode of travel of +Royalty--the highest in the land were rowed from palace to city, or city +to palace, between its sunlit banks. Noblemen had their special oarsmen, +and were in like manner conveyed, and could any other mode of journeying +be equally pleasant? The coal-barge has bumped them all out of the way. + +No man dares send forth the commonest cart unless in proper charge, and +if the horse is not under control a fine is promptly administered. The +coal-barge rolls and turns and drifts as chance and the varying current +please. How huge must be the rent in the meshes of the law to let so +large a fish go through! But in truth there is no law about it, and to +this day no man can confidently affirm that he knows to whom the river +belongs. These curious anomalies are part and parcel of our political +system, and as I watched the black monster slowly go by with the stream +it occurred to me that grimy bargee, with his short pipe and his onions, +was really the guardian of the British Constitution. + +Hardly had he gone past than a loud Pant! pant! pant! began some way down +the river; it came from a tug, whose short puffs of steam produced a +giant echo against the walls and quays and houses on the bank. These +angry pants sounded high above the splash of oars and laughter, and the +chorus of singers in a boat; they conquered all other sounds and noises, +and domineered the place. It was impossible to shut the ears to them, or +to persuade the mind not to heed. The swallows dipped their breasts; how +gracefully they drank on the wing! Pant! pant! pant! The sunlight gleamed +on the wake of a four-oar. Pant! pant! pant! The soft wind blew among the +trees and over the hawthorn hedge. Pant! pant! pant! Neither the eye nor +ear could attend to aught but this hideous uproar. The tug was weak, the +stream strong, the barges behind heavy, broad, and deeply laden, so that +each puff and pant and turn of the screw barely advanced the mass a foot. +There are many feet in a mile, and for all that weary time--Pant! pant! +pant! This dreadful uproar, like that which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza +heard proceeding from the fulling mill, must be endured. Could not +philosophy by stoic firmness shut out the sound? Can philosophy shut out +anything that is real? A long black streak of smoke hung over the water, +fouling the gleaming surface. A noise of Dante--hideous, uncompromising +as the rusty hinge of the gate which forbids hope. Pant! pant! pant! + +Once upon a time a Queen of England was rowed down the silver Thames to +the sweet low sound of the flute. + +At last the noise grew fainter in the distance, and the black hulls +disappeared round the bend. I walked on up the towing-path. Accidentally +lifting my hand to shade my eyes, I was hailed by a ferryman on the +watch. He conveyed me over without much volition on my part, and set me +ashore by the inn of my imagination. The rooms almost overhung the water: +so far my vision was fulfilled. Within there was an odour of spirits and +spilled ale, a rustle of sporting papers, talk of racings, and the click +of billiard-balls. Without there were two or three loafers, half boatmen, +half vagabonds, waiting to pick up stray sixpences--a sort of leprosy of +rascal and sneak in their faces and the lounge of their bodies. These +Thames-side "beach-combers" are a sorry lot, a special Pariah class of +themselves. Some of them have been men once: perhaps one retains his +sculling skill, and is occasionally engaged by a gentleman to give him +lessons. They regarded me eagerly--they "spotted" a Thames freshman who +might be made to yield silver; but I walked away down the road into the +village. The spire of the church interested me, being of shingles--_i.e._ +of wooden slates--as the houses are roofed in America, as houses were +roofed in Elizabethan England; for Young America reproduces Old England +even in roofs. Some of the houses so closely approached the churchyard +that the pantry windows on a level with the ground were partly blocked up +by the green mounds of graves. Borage grew thickly all over the yard, +dropping its blue flowers on the dead. The sharp note of a bugle rang in +the air: they were changing guard, I suppose, in Wolsey's Palace. + + +III + +In time I did discover a skiff moored in a little-visited creek, which +the boatman got out for me. The sculls were rough and shapeless--it is a +remarkable fact that sculls always are, unless you have them made and +keep them for your own use. I paddled up the river; I paused by an +osier-grown islet; I slipped past the barges, and avoided an unskilful +party; it was the morning, and none of the uproarious as yet were about. +Certainly, it was very pleasant. The sunshine gleamed on the water, broad +shadows of trees fell across; swans floated in the by-channels. A +peacefulness which peculiarly belongs to water hovered above the river. A +house-boat was moored near the willow-grown shore, and it was evidently +inhabited, for there was a fire smouldering on the bank, and some linen +that had been washed spread on the bushes to bleach. All the windows of +this gipsy-van of the river were wide open, and the air and light entered +freely into every part of the dwelling-house under which flowed the +stream. A lady was dressing herself before one of these open windows, +twining up large braids of dark hair, her large arms bare to the +shoulder, and somewhat farther. I immediately steered out into the +channel to avoid intrusion; but I felt that she was regarding me with all +a matron's contempt for an unknown man--a mere member of the opposite +sex, not introduced, or of her "set." I was merely a man--no more than a +horse on the bank,--and had she been in her smock she would have been +just as indifferent. + +Certainly it was a lovely morning; the old red palace of the Cardinal +seemed to slumber amid its trees, as if the passage of the centuries had +stroked and soothed it into indolent peace. The meadows rested; even the +swallows, the restless swallows, glided in an effortless way through the +busy air. I could see this, and yet I did not quite enjoy it; something +drew me away from perfect contentment, and gradually it dawned upon me +that it was the current causing an unsuspected amount of labour in +sculling. The forceless particles of water, so yielding to the touch, +which slipped aside at the motion of the oar, in their countless myriads +ceaselessly flowing grew to be almost a solid obstruction to the boat. I +had not noticed it for a mile or so; now the pressure of the stream was +becoming evident. I persuaded myself that it was nothing. I held on by +the boathook to a root and rested, and so went on again. Another mile or +more; another rest: decidedly sculling against a swift current is +work--downright work. You have no energy to spare over and above that +needed for the labour of rowing, not enough even to look round and admire +the green loveliness of the shore. I began to think that I should not get +as far as Oxford after all. + +By-and-by, I began to question if rowing on a river is as pleasant as +rowing on a lake, where you can rest on your oars without losing ground, +where no current opposes progress, and after the stroke the boat slips +ahead some distance of its own impetus. On the river the boat only +travels as far as you actually pull it at each stroke; there is no life +in it after the scull is lifted, the impetus dies, and the craft first +pauses and then drifts backward. I crept along the shore, so near that +one scull occasionally grounded, to avoid the main force of the water, +which is in the middle of the river. I slipped behind eyots and tried all +I knew. In vain, the river was stronger than I, and my arms could not for +many hours contend with the Thames. So faded another part of my dream. +The idea of rowing from one town to another--of expeditions and +travelling across the country, so pleasant to think of--in practice +became impossible. An athlete bent on nothing but athleticism--a canoeist +thinking of nothing but his canoe--could accomplish it, setting himself +daily so much work to do, and resolutely performing it. A dreamer, who +wanted to enjoy his passing moment, and not to keep regular time with his +strokes, who wanted to gather flowers, and indulge his luxurious eyes +with effects of light and shadow and colour, could not succeed. The river +is for the man of might. + +With a weary back at last I gave up the struggle at the foot of a weir, +almost in the splash of the cascade. My best friend, the boathook, kept +me stationary without effort, and in time rest restored the strained +muscles to physical equanimity. The roar of the river falling over the +dam soothed the mind--the sense of an immense power at hand, working with +all its might while you are at ease, has a strangely soothing influence. +It makes me sleepy to see the vast beam of an engine regularly rise and +fall in ponderous irresistible labour. Now at last some fragment of my +fancy was realised--a myriad myriad rushing bubbles whitening the stream +burst, and were instantly succeeded by myriads more; the boat faintly +vibrated as the wild waters shot beneath it; the green cascade, smooth at +its first curve, dashed itself into the depth beneath, broken to a +million million particles; the eddies whirled, and sucked, and sent tiny +whirlpools rotating along the surface; the roar rose or lessened in +intensity as the velocity of the wind varied; sunlight sparkled--the +warmth inclined the senses to a drowsy idleness. Yonder was the trout +fisherman, just as I had imagined him, casting and casting again with +that transcendental patience which is genius; his line and the top of his +rod formed momentary curves pleasant to look at. The kingfisher did not +come--no doubt he had been shot--but a reed-sparrow did, in velvet black +cap and dainty brown, pottering about the willow near me. This was really +like the beautiful river I had dreamed of. If only we could persuade +ourselves to remain quiescent when we are happy! If only we would remain +still in the armchair as the last curl of vapour rises from a cigar that +has been enjoyed! If only we would sit still in the shadow and not go +indoors to write that letter! Let happiness alone. Stir not an inch; +speak not a word: happiness is a coy maiden--hold her hand and be still. + +In an evil moment I spied the corner of a newspaper projecting from the +pocket of my coat in the stern-sheets. Folly led me to open that +newspaper, and in it I saw and read a ghastly paragraph. Two ladies and a +gentleman while boating had been carried by the current against the piles +of a weir. The boat upset; the ladies were rescued, but the unfortunate +gentleman was borne over the fall and drowned. His body had not been +recovered; men were watching the pool day and night till some chance eddy +should bring it to the surface. So perished my dream, and the coy-maiden +happiness left me because I could not be content to be silent and still. +The accident had not happened at this weir, but it made no difference; I +could see all as plainly. A white face, blurred and indistinct, seemed to +rise up from beneath the rushing bubbles till, just as it was about to +jump to the surface, as things do that come up, down it was drawn again +by that terrible underpull which has been fatal to so many good swimmers. + +Who can keep afloat with a force underneath dragging at the feet? Who can +swim when the water--all bubbles, that is air--gives no resistance to the +hands? Hands and feet slip through the bubbles. You might as well spring +from the parapet of a house and think to float by striking out as to swim +in such a medium. Sinking under, a hundred tons of water drive the body +to the bottom; there it rotates, it rises, it is forced down again, a +hundred tons of water beat upon it; the foot, perhaps, catches among +stones or woodwork, and what was once a living being is imprisoned in +death. Enough of this. I unloosed the boathook, and drifted down with the +stream, anxious to get away from the horrible weir. + +These accidents, which are entirely preventable, happen year after year +with lamentable monotony. Each weir is a little Niagara, and a boat once +within its influence is certain to be driven to destruction. The current +carries it against the piles, where it is either broken or upset, the +natural and reasonable alarm of the occupants increasing the risk. In +descending the river every boat must approach the weir, and must pass +within a few yards of the dangerous current. If there is a press of boats +one is often forced out of the proper course into the rapid part of the +stream without any negligence on the part of those in it. There is +nothing to prevent this--no fence, or boom; no mark, even, between what +is dangerous and what is not; no division whatever. Persons ignorant of +the river may just as likely as not row right into danger. A vague +caution on a notice-board may or may not be seen; in either case it gives +no directions, and is certainly no protection. Let the matter be argued +from whatever point of view, the fact remains that these accidents occur +from the want of an efficient division between the dangerous and the safe +part of the approach to a weir. A boom or some kind of fence is required, +and how extraordinary it seems that nothing of the kind is done! It is +not done because there is no authority, no control, no one responsible. +Two or three gentlemen acquainted with aquatics could manage the river +from end to end, to the safety and satisfaction of all, if they were +entrusted with discretionary powers. Stiff rules and rigid control are +not needed; what is wanted is a rational power freely using its +discretion. I do not mean a Board with its attendant follies; I mean a +small committee, unfettered, untrammelled by "legal advisers" and so +forth, merely using their own good sense. + +I drifted away from the weir--now grown hideous--and out of hearing of +its wailing dirge for the unfortunate. I drifted past more barges coming +up, and more steam-tugs; past river lawns, where gay parties were now +sipping claret-cup or playing tennis. By-and-by, I began to meet +pleasure-boats and to admire their manner of progress. First there came a +gentleman in white flannels, walking on the tow-path, with a rope round +his waist, towing a boat in which two ladies were comfortably seated. In +a while came two more gentlemen in striped flannels, one streaked with +gold the other with scarlet, striding side by side and towing a boat in +which sat one lady. They were very earnestly at work, pacing in step, +their bodies slightly leaning forwards, and every now and then they +mopped their faces with handkerchiefs which they carried in their +girdles. Something in their slightly-bowed attitude reminded me of the +captives depicted on Egyptian monuments, with cords about their necks. +How curious is that instinct which makes each sex, in different ways, the +willing slave of the other! These human steam-tugs paced and pulled, and +drew the varnished craft swiftly against the stream, evidently determined +to do a certain distance by a certain hour. As I drifted by without +labour, I admired them very much. An interval, and still more gentlemen +in flannel, labouring like galley-slaves at the tow-rope, hot, +perspiring, and happy after their kind, and ladies under parasols, +comfortably seated, cool, and happy after their kind. + +Considering upon these things, I began to discern the true and only +manner in which the modern Thames is to be enjoyed. Above all +things--nothing heroic. Don't scull--don't row--don't haul at +tow-ropes--don't swim--don't flourish a fishing-rod. Set your mind at +ease. Make friends with two or more athletes, thorough good fellows, +good-natured, delighting in their thews and sinews. Explain to them that +somehow, don't you see, nature did not bless you with such superabundant +muscularity, although there is nothing under the sun you admire so much. +Forthwith these good fellows will pet you, and your Thames fortune is +made. You take your place in the stern-sheets, happily protected on +either side by feminine human nature, and the parasols meeting above +shield you from the sun. The tow-rope is adjusted, and the tugs start. +The gliding motion soothes the soul. Feminine boating nature has no +antipathy to the cigarette. A delicious odour, soft as new-mown hay, a +hint of spices and distant flowers--sunshine dried and preserved, +sunshine you can handle--rises from the smouldering fibres. This is +smoking summer itself. Yonder in the fore part of the craft I espy +certain vessels of glass on which is the label of Epernay. And of such is +peace. + +Drifting ever downwards, I approached the creek where my skiff had to be +left; but before I reached it a "beach-comber," with a coil of cord over +his shoulder, asked me if he should tow me "up to 'Ampton." I shook my +head, whereupon he abused me in such choice terms that I listened abashed +at my ignorance. It had never occurred to me that swearing could be done +like that. It is true we have been swearing now, generation after +generation, these eight thousand years for certain, and language expands +with use. It is also true that we are all educated now. Shakespeare is +credited with knowing everything, past or future, but I doubt if he knew +how a Thames "beach-comber" can curse in these days. + +The Thames is swearing free. You must moderate your curses on the Queen's +highway; you must not be even profane in the streets, lest you be taken +before the magistrates; but on the Thames you may swear as the wind +blows--howsoever you list. You may begin at the mouth, off the Nore, and +curse your way up to Cricklade. A hundred miles for swearing is a fine +preserve. It is one of the marvels of our civilisation. + +Aided by scarce a touch of the sculls the stream drifted me up into the +creek, and the boatman took charge of his skiff. "Shall I keep her handy +for you, sir?" he said, thinking to get me down every day as a newcomer. +I begged him not to put himself to any trouble, still he repeated that he +would keep her ready. But in the road I shook off the dust of my feet +against the river, and earnestly resolved never, never again to have +anything to do with it (in the heroic way) lower down than Henley. + + + +THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN + + +The single-barrel gun has passed out of modern sport; but I remember mine +with regret, and think I shall some day buy another. I still find that +the best double-barrel seems top-heavy in comparison; in poising it the +barrels have a tendency to droop. Guns, of course, are built to balance +and lie level in the hand, so as to almost aim themselves as they come to +the shoulder; and those who have always shot with a double-barrel are +probably quite satisfied with the gun on that score. To me there seems +too much weight in the left hand and towards the end of the gun. +Quickness of firing keeps the double-barrel to the front; but suppose a +repeater were to be invented, some day, capable of discharging two +cartridges in immediate succession? And if two cartridges, why not three? +An easy thought, but a very difficult one to realise. Something in the +_power_ of the double-barrel--the overwhelming odds it affords the +sportsman over bird and animal--pleases. A man feels master of the copse +with a double-barrel; and such a sense of power, though only over feeble +creatures, is fascinating. Besides, there is the delight of effect; for a +clever right and left is sure of applause and makes the gunner feel +"good" in himself. Doubtless, if three barrels could be managed, three +barrels would be more saleable than doubles. One gun-maker has a +four-barrel gun, quite a light weight too, which would be a tremendous +success if the creatures would obligingly run and fly a little slower, so +that all four cartridges could be got in. But that they will not do. For +the present, the double-barrel is the gun of the time. + +Still I mean some day to buy a single-barrel, and wander with it as of +old along the hedges, aware that if I am not skilful enough to bring down +with the first shot I shall lose my game. It is surprising how confident +of that one shot you may get after a while. On the one hand, it is +necessary to be extremely keen; on the other, to be sure of your own +self-control, not to fire uselessly. The bramble-bushes on the shore of +the ditch ahead might cover a hare. Through the dank and dark-green +aftermath a rabbit might suddenly come bounding, disturbed from the +furrow where he had been feeding. On the sandy paths which the rabbits +have made aslant up the mound, and on their terraces, where they sit and +look out from under the boughs, acorns have dropped ripe from the tree. +Where there are acorns there may be pheasants; they may crouch in the +fern and dry grey grass of the hedge thinking you do not see them, or +else rush through and take wing on the opposite side. The only chance of +a shot is as the bird passes a gap--visible while flying a yard--just +time to pull the trigger. But I would rather have that chance than have +to fire between the bars of a gate; for the horizontal lines cause an +optical illusion, making the object appear in a different position from +what it really is in, and half the pellets are sure to be buried in the +rails. Wood-pigeons, when eagerly stuffing their crops with acorns, +sometimes forget their usual caution; and, walking slowly, I have often +got right underneath one--as unconscious of his presence as he was of +mine, till a sudden dashing of wings against boughs and leaves announced +his departure. This he always makes on the opposite side of the oak, so +as to have the screen of the thick branches between himself and the +gunner. The wood-pigeon, starting like this from a tree, usually descends +in the first part of his flight, a gentle downward curve followed by an +upward rise, and thus comes into view at the lower part of the curve. He +still seems within shot, and to afford a good mark; and yet experience +has taught me that it is generally in vain to fire. His stout quills +protect him at the full range of the gun. Besides, a wasted shot alarms +everything within several hundred yards; and in stalking with a +single-barrel it needs as much knowledge to choose when not to fire as +when you may. + +The most exciting work with the single-barrel was woodcock shooting; +woodcock being by virtue of rarity a sort of royal game, and a miss at a +woodcock a terrible disappointment. They have a trick of skimming along +the very summit of a hedge, and looking so easy to kill; but, as they +fly, the tops of tall briers here, willow-rods next, or an ash-pole often +intervene, and the result is apt to be a bough cut off and nothing more. +Snipes, on the contrary, I felt sure of with the single-barrel, and never +could hit them so well with a double. Either at starting, before the +snipe got into his twist, or waiting till he had finished that uncertain +movement, the single-barrel seemed to drop the shot with certainty. This +was probably because of its perfect natural balance, so that it moved as +if on a pivot. With the single I had nothing to manage but my own arms; +with the other I was conscious that I had a gun also. With the single I +could kill farther, no matter what it was. The single was quicker at +short shots--snap-shots, as at rabbits darting across a narrow lane; and +surer at long shots, as at a hare put out a good way ahead by the dog. + +For everything but the multiplication of slaughter I liked the single +best; I had more of the sense of woodcraft with it. When we consider how +helpless a partridge is, for instance, before the fierce blow of shot, it +does seem fairer that the gunner should have but one chance at the bird. +Partridges at least might be kept for single-barrels: great bags of +partridges never seemed to be quite right. Somehow it seems to me that to +take so much advantage as the double-barrel confers is not altogether in +the spirit of sport. The double-barrel gives no "law." At least to those +who love the fields, the streams, and woods for their own sake, the +single-barrel will fill the bag sufficiently, and will permit them to +enjoy something of the zest men knew before the invention of weapons not +only of precision but of repetition: inventions that rendered them too +absolute masters of the situation. A single-barrel will soon make a +sportsman the keenest of shots. The gun itself can be built to an +exquisite perfection--lightness, handiness, workmanship, and performance +of the very best. It is said that you can change from a single-barrel +shot-gun to a sporting rifle and shoot with the rifle almost at once; +while many who have been used to the slap-dash double cannot do anything +for some time with a rifle. More than one African explorer has found his +single-barrel smooth-bore the most useful of all the pieces in his +battery; though, of course, of much larger calibre than required in our +fields. + + + +THE HAUNT OF THE HARE + + +It is never so much winter in the country as it is in the town. The trees +are still there, and in and about them birds remain. "Quip! whip!" sounds +from the elms; "Whip! quip!" Redwing thrushes threaten with the "whip" +those who advance towards them; they spend much of the day in the +elm-tops. Thick tussocks of old grass are conspicuous at the skirt of a +hedge; half green, half grey, they contrast with the bare thorn. From +behind one of these tussocks a hare starts, his black-tipped ears erect, +his long hinder limbs throwing him almost like a grasshopper over the +sward--no creature looks so handsome or startling, and it is always a +pleasant surprise to see him. Pheasant or partridge do not surprise in +the least--they are no more than any other bird; but a hare causes quite +a different feeling. He is perfectly wild, unfed, untended, and then he +is the largest animal to be shot in the fields. A rabbit slips along the +mound, under bushes and behind stoles, but a hare bolts for the open, and +hopes in his speed. He leaves the straining spaniel behind, and the +distance between them increases as they go. The spaniel's broad hind paws +are thrown wide apart as he runs, striking outwards as well as backwards, +and his large ears are lifted by the wind of his progress. Overtaken by +the cartridge, still the hare, as he lies in the dewy grass, is handsome; +lift him up and his fur is full of colour, there are layers of tint, +shadings of brown within it, one under the other, and the surface is +exquisitely clean. The colours are not really bright, at least not +separately; but they are so clean and so clear that they give an +impression of warmth and brightness. Even in the excitement of sport +regret cannot but be felt at the sight of those few drops of blood about +the mouth which indicate that all this beautiful workmanship must now +cease to be. Had he escaped the sportsman would not have been displeased. + +The black bud-sheaths of the ash may furnish a comparison for his +ear-tips; the brown brake in October might give one hue for his fur; the +yellow or buff bryony leaf perhaps another; the clematis is not whiter +than the white part. His colours, as those of so many of our native wild +creatures, appear selected from the woods, as if they had been gathered +and skilfully mingled together. They can be traced or paralleled in the +trees, the bushes, grasses, or flowers, as if extracted from them by a +secret alchemy. In the plumage of the partridge there are tints that may +be compared with the brown corn, the brown ripe grains rubbed from the +ear; it is in the corn-fields that the partridge delights. There the +young brood are sheltered, there they feed and grow plump. The red tips +of other feathers are reflections of the red sorrel of the meadows. The +grey fur of the rabbit resembles the grey ash hue of the underwood in +which he hides. + +A common plant in moist places, the figwort, bears small velvety flowers, +much the colour of the red velvet topknot of the goldfinch, the yellow on +whose wings is like the yellow bloom of the furze which he frequents in +the winter, perching cleverly on its prickly extremities. In the woods, +in the bark of the trees, the varied shades of the branches as their size +diminishes, the adhering lichens, the stems of the underwood, now grey, +now green; the dry stalks of plants, brown, white, or dark, all the +innumerable minor hues that cross and interlace, there is suggested the +woven texture of tints found on the wings of birds. For brighter tones +the autumn leaves can be resorted to, and in summer the finches rising +from the grass spring upwards from among flowers that could supply them +with all their colours. But it is not so much the brighter as the +undertones that seem to have been drawn from the woodlands or fields. +Although no such influence has really been exerted by the trees and +plants upon the living creatures, yet it is pleasant to trace the +analogy. Those who would convert it into a scientific fact are met with a +dilemma to which they are usually oblivious, _i.e._ that most birds +migrate, and the very tints which in this country might perhaps, by a +stretch of argument, be supposed to conceal them, in a distant climate +with a different foliage, or none, would render them conspicuous. Yet it +is these analogies and imaginative comparisons which make the country so +delightful. + +One day in autumn, after toiling with their guns, which are heavy in the +September heats, across the fields and over the hills, the hospitable +owner of the place suddenly asked his weary and thirsty friend which he +would have, champagne, ale, or spirits. They were just then in the midst +of a cover, the trees kept off the wind, the afternoon sun was warm, and +thirst very natural. They had not been shooting in the cover, but had to +pass through to other cornfields. It seemed a sorry jest to ask which +would be preferred in that lonely and deserted spot, miles from home or +any house whence refreshment could be obtained--wine, spirits, or +ale?--an absurd question, and irritating under the circumstances. As it +was repeated persistently, however, the reply was at length given, in no +very good humour, and wine chosen. Forthwith putting down his gun, the +interrogator pushed in among the underwood, and from a cavity concealed +beneath some bushes drew forth a bottle of champagne. He had several of +these stores hidden in various parts of the domain, ready whichever way +the chance of sport should direct their footsteps. + +Now the dry wild parsnip, or "gicks," five feet high, stands dead and +dry, its jointed tube of dark stem surmounted with circular frills or +umbels; the teazle heads are brown, the great burdocks leafless, and +their burs, still adhering, are withered; the ground, almost free of +obstruction, is comparatively easy to search over, but the old sportsman +is too cunning to bury his wine twice in the same place, and it is no use +to look about. No birds in last year's nests--the winds have torn and +upset the mossy structures in the bushes; no champagne in last year's +cover. The driest place is under the firs, where the needles have fallen +and strew the surface thickly. Outside the wood, in the waggon-track, the +beech leaves lie on the side of the mound, dry and shrivelled at the top, +but stir them, and under the top layer they still retain the clear brown +of autumn. + +The ivy trailing on the bank is moist and freshly green. There are two +tints of moss; one light, the other deeper--both very pleasant and +restful to the eye. These beds of moss are the greenest and brightest of +the winter's colours. Besides these there are ale-hoof, or ground-ivy +leaves (not the ivy that climbs trees), violet leaves, celandine mars, +primrose mars, foxglove mars, teazle mars, and barren strawberry leaves, +all green in the midst of winter. One tiny white flower of barren +strawberry has ventured to bloom. Round about the lower end of each maple +stick, just at the ground, is a green wrap of moss. Though leafless +above, it is green at the foot. At the verge of the ploughed field below, +exposed as it is, chickweed, groundsel, and shepherd's-purse are +flowering. About a little thorn there hang withered red berries of +bryony, as if the bare thorn bore fruit; the bine of the climbing plant +clings to it still; there are traces of "old man's beard," the white +fluffy relics of clematis bloom, stained brown by the weather; green +catkins droop thickly on the hazel. Every step presents some item of +interest, and thus it is that it is never so much winter in the country. +Where fodder has been thrown down in a pasture field for horses, a black +congregation of rooks has crowded together in a ring. A solitary pole for +trapping hawks stands on the sloping ground outside the cover. These +poles are visited every morning when the trap is there, and the captured +creature put out of pain. Of the cruelty of the trap itself there can be +no doubt; but it is very unjust to assume that therefore those connected +with sport are personally cruel. In a farmhouse much frequented by rats, +and from which they cannot be driven out, these animals are said to have +discovered a means of defying the gin set for them. One such gin was +placed in the cheese-room, near a hole from which they issued, but they +dragged together pieces of straw, little fragments of wood, and various +odds and ends, and so covered the pan that the trap could not spring. +They formed, in fact, a bridge over it. + +Red and yellow fungi mark decaying places on the trunks and branches of +the trees; their colour is brightest when the boughs are bare. By a +streamlet wandering into the osier beds the winter gnats dance in the +sunshine, round about an old post covered with ivy, on which green +berries are thick. The warm sunshine gladdens the hearts of the moorhens +floating on the water yonder by the bushes, and their singular note, +"coorg-coorg," is uttered at intervals. In the plantation close to the +house a fox resides as safe as King Louis in "Quentin Durward," +surrounded with his guards and archers and fortified towers, though +tokens of his midnight rambles, in the shape of bones, strew the front of +his castle. He crosses the lawn in sight of the windows occasionally, as +if he really knew and understood that his life is absolutely safe at +ordinary times, and that he need beware of nothing but the hounds. + + + +THE BATHING SEASON + + +Most people who go on the West Pier at Brighton walk at once straight to +the farthest part. This is the order and custom of pier promenading; you +are to stalk along the deck till you reach the end, and there go round +and round the band in a circle like a horse tethered to an iron pin, or +else sit down and admire those who do go round and round. No one looks +back at the gradually extending beach and the fine curve of the shore. No +one lingers where the surf breaks--immediately above it--listening to the +remorseful sigh of the dying wave as it sobs back to the sea. There, +looking downwards, the white edge of the surf recedes in hollow +crescents, curve after curve for a mile or more, one succeeding before +the first can disappear and be replaced by a fresh wave. A faint +mistiness hangs above the beach at some distance, formed of the salt +particles dashed into the air and suspended. At night, if the tide +chances to be up, the white surf rushing in and returning immediately +beneath has a strange effect, especially in its pitiless regularity. If +one wave seems to break a little higher it is only in appearance, and +because you have not watched long enough. In a certain number of times +another will break there again; presently one will encroach the merest +trifle; after a while another encroaches again, and the apparent +irregularity is really sternly regular. The free wave has no liberty--it +does not act for itself,--no real generous wildness. "Thus far and no +farther," is not a merciful saying. Cold and dread and pitiless, the wave +claims its due--it stretches its arms to the fullest length, and does not +pause or hearken to the desire of any human heart. Hopeless to appeal to +is the unseen force that sends the white surge underneath to darken the +pebbles to a certain line. The wetted pebbles are darker than the dry; +even in the dusk they are easily distinguished. Something merciless is +there not in this conjunction of restriction and impetus? Something +outside human hope and thought--indifferent--cold? + +Considering in this way, I wandered about fifty yards along the pier, and +sat down in an abstracted way on the seat on the right side. Beneath, the +clear green sea rolled in crestless waves towards the shore--they were +moving "without the animation of the wind," which had deserted them two +days ago, and a hundred miles out at sea. Slower and slower, with an +indolent undulation, rising and sinking of mere weight and devoid of +impetus, the waves passed on, scarcely seeming to break the smoothness of +the surface. At a little distance it seemed level; yet the boats every +now and then sank deeply into the trough, and even a large fishing-smack +rolled heavily. For it is the nature of a groundswell to be exceedingly +deceptive. Sometimes the waves are so far apart that the sea actually is +level--smooth as the surface of a polished dining-table--till presently +there appears a darker line slowly approaching, and a wave of +considerable size comes in, advancing exactly like the crease in the +cloth which the housemaid spreads on the table--the air rolling along +underneath it forms a linen imitation of the groundswell. These +unexpected rollers are capital at upsetting boats just touching the +beach; the boat is broadside on and the occupants in the water in a +second. To-day the groundswell was more active, the waves closer +together, not having had time to forget the force of the extinct gale. +Yet the sea looked calm as a millpond--just the morning for a bath. + +Along the yellow line where sand and pebbles meet there stood a gallant +band, in gay uniforms, facing the water. Like the imperial legions who +were ordered to charge the ocean, and gather the shells as spoils of war, +the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold extended their front rank--their +fighting line one to a yard--along the strand. Some tall and stately; +some tall and slender; some well developed and firm on their limbs; some +gentle in attitude, even in their war dress; some defiant; perhaps forty +or fifty, perhaps more, ladies; a splendid display of womanhood in the +bright sunlight. Blue dresses, pink dresses, purple dresses, trimmings of +every colour; a gallant show. The eye had but just time to receive these +impressions as it were with a blow of the camera--instantaneous +photography--when, boom! the groundswell was on them, and, heavens, what +a change! They disappeared. An arm projected here, possibly a foot +yonder, tresses floated on the surface like seaweed, but bodily they were +gone. The whole rank from end to end was overthrown--more than that, +overwhelmed, buried, interred in water like Pharaoh's army in the Red +Sea. Crush! It had come on them like a mountain. The wave so clear, so +beautifully coloured, so cool and refreshing, had struck their delicate +bodies with the force of a ton weight. Crestless and smooth to look at, +in reality that treacherous roller weighed at least a ton to a yard. + +Down went each fair bather as if hit with shot from a Gatling gun. Down +she went, frantically, and vainly grasping at a useless rope; down with +water driven into her nostrils, with a fragment, a tiny blade, of seaweed +forced into her throat, choking her; crush on the hard pebbles, no +feather bed, with the pressure of a ton of water overhead, and the +strange rushing roar it makes in the ears. Down she went, and at the same +time was dragged head foremost, sideways, anyhow, but dragged--_ground_ +along on the bitter pebbles some yards higher up the beach, each pebble +leaving its own particular bruise, and the suspended sand filling the +eyes. Then the wave left her, and she awoke from the watery nightmare to +the bright sunlight, and the hissing foam as it subsided, prone at full +length, high and dry like a stranded wreck. Perhaps her head had tapped +the wheel of the machine in a friendly way--a sort of genial battering +ram. The defeat was a perfect rout; yet they recovered position +immediately. I fancy I did see one slip limply to cover; but the main +body rose manfully, and picked their way with delicate feet on the hard, +hard stones back again to the water, again to meet their inevitable fate. + +The white ankles of the blonde gleaming in the sunshine were +distinguishable, even at that distance, from the flesh tint of the +brunette beside her, and these again from the swarthiness of still darker +ankles, which did not gleam, but had a subdued colour like dead gold. The +foam of a lesser wave ran up and touched their feet submissively. Three +young girls in pink clustered together; one crouched with her back to the +sea and glanced over her timorous shoulder. Another lesser wave ran up +and left a fringe of foam before them. I looked for a moment out to sea +and saw the smack roll heavily, the big wave was coming. By now the +bathers had gathered confidence, and stepped, a little way at a time, +closer and closer down to the water. Some even stood where each lesser +wave rose to their knees. Suddenly a few leant forwards, pulling their +ropes taut, and others turned sideways; these were the more experienced +or observant. Boom! The big roller broke near the pier and then ran along +the shore; it did not strike the whole length at once, it came in aslant +and rushed sideways. The three in pink went first--they were not far +enough from their machine to receive its full force, it barely reached to +the waist, and really I think it was worse for them. They were lifted off +their feet and shot forward with their heads under water; one appeared to +be under the two others, a confused mass of pink. Their white feet +emerged behind the roller, and as it sank it drew them back, grinding +them over the pebbles: every one knows how pebbles grate and grind their +teeth as a wave subsides. Left lying on their faces, I guessed from their +attitudes that they had dug their finger-nails into the pebbles in an +effort to seize something that would hold. Somehow they got on their +knees and crept up the slope of the beach. Beyond these three some had +been standing about up to their knees; these were simply buried as +before--quite concealed and thrown like beams of timber, head first, feet +first, high up on shore. Group after group went down as the roller +reached them, and the sea was dyed for a minute with blue dresses, purple +dresses, pink dresses; they coloured the wave which submerged them. From +end to end the whole rank was again overwhelmed, nor did any position +prove of advantage; those who sprang up as the wave came were simply +turned over and carried on their backs, those who tried to dive under +were swept back by the tremendous under-rush. Sitting on the beach, lying +at full length, on hands and knees, lying on this side or that, doubled +up--there they were, as the roller receded, in every disconsolate +attitude imaginable; the curtain rose and disclosed the stage in +disorder. Again I thought I saw one or two limp to their machines, but +the main body adjusted themselves and faced the sea. + +Was there ever such courage? National untaught courage--inbred, and not +built of gradual instruction as it were in hardihood. Yet some people +hesitate to give women the franchise! actually, a miserable privilege +which any poor fool of a man may exercise. + +I was philosophising admirably in this strain when first a shadow came +and then the substance, that is, a gentleman sat down by me and wished me +good morning, in a slightly different accent to that we usually hear. I +looked wistfully at the immense length of empty seats; on both sides of +the pier for two hundred yards or more there extended an endless empty +seat. Why could not he have chosen a spot to himself? Why must he place +himself just here, so close as to touch me? Four hundred yards of vacant +seats, and he could not find room for himself. + +It is a remarkable fact in natural history that one's elbow is sure to be +jogged. It does not matter what you do; suppose you paint in the most +secluded spot, and insert yourself, moreover, in the most inconspicuous +part of that spot, some vacant physiognomy is certain to intrude, glaring +at you with glassy eye. Suppose you do nothing (like myself), no matter +where you do it some inane humanity obtrudes itself. I took out my +note-book once in a great open space at the Tower of London, a sort of +court or place of arms, quite open and a gunshot across; there was no one +in sight, and if there had been half a regiment they could have passed +(and would have passed) without interference. I had scarcely written +three lines when the pencil flew up the page, some hulking lout having +brushed against me. He could not find room for himself. A hundred yards +of width was not room enough for him to go by. He meant no harm; it did +not occur to him that he could be otherwise than welcome. He was the sort +of man who calmly sleeps on your shoulder in a train, and merely replaces +his head if you wake him twenty times. The very same thing has happened +to me in the parks, and in country fields; particularly it happens at the +British Museum and the picture galleries, there is room sufficient in all +conscience; but if you try to make a note or a rough memorandum sketch +you get a jog. There is a jogger everywhere, just as there is a buzzing +fly everywhere in summer. The jogger travels, too. + +One day, while studying in the Louvre, I am certain three or four hundred +French people went by me, mostly provincials I fancy, country-folks, in +short, from their dress, which was not Parisian, and their accent, which +was not of the Boulevards. Of all these not one interfered with me; they +did not approach within four or five feet. How grateful I felt towards +them! One man and his sweetheart, a fine southern girl with dark eyes and +sun-browned cheeks, sat down near me on one of the scanty seats provided. +The man put his umbrella and his hat on the seat beside him. What could +be more natural? No one else was there, and there was room for three more +couples. Instantly an official--an authority!--stepped hastily forward +from the shadow of some sculpture (beasts of prey abide in darkness), +snatched up the umbrella and hat, and rudely dashed them on the floor. In +a flow of speech he explained that nothing must be placed on the seats. +The man, who had his handkerchief in his hand, quietly dropped it into +his hat on the floor, and replied nothing. This was an official "jogger." +I felt indignant to see and hear people treated in this rough manner; but +the provincial was used to the jogger system and heeded it not. My own +jogger was coming. Three to four hundred country-folk had gone by gently +and in a gentlemanly way. Then came an English gentleman, middle-aged, +florid, not much tinctured with art or letters, but garnished with huge +gold watchchain and with wealth as it were bulging out of his waistcoat +pocket. This gentleman positively walked into me, pushed me-literally +pushed me aside and took my place, a place valuable to me at that moment +for one special aspect, and having shoved me aside, gazed about him +through his eyeglass, I suppose to discover what it was interested me. He +was a genuine, thoroughbred jogger. The vast galleries of the Louvre had +not room enough for him. He was one of the most successful joggers in the +world, I feel sure; any family might be proud of him. While I am thus +digressing, the bathers have gone over thrice. + +The individual who had sat himself down by me produced a little box and +offered me a lozenge. I did not accept it; he took one himself in token +that they were harmless. Then he took a second, and a third, and began to +tell me of their virtues; they cured this and they alleviated that, they +were the greatest discovery of the age; this universal lozenge was health +in the waistcoat pocket, a medicine-chest between finger and thumb; the +secret had been extracted at last, and nature had given up the ghost as +it were of her hidden physic. His eloquence conjured up in my mind a +vision of the rocks beside the Hudson river papered over with acres of +advertising posters. But no; by his further conversation I found that I +had mentally slandered him; he was not a proprietor of patent medicine; +he was a man of education and private means; he belonged to a much higher +profession, in fact he was a "jogger" travelling about from place to +place--"globetrotting" from capital city to watering-place--all over the +world in the exercise of his function. I had wondered if his accent was +American (petroleum-American), or German, or Italian, or Russian, or +what. Now I wondered no longer, for the jogger is cosmopolitan. When he +had exhausted his lozenge he told me how many times the screw of the +steamer revolved while carrying him across the Pacific from Yokohama to +San Francisco. I nearly suggested that it was about equal to the number +of times his tongue had vibrated in the last ten minutes. The bathers +went over twice more. I was anxious to take note of their bravery, and +turned aside, leaning over the iron back of the seat. He went on just the +same; a hint was no more to him than a feather bed to an ironclad. + +My rigid silence was of no avail; so long as my ears were open he did not +care. He was a very energetic jogger. However, it occurred to me to try +another plan: I turned towards him (he would much rather have had my +back) and began to talk in the most strident tones I could command. I +pointed out to him that the pier was decked like a vessel, that the +cliffs were white, that a lady passing had a dark blue dress on, which +did not suit with the green sea, not because it was blue, but because it +was the wrong tint of blue. I informed him that the Pavilion was once the +residence of royalty, and similar novelties; all in a string without a +semicolon. His eyes opened; he fumbled with his lozenge-box, said "Good +morning," and went on up the pier. I watched him go--English-Americano- +Germano-Franco-Prussian-Russian-Chinese-New Zealander that he was. But he +was not a man of genius; you could choke him off by talking. Still he had +effectually jogged me and spoiled my contemplative enjoyment of the +bathers' courage; upon the whole I thought I would go down on the beach +now and see them a little closer. The truth is, I suppose, that it is +people like myself who are in the wrong, or are in the way. What business +had I to make a note in the Tower yard, or study in the Louvre? what +business have I to think, or indulge myself in an idea? What business has +any man to paint, or sketch, or do anything of the sort? I suppose the +joggers are in the right. + +Dawdling down Whitehall one day a jogger nailed me--they come to me like +flies to honey--and got me to look at his pamphlet. He went about, he +said, all his time distributing them as a duty for the safety of the +nation. The pamphlet was printed in the smallest type, and consisted of +extracts from various prophetical authors, pointing out the enormity of +the Babylonian Woman, of the City of Scarlet, or some such thing; the +gist being the bitterest--almost scurrilous--attack on the Church of +Rome. The jogger told me, with tears of pride in his eyes and a glorified +countenance, that only a few days before, in the waiting-room of a +railway station, he had the pleasure to present his pamphlet to Cardinal +Manning. And the Cardinal bowed and put it in his pocket. + +Just as everybody walks on the sunny side of Regent-street, so there are +certain spots on the beach where people crowd together. This is one of +them; just west of the West Pier there is a fair between eleven and one +every bright morning. Everybody goes because everybody else does. Mamma +goes down to bathe with her daughters and the little ones; they take two +machines at least; the pater comes to smoke his cigar; the young fellows +of the family-party come to look at "the women," as they irreverently +speak of the sex. So the story runs on _ad infinitum_, down to the +shoeless ones that turn up everywhere. Every seat is occupied; the boats +and small yachts are filled; some of the children pour pebbles into the +boats, some carefully throw them out; wooden spades are busy; sometimes +they knock each other on the head with them, sometimes they empty pails +of sea-water on a sister's frock. There is a squealing, squalling, +screaming, shouting, singing, bawling, howling, whistling, +tin-trumpeting, and every luxury of noise. Two or three bands work away; +niggers clatter their bones; a conjurer in red throws his heels in the +air; several harps strum merrily different strains; fruit-sellers push +baskets into folks' faces; sellers of wretched needlework and singular +baskets coated with shells thrust their rubbish into people's laps. These +shell baskets date from George IV. The gingerbeer men and the newsboys +cease not from troubling. Such a volume of uproar, such a complete organ +of discord I mean a whole organful cannot be found anywhere else on the +face of the earth in so comparatively small a space. It is a sort of +triangular plot of beach crammed with everything that ordinarily annoys +the ears and offends the sight. + +Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is perfectly comfortable, +perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a preferable spot to any other. A +sparkle of sunshine on the breakers, a dazzling gleam from the white +foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and champagniness; +altogether lovely. The way in which people lie about on the beach, their +legs this way, and their arms that, their hats over their eyes, their +utter give-themselves-up expression of attitude is enough in itself to +make a reasonable being contented. Nobody cares for anybody; they drowned +Mrs. Grundy long ago. The ancient philosopher (who had a mind to eat a +fig) held that a nail driven into wood could only support a certain +weight. After that weight was exceeded either the wood must break or the +nail come out. Yonder is a wooden seat put together with nails--a flimsy +contrivance, which defies all rules of gravity and adhesion. One leg +leans one way, the other in the opposite direction; very lame legs +indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit on it lest it should come +to pieces. The music, I suppose, charms it, for it holds together in the +most marvellous manner. Four people are sitting on it, four big ones, +middle-aged, careful people; every moment the legs gape wide apart, the +structure visibly stretches and yields and sinks in the pebbles, yet it +does not come down. The stoutest of all sits actually over the lame legs, +reading his paper quite oblivious of the odd angle his plump person +makes, quite unconscious of the threatened crack--crash! It does not +happen. A sort of magnetism sticks it together; it is in the air; it +makes things go right that ought to go wrong. Awfully naughty place; no +sort of idea of rightness here. Humming and strumming, and singing and +smoking, splashing, and sparkling; a buzz of voices and booming of sea! +If they could only be happy like this always! + +Mamma has a tremendous fight over the bathing-dresses, her own, of +course; the bathing woman cannot find them, and denies that she had them, +and by-and-by, after half an hour's exploration, finds them all right, +and claims commendation for having put them away so safely. Then there is +the battle for a machine. The nurse has been keeping guard on the steps, +to seize it the instant the occupant comes out. At last they get it, and +the wonder is how they pack themselves in it. Boom! The bathers have gone +over again, I know. The rope stretches as the men at the capstan go +round, and heave up the machines one by one before the devouring tide. + +As it is not at all rude, but the proper thing to do, I thought I would +venture a little nearer (not too obtrusively near) and see closer at hand +how brave womanhood faced the rollers. There was a young girl lying at +full length at the edge of the foam. She reclined parallel to the beach, +not with her feet towards the sea, but so that it came to her side. She +was clad in some material of a gauzy and yet opaque texture, permitting +the full outline and the least movement to be seen. The colour I do not +exactly know how to name; they could tell you at the Magasin du Louvre, +where men understand the hues of garments as well as women. I presume it +was one of the many tints that are called at large "creamy." It suited +her perfectly. Her complexion was in the faintest degree swarthy, and yet +not in the least like what a lady would associate with that word. The +difficulty in describing a colour is that different people take different +views of the terms employed; ladies have one scale founded a good deal on +dress, men another, and painters have a special (and accurate) gamut +which they use in the studio. This was a clear swarthiness a translucent +swarthiness clear as the most delicate white. There was something in the +hue of her neck as freely shown by the loose bathing dress, of her bare +arms and feet, somewhat recalling to mind the kind of beauty attributed +to the Queen of Egypt. But it was more delicate. Her form was almost +fully developed, more so than usual at her age. Again and again the foam +rushed up deep enough to cover her limbs, but not sufficiently so to hide +her chest, as she was partly raised on one arm. Washed thus with the +purest whiteness of the sparkling foam, her beauty gathered increase from +the touch of the sea. She swayed slightly as the water reached her, she +was luxuriously recked to and fro. The waves, toyed with her; they came +and retired, happy in her presence; the breeze and the sunshine were +there. + +Standing somewhat back, the machines hid the waves from me till they +reached the shore, so that I did not observe the heavy roller till it +came and broke. A ton of water fell on her, crush! The edge of the wave +curled and dropped over her, the arch bowed itself above her, the +keystone of the wave fell in. She was under the surge while it rushed up +and while it rushed back; it carried her up to the steps of the machine +and back again to her original position. When it subsided she simply +shook her head, raised herself on one arm, and adjusted herself parallel +to the beach as before. + +Let any one try this, let any one lie for a few minutes just where the +surge bursts, and he will understand what it means. Men go out to the +length of their ropes--past and outside the line of the breakers, or they +swim still farther out and ride at ease where the wave, however large, +merely lifts them pleasantly as it rolls under. But the smashing force of +the wave is where it curls and breaks, and it is there that the ladies +wait for it. It is these breakers in a gale that tear to pieces and +destroy the best-built ships once they touch the shore, scattering their +timbers as the wind scatters leaves. The courage and the endurance women +must possess to face a groundswell like this! + +All the year they live in luxury and ease, and are shielded from +everything that could hurt. A bruise--a lady to receive a bruise; it is +not be to thought of! If a ruffian struck a lady in Hyde Park the world +would rise from its armchair in a fury of indignation. These waves and +pebbles bruise them as they list. They do not even flinch. There must, +then, be a natural power of endurance in them. + +It is unnecessary, and yet I was proud to see it. An English lady could +do it; but could any other?--unless, indeed, an American of English +descent. Still, it is a barbarous thing, for bathing could be easily +rendered pleasant. The cruel roller receded, the soft breeze blew, the +sunshine sparkled, the gleaming foam rushed up and gently rocked her. The +Infanta Cleopatra lifted her arm gleaming wet with spray, and extended it +indolently; the sun had only given her a more seductive loveliness. How +much more enjoyable the sea and breeze and sunshine when one is gazing at +something so beautiful. That arm, rounded and soft---- + +"Excuse me, sir, but your immortal soul"--a hand was placed on my elbow. +I turned, and saw a beaming face; a young lady, elegantly dressed, placed +a fly-sheet of good intentions in my fingers. The fair jogger beamed yet +more sweetly as I took it, and went on among the crowd. When I looked +back the Infanta Cleopatra had ascended into her machine. I had lost the +last few moments of loveliness. + + + +UNDER THE ACORNS + + +Coming along a woodland lane, a small round and glittering object in the +brushwood caught my attention. The ground was but just hidden in that +part of the wood with a thin growth of brambles, low, and more like +creepers than anything else. These scarcely hid the surface, which was +brown with the remnants of oak-leaves; there seemed so little cover, +indeed, that a mouse might have been seen. But at that spot some great +spurge-plants hung this way and that, leaning aside, as if the sterns +were too weak to uphold the heads of dark-green leaves. Thin grasses, +perfectly white, bleached by the sun and dew, stood in a bunch by the +spurge; their seeds had fallen, the last dregs of sap had dried within +them, there was nothing left but the bare stalks. A creeper of bramble +fenced round one side of the spurge and white grass bunch, and brown +leaves were visible on the surface of the ground through the interstices +of the spray. It was in the midst of this little thicket that a small, +dark, and glittering object caught my attention. I knew it was the eye of +some creature at once, but, supposing it nothing more than a young +rabbit, was passing on, thinking of other matters, when it occurred to +me, before I could finish the step I had taken, so quick is thought, that +the eye was not large enough to be that of a rabbit. I stopped; the black +glittering eye had gone--the creature had lowered its neck, but +immediately noticing that I was looking in that direction, it cautiously +raised itself a little, and I saw at once that the eye was the eye of a +bird. This I knew first by its size, and next by its position in relation +to the head, which was invisible--for had it been a rabbit or hare, its +ears would have projected. The moment after, the eye itself confirmed +this--the nictitating membrane was rapidly drawn over it, and as rapidly +removed. This membrane is the distinguishing mark of a bird's eye. But +what bird? Although I was within two yards, I could not even see its +head, nothing but the glittering eyeball, on which the light of the sun +glinted. The sunbeams came over my shoulder straight into the bird's +face. + +Without moving--which I did not wish to do, as it would disturb the +bird--I could not see its plumage; the bramble spray in front, the spurge +behind, and the bleached grasses at the side, perfectly concealed it. +Only two birds I considered would be likely to squat and remain quiescent +like this--partridge or pheasant; but I could not contrive to view the +least portion of the neck. A moment afterwards the eye came up again, and +the bird slightly moved its head, when I saw its beak, and knew it was a +pheasant immediately. I then stepped forward--almost on the bird--and a +young pheasant rose, and flew between the tree-trunks to a deep dry +watercourse, where it disappeared under some withering yellow-ferns. + +Of course I could easily have solved the problem long before, merely by +startling the bird; but what would have been the pleasure of that? Any +plough-lad could have forced the bird to rise, and would have recognised +it as a pheasant; to me, the pleasure consisted in discovering it under +every difficulty. That was woodcraft; to kick the bird up would have been +simply nothing at all. Now I found why I could not see the pheasant's +neck or body; it was not really concealed, but shaded out by the mingled +hues of white grasses, the brown leaves of the surface, and the general +grey-brown tints. Now it was gone, there was a vacant space its plumage +had filled up that vacant space with hues so similar, that, at no farther +distance than two yards, I did not recognise it by colour. Had the bird +fully carried out its instinct of concealment, and kept its head down as +well as its body, I should have passed it. Nor should I have seen its +head if it had looked the other way; the eye betrayed its presence. The +dark glittering eye, which the sunlight touched, caught my attention +instantly. There is nothing like an eye in inanimate nature; no flower, +no speck on a bough, no gleaming stone wet with dew, nothing, indeed, to +which it can be compared. The eye betrayed it; I could not overlook an +eye. Neither nature nor inherited experience had taught the pheasant to +hide its eye; the bird not only wished to conceal itself, but to watch my +motions and, looking up from its cover, was immediately observed. + +At a turn of the lane there was a great heap of oak "chumps," crooked +logs, sawn in lengths, and piled together. They were so crooked, it was +difficult to find a seat, till I hit on one larger than the rest. The +pile of "chunks" rose halfway up the stem of an oak tree, and formed a +wall of wood at my back; the oak-boughs reached over and made a pleasant +shade. The sun was warm enough, to render resting in the open air +delicious, the wind cool enough to prevent the heat becoming too great; +the pile of timber kept off the draught, so that I could stay and listen +to the gentle "hush, rush" of the breeze in the oak above me; "hush" as +it came slowly, "rush" as it came fast, and a low undertone as it nearly +ceased. So thick were the haws on a bush of thorn opposite, that they +tinted the hedge a red colour among the yellowing hawthorn-leaves. To +this red hue the blackberries that were not ripe, the thick dry red +sorrel stalks, a bright canker on a brier almost as bright as a rose, +added their colours. Already the foliage of the bushes had been thinned, +and it was possible to see through the upper parts of the boughs. The +sunlight, therefore, not only touched their outer surfaces, but passed +through and lit up the branches within, and the wild-fruit upon them. +Though the sky was clear and blue between the clouds, that is, without +mist or haze, the sunbeams were coloured the faintest yellow, as they +always are on a ripe autumn day. This yellow shone back from grass and +leaves, from bough and tree-trunk, and seemed to stain the ground. It is +very pleasant to the eyes, a soft, delicate light, that gives another +beauty to the atmosphere. Some roan cows were wandering down the lane, +feeding on the herbage at the side; their colour, too, was lit up by the +peculiar light, which gave a singular softness to the large shadows of +the trees upon the sward. In a meadow by the wood the oaks cast broad +shadows on the short velvety sward, not so sharp and definite as those of +summer, but tender, and, as it were, drawn with a loving hand. They were +large shadows, though it was mid-day--a sign that the sun was no longer +at his greatest height, but declining. In July, they would scarcely have +extended beyond the rim of the boughs; the rays would have dropped +perpendicularly, now they slanted. Pleasant as it was, there was regret +in the thought that the summer was going fast. Another sign--the grass by +the gateway, an acre of it, was brightly yellow with hawkweeds, and under +these were the last faded brown heads of meadow clover; the brown, the +bright yellow disks, the green grass, the tinted sunlight falling upon +it, caused a wavering colour that fleeted before the glance. + +All things brown, and yellow, and red, are brought out by the autumn sun; +the brown furrows freshly turned where the stubble was yesterday, the +brown bark of trees, the brown fallen leaves, the brown stalks of plants; +the red haws, the red unripe blackberries, red bryony berries, +reddish-yellow fungi, yellow hawkweed, yellow ragwort, yellow +hazel-leaves, elms, spots in lime or beech; not a speck of yellow, red, +or brown the yellow sunlight does not find out. And these make autumn, +with the caw of rooks, the peculiar autumn caw of laziness and full +feeding, the sky blue as March between the great masses of dry cloud +floating over, the mist in the distant valleys, the tinkle of traces as +the plough turns and the silence of the woodland birds. The lark calls as +he rises from the earth, the swallows still wheeling call as they go +over, but the woodland birds are mostly still and the restless sparrows +gone forth in a cloud to the stubble. Dry clouds, because they evidently +contain no moisture that will fall as rain here; thick mists, condensed +haze only, floating on before the wind. The oaks were not yet yellow, +their leaves were half green, half brown; Time had begun to invade them, +but had not yet indented his full mark. + +Of the year there are two most pleasurable seasons: the spring, when the +oak-leaves come russet-brown on the great oaks; the autumn, when the +oak-leaves begin to turn. At the one, I enjoy the summer that is coming; +at the other, the summer that is going. At either, there is a freshness +in the atmosphere, a colour everywhere, a depth of blue in the sky, a +welcome in the woods. The redwings had not yet come; the acorns were +full, but still green; the greedy rooks longed to see them riper. They +were very numerous, the oaks covered with them, a crop for the greedy +rooks, the greedier pigeons, the pheasants, and the jays. + +One thing I missed--the corn. So quickly was the harvest gathered, that +those who delight in the colour of the wheat had no time to enjoy it. If +any painter had been looking forward to August to enable him to paint the +corn, he must have been disappointed. There was no time; the sun came, +saw, and conquered, and the sheaves were swept from the field. Before yet +the reapers had entered one field of ripe wheat, I did indeed for a brief +evening obtain a glimpse of the richness and still beauty of an English +harvest. The sun was down, and in the west a pearly grey light spread +widely, with a little scarlet drawn along its lower border. Heavy shadows +hung in the foliage of the elms, the clover had closed, and the quiet +moths had taken the place of the humming bees. Southwards, the full moon, +a red-yellow disk, shone over the wheat, which appeared the finest pale +amber. A quiver of colour--an undulation--seemed to stay in the air, left +from the heated day; the sunset hues and those of the red-tinted moon +fell as it were into the remnant of day, and filled the wheat; they were +poured into it, so that it grew in their colours. Still heavier the +shadows deepened in the elms; all was silence, save for the sound of the +reapers on the other side of the hedge, slash--rustle, slash--rustle, and +the drowsy night came down as softly as an eyelid. + +While I sat on the log under the oak, every now and then wasps came to +the crooked pieces of sawn timber, which had been barked. They did not +appear to be biting it--they can easily snip off fragments of the hardest +oak,--they merely alighted and examined it, and went on again. Looking at +them, I did not notice the lane till something moved, and two young +pheasants ran by along the middle of the track and into the cover at the +side. The grass at the edge which they pushed through closed behind them, +and feeble as it was--grass only--it shut off the interior of the cover +as firmly as iron bars. The pheasant is a strong lock upon the woods; +like one of Chubb's patent locks, he closes the woods as firmly as an +iron safe can be shut. Wherever the pheasant is artificially reared, and +a great "head" kept up for battue-shooting, there the woods are sealed. +No matter if the wanderer approach with the most harmless of intentions, +it is exactly the same as if he were a species of burglar. The botanist, +the painter, the student of nature, all are met with the high-barred gate +and the throat of law. Of course, the pheasant-lock can be opened by the +silver key; still, there is the fact, that since pheasants have been bred +on so large a scale, half the beautiful woodlands of England have been +fastened up. Where there is no artificial rearing there is much more +freedom; those who love the forest can roam at their pleasure, for it is +not the fear of damage that locks the gate, but the pheasant. In every +sense, the so-called sport of battue-shooting is injurious--injurious to +the sportsman, to the poorer class, to the community. Every true +sportsman should discourage it, and indeed does. I was talking with a +thorough sportsman recently, who told me, to my delight, that he never +reared birds by hand; yet he had a fair supply, and could always give a +good day's sport, judged as any reasonable man would judge sport. Nothing +must enter the domains of the hand-reared pheasant; even the nightingale +is not safe. A naturalist has recorded that in a district he visited, the +nightingales were always shot by the keepers and their eggs smashed, +because the singing of these birds at night disturbed the repose of the +pheasants! They also always stepped on the eggs of the fern-owl, which +are laid on the ground, and shot the bird if they saw it, for the same +reason, as it makes a jarring sound at dusk. The fern-owl, or goatsucker, +is one of the most harmless of birds--a sort of evening swallow--living +on moths, chafers, and similar night-flying insects. + +Continuing my walk, still under the oaks and green acorns, I wondered why +I did not meet any one. There was a man cutting fern in the wood--a +labourer--and another cutting up thistles in a field; but with the +exception of men actually employed and paid, I did not meet a single +person, though the lane I was following is close to several well-to-do +places. I call that a well-to-do place where there are hundreds of large +villas inhabited by wealthy people. It is true that the great majority of +persons have to attend to business, even if they enjoy a good income; +still, making every allowance for such a necessity, it is singular how +few, how very few, seem to appreciate the quiet beauty of this lovely +country. Somehow, they do not seem to see it--to look over it; there is +no excitement in it, for one thing. They can see a great deal in Paris, +but nothing in an English meadow. I have often wondered at the rarity of +meeting any one in the fields, and yet--curious anomaly--if you point out +anything--or describe it, the interest exhibited is marked. Every one +takes an interest, but no one goes to see for himself. For instance, +since the natural history collection was removed from the British Museum +to a separate building at South Kensington, it is stated that the +visitors to the Museum have fallen from an average of twenty-five hundred +a day to one thousand; the inference is, that out of every twenty-five, +fifteen came to see the natural history cases. Indeed, it is difficult to +find a person who does not take an interest in some department of natural +history, and yet I scarcely ever meet any one in the fields. You may meet +many in the autumn far away in places famous for scenery, but almost none +in the meadows at home. + +I stayed by a large pond to look at the shadows of the trees on the green +surface of duckweed. The soft green of the smooth weed received the +shadows as if specially prepared to show them to advantage. The more the +tree was divided--the more interlaced its branches and less laden with +foliage, the more it "came out" on the green surface; each slender twig +was reproduced, and sometimes even the leaves. From an oak, and from a +lime, leaves had fallen, and remained on the green weed; the flags by the +shore were turning brown; a tint of yellow was creeping up the rashes, +and the great trunk of a fir shone reddish brown in the sunlight. There +was colour even about the still pool, where the weeds grew so thickly +that the moorhens could scarcely swim through them. + + + +DOWNS + + +A good road is recognised as the groundwork of civilisation. So long as +there is a firm and artificial track under his feet the traveller may be +said to be in contact with city and town, no matter how far they may be +distant. A yard or two outside the railway in America the primeval forest +or prairie often remains untouched, and much in the same way, though in a +less striking degree at first sight, some of our own highways winding +through Down districts are bounded by undisturbed soil. Such a road wears +for itself a hollow, and the bank at the top is fringed with long rough +grass hanging over the crumbling chalk. Broad discs of greater knapweed +with stalks like wire, and yellow toad-flax with spotted lip grow among +it. Grasping this tough grass as a handle to climb up by, the explorer +finds a rising slope of sward, and having walked over the first ridge, +shutting off the road behind him, is at once out of civilisation. There +is no noise. Wherever there are men there is a hum, even in the +harvest-field; and in the road below, though lonely, there is sometimes +the sharp clatter of hoofs or the grating of wheels on flints. But here +the long, long slopes, the endless ridges, the gaps between, hazy and +indistinct, are absolutely without noise. In the sunny autumn day the +peace of the sky overhead is reflected in the silent earth. Looking out +over the steep hills, the first impression is of an immense void like the +sea; but there are sounds in detail, the twitter of passing swallows, the +restless buzz of bees at the thyme, the rush of the air beaten by a +ringdove's wings. These only increase the sense of silent peace, for in +themselves they soothe; and how minute the bee beside this hill, and the +dove to the breadth of the sky! A white speck of thistledown comes upon a +current too light to swing a harebell or be felt by the cheek. The +furze-bushes are lined with thistledown, blown there by a breeze now +still; it is glossy in the sunbeams, and the yellow hawkweeds cluster +beneath. The sweet, clear air, though motionless at this height, cools +the rays; but the sun seems to pause and neither to rise higher nor +decline. It is the space open to the eye which apparently arrests his +movement. There is no noise, and there are no men. + +Glance along the slope, up the ridge, across to the next, endeavour to +penetrate the hazy gap, but no one is visible. In reality it is not quite +so vacant; there may, perhaps, be four or five men between this spot and +the gap, which would be a pass if the Downs were high enough. One is not +far distant; he is digging flints over the ridge, and, perhaps, at this +moment rubbing the earth from a corroded Roman coin which he has found in +the pit. Another is thatching, for there are three detached wheat-ricks +round a spur of the Down a mile away, where the plain is arable, and +there, too, a plough is at work. A shepherd is asleep on his back behind +the furze a mile in the other direction. The fifth is a lad trudging with +a message; he is in the nut-copse, over the next hill, very happy. By +walking a mile the explorer may, perhaps, sight one of these, if they +have not moved by then and disappeared in another hollow. And when you +have walked the mile--knowing the distance by the time occupied in +traversing it--if you look back you will sigh at the hopelessness of +getting over the hills. The mile is such a little way, only just along +one slope and down into the narrow valley strewn with flints and small +boulders. If that is a mile, it must be another up to the white chalk +quarry yonder, another to the copse on the ridge; and how far is the hazy +horizon where the ridges crowd on and hide each other? Like rowing at +sea, you row and row and row, and seem where you started--waves in front +and waves behind; so you may walk and walk and walk, and still there is +the intrenchment on the summit, at the foot of which, well in sight, you +were resting some hours ago. + +Rest again by the furze, and some goldfinches come calling shrilly and +feasting undisturbed upon the seeds of thistles and other plants. The +bird-catcher does not venture so far; he would if there was a rail near; +but he is a lazy fellow, fortunately, and likes not the weight of his own +nets. When the stubbles are ploughed there will be troops of finches and +linnets up here, leaving the hedgerows of the valley almost deserted. +Shortly the fieldfares will come, but not generally till the redwings +have appeared below in the valleys; while the fieldfares go upon the +hills, the green plovers, as autumn comes on, gather in flocks and go +down to the plains. Hawks regularly beat along the furze, darting on a +finch now and then, and owls pass by at night. Nightjars, too, are +down-land birds, staying in woods or fern by day, and swooping on the +moths which flutter about the furze in the evening. Crows are too common, +and work on late into the shadows. Sometimes, in getting over the low +hedges which divide the uncultivated sward from the ploughed lands, you +almost step on a crow, and it is difficult to guess what he can have been +about so earnestly, for search reveals nothing--no dead lamb, hare, or +carrion, or anything else is visible. Rooks, of course, are seen, and +larks, and once or twice in a morning a magpie, seldom seen in the +cultivated and preserved valley. There are more partridges than rigid +game preservers would deem possible where the overlooking, if done at +all, is done so carelessly. Partridges will never cease out of the land +while there are untouched downs. Of all southern inland game, they afford +the finest sport; for spoil in its genuine sense cannot be had without +labour, and those who would get partridges on the hills must work for +them. Shot down, coursed, poached, killed before maturity in the corn, +still hares are fairly plentiful, and couch in the furze and coarse +grasses. Rabbits have much decreased; still there are some. But the +larger fir copses, when they are enclosed, are the resort of all kinds of +birds of prey yet left in the south, and, perhaps, more rare visitors are +found there than anywhere else. Isolated on the open hills, such a copse +to birds is like an island in the sea. Only a very few pheasants frequent +it, and little effort is made to exterminate the wilder creatures, while +they are continually replenished by fresh arrivals. Even ocean birds +driven inland by stress of weather seem to prefer the downs to rest on, +and feel safer there. + +The sward is the original sward, untouched, unploughed, centuries old. It +is that which was formed when the woods that covered the hills were +cleared, whether by British tribes whose markings are still to be found, +by Roman smiths working the ironstone (slag is sometimes discovered), by +Saxon settlers, or however it came about in the process of the years. +Probably the trees would grow again were it not for sheep and horses, but +these preserve the sward. The plough has nibbled at it and gnawed away +great slices, but it extends mile after mile; these are mere touches on +its breadth. It is as wild as wild can be without deer or savage beasts. +The bees like it, and the finches come. It is silent and peaceful like +the sky above. By night the stars shine, not only overhead and in a +narrow circle round the zenith, but down to the horizon; the walls of the +sky are built up of them as well as the roof. The sliding meteors go +silently over the gleaming surface; silently the planets rise; silently +the earth moves to the unfolding east. Sometimes a lunar rainbow appears; +a strange scene at midnight, arching over almost from the zenith down +into the dark hollow of the valley. At the first glance it seems white, +but presently faint prismatic colours are discerned. + +Already as the summer changes into autumn there are orange specks on the +beeches in the copses, and the firs will presently be leafless. Then +those who live in the farmsteads placed at long intervals begin to +prepare for the possibilities of the winter. There must be a good store +of fuel and provisions, for it will be difficult to go down to the +villages. The ladies had best add as many new volumes as they can to the +bookshelf, for they may be practically imprisoned for weeks together. +Wind and rain are very different here from what they are where the +bulwark of the houses shelters one side of the street, or the thick hedge +protects half the road. The fury of the storm is unchecked, and nothing +can keep out the raindrops which come with the velocity of shot. If snow +falls, as it does frequently, it does not need much to obscure the path; +at all times the path is merely a track, and the ruts worn down to the +white chalk and the white snow confuse the eyes. Flecks of snow catch +against the bunches of grass, against the furze-bushes, and boulders; if +there is a ploughed field, against every clod, and the result is +bewildering. There is nothing to guide the steps, nothing to give the +general direction, and once off the track, unless well accustomed to the +district, the traveller may wander in vain. After a few inches have +fallen the roads are usually blocked, for all the flakes on miles of +hills are swept along and deposited into hollows where the highways run. +To be dug out now and then in the winter is a contingency the mail-driver +reckons as part of his daily life, and the waggons going to and fro +frequently pass between high walls of frozen snow. In these wild places, +which can scarcely be said to be populated at all, a snow-storm, however, +does not block the King's highways and paralyse traffic as London permits +itself to be paralysed under similar circumstances. Men are set to work +and cut a way through in a very short time, and no one makes the least +difficulty about it. But with the tracks that lead to isolated farmsteads +it is different; there is not enough traffic to require the removal of +the obstruction, and the drifts occasionally accumulate to twenty feet +deep. The ladies are imprisoned, and must be thankful if they have got +down a box of new novels. + +The dread snow-tempest of 1880-81 swept over these places with tremendous +fury, and the most experienced shepherds, whose whole lives had been +spent going to and fro on the downs, frequently lost their way. There is +a story of a waggoner and his lad going slowly along the road after the +thaw, and noticing an odd-looking scarecrow in a field. They went to it, +and found it was a man, dead, and still standing as he had stiffened in +the snow, the clothes hanging on his withered body, and the eyes gone +from the sockets, picked out by the crows. It is only one of many similar +accounts, and it is thought between twenty and thirty unfortunate persons +perished. Such miserable events are of rare occurrence, but show how +open, wild, and succourless the country still remains. In ordinary +winters it is only strangers who need be cautious, and strangers seldom +appear. Even in summer time, however, a stranger, if he stays till dusk, +may easily wander for hours. Once off the highway, all the ridges and +slopes seem alike, and there is no end to them. + + + +FOREST + + +The beechnuts are already falling in the forest, and the swine are +beginning to search for them while yet the harvest lingers. The nuts are +formed by midsummer, and now, the husk opening, the brown angular kernel +drops out. Many of the husks fall, too; others remain on the branches +till next spring. Under the beeches the ground is strewn with the mast as +hard almost to walk on as pebbles. Rude and uncouth as swine are in +themselves, somehow they look different under trees. The brown leaves +amid which they rout, and the brown-tinted fern behind lend something of +their colour and smooth away their ungainliness. Snorting as they work +with very eagerness of appetite, they are almost wild, approaching in a +measure to their ancestors, the savage boars. Under the trees the +imagination plays unchecked, and calls up the past as if yew bow and +broad arrow were still in the hunter's hands. So little is changed since +then. The deer are here still. Sit down on the root of this oak (thinly +covered with moss), and on that very spot it is quite possible a knight +fresh home from the Crusades may have rested and feasted his eyes on the +lovely green glades of his own unsurpassed England. The oak was there +then, young and strong; it is here now, ancient, but sturdy. Rarely do +you see an oak fall of itself. It decays to the last stump; it does not +fall. The sounds are the same--the tap as a ripe acorn drops, the rustle +of a leaf which comes down slowly, the quick rushes of mice playing in +the fern. A movement at one side attracts the glance, and there is a +squirrel darting about. There is another at the very top of the beech +yonder out on the boughs, nibbling the nuts. A brown spot a long distance +down the glade suddenly moves, and thereby shows itself to be a rabbit. +The bellowing sound that comes now and then is from the stags, which are +preparing to fight. The swine snort, and the mast and leaves rustle as +they thrust them aside. So little is changed: these are the same sounds +and the same movements, just as in the olden time. + +The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, lights up with colour +the fern, the fronds of which are yellow and brown, the leaves, the grey +grass, and hawthorn sprays already turned. It seems as if the early +morning's mists have the power of tinting leaf and fern, for so soon as +they commence the green hues begin to disappear. There are swathes of +fern yonder, cut down like grass or corn, the harvest of the forest. It +will be used for litter and for thatching sheds. The yellow stalks--the +stubble--will turn brown and wither through the winter, till the strong +spring shoot conies up and the anemones flower. Though the sunbeams reach +the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, and for one step that +you walk in sunlight ten are in shade. Thus, partly concealed in full +day, the forest always contains a mystery. The idea that there may be +something in the dim arches held up by the round columns of the beeches +lures the footsteps onwards. Something must have been lately in the +circle under the oak where the fern and bushes remain at a distance and +wall in a lawn of green. There is nothing on the grass but the upheld +leaves that have dropped, no mark of any creature, but this is not +decisive; if there are no physical signs, there is a feeling that the +shadow is not vacant. In the thickets, perhaps--the shadowy thickets with +front of thorn--it has taken refuge and eluded us. Still onward the +shadows lead us in vain but pleasant chase. + +These endless trees are a city to the tree-building birds. The round +knot-holes in the beeches, the holes in the elms and oaks; they find them +all out. From these issue the immense flocks of starlings which, when +they alight on an isolated elm in winter, make it suddenly black. From +these, too, come forth the tits, not so welcome to the farmer, as he +considers they reduce his fruit crop; and in these the gaudy woodpeckers +breed. With starlings, wood-pigeons, and rooks the forest is crowded like +a city in spring, but now in autumn it is comparatively deserted. The +birds are away in the fields, some at the grain, others watching the +plough, and following it so soon as a furrow is opened. But the stoats +are busy--they have not left, nor the weasels; and so eager are they +that, though they hide in the fern at first, in a minute or two they come +out again, and so get shot. + +Like the fields, which can only support a certain proportion of cattle, +the forest, wide as it seems, can only maintain a certain number of deer. +Carrying the same thought further, it will be obvious that the forest, or +England in a natural state, could only support a limited human +population. Is this why the inhabitants of countries like France, where +they cultivate every rood and try to really keep a man to a rood, do not +increase in number? Certainly there is a limit in nature which can only +be overcome by artificial aid. After wandering for some time in a forest +like this, the impression arises that the fauna is not now large enough +to be in thorough keeping with the trees--their age and size and number. +The breadth of the arboreal landscape requires a longer list of living +creatures, and creatures of greater bulk. The stoat and weasel are lost +in bramble and fern, the squirrels in the branches; the fox is concealed, +and the badger; the rabbit, too, is small. There are only the deer, and +there is a wide gap between them and the hares. Even the few cattle which +are permitted to graze are better than nothing; though not wild, yet +standing in fern to their shoulders and browsing on the lower branches, +they are, at all events, animals for the time in nearly a natural state. +By watching them it is apparent how well the original wild cattle agreed +with the original scenery of the island. One almost regrets the marten +and polecat, though both small creatures, and wishes that the fox would +come forth more by day. These acres of bracken and impenetrable thickets +need more inhabitants; how well they are fitted for the wild boar! Such +thoughts are, of course, only thoughts, and we must be thankful that we +have as many wild creatures left as we have. + +Looking at the soil as we walk, where it is exposed by the roots of a +fallen tree, or where there is an old gravel pit, the question occurs +whether forests, managed as they are in old countries, ever really +increase the fertility of the earth? That decaying vegetation produces a +fine mould cannot be disputed; but it seems here that there is no more +decaying vegetation than is required for the support of the trees +themselves. The leaves that fall--the million million leaves--blown to +and fro, at last disappear, absorbed into the ground. So with quantities +of the lesser twigs and branches; but these together do not supply more +material to the soil than is annually abstracted by the extensive roots +of trees, of bushes, and by the fern. If timber is felled, it is removed, +and the bark and boughs with it; the stump, too, is grubbed and split for +firewood. If a tree dies it is presently sawn off and cut up for some +secondary use or other. The great branches which occasionally fall are +some one's perquisite. When the thickets are thinned out, the fagots are +carted away, and much of the fern is also removed. How, then, can there +be any accumulation of fertilising material? Rather the reverse; it is, +if anything, taken away, and the soil must be less rich now than it was +in bygone centuries. Left to itself the process would be the reverse, +every tree as it fell slowly enriching the spot where it mouldered, and +all the bulk of the timber converted into fertile earth. It was in this +way that the American forests laid the foundation of the inexhaustible +wheat-lands there. But the modern management of a forest tends in the +opposite direction--too much is removed; for if it is wished to improve a +soil by the growth of timber, something must be left in it besides the +mere roots. The leaves, even, are not all left; they have a value for +gardening purposes: though, of course, the few cartloads collected make +no appreciable difference. There is always something going on in the +forest; and more men are employed than would be supposed. In the winter +the selected elms are thrown and the ash poles cut; in the spring the oak +timber comes down and is barked; in the autumn the fern is cut. Splitting +up wood goes on nearly all the year round, so that you may always hear +the axe. No charcoal-burning is practised, but the mere maintenance of +the fences, as, for instance, round the pheasant enclosures, gives much +to do. Deer need attention in winter, like cattle; the game has its +watchers; and ferreting lasts for months. So that the forest is not +altogether useless from the point of view of work. But in so many hundred +acres of trees these labourers are lost to sight, and do not in the least +detract from its wild appearance. Indeed, the occasional ring of the axe +or the smoke rising from the woodman's fire accentuates the fact that it +is a forest. The oaks keep a circle round their base and stand at a +majestic distance from each other, so that the wind and the sunshine +enter, and their precincts are sweet and pleasant. The elms gather +together, rubbing their branches in the gale till the bark is worn off +and the boughs die; the shadow is deep under them, and moist, favourable +to rank grass and coarse mushrooms. Beneath the ashes, after the first +frost, the air is full of the bitterness of their blackened leaves, which +have all come down at once. By the beeches there is little underwood, and +the hollows are filled ankle-deep with their leaves. From the pines comes +a fragrant odour, and thus the character of each group dominates the +surrounding ground. The shade is too much for many flowers, which prefer +the nooks of hedgerows. If there is no scope for the use of "express" +rifles, this southern forest really is a forest and not an open hillside. +It is a forest of trees, and there are no woodlands so beautiful and +enjoyable as these, where it is possible to be lost a while without fear +of serious consequences; where you can walk without stepping up to the +waist in a decayed tree-trunk, or floundering in a bog; where neither +venomous snake not torturing mosquito causes constant apprehensions and +constant irritation. To the eye there is nothing but beauty; to the +imagination pleasant pageants of old time; to the ear the soothing +cadence of the leaves as the gentle breeze goes over. The beeches rear +their Gothic architecture, the oaks are planted firm like castles, +unassailable. Quick squirrels climb and dart hither and thither, deer +cross the distant glade, and, occasionally, a hawk passes like thought. + +The something that may be in the shadow or the thicket, the vain, +pleasant chase that beckons us on, still leads the footsteps from tree to +tree, till by-and-by a lark sings, and, going to look for it, we find the +stubble outside the forest--stubble still bright with the blue and white +flowers of grey speedwell. One of the earliest to bloom in the spring, it +continues till the plough comes again in autumn. Now looking back from +the open stubble on the high wall of trees, the touch of autumn here and +there is the more visible--oaks dotted with brown, horse chestnuts +yellow, maples orange, and the bushes beneath red with haws. + + + +BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY + + +I--THE MAKING OF BEAUTY + +It takes a hundred and fifty years to make a beauty--a hundred and fifty +years out-of-doors. Open air, hard manual labour or continuous exercise, +good food, good clothing, some degree of comfort, all of these, but most +especially open air, must play their part for five generations before a +beautiful woman can appear. These conditions can only be found in the +country, and consequently all beautiful women come from the country. +Though the accident of birth may cause their register to be signed in +town, they are always of country extraction. + +Let us glance back a hundred and fifty years, say to 1735, and suppose a +yeoman to have a son about that time. That son would be bred upon the +hardest fare, but, though hard, it would be plentiful and of honest sort. +The bread would be home-baked, the beef salted at home, the ale +home-brewed. He would work all day in the fields with the labourers, but +he would have three great advantages over them--in good and plentiful +food, in good clothing, and in home comforts. He would ride, and join all +the athletic sports of the time. Mere manual labour stiffens the limbs, +gymnastic exercises render them supple. Thus he would obtain immense +strength from simple hard work, and agility from exercise. Here, then, is +a sound constitution, a powerful frame, well knit, hardened--an almost +perfect physical existence. + +He would marry, if fortunate, at thirty or thirty-five, naturally +choosing the most charming of his acquaintances. She would be equally +healthy and proportionally as strong, for the ladies of those days were +accustomed to work from childhood. By custom soon after marriage she +would work harder than before, notwithstanding her husband's fair store +of guineas in the iron-bound box. The house, the dairy, the cheese-loft, +would keep her arms in training. Even since I recollect, the work done by +ladies in country houses was something astonishing, ladies by right of +well-to-do parents, by right of education and manners. Really, it seems +that there is no work a woman cannot do with the best results for +herself, always provided that it does not throw a strain upon the loins. +Healthy children sprung from such parents, while continuing the general +type, usually tend towards a refinement of the features. Under such +natural and healthy conditions, if the mother have a good shape, the +daughter is finer; if the father be of good height, the son is taller. +These children in their turn go through the same open-air training. In +course of years, the family guineas increasing, home comforts increase, +and manners are polished. Another generation sees the cast of countenance +smoothed of its original ruggedness, while preserving its good +proportion. The hard chin becomes rounded and not too prominent, the +cheek-bones sink, the ears are smaller, a softness spreads itself over +the whole face. That which was only honest now grows tender. Again +another generation, and it is a settled axiom that the family are +handsome. The country-side, as it gossips, agrees that the family are +marked out as good-looking. Like seeks like, as we know; the handsome +intermarry with the handsome. Still, the beauty has not arrived yet, nor +is it possible to tell whether she will appear from the female or male +branches. But in the fifth generation appear she does, with the original +features so moulded and softened by time, so worked and refined and +sweetened, so delicate and yet so rich in blood, that she seems like a +new creation that has suddenly started into being. No one has watched and +recorded the slow process which has thus finally resulted. No one could +do so, because it has spread over a century and a half. If any one will +consider, they will agree that the sentiment at the sight of a perfect +beauty is as much amazement as admiration. It is so astounding, so +outside ordinary experience, that it wears the aspect of magic. + +A stationary home preserves the family intact, so that the influences +already described have time to produce their effect. There is nothing +uncommon in a yeoman's family continuing a hundred and fifty years in the +same homestead. Instances are known of such occupation extending for over +two hundred years; cases of three hundred years may be found: now and +then one is known to exceed that, and there is said to be one that has +not moved for six hundred. Granting the stock in its origin to have been +fairly well proportioned, and to have been subject for such a lapse of +time to favourable conditions, the rise of beauty becomes intelligible. + +Cities labour under every disadvantage. First, families have no +stationary home, but constantly move, so that it is rare to find one +occupying a house fifty years, and will probably become much rarer in the +future. Secondly, the absence of fresh air, and that volatile essence, as +it were, of woods, and fields, and hills, which can be felt but not +fixed. Thirdly, the sedentary employment. Let a family be never so +robust, these must ultimately affect the constitution. If beauty appears +it is too often of the unhealthy order; there is no physique, no vigour, +no richness of blood. Beauty of the highest order is inseparable from +health; it is the outcome of health--centuries of health--and a really +beautiful woman is, in proportion, stronger than a man. It is astonishing +with what persistence a type of beauty once established in the country +will struggle to perpetuate itself against all the drawbacks of town life +after the family has removed thither. + +When such results are produced under favourable conditions at the +yeoman's homestead, no difficulty arises in explaining why loveliness so +frequently appears in the houses of landed proprietors. Entailed estates +fix the family in one spot, and tend, by inter-marriage, to deepen any +original physical excellence. Constant out-of-door exercise, riding, +hunting, shooting, takes the place of manual labour. All the refinements +that money can purchase, travel, education, are here at work. That the +culture of the mind can alter the expression of the individual is +certain; if continued for many generations, possibly it may leave its +mark upon the actual bodily frame. Selection exerts a most powerful +influence in these cases. The rich and titled have so wide a range to +choose from. Consider these things working through centuries, perhaps in +a more or less direct manner, since the Norman Conquest. The fame of some +such families for handsome features and well-proportioned frames is +widely spread, so much so that a descendant not handsome is hardly +regarded by the outside world as legitimate. But even with all these +advantages beauty in the fullest sense does not appear regularly. Few +indeed are those families that can boast of more than one. It is the best +of all boasts; it is almost as if the Immortals had especially favoured +their house. Beauty has no period; it comes at intervals, unexpected! it +cannot be fixed. No wonder the earth is at its feet. + +The fisherman's daughter ere now has reached very high in the scale of +beauty. Hardihood is the fisherman's talent by which he wins his living +from the sea. Tribal in his ways, his settlements are almost exclusive, +and his descent pure. The wind washed by the sea enriches his blood, and +of labour he has enough. Here are the same constant factors; the +stationary home keeping the family intact, the out-door life, the air, +the sea, the sun. Refinement is absent, but these alone are so powerful +that now and then beauty appears. The lovely Irish girls, again: their +forefathers have dwelt on the mountainside since the days of Fingal, and +all the hardships of their lot cannot destroy the natural tendency to +shape and enchanting feature. Without those constant factors beauty +cannot be, but yet they will not alone produce it. There must be +something in the blood which these influences gradually ripen. If it is +not there centuries are in vain; but if it is there then it needs these +conditions. Erratic, meteor-like beauty! for how many thousand years has +man been your slave! Let me repeat, the sentiment at the sight of a +perfect beauty is as much amazement as admiration. It so draws the heart +out of itself as to seem like magic. + +She walks, and the very earth smiles beneath her feet. Something comes +with her that is more than mortal; witness the yearning welcome that +stretches towards her from all. As the sunshine lights up the aspect of +things, so her presence sweetens the very flowers like dew. But the +yearning welcome is, I think, the most remarkable of the evidence that +may be accumulated about it. So deep, so earnest, so forgetful of the +rest the passion of beauty is almost sad in its intense abstraction. It +is a passion, this yearning. She walks in the glory of young life; she is +really centuries old. + +A hundred and fifty years at the least--more probably twice that--have +passed away, while from all enchanted things of earth and air this +preciousness has been drawn. From the south wind that breathed a century +and a half ago over the green wheat. From the perfume of the growing +grasses waving over honey-laden clover and laughing veronica, hiding the +greenfinches, baffling the bee. From rose-loved hedges, woodbine, and +cornflower azure-blue, where yellowing wheat-stalks crowd up under the +shadow of green firs. All the devious brooklet's sweetness where the iris +stays the sunlight; all the wild woods hold the beauty; all the broad +hill's thyme and freedom: thrice a hundred years repeated. A hundred +years of cowslips, blue-bells, violets; purple spring and golden autumn; +sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the night immortal; all the rhythm +of Time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten and past all power of writing: +who shall preserve a record of the petals that fell from the roses a +century ago? The swallows to the housetops three hundred times--think a +moment of that. Thence she sprang, and the world yearns towards her +beauty as to flowers that are past. The loveliness of seventeen is +centuries old. Is this why passion is almost sad? + + +II--THE FORCE OF FORM + +Her shoulders were broad, but not too broad--just enough to accentuate +the waist, and to give a pleasant sense of ease and power. She was +strong, upright, self-reliant, finished in herself. Her bust was full, +but not too prominent--more after nature than the dressmaker. There was +something, though, of the corset-maker in her waist, it appeared +naturally fine, and had been assisted to be finer. But it was in the hips +that the woman was perfect:--fulness without coarseness; large but not +big: in a word, nobly proportioned. Now imagine a black dress adhering to +this form. From the shoulders to the ankles it fitted "like a glove." +There was not a wrinkle, a fold, a crease, smooth as if cast in a mould, +and yet so managed that she moved without effort. Every undulation of her +figure, as she stepped lightly forward flowed to the surface. The slight +sway of the hip as the foot was lifted, the upward and _inward_ movement +of the limb as the knee was raised, the straightening as the instep felt +her weight, each change as the limb described the curves of walking was +repeated in her dress. At every change of position she was as gracefully +draped as before. All was revealed, yet all concealed. As she passed +there was the sense of a presence--the presence of perfect form. She was +lifted as she moved above the ground by the curves of beauty as rapid +revolution in a curve suspends the down-dragging of gravity. A force went +by--the force of animated perfect form. + +Merely as an animal, how grand and beautiful is a perfect woman! Simply +as a living, breathing creature, can anything imaginable come near her? + +There is such strength in shape--such force in form. Without muscular +development shape conveys the impression of the greatest of all +strength--that is, of completeness in itself. The ancient philosophy +regarded a globe as the most perfect of all bodies, because it was the +same--that is, it was perfect and complete in itself--from whatever point +it was contemplated. Such is woman's form when nature's intent is +fulfilled in beauty, and that beauty gives the idea of self-contained +power. + +A full-grown woman is, too, physically stronger than a man. Her physique +excels man's. Look at her torso, at the size, the fulness, the rounded +firmness, the depth of the chest. There is a nobleness about it. +Shoulders, arms, limbs, all reach a breadth of make seldom seen in man. +There is more than merely sufficient--there is a luxuriance indicating a +surpassing vigour. And this occurs without effort. She needs no long +manual labour, no exhaustive gymnastic exercise, nor any special care in +food or training. It is difficult not to envy the superb physique and +beautiful carriage of some women. They are so strong without effort. + + +III--AN ARM + +A large white arm, bare, in the sunshine, to the shoulder, carelessly +leant against a low red wall, lingers in my memory. There was a house +roofed with old grey stone slates in the background, and peaches trained +up by the window. The low garden wall of red brick--ancient red brick, +not the pale, dusty blocks of these days--was streaked with dry mosses +hiding the mortar. Clear and brilliant, the gaudy sun of morning shone +down upon her as she stood in the gateway, resting her arm on the red +wall, and pressing on the mosses which the heat had dried. Her face I do +not remember, only the arm. She had come out from dairy work, which needs +bare arms, and stood facing the bold sun. It was very large--some might +have called it immense--and yet natural and justly proportioned to the +woman, her work, and her physique. So immense an arm was like a +revelation of the vast physical proportions which our race is capable of +attaining under favourable conditions. Perfectly white--white as the milk +in which it was often plunged--smooth and pleasant in the texture of the +skin, it was entirely removed from coarseness. The might of its size was +chiefly by the shoulder; the wrist was not large, nor the hand. Colossal, +white, sunlit, bare--among the trees and the meads around it was a living +embodiment of the limbs we attribute to the first dwellers on earth. + + +IV--LIPS + +The mouth is the centre of woman's beauty. To the lips the glance is +attracted the moment she approaches, and their shape remains in the +memory longest. Curve, colour, and substance are the three essentials of +the lips, but these are nothing without mobility, the soul of the mouth. +If neither sculpture, nor the palette with its varied resources, can +convey the spell of perfect lips, how can it be done in black letters of +ink only? Nothing is so difficult, nothing so beautiful. There are lips +which have an elongated curve (of the upper one), ending with a slight +curl, like a ringlet at the end of a tress, like those tiny wavelets on a +level sand which float in before the tide, or like a frond of fern +unrolling. In this curl there lurks a smile, so that she can scarcely +open her mouth without a laugh, or the look of one. These upper lips are +drawn with parallel lines, the verge is defined by two lines near +together, enclosing the narrowest space possible, which is ever so +faintly less coloured than the substance of the lip. This makes the mouth +appear larger than it really is; the bow, too, is more flattened than in +the pure Greek lip. It is beautiful, but not perfect, tempting, +mischievous, not retiring, and belongs to a woman who is never long +alone. To describe it first is natural, because this mouth is itself the +face, and the rest of the features are grouped to it. If you think of her +you think of her mouth only--the face appears as memory acts, but the +mouth is distinct, the remainder uncertain. She laughs and the curl runs +upwards, so that you must laugh too, you cannot help it. Had the curl +gone downwards, as with habitually melancholy people, you might have +withstood her smile. The room is never dull where she is, for there is a +distinct character in it--a woman--and not a mere living creature, and it +is noticeable that if there are five or six or more present, somehow the +conversation centres round her. + +There was a lady I knew who had lips like these. Of the kind they were +perfect. Though she was barely fourteen she was _the_ woman of that +circle by the magnetism of her mouth. When we all met together in the +evening all that went on in some way or other centred about her. By +consent the choice of what game should be played was left to her to +decide. She was asked if it was not time for some one to sing, and the +very mistress of the household referred to her whether we should have +another round or go in to supper. Of course, she always decided as she +supposed the hostess wished. At supper, if there was a delicacy on the +table it was invariably offered to her. The eagerness of the elderly +gentlemen, who presumed on their grey locks and conventional harmlessness +to press their attentions upon her, showed who was the most attractive +person in the room. Younger men feel a certain reserve, and do not reveal +their inclinations before a crowd, but the harmless old gentleman makes +no secret of his admiration. She managed them all, old and young, with +unconscious tact, and never left the ranks of the other ladies as a crude +flirt would have done. This tact and way of modestly holding back when so +many would have pushed her too much to the front retained for her the +good word of her own sex. If a dance was proposed it was left to her to +say yes or no, and if it was not too late the answer was usually in the +affirmative. So in the morning, should we make an excursion to some view +or pleasant wood, all eyes rested upon her, and if she thought it fine +enough away we went. + +Her features were rather fine, but not especially so; her complexion a +little dusky, eyes grey, and dark hair; her figure moderately tall, +slender but shapely. She was always dressed well; a certain taste marked +her in everything. Upon introduction no one would have thought anything +of her; they would have said, "insignificant--plain;" in half an hour, +"different to most girls;" in an hour, "extremely pleasant;" in a day, "a +singularly attractive girl;" and so on, till her empire was established. +It was not the features--it was the mouth, the curling lips, the vivacity +and life that sparkled in them. There is wine, deep-coloured, strong, but +smooth at the surface. There is champagne with its richness continually +rushing to the rim. Her lips flowed with champagne. It requires a clever +man indeed to judge of men; now how could so young and inexperienced a +creature distinguish the best from so many suitors? + + + +OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY + + +The cawing of the rooks in February shows that the time is coming when +their nests will be re-occupied. They resort to the trees, and perch +above the old nests to indicate their rights; for in the rookery +possession is the law, and not nine-tenths of it only. In the slow dull +cold of winter even these noisy birds are quiet, and as the vast flocks +pass over, night and morning, to and from the woods in which they roost, +there is scarcely a sound. Through the mist their black wings advance in +silence, the jackdaws with them are chilled into unwonted quiet, and +unless you chance to look up the crowd may go over unnoticed. But so soon +as the waters begin to make a sound in February, running in the ditches +and splashing over stones, the rooks commence the speeches and +conversations which will continue till late into the following autumn. + +The general idea is that they pair in February, but there are some +reasons for thinking that the rooks, in fact, choose their males at the +end of the preceding summer. They are then in large flocks, and if only +casually glanced at appear mixed together without any order or +arrangement. They move on the ground and fly in the air so close, one +beside the other, that at the first glance or so you cannot distinguish +them apart. Yet if you should be lingering along the by-ways of the +fields as the acorns fall, and the leaves come rustling down in the warm +sunny autumn afternoons, and keep an observant eye upon the rooks in the +trees, or on the fresh-turned furrows, they will be seen to act in +couples. On the ground couples alight near each other, on the trees they +perch near each other, and in the air fly side by side. Like soldiers +each has his comrade. Wedged in the ranks every man looks like his +fellow, and there seems no tie between them but a common discipline. +Intimate acquaintance with barrack or camp life would show that every one +had his friend. There is also the mess, or companionship of half a dozen, +or dozen, or more, and something like this exists part of the year in the +armies of the rooks. After the nest time is over they flock together, and +each family of three or four flies in concert. Later on they apparently +choose their own particular friends, that is the young birds do so. All +through the winter after, say October, these pairs keep together, though +lost in the general mass to the passing spectator. If you alarm them +while feeding on the ground in winter, supposing you have not got a gun, +they merely rise up to the nearest tree, and it may then be observed that +they do this in pairs. One perches on a branch and a second comes to him. +When February arrives, and they resort to the nests to look after or +seize on the property there, they are in fact already paired, though the +almanacs put down St. Valentine's day as the date of courtship. + +There is very often a warm interval in February, sometimes a few days +earlier and sometimes later, but as a rule it happens that a week or so +of mild sunny weather occurs about this time. Released from the grip of +the frost, the streams trickle forth from the fields and pour into the +ditches, so that while walking along the footpath there is a murmur all +around coming from the rush of water. The murmur of the poets is indeed +louder in February than in the more pleasant days of summer, for then the +growth of aquatic grasses checks the flow and stills it, whilst in +February every stone, or flint, or lump of chalk divides the current and +causes a vibration, With this murmur of water, and mild time, the rooks +caw incessantly, and the birds at large essay to utter their welcome of +the sun. The wet furrows reflect the rays so that the dark earth gleams, +and in the slight mist that stays farther away the light pauses and fills +the vapour with radiance. Through this luminous mist the larks race after +each other twittering, and as they turn aside, swerving in their swift +flight, their white breasts appear for a moment. As while standing by a +pool the fishes came into sight, emerging as they swim round from the +shadow of the deeper water, so the larks dart over the low edge, and +through the mist, and pass before you, and are gone again. All at once +one checks his pursuit, forgets the immediate object, and rises, singing +as he soars. The notes fall from the air over the dark wet earth, over +the dank grass, and broken withered fern of the hedge, and listening to +them it seems for a moment spring. There is sunshine in the song; the +lark and the light are one. He gives us a few minutes of summer in +February days. In May he rises before as yet the dawn is come, and the +sunrise flows down to us under through his notes. On his breast, high +above the earth, the first rays fall as the rim of the sun edges up at +the eastward hill. The lark and the light are as one, and wherever he +glides over the wet furrows the glint of the sun goes with him. Anon +alighting he runs between the lines of the green corn. In hot summer, +when the open hillside is burned with bright light, the larks are then +singing and soaring. Stepping up the hill laboriously, suddenly a lark +starts into the light and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. +With bright light, and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the bird is +so associated in the mind, that even to see him in the frosty days of +wjnter, at least assures us that summer will certainly return. + +Ought not winter, in allegorical designs, the rather to be represented +with such things that might suggest hope than such as convey a cold and +grim despair? The withered leaf, the snowflake, the hedging bill that +cuts and destroys, why these? Why not rather the dear larks for one? They +fly in flocks, and amid the white expanse of snow (in the south) their +pleasant twitter or call is heard as they sweep along seeking some grassy +spot cleared by the wind. The lark, the bird of the light, is there in +the bitter short days. Put the lark then for winter, a sign of hope, a +certainty of summer. Put, too, the sheathed bud, for if you search the +hedge you will find the buds there, on tree and bush, carefully wrapped +around with the case which protects them as a cloak. Put, too, the sharp +needles of the green corn; let the wind clear it of snow a little way, +and show that under cold clod and colder snow the green thing pushes up, +knowing that summer must come. Nothing despairs but man. Set the sharp +curve of the white new moon in the sky: she is white in true frost, and +yellow a little if it is devising change. Set the new moon as something +that symbols an increase. Set the shepherd's crook in a corner as a token +that the flocks are already enlarged in number. The shepherd is the +symbolic man of the hardest winter time. His work is never more important +than then. Those that only roam the fields when they are pleasant in May, +see the lambs at play in the meadow, and naturally think of lambs and May +flowers. But the lamb was born in the adversity of snow. Or you might set +the morning star, for it burns and burns and glitters in the winter dawn, +and throws forth beams like those of metal consumed in oxygen. There is +nought that I know by comparison with which I might indicate the glory of +the morning star, while yet the dark night hides in the hollows. The lamb +is born in the fold. The morning star glitters in the sky. The bud is +alive in its sheath; the green corn under the snow; the lark twitters as +he passes. Now these to me are the allegory of winter. + +These mild hours in February check the hold which winter has been +gaining, and as it were, tear his claws out of the earth, their prey. If +it has not been so bitter previously, when this Gulf stream or current of +warmer air enters the expanse it may bring forth a butterfly and tenderly +woo the first violet into flower. But this depends on its having been +only moderately cold before, and also upon the stratum, whether it is +backward clay, or forward gravel and sand. Spring dates are quite +different according to the locality, and when violets may be found in one +district, in another there is hardly a woodbine-leaf out. The border line +may be traced, and is occasionally so narrow, one may cross over it +almost at a step. It would sometimes seem as if even the nut-tree bushes +bore larger and finer nuts on the warmer soil, and that they ripened +quicker. Any curious in the first of things, whether it be a leaf, or +flower, or a bird, should bear this in mind, and not be discouraged +because he hears some one else has already discovered or heard something. + +A little note taken now at this bare time of the kind of earth may lead +to an understanding of the district. It is plain where the plough has +turned it, where the rabbits have burrowed and thrown it out, where a +tree has been felled by the gales, by the brook where the bank is worn +away, or by the sediment at the shallow places. Before the grass and +weeds, and corn and flowers have hidden it, the character of the soil is +evident at these natural sections without the aid of a spade. Going +slowly along the footpath--indeed you cannot go fast in moist +February--it is a good time to select the places and map them out where +herbs and flowers will most likely come first. All the autumn lies prone +on the ground. Dead dark leaves, some washed to their woody frames, short +grey stalks, some few decayed hulls of hedge fruit, and among these the +mars or stocks of the plants that do not die away, but lie as it were on +the surface waiting. Here the strong teazle will presently stand high; +here the ground-ivy will dot the mound with bluish-purple. But it will be +necessary to walk slowly to find the ground-ivy flowers under the cover +of the briers. These bushes will be a likely place for a blackbird's +nest; this thick close hawthorn for a bullfinch; these bramble thickets +with remnants of old nettle stalks will be frequented by the whitethroat +after a while. The hedge is now but a lattice-work which will before long +be hung with green. Now it can be seen through, and now is the time to +arrange for future discovery. In May everything will be hidden, and +unless the most promising places are selected beforehand, it will not be +easy to search them out. The broad ditch will be arched over, the plants +rising on the mound will meet the green boughs drooping, and all the +vacancy will be filled. But having observed the spot in winter you can +almost make certain of success in spring. + +It is this previous knowledge which invests those who are always on the +spot, those who work much in the fields or have the care of woods, with +their apparent prescience. They lead the new comer to a hedge, or the +corner of a copse, or a bend of the brook, announcing beforehand that +they feel assured something will be found there; and so it is. This, too, +is one reason why a fixed observer usually sees more than one who rambles +a great deal and covers ten times the space. The fixed observer who +hardly goes a mile from home is like the man who sits still by the edge +of a crowd, and by-and-by his lost companion returns to him. To walk +about in search of persons in a crowd is well known to be the worst way +of recovering them. Sit still and they will often come by. In a far more +certain manner this is the case with birds and animals. They all come +back. During a twelvemonth probably every creature would pass over a +given locality: every creature that is not confined to certain places. +The whole army of the woods and hedges marches across a single farm in +twelve months. A single tree--especially an old tree--is visited by +four-fifths of the birds that ever perch in the course of that period. +Every year, too, brings something fresh, and adds new visitors to the +list. Even the wild sea birds are found inland, and some that scarce seem +able to fly at all are cast far ashore by the gales. It is difficult to +believe that one would not see more by extending the journey, but, in +fact, experience proves that the longer a single locality is studied the +more is found in it. But you should know the places in winter as well as +in tempting summer, when song and shade and colour attract every one to +the field. You should face the mire and slippery path. Nature yields +nothing to the sybarite. The meadow glows with buttercups in spring, the +hedges are green, the woods lovely; but these are not to be enjoyed in +their full significance unless you have traversed the same places when +bare, and have watched the slow fulfilment of the flowers. + +The moist leaves that remain upon the mounds do not rustle, and the +thrush moves among them unheard. The sunshine may bring out a rabbit, +feeding along the slope of the mound, following the paths or runs. He +picks his way, he does not like wet. Though out at night in the dewy +grass of summer, in the rain-soaked grass of winter, and living all his +life in the earth, often damp nearly to his burrows, no time, and no +succession of generations can make him like wet. He endures it, but he +picks his way round the dead fern and the decayed leaves. He sits in the +bunches of long grass, but he does not like the drops of dew on it to +touch him. Water lays his fur close, and mats it, instead of running off +and leaving him sleek. As he hops a little way at a time on the mound he +chooses his route almost as we pick ours in the mud and pools of +February. By the shore of the ditch there still stand a few dry, dead +dock stems, with some dry reddish-brown seed adhering. Some dry brown +nettle stalks remain; some grey and broken thistles; some teazles leaning +on the bushes. The power of winter has reached its utmost now, and can go +no farther. These bines which still hang in the bushes are those of the +greater bindweed, and will be used in a month or so by many birds as +conveniently curved to fit about their nests. The stem of wild clematis, +grey and bowed, could scarcely look more dead. Fibres are peeling from +it, they come off at the touch of the fingers. The few brown feathers +that perhaps still adhere where the flowers once were are stained and +discoloured by the beating of the rain. It is not dead: it will flourish +again ere long. It is the sturdiest of creepers, facing the ferocious +winds of the hills, the tremendous rains that blow up from the sea, and +bitter frost, if only it can get its roots into soil that suits it. In +some places it takes the place of the hedge proper and becomes itself the +hedge. Many of the trunks of the elms are swathed in minute green +vegetation which has flourished in the winter, as the clematis will in in +the summer. Of all, the brambles bear the wild works of winter best. +Given only a little shelter, in the corner of the hedges or under trees +and copses they retain green leaves till the buds burst again. The frosts +tint them in autumn with crimson, but not all turn colour or fall. The +brambles are the bowers of the birds; in these still leafy bowers they do +the courting of the spring, and under the brambles the earliest arum, and +cleaver, or avens, push up. Round about them the first white nettle +flowers, not long now; latest too, in the autumn. The white nettle +sometimes blooms so soon (always according to locality), and again so +late, that there seems but a brief interval between, as if it flowered +nearly all the year round. So the berries on the holly if let alone often +stay till summer is in, and new berries begin to appear shortly +afterwards. The ivy, too, bears its berries far into the summer. Perhaps +if the country be taken at large there is never a time when there is not +a flower of some kind out, in this or that warm southern nook. The sun +never sets, nor do the flowers ever die. There is life always, even in +the dry fir-cone that looks so brown and sapless. + +The path crosses the uplands where the lapwings stand on the parallel +ridges of the ploughed field like a drilled company; if they rise they +wheel as one, and in the twilight move across the fields in bands +invisible as they sweep near the ground, but seen against the sky in +rising over the trees and the hedges. There is a plantation of fir and +ash on the slope, and a narrow waggon-way enters it, and seems to lose +itself in the wood. Always approach this spot quietly, for whatever is in +the wood is sure at some time or other to come to the open space of the +track. Wood-pigeons, pheasants, squirrels, magpies, hares, everything +feathered or furred, down to the mole, is sure to seek the open way. +Butterflies flutter through the copse by it in summer, just as you or I +might use the passage between the trees. Towards the evening the +partridges may run through to join their friends before roost-time on the +ground. Or you may see a covey there now and then, creeping slowly with +humped backs, and at a distance not unlike hedgehogs in their motions. +The spot therefore should be approached with care; if it is only a thrush +out it is a pleasure to see him at his ease and, as he deems, unobserved. +If a bird or animal thinks itself noticed it seldom does much, some will +cease singing immediately they are looked at. The day is perceptibly +longer already. As the sun goes down, the western sky often takes a +lovely green tint in this month, and one stays to look at it, forgetting +the dark and miry way homewards. I think the moments when we forget the +mire of the world are the most precious. After a while the green corn +rises higher out of the rude earth. + +Pure colour almost always gives the idea of fire, or rather it is perhaps +as if a light shone through as well as colour itself. The fresh green +blade of corn is like this, so pellucid, so clear and pure in its green +as to seem to shine with colour. It is not brilliant--not a surface gleam +or an enamel,--it is stained through. Beside the moist clods the slender +flags arise filled with the sweetness of the earth. Out of the darkness +under--that darkness which knows no day save when the ploughshare opens +its chinks--they have come to the light. To the light they have brought a +colour which will attract the sunbeams from now till harvest. They fall +more pleasantly on the corn, toned, as if they mingled with it. Seldom do +we realise that the world is practically no thicker to us than the print +of our footsteps on the path. Upon that surface we walk and act our +comedy of life, and what is beneath is nothing to us. But it is out from +that under-world, from the dead and the unknown, from the cold moist +ground, that these green blades have sprung. Yonder a steam-plough pants +up the hill, groaning with its own strength, yet all that strength and +might of wheels, and piston, and chains, cannot drag from the earth one +single blade like these. Force cannot make it; it must grow--an easy word +to speak or write, in fact full of potency. It is this mystery of growth +and life, of beauty, and sweetness, and colour, starting forth from the +clods that gives the corn its power over me. Somehow I identify myself +with it; I live again as I see it. Year by year it is the same, and when +I see it I feel that I have once more entered on a new life. And I think +the spring, with its green corn, its violets, and hawthorn-leaves, and +increasing song, grows yearly dearer and more dear to this our ancient +earth. So many centuries have flown! Now it is the manner with all +natural things to gather as it were by smallest particles. The merest +grain of sand drifts unseen into a crevice, and by-and-by another; after +a while there is a heap; a century and it is a mound, and then every one +observes and comments on it. Time itself has gone on like this; the years +have accumulated, first in drifts, then in heaps, and now a vast mound, +to which the mountains are knolls, rises up and overshadows us. Time lies +heavy on the world. The old, old earth is glad to turn from the cark and +care of drifted centuries to the first sweet blades of green. + +There is sunshine to-day after rain, and every lark is singing. Across +the vale a broad cloud-shadow descends the hillside, is lost in the +hollow, and presently, without warning, slips over the edge, coming +swiftly along the green tips. The sunshine follows--the warmer for its +momentary absence. Far, far down in a grassy coomb stands a solitary +cornrick, conical roofed, casting a lonely shadow--marked because so +solitary, and beyond it on the rising slope is a brown copse. The +leafless branches take a brown tint in the sunlight; on the summit above +there is furze; then more hill lines drawn against the sky. In the tops +of the dark pines at the corner of the copse, could the glance sustain +itself to see them, there are finches warming themselves in the sunbeams. +The thick needles shelter them, from the current of air, and the sky is +bluer above the pines. Their hearts are full already of the happy days to +come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the lichen on the fir-trunk, +and the loose fibres caught in the fork of an unbending bough, shall +furnish forth a sufficient mansion for their young. Another broad +cloud-shadow, and another warm embrace of sunlight. All the serried ranks +of the green corn bow at the word of command as the wind rushes over +them. + +There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as the down and free as the +wind, the thought can roam high over the narrow roofs in the vale. Nature +has affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, and walls, and crooked +fences deep down yonder are artificial. The fetters and traditions, the +routine, the dull roundabout which deadens the spirit like the cold moist +earth, are the merest nothings. Here it is easy with the physical eye to +look over the highest roof. The moment the eye of the mind is filled with +the beauty of things natural an equal freedom and width of view come to +it. Step aside from the trodden footpath of personal experience, throwing +away the petty cynicism born of petty hopes disappointed. Step out upon +the broad down beside the green corn, and let its freshness become part +of life. + +The wind passes, and it bends--let the wind, too, pass over the spirit. +From the cloud-shadow it emerges to the sunshine--let the heart come out +from the shadow of roofs to the open glow of the sky. High above, the +songs of the larks fall as rain--receive it with open hands. Pure is the +colour of the green flags, the slender-pointed blades--let the thought be +pure as the light that shines through that colour. Broad are the downs +and open the aspect--gather the breadth and largeness of view. Never can +that view be wide enough and large enough, there will always be room to +aim higher. As the air of the hills enriches the blood, so let the +presence of these beautiful things enrich the inner sense. One memory of +the green corn, fresh beneath the sun and wind, will lift up the heart +from the clods. + + + +HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING + + +I--WINTER + +Coming like a white wall the rain reaches me, and in an instant +everything is gone from sight that is more than ten yards distant. The +narrow upland road is beaten to a darker hue, and two runnels of water +rush along at the sides, where, when the chalk-laden streamlets dry, blue +splinters of flint will be exposed in the channels. For a moment the air +seems driven away by the sudden pressure, and I catch my breath and stand +still with one shoulder forward to receive the blow. Hiss, the land +shudders under the cold onslaught; hiss, and on the blast goes, and the +sound with it, for the very fury of the rain, after the first second, +drowns its own noise. There is not a single creature visible, the low and +stunted hedgerows, bare of leaf, could conceal nothing; the rain passes +straight through to the ground. Crooked and gnarled, the bushes are +locked together as if in no other way could they hold themselves against +the gales. Such little grass as there is on the mounds is thin and short, +and could not hide a mouse. There is no finch, sparrow, thrush, +blackbird. As the wave of rain passes over and leaves a hollow between +the waters, that which has gone and that to come, the ploughed lands on +either side are seen to be equally bare. In furrows full of water, a hare +would not sit, nor partridge run; the larks, the patient larks which +endure almost everything, even they have gone. Furrow on furrow with +flints dotted on their slopes, and chalk lumps, that is all. The cold +earth gives no sweet petal of flower, nor can any bud of thought or bloom +of imagination start forth in the mind. But step by step, forcing a way +through the rain and over the ridge, I find a small and stunted copse +down in the next hollow. It is rather a wide hedge than a copse, and +stands by the road in the corner of a field. The boughs are bare; still +they break the storm, and it is a relief to wait a while there and rest. +After a minute or so the eye gets accustomed to the branches and finds a +line of sight through the narrow end of the copse. Within twenty +yards--just outside the copse--there are a number of lapwings, dispersed +about the furrows. One runs a few feet forward and picks something from +the ground; another runs in the same manner to one side; a third rushes +in still a third direction. Their crests, their green-tinted wings, and +white breasts are not disarranged by the torrent. Something in the style +of the birds recalls the wagtail, though they are so much larger. Beyond +these are half a dozen more, and in a straggling line others extend out +into the field. They have found some slight shelter here from the +sweeping of the rain and wind, and are not obliged to face it as in the +open. Minutely searching every clod they gather their food in +imperceptible items from the surface. + +Sodden leaves lie in the furrows along the side of the copse; broken and +decaying burdocks still uphold their jagged stems, but will be soaked +away by degrees; dank grasses droop outwards! the red seed of a dock is +all that remains of the berries and fruit, the seeds and grain of autumn. +Like the hedge, the copse is vacant. Nothing moves within, watch as +carefully as I may. The boughs are blackened by wet and would touch cold. +From the grasses to the branches there is nothing any one would like to +handle, and I stand apart even from the bush that keeps away the rain. +The green plovers are the only things of life that save the earth from +utter loneliness. Heavily as the rain may fall, cold as the saturated +wind may blow, the plovers remind us of the beauty of shape, colour, and +animation. They seem too slender to withstand the blast--they should have +gone with the swallows--too delicate for these rude hours; yet they alone +face them. + +Once more the wave of rain has passed, and yonder the hills appear; these +are but uplands. The nearest and highest has a green rampart, visible for +a moment against the dark sky, and then again wrapped in a toga of misty +cloud. So the chilled Roman drew his toga around him in ancient days as +from that spot he looked wistfully southwards and thought of Italy. +Wee-ah-wee! Some chance movement has been noticed by the nearest bird, +and away they go at once as if with the same wings, sweeping overhead, +then to the right, then to the left, and then back again, till at last +lost in the coming shower. After they have thus vibrated to and fro long +enough, like a pendulum coming to rest, they will alight in the open +field on the ridge behind. There in drilled ranks, well closed together, +all facing the same way, they will stand for hours. Let us go also and +let the shower conceal them. Another time my path leads over the hills. + +It is afternoon, which in winter is evening. The sward of the down is dry +under foot, but hard, and does not lift the instep with the springy feel +of summer. The sky is gone, it is not clouded, it is swathed in gloom. +Upwards the still air thickens, and there is no arch or vault of heaven. +Formless and vague, it seems some vast shadow descending. The sun has +disappeared, and the light there still is, is left in the atmosphere +enclosed by the gloomy mist as pools are left by a receding tide. Through +the sand the water slips, and through the mist the light glides away. +Nearer comes the formless shadow and the visible earth grows smaller. The +path has faded, and there are no means on the open downs of knowing +whether the direction pursued is right or wrong, till a boulder (which is +a landmark) is perceived. Thence the way is down the slope, the last and +limit of the hills there. It is a rough descent, the paths worn by sheep +may at any moment cause a stumble. At the foot is a waggon-track beside a +low hedge, enclosing the first arable field. The hedge is a guide, but +the ruts are deep, and it still needs slow and careful walking. +Wee-ah-wee! Up from the dusky surface of the arable field springs a +plover, and the notes are immediately repeated by another. They can just +be seen as darker bodies against the shadow as they fly overhead. +Wee-ah-wee! The sound grows fainter as they fetch a longer circle in the +gloom. + +There is another winter resort of plovers in the valley where a barren +waste was ploughed some years ago. A few furze bushes still stand in the +hedges about it, and the corners are full of rushes. Not all the grubbing +of furze and bushes, the deep ploughing and draining, has succeeded in +rendering the place fertile like the adjacent fields. The character of a +marsh adheres to it still. So long as there is a crop, the lapwings keep +away, but as soon as the ploughs turn up the ground in autumn they +return. The place lies low, and level with the waters in the ponds and +streamlets. A mist hangs about it in the evening, and even when there is +none, there is a distinct difference in the atmosphere while passing it. +From their hereditary home the lapwings cannot be entirely driven away. +Out of the mist comes their plaintive cry; they are hidden, and their +exact locality is not to be discovered. Where winter rules most +ruthlessly, where darkness is deepest in daylight, there the slender +plovers stay undaunted. + + +II--SPRING + +A soft sound of water moving among thousands of grass-blades--to the +hearing it is as the sweetness of spring air to the scent. It is so faint +and so diffused that the exact spot whence it issues cannot be discerned, +yet it is distinct, and my footsteps are slower as I listen. Yonder, in +the corners of the mead, the atmosphere is full of some ethereal vapour. +The sunshine stays in the air there, as if the green hedges held the wind +from brushing it away. Low and plaintive come the notes of a lapwing; the +same notes, but tender with love. + +On this side, by the hedge, the ground is a little higher and dry, hung +over with the lengthy boughs of an oak, which give some shade. I always +feel a sense of regret when I see a seedling oak in the grass. The two +green leaves--the little stem so upright and confident, and, though but a +few inches high, already so completely a tree--are in themselves +beautiful. Power, endurance, grandeur are there; you can grasp all with +your hand, and take a ship between the finger and thumb. Time, that +sweeps away everything, is for a while repelled; the oak will grow when +the time we know is forgotten, and when felled will be the mainstay and +safety of a generation in a future century. That the plant should start +among the grass, to be severed by the scythe or crushed by cattle, is +very pitiful; I cannot help wishing that it could be transplanted and +protected. Of the countless acorns that drop in autumn not one in a +million is permitted to become a tree--a vast waste of strength and +beauty. From the bushes by the stile on the left hand, which I have just +passed, follows the long whistle of a nightingale. His nest is near; he +sings night and day. Had I waited on the stile, in a few minutes, +becoming used to my presence, he would have made the hawthorn vibrate, so +powerful in his voice when heard close at hand. There is not another +nightingale along this path for at least a mile, though it crosses +meadows and runs by hedges to all appearance equally suitable; but +nightingales will not pass their limits; they seem to have a marked-out +range as strictly defined as the lines of a geological map. They will not +go over to the next hedge--hardly into the field on one side of a +favourite spot, nor a yard farther along the mound, Opposite the oak is a +low fence of serrated green. Just projecting above the edge of a brook, +fast-growing flags have thrust up their bayonet-tips. Beneath their +stalks are so thick in the shallow places that a pike can scarcely push a +way between them. Over the brook stand some high maple trees; to their +thick foliage wood-pigeons come. The entrance to a coomb, the widening +mouth of a valley, is beyond, with copses on the slopes. + +Again the plover's notes; this time in the field immediately behind; +repeated, too, in the field on the right hand. One comes over, and as he +flies he jerks a wing upwards and partly turns on his side in the air, +rolling like a vessel in a swell. He seems to beat the air sideways, as +if against a wall, not downwards. This habit makes his course appear so +uncertain; he may go there, or yonder, or in a third direction, more +undecided than a startled snipe. Is there a little vanity in that wanton +flight? Is there a little consciousness of the spring-freshened colours +of his plumage, and pride in the dainty touch of his wings on the sweet +wind? His love is watching his wayward course. He prolongs it. He has but +a few yards to fly to reach the well-known feeding-ground by the brook +where the grass is short; perhaps it has been eaten off by sheep. It is a +straight and easy line as a starling would fly. The plover thinks nothing +of a straight line; he winds first with the course of the hedge, then +rises aslant, uttering his cry, wheels, and returns; now this way, direct +at me, as if his object was to display his snowy breast; suddenly rising +aslant again, he wheels once more, and goes right away from his object +over above the field whence he came. Another moment and he returns; and +so to and fro, and round and round, till with a sidelong, unexpected +sweep he alights by the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his cry, +and runs a yard or so forward. In a little while a second plover arrives +from the field behind. He too dances a maze in the air before he settles. +Soon a third joins them. They are visible at that spot because the grass +is short, elsewhere they would be hidden. If one of these rises and flies +to and fro almost instantly another follows, and then it is, indeed, a +dance before they alight. The wheeling, maze-tracing, devious windings +continue till the eye wearies and rests with pleasure on a passing +butterfly. These birds have nests in the meadows adjoining; they meet +here as a common feeding-ground. Presently they will disperse, each +returning to his mate at the nest. Half an hour afterwards they will meet +once more, either here or on the wing. + +In this manner they spend their time from dawn through the flower-growing +day till dusk. When the sun arises over the hill into the sky already +blue the plovers have been up a long while. All the busy morning they go +to and fro--the busy morning, when the wood-pigeons cannot rest in the +copses on the coomb-side, but continually fly in and out; when the +blackbirds whistle in the oaks, when the bluebells gleam with purplish +lustre. At noontide, in the dry heat, it is pleasant to listen to the +sound of water moving among the thousand thousand grass-blades of the +mead. The flower-growing day lengthens out beyond the sunset, and till +the hedges are dim the lapwings do not cease. + +Leaving now the shade of the oak, I follow the path into the meadow on +the right, stepping by the way over a streamlet, which diffuses its rapid +current broadcast over the sward till it collects again and pours into +the brook. This next meadow is somewhat more raised, and not watered; the +grass is high and full of buttercups. Before I have gone twenty yards a +lapwing rises out in the field, rushes towards me through the air, and +circles round my head, making as if to dash at me, and uttering shrill +cries. Immediately another comes from the mead behind the oak; then a +third from over the hedge, and all those that have been feeding by the +brook, till I am encircled with them. They wheel round, dive, rise +aslant, cry, and wheel again, always close over me, till I have walked +some distance, when, one by one, they fall off, and, still uttering +threats, retire. There is a nest in this meadow, and, although it is, no +doubt, a long way from the path, my presence even in the field, large as +it is, is resented. The couple who imagine their possessions threatened +are quickly joined by their friends, and there is no rest till I have +left their treasures far behind. + + + +OUTSIDE LONDON + + +I + +There was something dark on the grass under an elm in the field by the +barn. It rose and fell; and we saw that it was a wing--a single black +wing, striking the ground instead of the air; indeed, it seemed to come +out of the earth itself, the body of the bird being hidden by the grass. +This black wing flapped and flapped, but could not lift itself--a single +wing of course could not fly. A rook had dropped out of the elm and was +lying helpless at the foot of the tree--it is a favourite tree with +rooks; they build in it, and at that moment there were twenty or more +perched aloft, cawing and conversing comfortably, without the least +thought of their dying comrade. Not one of all the number descended to +see what was the matter, nor even fluttered half-way down. This elm is +their clubhouse, where they meet every afternoon as the sun gets low to +discuss the scandals of the day, before retiring to roost in the avenues +and tree-groups of the park adjacent. While we looked, a peacock came +round the corner of the barn; he had caught sight of the flapping wing, +and approached with long deliberate steps and outstretched neck. "Ee-aw! +Ee-aw! What's this? What's this?" he inquired in bird-language. "Ee-aw! +Ee-aw! My friends, see here!" Gravely, and step by step, he came nearer +and nearer, slowly, and not without some fear, till curiosity had brought +him within a yard. In a moment or two a peahen followed and also +stretched out her neck--the two long necks pointing at the black flapping +wing. A second peacock and peahen approached, and the four great birds +stretched out their necks towards the dying rook--a "crowner's quest" +upon the unfortunate creature. + +If any one had been at hand to sketch it, the scene would have been very +grotesque, and not without a ludicrous sadness. There was the tall elm +tinted with yellow, the black rooks high above flying in and out, yellow +leaves twirling down, the blue peacocks with their crests, the red barn +behind, the golden sun afar shining low through the trees of the park, +the brown autumn sward, a grey horse, orange maple bushes. There was the +quiet tone of the coming evening--the early evening of October--such an +evening as the rook had seen many a time from the tops of the trees. A +man dies, and the crowd goes on passing under the window along the street +without a thought. The rook died, and his friends, who had that day been +with him in the oaks feasting on acorns, who had been with him in the +fresh-turned furrows, born perhaps in the same nest, utterly forgot him +before he was dead. With a great common caw--a common shout--they +suddenly left the tree in a bevy and flew towards the park. The peacocks +having brought in their verdict, departed, and the dead bird was left +alone. + +In falling out of the elm, the rook had alighted partly on his side and +partly on his back, so that he could only flutter one wing, the other +being held down by his own weight. He had probably died from picking up +poisoned grain somewhere, or from a parasite. The weather had been open, +and he could not have been starved. At a distance, the rook's plumage +appears black; but close at hand it will be found a fine blue-black, +glossy, and handsome. + +These peacocks are the best "rain-makers" in the place; whenever they cry +much, it is sure to rain; and if they persist day after day, the rain is +equally continuous. From the wall by the barn, or the elm-branch above, +their cry resounds like the wail of a gigantic cat, and is audible half a +mile or more. In the summer, I found one of them, a peacock in the fall +brilliance of his colours, on a rail in the hedge under a spreading maple +bush. His rich-hued neck, the bright light and shadow, the tall green +meadow grass, brought together the finest colours. It is curious that a +bird so distinctly foreign, plumed for the Asiatic sun, should fit so +well with English meads. His splendid neck immediately pleases, pleases +the first time it is seen, and on the fiftieth occasion. I see these +every day, and always stop to look at them; the colour excites the sense +of beauty in the eye, and the shape satisfies the idea of form. The +undulating curve of the neck is at once approved by the intuitive +judgment of the mind, and it is a pleasure to the mind to reiterate that +judgment frequently. It needs no teaching to see its beauty--the feeling +comes of itself. + +How different with the turkey-cock which struts round the same barn! A +fine big bird he is, no doubt; but there is no intrinsic beauty about +him; on the contrary, there is something fantastic in his style and +plumage. He has a way of drooping his wings as if they were armour-plates +to shield him from a shot. The ornaments upon his head and beak are in +the most awkward position. He was put together in a dream, of uneven and +odd pieces that live and move, but do not fit. Ponderously gawky, he +steps as if the world was his, like a "motley" crowned in sport. He is +good eating, but he is not beautiful. After the eye has been accustomed +to him for some time--after you have fed him every day and come to take +an interest in him--after you have seen a hundred turkey-cocks, then he +may become passable, or, if you have the fancier's taste, exquisite. +Education is requisite first; you do not fall in love at first sight. The +same applies to fancy-pigeons, and indeed many pet animals, as pugs, +which come in time to be animated with a soul in some people's eyes. +Compare a pug with a greyhound straining at the leash. Instantly he is +slipped he is gone as a wave let loose. His flexible back bends and +undulates, arches and unarches, rises and falls as a wave rises and rolls +on. His pliant ribs open; his whole frame "gives" and stretches, and +closing again in a curve, springs forward. Movement is as easy to him as +to the wave, which melting, is remoulded, and sways onward. The curve of +the greyhound is not only the line of beauty, but a line which suggests +motion; and it is the idea of motion, I think, which so strongly appeals +to the mind. + +We are often scornfully treated as a nation by people who write about +art, because they say we have no taste; we cannot make art jugs for the +mantelpiece, crockery for the bracket, screens for the fire; we cannot +even decorate the wall of a room as it should be done. If these are the +standards by which a sense of art is to be tried, their scorn is to a +certain degree just. But suppose we try another standard. Let us put +aside the altogether false opinion that art consists alone in something +actually made, or painted, or decorated, in carvings, colourings, touches +of brush or chisel. Let us look at our lives. I mean to say that there is +no nation so thoroughly and earnestly artistic as the English in their +lives, their joys, their thoughts, their hopes. Who loves nature like an +Englishman? Do Italians care for their pale skies? I never heard so. We +go all over the world in search of beauty--to the keen north, to the cape +whence the midnight sun is visible, to the extreme south, to the interior +of Africa, gazing at the vast expanse of Tanganyika or the marvellous +falls of the Zambesi. We admire the temples and tombs and palaces of +India; we speak of the Alhambra of Spain almost in whispers, so deep is +our reverent admiration; we visit the Parthenon. There is not a picture +or a statue in Europe we have not sought. We climb the mountains for +their views and the sense of grandeur they inspire; we roam over the wide +ocean to the coral islands of the far Pacific; we go deep into the woods +of the West; and we stand dreamily under the Pyramids of the East. What +part is there of the English year which has not been sung by the poets? +all of whom are full of its loveliness; and our greatest of all, +Shakespeare, carries, as it were, armfuls of violets, and scatters roses +and golden wheat across his pages, which are simply fields written with +human life. + +This is art indeed--art in the mind and soul, infinitely deeper, surely, +than the construction of crockery, jugs for the mantelpiece, dados, or +even of paintings. The lover of nature has the highest art in his soul. +So, I think, the bluff English farmer who takes such pride and delight in +his dogs and horses, is a much greater man of art than any Frenchman +preparing with cynical dexterity of hand some coloured presentment of +flashy beauty for the _salon_. The English girl who loves her horse--and +English girls _do_ love their horses most intensely--is infinitely more +artistic in that fact than the cleverest painter on enamel. They who love +nature are the real artists; the "artists" are copyists, St. John the +naturalist, when exploring the recesses of the Highlands, relates how he +frequently came in contact with men living in the rude Highland +way--forty years since, no education then--whom at first you would +suppose to be morose, unobservant, almost stupid. But when they found out +that their visitor would stay for hours gazing in admiration at their +glens and mountains, their demeanour changed. Then the truth appeared: +they were fonder than he was himself of the beauties of their hills and +lakes; they could see the art _there_, though perhaps they had never seen +a picture in their lives, certainly not any blue-and-white crockery. The +Frenchman flings his fingers dexterously over the canvas, but he has +never had that in his heart which the rude Highlander had. + +The path across the arable field was covered with a design of bird's +feet. The reversed broad arrow of the fore-claws, and the straight line +of the hinder claw, trailed all over it in curving lines. In the dry +dust, their feet were marked as clearly as a seal on wax--their trails +wound this way and that, and crossed as their quick eyes had led them to +turn to find something. For fifty or sixty yards the path was worked with +an inextricable design; it was a pity to step on it and blot out the +traces of those little feet. Their hearts so happy, their eyes so +observant, the earth so bountiful to them with its supply of food, and +the late warmth of the autumn sun lighting up their life. They know and +feel the different loveliness of the seasons as much as we do. Every one +must have noticed their joyousness in spring; they are quiet, but so +very, very busy in the height of summer; as autumn comes on they +obviously delight in the occasional hours of warmth. The marks of their +little feet are almost sacred--a joyous life has been there--do not +obliterate it. It is so delightful to know that something is happy. + +The hawthorn hedge that goes down the slope is more coloured than the +hedges in the sheltered plain. Yonder, a low bush on the brow is a deep +crimson; the hedge as it descends varies from brown to yellow, dotted +with red haws, and by the gateway has another spot of crimson. The lime +trees turn yellow from top to bottom, all the leaves together; the elms +by one or two branches at a time. A lime tree thus entirely coloured +stands side by side with an elm, their boughs intermingling; the elm is +green except a line at the outer extremity of its branches. A red light +as of fire plays in the beeches, so deep is their orange tint in which +the sunlight is caught. An oak is dotted with buff, while yet the main +body of the foliage is untouched. With these tints and sunlight, nature +gives us so much more than the tree gives. A tree is nothing but a tree +in itself: but with light and shadow, green leaves moving, a bird +singing, another moving to and fro--in autumn with colour--the boughs are +filled with imagination. There then seems so much more than the mere +tree; the timber of the trunk, the mere sticks of the branches, the +wooden framework is animated with a life. High above, a lark sings, not +for so long as in spring--the October song is shorter--but still he +sings. If you love colour, plant maple; maple bushes colour a whole +hedge. Upon the bank of a pond, the brown oak-leaves which have fallen +are reflected in the still deep water. + +It is from the hedges that taste must be learned. A garden abuts on these +fields, and being on slightly rising ground, the maple bushes, the brown +and yellow and crimson hawthorn, the limes and elms, are all visible from +it; yet it is surrounded by stiff, straight iron railings, unconcealed +even by the grasses, which are carefully cut down with the docks and +nettles, that do their best, three or four times in the summer, to hide +the blank iron. Within these iron railings stands a row of _arbor vitae_, +upright, and stiff likewise, and among them a few other evergreens; and +that is all the shelter the lawn and flower-beds have from the east wind, +blowing for miles over open country, or from the glowing sun of August. +This garden belongs to a gentleman who would certainly spare no moderate +expense to improve it, and yet there it remains, the blankest, barest, +most miserable-looking square of ground the eye can find; the only piece +of ground from which the eye turns away; for even the potato-field close +by, the common potato-field, had its colour in bright poppies, and there +were partridges in it, and at the edges, fine growths of mallow and its +mauve flowers. Wild parsley, still green in the shelter of the hazel +stoles, is there now on the bank, a thousand times sweeter to the eye +than bare iron and cold evergreens. Along that hedge, the white bryony +wound itself in the most beautiful manner, completely covering the upper +part of the thick brambles, a robe thrown over the bushes; its deep cut +leaves, its countless tendrils, its flowers, and presently the berries, +giving pleasure every time one passed it. Indeed, you could not pass +without stopping to look at it, and wondering if any one ever so skilful, +even those sure-handed Florentines Mr. Ruskin thinks so much of, could +ever draw that intertangled mass of lines. Nor could you easily draw the +leaves and head of the great parsley--commonest of hedge-plants--the deep +indented leaves, and the shadow by which to express them. There was work +enough in that short piece of hedge by the potato-field for a good pencil +every day the whole summer. And when done, you would not have been +satisfied with it, but only have learned how complex and how thoughtful +and far reaching Nature is in the simplest of things. But with a +straight-edge or ruler, any one could draw the iron railings in half an +hour, and a surveyor's pupil could make them look as well as Millais +himself. Stupidity to stupidity, genius to genius; any hard fist can +manage iron railings; a hedge is a task for the greatest. + +Those, therefore, who really wish their gardens or grounds, or any place, +beautiful, must get that greatest of geniuses, Nature, to help them, and +give their artist freedom to paint to fancy, for it is Nature's +imagination which delights us--as I tried to explain about the tree, the +imagination, and not the fact of the timber and sticks. For those white +bryony leaves and slender spirals and exquisitely defined flowers are +full of imagination, products of a sunny dream, and tinted so tastefully, +that although they are green, and all about them is green too, yet the +plant is quite distinct, and in no degree confused or lost in the mass of +leaves under and by it. It stands out, and yet without violent contrast. +All these beauties of form and colour surround the place, and try, as it +were, to march in and take possession, but are shut out by straight iron +railings. Wonderful it is that education should make folk tasteless! +Such, certainly, seems to be the case in a great measure, and not in our +own country only, for those who know Italy tell us that the fine old +gardens there, dating back to the days of the Medici, are being despoiled +of ilex and made formal and straight. Is all the world to be +Versaillised? + +Scarcely two hundred yards from these cold iron railings, which even +nettles and docks would hide if they could, and thistles strive to +conceal, but are not permitted, there is an old cottage by the roadside. +The roof is of old tile, once red, now dull from weather; the walls some +tone of yellow; the folk are poor. Against it there grows a vigorous +plant of jessamine, a still finer rose, a vine covers the lean-to at one +end, and tea-plant the corner of the wall; beside these, there is a +yellow-flowering plant, the name of which I forget at the moment, also +trained to the walls; and ivy. Altogether, six plants grow up the walls +of the cottage; and over the wicket-gate there is a rude arch--a +framework of tall sticks--from which droop thick bunches of hops. It is a +very commonplace sort of cottage; nothing artistically picturesque about +it, no effect of gable or timber-work; it stands by the roadside in the +most commonplace way, and yet it pleases. They have called in Nature, +that great genius, and let the artist have his own way. In Italy, the +art-country, they cut down the ilex trees, and get the surveyor's pupil +with straight-edge and ruler to put it right and square for them. Our +over-educated and well-to-do people set iron railings round about their +blank pleasure-grounds, which the potato-field laughs at in bright +poppies; and actually one who has some fine park-grounds has lifted up on +high a mast and weather-vane! a thing useful on the sea-board at +coastguard stations for signalling, but oh! how repellent and straight +and stupid among clumps of graceful elms! + + +II + +The dismal pits in a disused brickfield, unsightly square holes in a +waste, are full in the shallow places of an aquatic grass, Reed Canary +Grass, I think, which at this time of mists stretches forth sharp-pointed +tongues over the stagnant water. These sharp-pointed leaf-tongues are all +on one side of the stalks, so that the most advanced project across the +surface, as if the water were the canvas, and the leaves drawn on it. For +water seems always to rise away from you--to slope slightly upwards; even +a pool has that appearance, and therefore anything standing in it is +drawn on it as you might sketch on this paper. You see the water beyond +and above the top of the plant, and the smooth surface gives the leaf and +stalk a sharp, clear definition. But the mass of the tall grass crowds +together, every leaf painted yellow by the autumn, a thick cover at the +pit-side. This tall grass always awakes my fancy, its shape partly, +partly its thickness, perhaps; and yet these feelings are not to be +analysed. I like to look at it; I like to stand or move among it on the +bank of a brook, to feel it touch and rustle against me. A sense of +wildness comes with its touch, and I feel a little as I might feel if +there was a vast forest round about. As a few strokes from a loving hand +will soothe a weary forehead, so the gentle pressure of the wild grass +soothes and strokes away the nervous tension born of civilised life. + +I could write a whole history of it; the time when the leaves were fresh +and green, and the sedge-birds frequented it; the time when the moorhen's +young crept after their mother through its recesses; from the singing of +the cuckoo by the river, till now brown and yellow leaves strew the +water. They strew, too, the dry brown grass of the land, thick tuffets, +and lie even among the rushes, blown hither from the distant trees. The +wind works its full will over the exposed waste, and drives through the +reed-grass, scattering the stalks aside, and scarce giving them time to +spring together again, when the following blast a second time divides +them. + +A cruder piece of ground, ruder and more dismal in its unsightly holes, +could not be found; and yet, because of the reed-grass, it is made as it +were full of thought. I wonder the painters, of whom there are so many +nowadays, armies of amateurs, do not sometimes take these scraps of earth +and render into them the idea which fills a clod with beauty. In one such +dismal pit--not here--I remember there grew a great quantity of +bulrushes. Another was surrounded with such masses of swamp-foliage that +it reminded those who saw it of the creeks in semi-tropical countries. +But somehow they do not seem to see these things, but go on the old +mill-round of scenery, exhausted many a year since. They do not see them, +perhaps, because most of those who have educated themselves in the +technique of painting are city-bred, and can never have the _feeling_ of +the country, however fond they may be of it. + +In those fields of which I was writing the other day, I found an artist +at work at his easel; and a pleasant nook be had chosen. His brush did +its work with a steady and sure stroke that indicated command of his +materials. He could delineate whatever he selected with technical skill +at all events. He had pitched his easel where two hedges formed an angle, +and one of them was full of oak-trees. The hedge was singularly full of +"bits"--bryony, tangles of grasses, berries, boughs half-tinted and +boughs green, hung as it were with pictures like the wall of a room. +Standing as near as I could without disturbing him, I found that the +subject of his canvas was none of these. It was that old stale and dull +device of a rustic bridge spanning a shallow stream crossing a lane. Some +figure stood on the bridge--the old, old trick. He was filling up the +hedge of the lane with trees from the hedge, and they were cleverly +executed. But why drag them into this fusty scheme, which has appeared in +every child's sketch-book for fifty years? Why not have simply painted +the beautiful hedge at hand, purely and simply, a hedge hung with +pictures for any one to copy? The field in which he had pitched his easel +is full of fine trees and good "effects." But no; we must have the +ancient and effete old story. This is not all the artist's fault, because +he must in many cases paint what he can sell; and if his public will only +buy effete old stories, he cannot help it. Still, I think if a painter +_did_ paint that hedge in its fulness of beauty, just simply as it stands +in the mellow autumn light, it would win approval of the best people, and +that ultimately, a succession of such work would pay. + +The clover was dying down, and the plough would soon be among it--the +earth was visible in patches. Out in one of these bare patches there was +a young mouse, so chilled by the past night that his dull senses did not +appear conscious of my presence. He had crept out on the bare earth +evidently to feel the warmth of the sun, almost the last hour he would +enjoy. He looked about for food, but found none; his short span of life +was drawing to a close; even when at last he saw me, he could only run a +few inches under cover of a dead clover-plant. Thousands upon thousands +of mice perish like this as the winter draws on, born too late in the +year to grow strong enough or clever enough to prepare a store. Other +kinds of mice perish like leaves at the first blast of cold air. Though +but a mouse, to me it was very wretched to see the chilled creature, so +benumbed as to have almost lost its sense of danger. There is something +so ghastly in birth that immediately leads to death; a sentient creature +born only to wither. The earth offered it no help, nor the declining sun; +all things organised seem to depend so much on circumstances. Nothing but +pity can be felt for thousands upon thousands of such organisms. But +thus, too, many a miserable human being has perished in the great +Metropolis, dying, chilled and benumbed, of starvation, and finding the +hearts of fellow-creatures as bare and cold as the earth of the +clover-field. + +In these fields outside London the flowers are peculiarly rich in colour. +The common mallow, whose flower is usually a light mauve, has here a +deep, almost purple bloom; the bird's-foot lotus is a deep orange. The +fig-wort, which is generally two or three feet high, stands in one ditch +fully eight feet, and the stem is more than half an inch square. A +fertile soil has doubtless something to do with this colour and vigour. +The red admiral butterflies, too, seemed in the summer more brilliant +than usual. One very fine one, whose broad wings stretched out like fans, +looked simply splendid floating round and round the willows which marked +the margin of a dry pool. His blue markings were really blue--blue +velvet--his red, and the white stroke shone as if sunbeams were in his +wings. I wish there were more of these butterflies; in summer, dry +summer, when the flowers seem gone and the grass is not so dear to us, +and the leaves are dull with heat, a little colour is so pleasant. To me, +colour is a sort of food; every spot of colour is a drop of wine to the +spirit. I used to take my folding-stool on those long, heated days, which +made the summer of 1884 so conspicuous among summers, down to the shadow +of a row of elms by a common cabbage-field. Their shadow was nearly as +hot as the open sunshine; the dry leaves did not absorb the heat that +entered them, and the dry hedge and dry earth poured heat up as the sun +poured it down. Dry, dead leaves--dead with heat, as with frost--strewed +the grass, dry, too, and withered at my feet. + +But among the cabbages, which were very small, there grew thousands of +poppies, fifty times more poppies than cabbage, so that the pale green of +the cabbage-leaves was hidden by the scarlet petals falling wide open to +the dry air. There was a broad band of scarlet colour all along the side +of the field, and it was this which brought me to the shade of those +particular elms. The use of the cabbages was in this way: they fetched +for me all the white butterflies of the neighbourhood, and they +fluttered, hundreds and hundreds of white butterflies, a constant stream +and flow of them over the broad band of scarlet. Humble-bees came too; +bur-bur-bur; and the buzz, and the flutter of the white wings over those +fixed red butterflies the poppies, the flutter and sound and colour +pleased me in the dry heat of the day. Sometimes I set my camp-stool by a +humble-bees' nest. I like to see and hear them go in and out, so happy, +busy, and wild; the humble-bee is a favourite. That summer their nests +were very plentiful; but although the heat might have seemed so +favourable to them, the flies were not at all numerous, I mean +out-of-doors. Wasps, on the contrary, flourished to an extraordinary +degree. One willow tree particularly took their fancy; there was a swarm +in the tree for weeks, attracted by some secretion; the boughs and leaves +were yellow with wasps. But it seemed curious that flies should not be +more numerous than usual; they are dying now fast enough, except a few of +the large ones, that still find some sugar in the flowers of the ivy. The +finest show of ivy flower is among some yew trees; the dark ivy has +filled the dark yew tree, and brought out its pale yellow-green flowers +in the sombre boughs. Last night, a great fly, the last in the house, +buzzed into my candle. I detest flies, but I was sorry for his scorched +wings; the fly itself hateful, its wings so beautifully made. I have +sometimes picked a feather from the dirt of the road and placed it on the +grass. It is contrary to one's feelings to see so beautiful a thing lying +in the mud. Towards my window now, as I write, there comes suddenly a +shower of yellow leaves, wrested out by main force from the high elms; +the blue sky behind them, they droop slowly, borne onward, twirling, +fluttering towards me--a cloud of autumn butterflies. + +A spring rises on the summit of a green brow that overlooks the meadows +for miles. The spot is not really very high, still it is the highest +ground in that direction for a long distance, and it seems singular to +find water on the top of the hill, a thing common enough, but still +sufficiently opposed to general impressions to appear remarkable. In this +shallow water, says a faint story--far off, faint and uncertain, like the +murmur of a distant cascade--two ladies and some soldiers lost their +lives. The brow is defended by thick bramble-bushes, which bore a fine +crop of blackberries that autumn, to the delight of the boys; and these +bushes partly conceal the sharpness of the short descent. But once your +attention is drawn to it, you see that it has all the appearance of +having been artificially sloped, like a rampart, or rather a glacis. The +grass is green and the sward soft, being moistened by the spring, except +in one spot, where the grass is burnt up under the heat of the summer +sun, indicating the existence of foundations beneath. + +There is a beautiful view from this spot; but leaving that now, and +wandering on among the fields, presently you may find a meadow of +peculiar shape, extremely long and narrow, half a mile long, perhaps; and +this the folk will tell you was the King's Drive, or ride. Stories there +are, too, of subterranean passages--there are always such stories in the +neighbourhood of ancient buildings--I remember one, said to be three +miles long; it led to an abbey. The lane leads on, bordered with high +hawthorn hedges, and occasionally a stout hawthorn tree, hardy and +twisted by the strong hands of the passing years; thick now with red +haws, and the haunt of the redwings, whose "chuck-chuck" is heard every +minute; but the birds themselves always perch on the outer side of the +hedge. They are not far ahead, but they always keep on the safe side, +flying on twenty yards or so, but never coming to my side. + +The little pond, which in summer was green with weed, is now yellow with +the fallen hawthorn-leaves; the pond is choked with them. The lane has +been slowly descending; and now, on looking through a gateway, an ancient +building stands up on the hill, sharply defined against the sky. It is +the banqueting hall of a palace of old times, in which kings and princes +once sat at their meat after the chase. This is the centre of those dim +stories which float like haze over the meadows around. Many a wild red +stag has been carried thither after the hunt, and many a wild boar slain +in the glades of the forest. + +The acorns are dropping now as they dropped five centuries since, in the +days when the wild boars fed so greedily upon them; the oaks are broadly +touched with brown; the bramble thickets in which the boars hid, green, +but strewn with the leaves that have fallen from the lofty trees. Though +meadow, arable, and hop-fields hold now the place of the forest, a goodly +remnant remains, for every hedge is full of oak and elm and ash; maple +too, and the lesser bushes. At a little distance, so thick are the trees, +the whole country appears a wood, and it is easy to see what a forest it +must have been centuries ago. + +The Prince leaving the grim walls of the Tower of London by the +Water-gate, and dropping but a short way down with the tide, could mount +his horse on the opposite bank, and reach his palace here, in the midst +of the thickest woods and wildest country, in half an hour. Thence every +morning setting forth upon the chase, he could pass the day in joyous +labours, and the evening in feasting, still within call--almost within +sound of horn--of the Tower, if any weighty matter demanded his presence. + +In our time, the great city has widened out, and comes at this day down +to within three miles of the hunting-palace. There still intervenes a +narrow space between the last house of London and the ancient Forest +Hall, a space of corn-field and meadow; the last house, for although not +nominally London, there is no break of continuity in the bricks and +mortar thence to London Bridge. London is within a stone's-throw, as it +were, and yet, to this day the forest lingers, and it is country. The +very atmosphere is different. That smoky thickness characteristic of the +suburbs ceases as you ascend the gradual rise, and leave the outpost of +bricks and mortar behind. The air becomes clear and strong, till on the +brow by the spring on a windy day it is almost like sea-air. It comes +over the trees, over the hills, and is sweet with the touch of grass and +leaf. There is no gas, no sulphurous acid in that. As the Edwards and +Henries breathed it centuries since, so it can be inhaled now. The sun +that shone on the red deer is as bright now as then; the berries are +thick on the bushes; there is colour in the leaf. The forest is gone; but +the spirit of nature stays, and can be found by those who search for it. +Dearly as I love the open air, I cannot regret the mediaeval days. I do +not wish them back again, I would sooner fight in the foremost ranks of +Time. Nor do we need them, for the spirit of nature stays, and will +always be here, no matter to how high a pinnacle of thought the human +mind may attain; still the sweet air, and the hills, and the sea, and the +sun, will always be with us. + + + +ON THE LONDON ROAD + + +The road comes straight from London, which is but a very short distance +off, within a walk, yet the village it passes is thoroughly a village, +and not suburban, not in the least like Sydenham, or Croydon, or Balham, +or Norwood, as perfect a village in every sense as if it stood fifty +miles in the country. There is one long street, just as would be found in +the far west, with fields at each end. But through this long street, and +on and out into the open, is continually pouring the human living +undergrowth of that vast forest of life, London. The nondescript +inhabitants of the thousand and one nameless streets of the unknown east +are great travellers, and come forth into the country by this main desert +route. For what end? Why this tramping and ceaseless movement? what do +they buy, what do they sell, how do they live? They pass through the +village street and out into the country in an endless stream on the +shutter on wheels. This is the true London vehicle, the characteristic +conveyance, as characteristic as the Russian droshky, the gondola at +Venice, or the caique at Stamboul. It is the camel of the London desert +routes; routes which run right through civilisation, but of which daily +paper civilisation is ignorant. People who can pay for a daily paper are +so far above it; a daily paper is the mark of the man who is in +civilisation. + +Take an old-fashioned shutter and balance it on the axle of a pair of low +wheels, and you have the London camel in principle. To complete it add +shafts in front, and at the rear run a low free-board, as a sailor would +say, along the edge, that the cargo may not be shaken off. All the skill +of the fashionable brougham-builders in Long Acre could not contrive a +vehicle which would meet the requirements of the case so well as this. On +the desert routes of Palestine a donkey becomes romantic; in a +coster-monger's barrow he is only an ass; the donkey himself doesn't see +the distinction. He draws a good deal of human nature about in these +barrows, and perhaps finds it very much the same in Surrey and Syria. For +if any one thinks the familiar barrow is merely a truck for the +conveyance of cabbages and carrots, and for the exposure of the same to +the choice of housewives in Bermondsey, he is mistaken. Far beyond that, +it is the symbol, the solid expression, of life itself to the owner, his +family, and circle of connections, more so than even the ship to the +sailor, as the sailor, no matter how he may love his ship, longs for +port, and the joys of the shore, but the barrow folk are always at sea on +land, Such care has to be taken of the miserable pony or the shamefaced +jackass; he has to be groomed, and fed, and looked to in his shed, and +this occupies three or four of the family at least, lads and strapping +young girls, night and morning. Besides which, the circle of connections +look in to see how he is going on, and to hear the story of the day's +adventures, and what is proposed for to-morrow. Perhaps one is invited to +join the next excursion, and thinks as much of it as others might do of +an invitation for a cruise in the Mediterranean. Any one who watches the +succession of barrows driving along through the village out into the +fields of Kent can easily see how they bear upon their wheels the +fortunes of whole families and of their hangers-on. Sometimes there is a +load of pathos, of which the race of the ass has carried a good deal in +all ages. More often it is a heavy lump of dull, evil, and exceedingly +stupid cunning. The wild evil of the Spanish contrabandistas seems atoned +by that wildness; but this dull wickedness has no flush of colour, no +poppy on its dirt heaps. + +Over one barrow the sailors had fixed up a tent--canvas stretched from +corner poles, two fellows sat almost on the shafts outside; they were +well. Under the canvas there lay a young fellow white and emaciated, +whose face was drawn down with severe suffering of some kind, and his +dark eyes, enlarged and accentuated, looked as if touched with +belladonna. The family council at home in the close and fetid court had +resolved themselves into a medical board and ordered him to the sunny +Riviera. The ship having been fitted up for the invalid, away they sailed +for the south, out from the ends of the earth of London into the ocean of +green fields and trees, thence past many an island village, and so to the +shores where the Kentish hops were yellowing fast for the pickers. There, +in the vintage days, doubtless he found solace, and possibly recovery. To +catch a glimpse of that dark and cavernous eye under the shade of the +travelling tent reminded me of the eyes of the wounded in the +ambulance-waggons that came pouring into Brussels after Sedan. In the +dusk of the lovely September evenings--it was a beautiful September, the +lime-leaves were just tinted with orange--the waggons came in a long +string, the wounded and maimed lying in them, packed carefully, and +rolled round, as it were, with wadding to save them from the jolts of the +ruts and stones. It is fifteen years ago, and yet I can still distinctly +see the eyes of one soldier looking at me from his berth in the waggon. +The glow of intense pain--the glow of long-continued agony--lit them up +as coals that smouldering are suddenly fanned. Pain brightens the eyes as +much as joy, there is a fire in the brain behind it; it is the flame in +the mind you see, and not the eyeball. A thought that might easily be +rendered romantic, but consider how these poor fellows appeared +afterwards. Bevies of them hopped about Brussels in their red-and-blue +uniforms, some on crutches, some with two sticks, some with sleeves +pinned to their breasts, looking exactly like a company of dolls a cruel +child had mutilated, snapping a foot off here, tearing out a leg here, +and battering the face of a third. Little men most of them--the bowl of a +German pipe inverted would have covered them all, within which, like bees +in a hive, they might hum "Te Deum Bismarckum Laudamus." But the romantic +flame in the eye is not always so beautiful to feel as to read about. + +Another shutter on wheels went by one day with one little pony in the +shafts, and a second harnessed in some way at the side, so as to assist +in pulling, but without bearing any share of the load. On this shutter +eight men and boys balanced themselves; enough for the Olympian height of +a four-in-hand. Eight fellows perched round the edge like shipwrecked +mariners, clinging to one plank. They were so balanced as to weigh +chiefly on the axle, yet in front of such a mountain of men, such a vast +bundle of ragged clothes, the ponies appeared like rats. + +On a Sunday morning two fellows came along on their shutter: they +overtook a girl who was walking on the pavement, and one of them, more +sallow and cheeky than his companion, began to talk to her. "That's a +nice nosegay, now--give us a rose. Come and ride--there's plenty of room. +Won't speak? Now, you'll tell us if this is the road to London Bridge." +She nodded. She was dressed in full satin for Sunday; her class think +much of satin. She was leading two children, one in each hand, clean and +well-dressed. She walked more lightly than a servant does, and evidently +lived at home; she did not go to service. Tossing her head, she looked +the other way, for you see the fellow on the shutter was dirty, not +"dressed" at all, though it was Sunday, poor folks' ball-day; a dirty, +rough fellow, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, a chalky-white +face--apparently from low dissipation--a disreputable rascal, a +monstrously impudent "chap," a true London mongrel. He "cheeked" her; she +tossed her head, and looked the other way. But by-and-by she could not +help a sly glance at him, not an angry glance--a look as much as to say, +"You're a man, anyway, and you've the good taste to admire me, and the +courage to speak to me; you're dirty, but you're a man. If you were +well-dressed, or if it wasn't Sunday, or if it was dark, or nobody about, +I wouldn't mind; I'd let you 'cheek' me, though I have got satin on." The +fellow "cheeked" her again, told her she had a pretty face, "cheeked" her +right and left. She looked away, but half smiled; she had to keep up her +dignity, she did not feel it. She would have liked to have joined company +with him. His leer grew leerier--the low, cunning leer, so peculiar to +the London mongrel, that seems to say, "I am so intensely knowing; I am +so very much all there;" and yet the leerer always remains in a dirty +dress, always smokes the coarsest tobacco in the nastiest of pipes, and +rides on a barrow to the end of his life. For his leery cunning is so +intensely stupid that, in fact, he is as "green" as grass; his leer and +his foul mouth keep him in the gutter to his very last day. How much more +successful plain, simple straightforwardness would be! The pony went on a +little, but they drew rein, and waited for the girl again; and again he +"cheeked" her. Still, she looked away, but she did not make any attempt +to escape by the side-path, nor show resentment. No; her face began to +glow, and once or twice she answered him, but still she would not quite +join company. If only it had not been Sunday--if it had been a lonely +road, and not so near the village, if she had not had the two tell-tale +children with her--she would have been very good friends with the dirty, +chalky, ill-favoured, and ill-savoured wretch. At the parting of the +roads each went different ways, but she could not help looking back. + +He was a thorough specimen of the leery London mongrel. That hideous leer +is so repulsive--one cannot endure it--but it is so common; you see it on +the faces of four-fifths of the ceaseless stream that runs out from the +ends of the earth of London into the green sea of the country. It +disfigures the faces of the carters who go with the waggons and other +vehicles--not nomads, but men in steady employ; it defaces--absolutely +defaces--the workmen who go forth with vans, with timber, with +carpenters' work, and the policeman standing at the corners, in London +itself particularly. The London leer hangs on their faces. The Mosaic +account of the Creation is discredited in these days, the last revelation +took place at Beckenham; the Beckenham revelation is superior to Mount +Sinai, yet the consideration of that leer might suggest the idea of a +fall of man even to an Amoebist. The horribleness of it is in this way, +it hints--it does more than hint, it conveys the leerer's decided +opinion--that you, whether you may be man or woman, must necessarily be +as coarse as himself. Especially he wants to impress that view upon every +woman who chances to cross his glance. The fist of Hercules is needed to +dash it out of his face. + + + +RED ROOFS OF LONDON + + +Tiles and tile roofs have a curious way of tumbling to pieces in an +irregular and eye-pleasing manner. The roof-tree bends, bows a little +under the weight, curves in, and yet preserves a sharpness at each end. +The Chinese exaggerate this curve of set purpose. Our English curve is +softer, being the product of time, which always works in true taste. The +mystery of tile-laying is not known to every one; for to all appearance +tiles seem to be put on over a thin bed of hay or hay-like stuff. Lately +they have begun to use some sort of tarpaulin or a coarse material of +that kind; but the old tiles, I fancy, were comfortably placed on a +shake-down of hay. When one slips off, little bits of hay stick up; and +to these the sparrows come, removing it bit by bit to line their nests. +If they can find a gap they get in, and a fresh couple is started in +life. By-and-by a chimney is overthrown during a twist of the wind, and +half a dozen tiles are shattered. Time passes; and at last the tiler +arrives to mend the mischief. His labour leaves a light red patch on the +dark dull red of the breadth about it. After another while the leaks +along the ridge need plastering: mortar is laid on to stay the inroad of +wet, adding a dull white and forming a rough, uncertain undulation along +the general drooping curve. Yellow edgings of straw project under the +eaves--the work of the sparrows. A cluster of blue-tinted pigeons gathers +about the chimney-side; the smoke that comes out of the stack droops and +floats sideways, downwards, as if the chimney enjoyed the smother as a +man enjoys his pipe. Shattered here and cracked yonder, some missing, +some overlapping in curves, the tiles have an aspect of irregular +existence. They are not fixed, like slates, as it were for ever: they +have a newness, and then a middle-age, and a time of decay like human +beings. + +One roof is not much; but it is often a study. Put a thousand roofs, say +rather thousands of red-tiled roofs, and overlook them--not at a great +altitude but at a pleasant easy angle--and then you have the groundwork +of the first view of London over Bermondsey from the railway. I say +groundwork, because the roofs seem the level and surface of the earth, +while the glimpses of streets are glimpses of catacombs. A city--as +something to look at--depends very much on its roofs. If a city have no +character in its roofs it stirs neither heart nor thought. These +red-tiled roofs of Bermondsey, stretching away mile upon mile, and +brought up at the extremity with thin masts rising above the mist--these +red-tiled roofs have a distinctiveness, a character; they are something +to think about. Nowhere else is there an entrance to a city like this. +The roads by which you approach them give you distant aspects--minarets, +perhaps, in the East, domes in Italy; but, coming nearer, the highway +somehow plunges into houses, confounding you with facades, and the real +place is hidden. Here from the railway you see at once the vastness of +London. Roof-tree behind roof-tree, ridge behind ridge, is drawn along in +succession, line behind line till they become as close together as the +test-lines used for microscopes. Under this surface of roofs what a +profundity of life there is! Just as the great horses in the waggons of +London streets convey the idea of strength, so the endlessness of the +view conveys the idea of a mass of life. Life converges from every +quarter. The iron way has many ruts: the rails are its ruts; and by each +of these a ceaseless stream of men and women pours over the tiled roofs +into London. They come from the populous suburbs, from far-away towns and +quiet villages, and from over sea. + +Glance down as you pass into the excavations, the streets, beneath the +red surface: you catch a glimpse of men and women hastening to and fro, +of vehicles, of horses struggling with mighty loads, of groups at the +corners, and fragments, as it were, of crowds. Busy life everywhere: no +stillness, no quiet, no repose. Life crowded and crushed together; life +that has hardly room to live. If the train slackens, look in at the open +windows of the houses level with the line--they are always open for air, +smoke-laden as it is--and see women and children with scarce room to +move, the bed and the dining-table in the same apartment. For they dine +and sleep and work and play all at the same time. A man works at night +and sleeps by day: he lies yonder as calmly as if in a quiet country +cottage. The children have no place to play in but the living-room or the +street. It is not squalor--it is crowded life. The people are pushed +together by the necessities of existence. These people have no dislike to +it at all: it is right enough to them, and so long as business is brisk +they are happy. The man who lies sleeping so calmly seems to me to +indicate the immensity of the life around more than all the rest. He is +oblivious of it all; it does not make him nervous or wakeful; he is so +used to it, and bred to it, that it seems to him nothing. When he is +awake lie does not see it; now he sleeps he does not hear it. It is only +in great woods that you cannot see the trees. He is like a leaf in a +forest--he is not conscious of it. Long hours of work have given him +slumber; and as he sleeps he seems to express by contrast the immensity +and endlessness of the life around him. + +Sometimes a floating haze, now thicker here, and now lit up yonder by the +sunshine, brings out objects more distinctly than a clear atmosphere. +Away there tall thin masts stand out, rising straight up above the red +roofs. There is a faint colour on them; the yards are dark--being +inclined, they do not reflect the light at an angle to reach us. +Half-furled canvas droops in folds, now swelling a little as the wind +blows, now heavily sinking. One white sail is set and gleams alone among +the dusky folds; for the canvas at large is dark with coal-dust, with +smoke, with the grime that settles everywhere where men labour with bare +arms and chests. Still and quiet as trees the masts rise into the hazy +air; who would think, merely to look at them, of the endless labour they +mean? The labour to load, and the labour to unload; the labour at sea, +and the long hours of ploughing the waves by night; the labour at the +warehouses; the labour in the fields, the mines, the mountains; the +labour in the factories. Ever and again the sunshine gleams now on this +group of masts, now on that; for they stand in groups as trees often +grow, a thicket here and a thicket yonder. Labour to obtain the material, +labour to bring it hither, labour to force it into shape--work without +end. Masts are always dreamy to look at: they speak a romance of the sea; +of unknown lands; of distant forests aglow with tropical colours and +abounding with strange forms of life. In the hearts of most of us there +is always a desire for something beyond experience. Hardly any of us but +have thought, Some day I will go on a long voyage; but the years go by, +and still we have not sailed. + + + +A WET NIGHT IN LONDON + + +Opaque from rain drawn in slant streaks by wind and speed across the +pane, the window of the railway carriage lets nothing be seen but stray +flashes of red lights--the signals rapidly passed. Wrapped in thick +overcoat, collar turned up to his ears, warm gloves on his hands, and a +rug across his knees, the traveller may well wonder how those red signals +and the points are worked out in the storms of wintry London, Rain blown +in gusts through the misty atmosphere, gas and smoke-laden, deepens the +darkness; the howl of the blast humming in the telegraph wires, hurtling +round the chimney-pots on a level with the line, rushing up from the +archways; steam from the engines, roar, and whistle, shrieking brakes, +and grinding wheels--how is the traffic worked at night in safety over +the inextricable windings of the iron roads into the City? + +At London Bridge the door is opened by some one who gets out, and the +cold air comes in; there is a rush of people in damp coats, with dripping +umbrellas, and time enough to notice the archaeologically interesting +wooden beams which support the roof of the South-Eastern station. Antique +beams they are, good old Norman oak, such as you may sometimes find in +very old country churches that have not been restored, such as yet exist +in Westminster Hall, temp. Rufus or Stephen, or so. Genuine old woodwork, +worth your while to go and see. Take a sketch-book and make much of the +ties and angles and bolts; ask Whistler or Macbeth, or some one to etch +them, get the Royal Antiquarian Society to pay a visit and issue a +pamphlet; gaze at them reverently and earnestly, for they are not easily +to be matched in London. Iron girders and spacious roofs are the modern +fashion; here we have the Middle Ages well-preserved--slam! the door is +banged-to, onwards, over the invisible river, more red signals and rain, +and finally the terminus. Five hundred well-dressed and civilised +savages, wet, cross, weary, all anxious to get in--eager for home and +dinner; five hundred stiffened and cramped folk equally eager to get +out--mix on a narrow platform, with a train running off one side, and a +detached engine gliding gently after it. Push, wriggle, wind in and out, +bumps from portmanteaus, and so at last out into the street. + +Now, how are you going to get into an omnibus? The street is "up," the +traffic confined to half a narrow thoroughfare, the little space +available at the side crowded with newsvendors whose contents bills are +spotted and blotted with wet, crowded, too, with young girls, bonnetless, +with aprons over their heads, whose object is simply to do nothing--just +to stand in the rain and chaff; the newsvendors yell their news in your +ears, then, finding you don't purchase, they "Yah!" at you; an aged crone +begs you to buy "lights"; a miserable young crone, with pinched face, +offers artificial flowers--oh, Naples! Rush comes the rain, and the +gas-lamps are dimmed; whoo-oo comes the wind like a smack; cold drops get +in the ears and eyes; clean wristbands are splotched; greasy mud splashed +over shining boots; some one knocks the umbrella round, and the blast all +but turns it. "Wake up!"--"Now then--stop here all night?"--"Gone to +sleep?" They shout, they curse, they put their hands to their mouths +trumpet wise and bellow at each other, these cabbies, vanmen, busmen, all +angry at the block in the narrow way. The 'bus-driver, with London stout, +and plenty of it, polishing his round cheeks like the brasswork of a +locomotive, his neck well wound and buttressed with thick comforter and +collar, heedeth not, but goes on his round, now fast, now slow, always +stolid and rubicund, the rain running harmlessly from him as if he were +oiled. The conductor, perched like the showman's monkey behind, hops and +twists, and turns now on one foot and now on the other as if the plate +were red-hot; now holds on with one hand, and now dexterously shifts his +grasp; now shouts to the crowd and waves his hands towards the pavement, +and again looks round the edge of the 'bus forwards and curses somebody +vehemently. "Near side up! Look alive! Full inside"--curses, curses, +curses; rain, rain, rain, and no one can tell which is most plentiful. + +The cab-horse's head comes nearly inside the 'bus, the 'bus-pole +threatens to poke the hansom in front; the brougham would be careful, for +varnish sake, but is wedged and must take its chance; van-wheels catch +omnibus hubs; hurry, scurry, whip, and drive; slip, slide, bump, rattle, +jar, jostle, an endless stream clattering on, in, out, and round. On, +on--"Stanley, on"--the first and last words of cabby's life; on, on, the +one law of existence in a London street--drive on, stumble or stand, +drive on--strain sinews, crack, splinter--drive on; what a sight to +watch as you wait amid the newsvendors and bonnetless girls for the 'bus +that will not come! Is it real? It seems like a dream, those nightmare +dreams in which you know that you must run, and do run, and yet cannot +lift the legs that are heavy as lead, with the demon behind pursuing, the +demon of Drive-on. Move, or cease to be--pass out of Time or be stirring +quickly; if you stand you must suffer even here on the pavement, splashed +with greasy mud, shoved by coarse ruffianism, however good your +intentions--just dare to stand still! Ideas here for moralising, but I +can't preach with the roar and the din and the wet in my ears, and the +flickering street lamps flaring. That's the 'bus--no; the tarpaulin hangs +down and obscures the inscription; yes. Hi! No heed; how could you be so +confiding as to imagine conductor or driver would deign to see a +signalling passenger; the game is to drive on. + +A gentleman makes a desperate rush and grabs the handrail; his foot slips +on the asphalt or wood, which is like oil, he slides, his hat totters; +happily he recovers himself and gets in. In the block the 'bus is stayed +a moment, and somehow we follow, and are landed--"somehow" advisedly. For +how do we get into a 'bus? After the pavement, even this hard seat would +be nearly an easy-chair, were it not for the damp smell of soaked +overcoats, the ceaseless rumble, and the knockings overhead outside. The +noise is immensely worse than the shaking or the steamy atmosphere, the +noise ground into the ears, and wearying the mind to a state of drowsy +narcotism--you become chloroformed through the sense of hearing, a +condition of dreary resignation and uncomfortable ease. The illuminated +shops seem to pass like an endless window without division of doors; +there are groups of people staring in at them in spite of the rain; +ill-clad, half-starving people for the most part; the well-dressed hurry +onwards; they have homes. A dull feeling of satisfaction creeps over you +that you are at least in shelter; the rumble is a little better than the +wind and the rain and the puddles. If the Greek sculptors were to come to +life again and cut us out in bas-relief for another Parthenon, they would +have to represent us shuffling along, heads down and coat-tails flying, +splash-splosh--a nation of umbrellas. + +Under a broad archway, gaily lighted, the broad and happy way to a +theatre, there is a small crowd waiting, and among them two ladies, with +their backs to the photographs and bills, looking out into the street. +They stand side by side, evidently quite oblivious and indifferent to the +motley folk about them, chatting and laughing, taking the wet and windy +wretchedness of the night as a joke. They are both plump and +rosy-cheeked, dark eyes gleaming and red lips parted; both decidedly +good-looking, much too rosy and full-faced, too well fed and comfortable +to take a prize from Burne-Jones, very worldly people in the roast-beef +sense. Their faces glow in the bright light--merry sea coal-fire faces; +they have never turned their backs on the good things of this life. +"Never shut the door on good fortune," as Queen Isabella of Spain says. +Wind and rain may howl and splash, but here are two faces they never have +touched--rags and battered shoes drift along the pavement--no wet feet or +cold necks here. Best of all they glow with good spirits, they laugh, +they chat; they are full of enjoyment, clothed thickly with health and +happiness, as their shoulders--good wide shoulders--are thickly wrapped +in warmest furs. The 'bus goes on, and they are lost to view; if you came +back in an hour you would find them still there without doubt--still +jolly, chatting, smiling, waiting perhaps for the stage, but anyhow far +removed, like the goddesses on Olympus, from the splash and misery of +London. Drive on. + +The head of a great grey horse in a van drawn up by the pavement, the +head and neck stand out and conquer the rain and misty dinginess by sheer +force of beauty, sheer strength of character. He turns his head--his neck +forms a fine curve, his face is full of intelligence, in spite of the +half dim light and the driving rain, of the thick atmosphere, and the +black hollow of the covered van behind, his head and neck stand out, just +as in old portraits the face is still bright, though surrounded with +crusted varnish. It would be a glory to any man to paint him. Drive on. + +How strange the dim, uncertain faces of the crowd, half-seen, seem in the +hurry and rain; faces held downwards and muffled by the darkness--not +quite human in their eager and intensely concentrated haste. No one +thinks of or notices another--on, on--splash, shove, and scramble; an +intense selfishness, so selfish as not to be selfish, if that can be +understood, so absorbed as to be past observing that any one lives but +themselves. Human beings reduced to mere hurrying machines, worked by +wind and rain, and stern necessities of life; driven on; something very +hard and unhappy in the thought of this. They seem reduced to the +condition of the wooden cabs--the mere vehicles--pulled along by the +irresistible horse Circumstance. They shut their eyes mentally, wrap +themselves in the overcoat of indifference, and drive on, drive on. It is +time to get out at last. The 'bus stops on one side of the street, and +you have to cross to the other. Look up and down--lights are rushing each +way, but for the moment none are close. The gas-lamps shine in the puddles +of thick greasy water, and by their gleam you can guide yourself round +them. Cab coming! Surely he will give way a little and not force you into +that great puddle; no, he neither sees, nor cares, Drive on, drive on. +Qick! the shafts! Step in the puddle and save your life! + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE OPEN AIR *** + +This file should be named thpnr10.txt or thpnr10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, thpnr11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, thpnr10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Open Air + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6981] +[This file was first posted on February 19, 2003] +[Most recently updated: May 24, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE OPEN AIR *** + + + + +Malcolm Farmer, Juliet Sutherland, Tom Allen, Charles Franks and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +</PRE> +<h1 align="center">THE OPEN AIR</h1> +<h2 align="center">RICHARD JEFFERIES</h2> + +<br> +<br> + +<p>NOTE</p> +<p>For permission to collect these papers my thanks are due to the +Editors of the following publications: <br> +<i>The Standard</i>, <i>English Illustrated Magazine</i>, +<i>Longman's Magazine</i>, <i>St. James's Gazette</i>, +<i>Chambers's Journal</i>, <i>Manchester Guardian</i>, <i>Good Words</i>, +and <i>Pall Mall Gazette</i>.<br> + R.J.</p> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<p><a href="#1">SAINT GUIDO</a></p> +<p><a href="#2">GOLDEN-BROWN</a></p> +<p><a href="#3">WILD FLOWERS</a></p> +<p><a href="#4">SUNNY BRIGHTON</a></p> +<p><a href="#5">THE PINE WOOD</a></p> +<p><a href="#6">NATURE ON THE ROOF</a></p> +<p><a href="#7">ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS</a></p> +<p><a href="#8">THE MODERN THAMES</a></p> +<p><a href="#9">THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN</a></p> +<p><a href="#10">THE HAUNT OF THE HARE</a></p> +<p><a href="#11">THE BATHING SEASON</a></p> +<p><a href="#12">UNDER THE ACORNS</a></p> +<p><a href="#13">DOWNS</a></p> +<p><a href="#14">FOREST</a></p> +<p><a href="#15">BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY</a></p> +<p><a href="#16">OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY</a></p> +<p><a href="#17">HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING</a></p> +<p><a href="#18">OUTSIDE LONDON</a></p> +<p><a href="#19">ON THE LONDON ROAD</a></p> +<p><a href="#20">RED ROOFS OF LONDON</a></p> +<p><a href="#21">A WET NIGHT IN LONDON</a></p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="1">SAINT GUIDO</a></h3> +<p>St. Guido ran out at the garden gate into a sandy lane, and down +the lane till he came to a grassy bank. He caught hold of the +bunches of grass and so pulled himself up. There was a footpath on +the top which went straight in between fir-trees, and as he ran +along they stood on each side of him like green walls. They were +very near together, and even at the top the space between them was +so narrow that the sky seemed to come down, and the clouds to be +sailing but just over them, as if they would catch and tear in the +fir-trees. The path was so little used that it had grown green, and +as he ran he knocked dead branches out of his way. Just as he was +getting tired of running he reached the end of the path, and came +out into a wheat-field. The wheat did not grow very closely, and +the spaces were filled with azure corn-flowers. St. Guido thought +he was safe away now, so he stopped to look.</p> +<p>Those thoughts and feelings which are not sharply defined but +have a haze of distance and beauty about them are always the +dearest. His name was not really Guido, but those who loved him had +called him so in order to try and express their hearts about him. +For they thought if a great painter could be a little boy, then he +would be something like this one. They were not very learned in the +history of painters: they had heard of Raphael, but Raphael was too +elevated, too much of the sky, and of Titian, but Titian was fond +of feminine loveliness, and in the end somebody said Guido was a +dreamy name, as if it belonged to one who was full of faith. Those +golden curls shaking about his head as he ran and filling the air +with radiance round his brow, looked like a Nimbus or circlet of +glory. So they called him St. Guido, and a very, very wild saint he +was.</p> +<p>St. Guido stopped in the cornfield, and looked all round. There +were the fir-trees behind him—a thick wall of +green—hedges on the right and the left, and the wheat sloped +down towards an ash-copse in the hollow. No one was in the field, +only the fir-trees, the green hedges, the yellow wheat, and the sun +overhead, Guido kept quite still, because he expected that in a +minute the magic would begin, and something would speak to him. His +cheeks which had been flushed with running grew less hot, but I +cannot tell you the exact colour they were, for his skin was so +white and clear, it would not tan under the sun, yet being always +out of doors it had taken the faintest tint of golden brown mixed +with rosiness. His blue eyes which had been wide open, as they +always were when full of mischief, became softer, and his long +eyelashes drooped over them. But as the magic did not begin, Guido +walked on slowly into the wheat, which rose nearly to his head, +though it was not yet so tall as it would be before the reapers +came. He did not break any of the stalks, or bend them down and +step on them; he passed between them, and they yielded on either +side. The wheat-ears were pale gold, having only just left off +their green, and they surrounded him on all sides as if he were +bathing.</p> +<p>A butterfly painted a velvety red with white spots came floating +along the surface of the corn, and played round his cap, which was +a little higher, and was so tinted by the sun that the butterfly +was inclined to settle on it. Guido put up his hand to catch the +butterfly, forgetting his secret in his desire to touch it. The +butterfly was too quick—with a snap of his wings disdainfully +mocking the idea of catching him, away he went. Guido nearly +stepped on a humble-bee—buzz-zz!—the bee was so alarmed +he actually crept up Guido's knickers to the knee, and even then +knocked himself against a wheat-ear when he started to fly. Guido +kept quite still while the humble-bee was on his knee, knowing that +he should not be stung if he did not move. He knew, too, that +humble-bees have stings though people often say they have not, and +the reason people think they do not possess them is because +humble-bees are so good-natured and never sting unless they are +very much provoked.</p> +<p>Next he picked a corn buttercup; the flowers were much smaller +than the great buttercups which grew in the meadows, and these were +not golden but coloured like brass. His foot caught in a creeper, +and he nearly tumbled—it was a bine of bindweed which went +twisting round and round two stalks of wheat in a spiral, binding +them together as if some one had wound string about them. There was +one ear of wheat which had black specks on it, and another which +had so much black that the grains seemed changed and gone leaving +nothing but blackness. He touched it and it stained his hands like +a dark powder, and then he saw that it was not perfectly black as +charcoal is, it was a little red. Something was burning up the corn +there just as if fire had been set to the ears. Guido went on and +found another place where there was hardly any wheat at all, and +those stalks that grew were so short they only came above his knee. +The wheat-ears were thin and small, and looked as if there was +nothing but chaff. But this place being open was full of flowers, +such lovely azure cornflowers which the people call +bluebottles.</p> +<p>Guido took two; they were curious flowers with knobs surrounded +with little blue flowers like a lady's bonnet. They were a +beautiful blue, not like any other blue, not like the violets in +the garden, or the sky over the trees, or the geranium in the +grass, or the bird's-eyes by the path. He loved them and held them +tight in his hand, and went on, leaving the red pimpernel wide open +to the dry air behind him, but the May-weed was everywhere. The +May-weed had white flowers like a moon-daisy, but not so large, and +leaves like moss. He could not walk without stepping on these mossy +tufts, though he did not want to hurt them. So he stooped and +stroked the moss-like leaves and said, "I do not want to hurt you, +but you grow so thick I cannot help it." In a minute afterwards as +he was walking he heard a quick rush, and saw the wheat-ears sway +this way and that as if a puff of wind had struck them.</p> +<p>Guido stood still and his eyes opened very wide, he had +forgotten to cut a stick to fight with: he watched the wheat-ears +sway, and could see them move for some distance, and he did not +know what it was. Perhaps it was a wild boar or a yellow lion, or +some creature no one had ever seen; he would not go back, but he +wished he had cut a nice stick. Just then a swallow swooped down +and came flying over the wheat so close that Guido almost felt the +flutter of his wings, and as he passed he whispered to Guido that +it was only a hare. "Then why did he run away?" said Guido; "I +should not have hurt him." But the swallow had gone up high into +the sky again, and did not hear him. All the time Guido was +descending the slope, for little feet always go down the hill as +water does, and when he looked back he found that he had left the +fir-trees so far behind he was in the middle of the field. If any +one had looked they could hardly have seen him, and if he had taken +his cap off they could not have done so because the yellow curls +would be so much the same colour as the yellow corn. He stooped to +see how nicely he could hide himself, then he knelt, and in a +minute sat down, so that the wheat rose up high above him.</p> +<p>Another humble-bee went over along the tips of the +wheat—burr-rr—as he passed; then a scarlet fly, and +next a bright yellow wasp who was telling a friend flying behind +him that he knew where there was such a capital piece of wood to +bite up into tiny pieces and make into paper for the nest in the +thatch, but his friend wanted to go to the house because there was +a pear quite ripe there on the wall. Next came a moth, and after +the moth a golden fly, and three gnats, and a mouse ran along the +dry ground with a curious sniffling rustle close to Guido. A shrill +cry came down out of the air, and looking up he saw two swifts +turning circles, and as they passed each other they +shrieked—their voices were so shrill they shrieked. They were +only saying that in a month their little swifts in the slates would +be able to fly. While he sat so quiet on the ground and hidden by +the wheat, he heard a cuckoo such a long way off it sounded like a +watch when it is covered up. "Cuckoo" did not come full and +distinct—it was such a tiny little "cuckoo" caught in the +hollow of Guido's ear. The cuckoo must have been a mile away.</p> +<p>Suddenly he thought something went over, and yet he did not see +it—perhaps it was the shadow—and he looked up and saw a +large bird not very far up, not farther than he could fling, or +shoot his arrows, and the bird was fluttering his wings, but did +not move away farther, as if he had been tied in the air. Guido +knew it was a hawk, and the hawk was staying there to see if there +was a mouse or a little bird in the wheat. After a minute the hawk +stopped fluttering and lifted his wings together as a butterfly +does when he shuts his, and down the hawk came, straight into the +corn. "Go away!" shouted Guido jumping up, and flinging his cap, +and the hawk, dreadfully frightened and terribly cross, checked +himself and rose again with an angry rush. So the mouse escaped, +but Guido could not find his cap for some time. Then he went on, +and still the ground sloping sent him down the hill till he came +close to the copse.</p> +<p>Some sparrows came out from the copse, and he stopped and saw +one of them perch on a stalk of wheat, with one foot above the +other sideways, so that he could pick at the ear and get the corn. +Guido watched the sparrow clear the ear, then he moved, and the +sparrows flew back to the copse, where they chattered at him for +disturbing them. There was a ditch between the corn and the copse, +and a streamlet; he picked up a stone and threw it in, and the +splash frightened a rabbit, who slipped over the bank and into a +hole. The boughs of an oak reached out across to the corn, and made +so pleasant a shade that Guido, who was very hot from walking in +the sun, sat down on the bank of the streamlet with his feet +dangling over it, and watched the floating grass sway slowly as the +water ran. Gently he leaned back till his back rested on the +sloping ground—he raised one knee, and left the other foot +over the verge where the tip of the tallest rushes touched it. +Before he had been there a minute he remembered the secret which a +fern had taught him.</p> +<p>First, if he wanted to know anything, or to hear a story, or +what the grass was saying, or the oak-leaves singing, he must be +careful not to interfere as he had done just now with the butterfly +by trying to catch him. Fortunately, that butterfly was a nice +butterfly, and very kindhearted, but sometimes, if you interfered +with one thing, it would tell another thing, and they would all +know in a moment, and stop talking, and never say a word. Once, +while they were all talking pleasantly, Guido caught a fly in his +hand, he felt his hand tickle as the fly stepped on it, and he shut +up his little fist so quickly he caught the fly in the hollow +between the palm and his fingers. The fly went buzz, and rushed to +get out, but Guido laughed, so the fly buzzed again, and just told +the grass, and the grass told the bushes, and everything knew in a +moment, and Guido never heard another word all that day. Yet +sometimes now they all knew something about him, they would go on +talking. You see, they all rather petted and spoiled him. Next, if +Guido did not hear them conversing, the fern said he must touch a +little piece of grass and put it against his cheek, or a leaf, and +kiss it, and say, "Leaf, leaf, tell them I am here."</p> +<p>Now, while he was lying down, and the tip of the rushes touched +his foot, he remembered this, so he moved the rush with his foot +and said, "Rush, rush, tell them I am here." Immediately there came +a little wind, and the wheat swung to and fro, the oak-leaves +rustled, the rushes bowed, and the shadows slipped forwards and +back again. Then it was still, and the nearest wheat-ear to Guido +nodded his head, and said in a very low tone, "Guido, dear, just +this minute I do not feel very happy, although the sunshine is so +warm, because I have been thinking, for we have been in one or +other of these fields of your papa's a thousand years this very +year. Every year we have been sown, and weeded, and reaped, and +garnered. Every year the sun has ripened us and the rain made us +grow; every year for a thousand years."</p> +<p>"What did you see all that time?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"The swallows came," said the Wheat, "and flew over us, and sang +a little sweet song, and then they went up into the chimneys and +built their nests."</p> +<p>"At my house?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"Oh, no, dear, the house I was then thinking of is gone, like a +leaf withered and lost. But we have not forgotten any of the songs +they sang us, nor have the swallows that you see to-day—one +of them spoke to you just now—forgotten what we said to their +ancestors. Then the blackbirds came out in us and ate the creeping +creatures, so that they should not hurt us, and went up into the +oaks and whistled such beautiful sweet low whistles. Not in those +oaks, dear, where the blackbirds whistle to-day; even the very oaks +have gone, though they were so strong that one of them defied the +lightning, and lived years and years after it struck him. One of +the very oldest of the old oaks in the copse, dear, is his +grandchild. If you go into the copse you will find an oak which has +only one branch; he is so old, he has only that branch left. He +sprang up from an acorn dropped from an oak that grew from an acorn +dropped from the oak the lightning struck. So that is three oak +lives, Guido dear, back to the time I was thinking of just now. And +that oak under whose shadow you are now lying is the fourth of +them, and he is quite young, though he is so big.</p> +<p>"A jay sowed the acorn from which he grew up; the jay was in the +oak with one branch, and some one frightened him, and as he flew he +dropped the acorn which he had in his bill just there, and now you +are lying in the shadow of the tree. So you see, it is a very long +time ago, when the blackbirds came and whistled up in those oaks I +was thinking of, and that was why I was not very happy."</p> +<p>"But you have heard the blackbirds whistling ever since?" said +Guido; "and there was such a big black one up in our cherry tree +this morning, and I shot my arrow at him and very nearly hit him. +Besides, there is a blackbird whistling now—you listen. +There, he's somewhere in the copse. Why can't you listen to him, +and be happy now?"</p> +<p>"I will be happy, dear, as you are here, but still it is a long, +long time, and then I think, after I am dead, and there is more +wheat in my place, the blackbirds will go on whistling for another +thousand years after me. For of course I did not hear them all that +time ago myself, dear, but the wheat which was before me heard them +and told me. They told me, too, and I know it is true, that the +cuckoo came and called all day till the moon shone at night, and +began again in the morning before the dew had sparkled in the +sunrise. The dew dries very soon on wheat, Guido dear, because +wheat is so dry; first the sunrise makes the tips of the wheat ever +so faintly rosy, then it grows yellow, then as the heat increases +it becomes white at noon, and golden in the afternoon, and white +again under the moonlight. Besides which wide shadows come over +from the clouds, and a wind always follows the shadow and waves us, +and every time we sway to and fro that alters our colour. A rough +wind gives us one tint, and heavy rain another, and we look +different on a cloudy day to what we do on a sunny one. All these +colours changed on us when the blackbird was whistling in the oak +the lightning struck, the fourth one backwards from me; and it +makes me sad to think that after four more oaks have gone, the same +colours will come on the wheat that will grow then. It is thinking +about those past colours, and songs, and leaves, and of the colours +and the sunshine, and the songs, and the leaves that will come in +the future that makes to-day so much. It makes to-day a thousand +years long backwards, and a thousand years long forwards, and makes +the sun so warm, and the air so sweet, and the butterflies so +lovely, and the hum of the bees, and everything so delicious. We +cannot have enough of it."</p> +<p>"No, that we cannot," said Guido. "Go on, you talk so nice and +low. I feel sleepy and jolly. Talk away, old Wheat."</p> +<p>"Let me see," said the Wheat. "Once on a time while the men were +knocking us out of the ear on a floor with flails, which are sticks +with little hinges—"</p> +<p>"As if I did not know what a flail was!" said Guido. "I hit old +John with the flail, and Ma gave him a shilling not to be +cross."</p> +<p>"While they were knocking us with the hard sticks," the Wheat +went on, "we heard them talking about a king who was shot with an +arrow like yours in the forest—it slipped from a tree, and +went into him instead of into the deer. And long before that the +men came up the river—the stream in the ditch there runs into +the river—in rowing ships—how you would like one to +play in, Guido! For they were not like the ships now which are +machines, they were rowing ships—men's ships—and came +right up into the land ever so far, all along the river up to the +place where the stream in the ditch runs in; just where your papa +took you in the punt, and you got the waterlilies, the white +ones."</p> +<p>"And wetted my sleeve right up my arm—oh, I know! I can +row you, old Wheat; I can row as well as my papa can."</p> +<p>"But since the rowing ships came, the ploughs have turned up +this ground a thousand times," said the Wheat; "and each time the +furrows smelt sweeter, and this year they smelt sweetest of all. +The horses have such glossy coats, and such fine manes, and they +are so strong and beautiful. They drew the ploughs along and made +the ground give up its sweetness and savour, and while they were +doing it, the spiders in the copse spun their silk along from the +ashpoles, and the mist in the morning weighed down their threads. +It was so delicious to come out of the clods as we pushed our green +leaves up and felt the rain, and the wind, and the warm sun. Then a +little bird came in the copse and called, 'Sip-sip, sip, sip, sip,' +such a sweet low song, and the larks ran along the ground in +between us, and there were bluebells in the copse, and anemones; +till by-and-by the sun made us yellow, and the blue flowers that +you have in your hand came out. I cannot tell you how many there +have been of these flowers since the oak was struck by the +lightning, in all the thousand years there must have been +altogether—I cannot tell you how many."</p> +<p>"Why didn't I pick them all?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"Do you know," said the Wheat, "we have thought so much more, +and felt so much more, since your people took us, and ploughed for +us, and sowed us, and reaped us. We are not like the same wheat we +used to be before your people touched us, when we grew wild, and +there were huge great things in the woods and marshes which I will +not tell you about lest you should be frightened. Since we have +felt your hands, and you have touched us, we have felt so much +more. Perhaps that was why I was not very happy till you came, for +I was thinking quite as much about your people as about us, and how +all the flowers of all those thousand years, and all the songs, and +the sunny days were gone, and all the people were gone too, who had +heard the blackbirds whistle in the oak the lightning struck. And +those that are alive now—there will be cuckoos calling, and +the eggs in the thrushes' nests, and blackbirds whistling, and blue +cornflowers, a thousand years after every one of them is gone.</p> +<p>"So that is why it is so sweet this minute, and why I want you, +and your people, dear, to be happy now and to have all these +things, and to agree so as not to be so anxious and careworn, but +to come out with us, or sit by us, and listen to the blackbirds, +and hear the wind rustle us, and be happy. Oh, I wish I could make +them happy, and do away with all their care and anxiety, and give +you all heaps and heaps of flowers! Don't go away, darling, do you +lie still, and I will talk and sing to you, and you can pick some +more flowers when you get up. There is a beautiful shadow there, +and I heard the streamlet say that he would sing a little to you; +he is not very big, he cannot sing very loud. By-and-by, I know, +the sun will make us as dry as dry, and darker, and then the +reapers will come while the spiders are spinning their silk +again—this time it will come floating in the blue air, for +the air seems blue if you look up.</p> +<p>"It is a great joy to your people, dear, when the reaping time +arrives: the harvest is a great joy to you when the thistledown +comes rolling along in the wind. So that I shall be happy even when +the reapers cut me down, because I know it is for you, and your +people, my love. The strong men will come to us gladly, and the +women, and the little children will sit in the shade and gather +great white trumpets of convolvulus, and come to tell their mothers +how they saw the young partridges in the next field. But there is +one thing we do not like, and that is, all the labour and the +misery. Why cannot your people have us without so much labour, and +why are so many of you unhappy? Why cannot they be all happy with +us as you are, dear? For hundreds and hundreds of years now the +wheat every year has been sorrowful for your people, and I think we +get more sorrowful every year about it, because as I was telling +you just now the flowers go, and the swallows go, the old, old oaks +go, and that oak will go, under the shade of which you are lying, +Guido; and if your people do not gather the flowers now, and watch +the swallows, and listen to the blackbirds whistling, as you are +listening now while I talk, then Guido, my love, they will never +pick any flowers, nor hear any birds' songs. They think they will, +they think that when they have toiled, and worked a long time, +almost all their lives, then they will come to the flowers, and the +birds, and be joyful in the sunshine. But no, it will not be so, +for then they will be old themselves, and their ears dull, and +their eyes dim, so that the birds will sound a great distance off, +and the flowers will not seem bright.</p> +<p>"Of course, we know that the greatest part of your people cannot +help themselves, and must labour on like the reapers till their +ears are full of the dust of age. That only makes us more +sorrowful, and anxious that things should be different. I do not +suppose we should think about them had we not been in man's hand so +long that now we have got to feel with man. Every year makes it +more pitiful because then there are more flowers gone, and added to +the vast numbers of those gone before, and never gathered or looked +at, though they could have given so much pleasure. And all the work +and labour, and thinking, and reading and learning that your people +do ends in nothing—not even one flower. We cannot understand +why it should be so. There are thousands of wheat-ears in this +field, more than you would know how to write down with your pencil, +though you have learned your tables, sir. Yet all of us thinking, +and talking, cannot understand why it is when we consider how +clever your people are, and how they bring ploughs, and +steam-engines, and put up wires along the roads to tell you things +when you are miles away, and sometimes we are sown where we can +hear the hum, hum, all day of the children learning in the school. +The butterflies flutter over us, and the sun shines, and the doves +are very, very happy at their nest, but the children go on hum, hum +inside this house, and learn, learn. So we suppose you must be very +clever, and yet you cannot manage this. All your work is wasted, +and you labour in vain—you dare not leave it a minute.</p> +<p>"If you left it a minute it would all be gone; it does not mount +up and make a store, so that all of you could sit by it and be +happy. Directly you leave off you are hungry, and thirsty, and +miserable like the beggars that tramp along the dusty road here. +All the thousand years of labour since this field was first +ploughed have not stored up anything for you. It would not matter +about the work so much if you were only happy; the bees work every +year, but they are happy; the doves build a nest every year, but +they are very, very happy. We think it must be because you do not +come out to us and be with us, and think more as we do. It is not +because your people have not got plenty to eat and drink—you +have as much as the bees. Why just look at us! Look at the wheat +that grows all over the world; all the figures that were ever +written in pencil could not tell how much, it is such an immense +quantity. Yet your people starve and die of hunger every now and +then, and we have seen the wretched beggars tramping along the +road. We have known of times when there was a great pile of us, +almost a hill piled up, it was not in this country, it was in +another warmer country, and yet no one dared to touch it—they +died at the bottom of the hill of wheat. The earth is full of +skeletons of people who have died of hunger. They are dying now +this minute in your big cities, with nothing but stones all round +them, stone walls and stone streets; not jolly stones like those +you threw in the water, dear—hard, unkind stones that make +them cold and let them die, while we are growing here, millions of +us, in the sunshine with the butterflies floating over us. This +makes us unhappy; I was very unhappy this morning till you came +running over and played with us.</p> +<p>"It is not because there is not enough: it is because your +people are so short-sighted, so jealous and selfish, and so +curiously infatuated with things that are not so good as your old +toys which you have flung away and forgotten. And you teach the +children hum, hum, all day to care about such silly things, and to +work for them and to look to them as the object of their lives. It +is because you do not share us among you without price or +difference; because you do not share the great earth among you +fairly, without spite and jealousy and avarice; because you will +not agree; you silly, foolish people to let all the flowers wither +for a thousand years while you keep each other at a distance, +instead of agreeing and sharing them! Is there something in +you—as there is poison in the nightshade, you know it, dear, +your papa told you not to touch it—is there a sort of poison +in your people that works them up into a hatred of one another? +Why, then, do you not agree and have all things, all the great +earth can give you, just as we have the sunshine and the rain? How +happy your people could be if they would only agree! But you go on +teaching even the little children to follow the same silly objects, +hum, hum, hum, all the day, and they will grow up to hate each +other, and to try which can get the most round things—you +have one in your pocket."</p> +<p>"Sixpence," said Guido. "It's quite a new one."</p> +<p>"And other things quite as silly," the Wheat continued. "All the +time the flowers are flowering, but they will go, even the oaks +will go. We think the reason you do not all have plenty, and why +you do not do only just a little work, and why you die of hunger if +you leave off, and why so many of you are unhappy in body and mind, +and all the misery is because you have not got a spirit like the +wheat, like us; you will not agree, and you will not share, and you +will hate each other, and you will be so avaricious, and you will +<i>not</i> touch the flowers, or go into the sunshine (you would +rather half of you died among the hard stones first), and you will +teach your children hum, hum, to follow in some foolish course that +has caused you all this unhappiness a thousand years, and you will +<i>not</i> have a spirit like us, and feel like us. Till you have a +spirit like us, and feel like us, you will never, never be happy. +Lie still, dear; the shadow of the oak is broad and will not move +from you for a long time yet."</p> +<p>"But perhaps Paul will come up to my house, and Percy and +Morna."</p> +<p>"Look up in the oak very quietly, don't move, just open your +eyes and look," said the Wheat, who was very cunning. Guido looked +and saw a lovely little bird climbing up a branch. It was +chequered, black and white, like a very small magpie, only without +such a long tail, and it had a spot of red about its neck. It was a +pied woodpecker, not the large green woodpecker, but another kind. +Guido saw it go round the branch, and then some way up, and round +again till it came to a place that pleased it, and then the +woodpecker struck the bark with its bill, tap-tap. The sound was +quite loud, ever so much more noise than such a tiny bill seemed +able to make. Tap-tap! If Guido had not been still so that the bird +had come close he would never have found it among the leaves. +Tap-tap! After it had picked out all the insects there, the +woodpecker flew away over the ashpoles of the copse.</p> +<p>"I should just like to stroke him," said Guido. "If I climbed up +into the oak perhaps he would come again, and I could catch +him."</p> +<p>"No," said the Wheat, "he only comes once a day,"</p> +<p>"Then tell me stories," said Guido, imperiously.</p> +<p>"I will if I can," said the Wheat. "Once upon a time, when the +oak the lightning struck was still living, and when the wheat was +green in this very field, a man came staggering out of the wood, +and walked out into it. He had an iron helmet on, and he was +wounded, and his blood stained the green wheat red as he walked. He +tried to get to the streamlet, which was wider then, Guido dear, to +drink, for he knew it was there, but he could not reach it. He fell +down and died in the green wheat, dear, for he was very much hurt +with a sharp spear, but more so with hunger and thirst."</p> +<p>"I am so sorry," said Guido; "and now I look at you, why you are +all thirsty and dry, you nice old Wheat, and the ground is as dry +as dry under you; I will get you something to drink."</p> +<p>And down he scrambled into the ditch, setting his foot firm on a +root, for though he was so young, he knew how to get down to the +water without wetting his feet, or falling in, and how to climb up +a tree, and everything jolly. Guido dipped his hand in the +streamlet, and flung the water over the wheat, five or six good +sprinklings till the drops hung on the wheat-ears. Then he said, +"Now you are better."</p> +<p>"Yes, dear, thank you, my love," said the Wheat, who was very +pleased, though of course the water was not enough to wet its +roots. Still it was pleasant, like a very little shower. Guido lay +down on his chest this time, with his elbows on the ground, +propping his head up, and as he now faced the wheat he could see in +between the stalks.</p> +<p>"Lie still," said the Wheat, "the corncrake is not very far off, +he has come up here since your papa told the mowers to mow the +meadow, and very likely if you stay quiet you will see him. If you +do not understand all I say, never mind, dear; the sunshine is +warm, but not too warm in the shade, and we all love you, and want +you to be as happy as ever you can be."</p> +<p>"It is jolly to be quite hidden like this," said Guido. "No one +could find me; if Paul were to look all day he would never find me; +even Papa could not find me. Now go on and tell me stories."</p> +<p>"Ever so many times, when the oak the lightning struck was +young," said the Wheat, "great stags used to come out of the wood +and feed on the green wheat; it was early in the morning when they +came. Such great stags, and so proud, and yet so timid, the least +thing made them go bound, bound, bound."</p> +<p>"Oh, I know!" said Guido; "I saw some jump over the fence in the +forest—I am going there again soon. If I take my bow I will +shoot one!"</p> +<p>"But there are no deer here now," said the Wheat; "they have +been gone a long, long time; though I think your papa has one of +their antlers,"</p> +<p>"Now, how did you know that?" said Guido; "you have never been +to our house, and you cannot see in from here because the fir copse +is in the way; how do you find out these things?"</p> +<p>"Oh!" said the Wheat, laughing, "we have lots of ways of finding +out things. Don't you remember the swallow that swooped down and +told you not to be frightened at the hare? The swallow has his nest +at your house, and he often flies by your windows and looks in, and +he told me. The birds tell us lots of things, and all about what is +over the sea."</p> +<p>"But that is not a story," said Guido.</p> +<p>"Once upon a time," said the Wheat, "when the oak the lightning +struck was alive, your papa's papa's papa, ever so much farther +back than that, had all the fields round here, all that you can see +from Acre Hill. And do you know it happened that in time every one +of them was lost or sold, and your family, Guido dear, were +homeless—no house, no garden or orchard, and no dogs or guns, +or anything jolly. One day the papa that was then came along the +road with <i>his</i> little Guido, and they were beggars, dear, and +had no place to sleep, and they slept all night in the wheat in +this very field close to where the hawthorn bush grows +now—where you picked the May flowers, you know, my love. They +slept there all the summer night, and the fern owls flew to and +fro, and the bats and crickets chirped, and the stars shone +faintly, as if they were made pale by the heat. The poor papa never +had a house, but that little Guido lived to grow up a great man, +and he worked so hard, and he was so clever, and every one loved +him, which was the best of all things. He bought this very field +and then another, and another, and got such a lot of the old fields +back again, and the goldfinches sang for joy, and so did the larks +and the thrushes, because they said what a kind man he was. Then +his son got some more of them, till at last your papa bought ever +so many more. But we often talk about the little boy who slept in +the wheat in this field, which was his father's father's field. If +only the wheat then could have helped him, and been kind to him, +you may be sure it would. We love you so much we like to see the +very crumbs left by the men who do the hoeing when they eat their +crusts; we wish they could have more to eat, but we like to see +their crumbs, which you know are made of wheat, so that we have +done them some good at least."</p> +<p>"That's not a story," said Guido.</p> +<p>"There's a gold coin here somewhere," said the Wheat, "such a +pretty one, it would make a capital button for your jacket, dear, +or for your mamma; that is all any sort of money is good for; I +wish all the coins were made into buttons for little Guido."</p> +<p>"Where is it?" said Guido.</p> +<p>"I can't exactly tell where it is," said the Wheat. "It was very +near me once, and I thought the next thunder's rain would wash it +down into the streamlet—it has been here ever so long, it +came here first just after the oak the lightning split died. And it +has been rolled about by the ploughs ever since, and no one has +ever seen it; I thought it must go into the ditch at last, but when +the men came to hoe one of them knocked it back, and then another +kicked it along—it was covered with earth—and then, one +day, a rook came and split the clod open with his bill, and pushed +the pieces first one side and then the other, and the coin went one +way, but I did not see; I must ask a humble-bee, or a mouse, or a +mole, or some one who knows more about it. It is very thin, so that +if the rook's bill had struck it, his strong bill would have made a +dint in it, and there is, I think, a ship marked on it."</p> +<p>"Oh, I must have it! A ship! Ask a humble-bee directly; be +quick!"</p> +<p>Bang! There was a loud report, a gun had gone off in the +copse.</p> +<p>"That's my papa," shouted Guido. "I'm sure that was my papa's +gun!" Up he jumped, and getting down the ditch, stepped across the +water, and, seizing a hazel-bough to help himself, climbed up the +bank. At the top he slipped through the fence by the oak and so +into the copse. He was in such a hurry he did not mind the thistles +or the boughs that whipped him as they sprang back, he scrambled +through, meeting the vapour of the gunpowder and the smell of +sulphur. In a minute he found a green path, and in the path was his +papa, who had just shot a cruel crow. The crow had been eating the +birds' eggs, and picking the little birds to pieces.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="2">GOLDEN-BROWN</a></h3> +<p>Three fruit-pickers—women—were the first people I +met near the village (in Kent). They were clad in "rags and jags," +and the face of the eldest was in "jags" also. It was torn and +scarred by time and weather; wrinkled, and in a manner twisted like +the fantastic turns of a gnarled tree-trunk, hollow and decayed. +Through these jags and tearings of weather, wind, and work, the +nakedness of the countenance—the barren framework—was +visible; the cheekbones like knuckles, the chin of brown stoneware, +the upper-lip smooth, and without the short groove which should +appear between lip and nostrils. Black shadows dwelt in the hollows +of the cheeks and temples, and there was a blackness about the +eyes. This blackness gathers in the faces of the old who have been +much exposed to the sun, the fibres of the skin are scorched and +half-charred, like a stick thrust in the fire, and withdrawn before +the flames seize it. Beside her were two young women, both in the +freshness of youth and health. Their faces glowed with a +golden-brown, and so great is the effect of colour that their plain +features were transfigured. The sunlight under their faces made +them beautiful. The summer light had been absorbed by the skin and +now shone forth from it again; as certain substances exposed to the +day absorb light and emit a phosphorescent gleam in the darkness of +night, so the sunlight had been drank up by the surface of the +skin, and emanated from it.</p> +<p>Hour after hour in the gardens and orchards they worked in the +full beams of the sun, gathering fruit for the London market, +resting at midday in the shade of the elms in the corner. Even then +they were in the sunshine—even in the shade, for the air +carries it, or its influence, as it carries the perfumes of +flowers. The heated air undulates over the field in waves which are +visible at a distance; near at hand they are not seen, but roll in +endless ripples through the shadows of the trees, bringing with +them the actinic power of the sun. Not +actinic—alchemic— some intangible mysterious power +which cannot be supplied in any other form but the sun's rays. It +reddens the cherry, it gilds the apple, it colours the rose, it +ripens the wheat, it touches a woman's face with the golden-brown +of ripe life—ripe as a plum. There is no other hue so +beautiful as this human sunshine tint.</p> +<p>The great painters knew it—Rubens, for instance; perhaps +he saw it on the faces of the women who gathered fruit or laboured +at the harvest in the Low Countries centuries since. He could never +have seen it in a city of these northern climes, that is certain. +Nothing in nature that I know, except the human face, ever attains +this colour. Nothing like it is ever seen in the sky, either at +dawn or sunset; the dawn is often golden, often scarlet, or purple +and gold; the sunset crimson, flaming bright, or delicately grey +and scarlet; lovely colours all of them, but not like this. Nor is +there any flower comparable to it, nor any gem. It is purely human, +and it is only found on the human face which has felt the sunshine +continually. There must, too, I suppose, be a disposition towards +it, a peculiar and exceptional condition of the fibres which build +up the skin; for of the numbers who work out of doors, very, very +few possess it; they become brown, red, or tanned, sometimes of a +parchment hue—they do not get this colour.</p> +<p>These two women from the fruit gardens had the golden-brown in +their faces, and their plain features were transfigured. They were +walking in the dusty road; there was as background a high, dusty +hawthorn hedge which had lost the freshness of spring and was +browned by the work of caterpillars; they were in rags and jags, +their shoes had split, and their feet looked twice as wide in +consequence. Their hands were black; not grimy, but absolutely +black, and neither hands nor necks ever knew water, I am sure. +There was not the least shape to their garments; their dresses +simply hung down in straight ungraceful lines; there was no colour +of ribbon or flower, to light up the dinginess. But they had the +golden-brown in their faces, and they were beautiful.</p> +<p>The feet, as they walked, were set firm on the ground, and the +body advanced with measured, deliberate, yet lazy and confident +grace; shoulders thrown back—square, but not over-square (as +those who have been drilled); hips swelling at the side in lines +like the full bust, though longer drawn; busts well filled and +shapely, despite the rags and jags and the washed-out gaudiness of +the shawl. There was that in their cheeks that all the wealth of +London could not purchase—a superb health in their carriage +princesses could not obtain. It came, then, from the air and +sunlight, and still more, from some alchemy unknown to the +physician or the physiologist, some faculty exercised by the body, +happily endowed with a special power of extracting the utmost +richness and benefit from the rudest elements. Thrice blessed and +fortunate, beautiful golden-brown in their cheeks, superb health in +their gait, they walked as the immortals on earth.</p> +<p>As they passed they regarded me with bitter envy, jealousy, and +hatred written in their eyes; they cursed me in their hearts. I +verily believe—so unmistakably hostile were their +glances—that had opportunity been given, in the dead of night +and far from help, they would gladly have taken me unawares with +some blow of stone or club, and, having rendered me senseless, +would have robbed me, and considered it a righteous act. Not that +there was any blood-thirstiness or exceptional evil in their nature +more than in that of the thousand-and-one toilers that are met on +the highway, but simply because they worked—such hard work of +hands and stooping backs, and I was idle, for all they knew. +Because they were going from one field of labour to another field +of labour, and I walked slowly and did no visible work. My dress +showed no stain, the weather had not battered it; there was no +rent, no rags and jags. At an hour when they were merely changing +one place of work for another place of work, to them it appeared +that I had found idleness indoors wearisome and had just come forth +to exchange it for another idleness. They saw no end to their +labour; they had worked from childhood, and could see no possible +end to labour until limbs failed or life closed. Why should they be +like this? Why should I do nothing? They were as good as I was, and +they hated me. Their indignant glances spoke it as plain as words, +and far more distinctly than I can write it. You cannot read it +with such feeling as I received their looks.</p> +<p>Beautiful golden-brown, superb health, what would I not give for +these? To be the thrice-blessed and chosen of nature, what +inestimable fortune! To be indifferent to any +circumstances—to be quite thoughtless as to draughts and +chills, careless of heat, indifferent to the character of dinners, +able to do well on hard, dry bread, capable of sleeping in the open +under a rick, or some slight structure of a hurdle, propped on a +few sticks and roughly thatched with straw, and to sleep sound as +an oak, and wake strong as an oak in the morning-gods, what a +glorious life! I envied them; they fancied I looked askance at +their rags and jags. I envied them, and considered their health and +hue ideal. I envied them that unwearied step, that firm +uprightness, and measured yet lazy gait, but most of all the power +which they possessed, though they did not exercise it +intentionally, of being always in the sunlight, the air, and abroad +upon the earth. If so they chose, and without stress or strain, +they could see the sunrise, they could be with him as it +were—unwearied and without distress—the livelong day; +they could stay on while the moon rose over the corn, and till the +silent stars at silent midnight shone in the cool summer night, and +on and on till the cock crew and the faint dawn appeared. The whole +time in the open air, resting at mid-day under the elms with the +ripple of heat flowing through the shadow; at midnight between the +ripe corn and the hawthorn hedge on the white wild camomile and the +poppy pale in the duskiness, with face upturned to the thoughtful +heaven.</p> +<p>Consider the glory of it, the life above this life to be +obtained from constant presence with the sunlight and the stars. I +thought of them all day, and envied them (as they envied me), and +in the evening I found them again. It was growing dark, and the +shadow took away something of the coarseness of the group outside +one of the village "pothouses." Green foliage overhung them and the +men with whom they were drinking; the white pipes, the blue smoke, +the flash of a match, the red sign which had so often swung to and +fro in the gales now still in the summer eve, the rude seats and +blocks, the reaping-hooks bound about the edge with hay, the white +dogs creeping from knee to knee, some such touches gave an interest +to the scene. But a quarrel had begun; the men swore, but the women +did worse. It is impossible to give a hint of the language they +used, especially the elder of the three whose hollow face was +blackened by time and exposure. The two golden-brown girls were so +heavily intoxicated they could but stagger to and fro and mouth and +gesticulate, and one held a quart from which, as she moved, she +spilled the ale.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="3">WILD FLOWERS</a></h3> +<p>A fir-tree is not a flower, and yet it is associated in my mind +with primroses. There was a narrow lane leading into a wood, where +I used to go almost every day in the early months of the year, and +at one corner it was overlooked by three spruce firs. The rugged +lane there began to ascend the hill, and I paused a moment to look +back. Immediately the high fir-trees guided the eye upwards, and +from their tops to the deep azure of the March sky over, but a step +from the tree to the heavens. So it has ever been to me, by day or +by night, summer or winter, beneath trees the heart feels nearer to +that depth of life the far sky means. The rest of spirit found only +in beauty, ideal and pure, comes there because the distance seems +within touch of thought. To the heaven thought can reach lifted by +the strong arms of the oak, carried up by the ascent of the +flame-shaped fir. Round the spruce top the blue was deepened, +concentrated by the fixed point; the memory of that spot, as it +were, of the sky is still fresh—I can see it +distinctly—still beautiful and full of meaning. It is painted +in bright colour in my mind, colour thrice laid, and indelible; as +one passes a shrine and bows the head to the Madonna, so I recall +the picture and stoop in spirit to the aspiration it yet arouses. +For there is no saint like the sky, sunlight shining from its +face.</p> +<p>The fir-tree flowered thus before the primroses—the first +of all to give me a bloom, beyond reach but visible, while even the +hawthorn buds hesitated to open. Primroses were late there, a high +district and thin soil; you could read of them as found elsewhere +in January; they rarely came much before March, and but sparingly +then. On the warm red sand (red, at least, to look at, but green by +geological courtesy, I think) of Sussex, round about Hurst of the +Pierre-points, primroses are seen soon after the year has turned. +In the lanes about that curious old mansion, with its windows +reaching from floor to roof, that stands at the base of Wolstanbury +Hill, they grow early, and ferns linger in sheltered overhung +banks. The South Down range, like a great wall, shuts off the sea, +and has a different climate on either hand; south by the +sea—hard, harsh, flowerless, almost grassless, bitter, and +cold; on the north side, just over the hill—warm, soft, with +primroses and fern, willows budding and birds already busy. It is a +double England there, two countries side by side.</p> +<p>On a summer's day Wolstanbury Hill is an island in sunshine; you +may lie on the grassy rampart, high up in the most delicate +air—Grecian air, pellucid—alone, among the butterflies +and humming bees at the thyme, alone and isolated; endless masses +of hills on three sides, endless weald or valley on the fourth; all +warmly lit with sunshine, deep under liquid sunshine like the sands +under the liquid sea, no harshness of man-made sound to break the +insulation amid nature, on an island in a far Pacific of sunshine. +Some people would hesitate to walk down the staircase cut in the +turf to the beech-trees beneath; the woods look so small beneath, +so far down and steep, and no handrail. Many go to the Dyke, but +none to Wolstanbury Hill. To come over the range reminds one of +what travellers say of coming over the Alps into Italy; from harsh +sea-slopes, made dry with salt as they sow salt on razed cities +that naught may grow, to warm plains rich in all things, and with +great hills as pictures hung on a wall to gaze at. Where there are +beech-trees the land is always beautiful; beech-trees at the foot +of this hill, beech-trees at Arundel in that lovely park which the +Duke of Norfolk, to his glory, leaves open to all the world, and +where the anemones flourish in unusual size and number; beech-trees +in Marlborough Forest; beech-trees at the summit to which the lane +leads that was spoken of just now. Beech and beautiful scenery go +together.</p> +<p>But the primroses by that lane did not appear till late; they +covered the banks under the thousand thousand ash-poles; foxes +slipped along there frequently, whose friends in scarlet coats +could not endure the pale flowers, for they might chink their spurs +homewards. In one meadow near primroses were thicker than the +grass, with gorse interspersed, and the rabbits that came out fed +among flowers. The primroses last on to the celandines and +cowslips, through the time of the bluebells, past the +violets—one dies but passes on the life to another, one sets +light to the next, till the ruddy oaks and singing cuckoos call up +the tall mowing grass to fringe summer.</p> +<p>Before I had any conscious thought it was a delight to me to +find wild flowers, just to see them. It was a pleasure to gather +them and to take them home; a pleasure to show them to +others—to keep them as long as they would live, to decorate +the room with them, to arrange them carelessly with grasses, green +sprays, tree-bloom—large branches of chestnut snapped off, +and set by a picture perhaps. Without conscious thought of seasons +and the advancing hours to light on the white wild violet, the +meadow orchis, the blue veronica, the blue meadow cranesbill; +feeling the warmth and delight of the increasing sun-rays, but not +recognising whence or why it was joy. All the world is young to a +boy, and thought has not entered into it; even the old men with +grey hair do not seem old; different but not aged, the idea of age +has not been mastered. A boy has to frown and study, and then does +not grasp what long years mean. The various hues of the petals +pleased without any knowledge of colour-contrasts, no note even of +colour except that it was bright, and the mind was made happy +without consideration of those ideals and hopes afterwards +associated with the azure sky above the fir-tree. A fresh footpath, +a fresh flower, a fresh delight. The reeds, the grasses, the +rushes—unknown and new things at every step—something +always to find; no barren spot anywhere, or sameness. Every day the +grass painted anew, and its green seen for the first time; not the +old green, but a novel hue and spectacle, like the first view of +the sea.</p> +<p>If we had never before looked upon the earth, but suddenly came +to it man or woman grown, set down in the midst of a summer mead, +would it not seem to us a radiant vision? The hues, the shapes, the +song and life of birds, above all the sunlight, the breath of +heaven, resting on it; the mind would be filled with its glory, +unable to grasp it, hardly believing that such things could be mere +matter and no more. Like a dream of some spirit-land it would +appear, scarce fit to be touched lest it should fall to pieces, too +beautiful to be long watched lest it should fade away. So it seemed +to me as a boy, sweet and new like this each morning; and even now, +after the years that have passed, and the lines they have worn in +the forehead, the summer mead shines as bright and fresh as when my +foot first touched the grass. It has another meaning now; the +sunshine and the flowers speak differently, for a heart that has +once known sorrow reads behind the page, and sees sadness in joy. +But the freshness is still there, the dew washes the colours before +dawn. Unconscious happiness in finding wild +flowers—unconscious and unquestioning, and therefore +unbounded.</p> +<p>I used to stand by the mower and follow the scythe sweeping down +thousands of the broad-flowered daisies, the knotted knapweeds, the +blue scabious, the yellow rattles, sweeping so close and true that +nothing escaped; and, yet although I had seen so many hundreds of +each, although I had lifted armfuls day after day, still they were +fresh. They never lost their newness, and even now each time I +gather a wild flower it feels a new thing. The greenfinches came to +the fallen swathe so near to us they seemed to have no fear; but I +remember the yellowhammers most, whose colour, like that of the +wild flowers and the sky, has never faded from my memory. The +greenfinches sank into the fallen swathe, the loose grass gave +under their weight and let them bathe in flowers.</p> +<p>One yellowhammer sat on a branch of ash the livelong morning, +still singing in the sun; his bright head, his clean bright yellow, +gaudy as Spain, was drawn like a brush charged heavily with colour +across the retina, painting it deeply, for there on the eye's +memory it endures, though that was boyhood and this is manhood, +still unchanged. The field— Stewart's Mash—the very +tree, young ash timber, the branch projecting over the sward, I +could make a map of them. Sometimes I think sun-painted colours are +brighter to me than to many, and more strongly affect the nerves of +the eye. Straw going by the road on a dusky winter's day seems so +pleasantly golden, the sheaves lying aslant at the top, and these +bundles of yellow tubes thrown up against the dark ivy on the +opposite wall. Tiles, red burned, or orange coated, the sea +sometimes cleanly definite, the shadows of trees in a thin wood +where there is room for shadows to form and fall; some such shadows +are sharper than light, and have a faint blue tint. Not only in +summer but in cold winter, and not only romantic things but plain +matter-of-fact things, as a waggon freshly painted red beside the +wright's shop, stand out as if wet with colour and delicately +pencilled at the edges. It must be out of doors; nothing indoors +looks like this.</p> +<p>Pictures are very dull and gloomy to it, and very contrasted +colours like those the French use are necessary to fix the +attention. Their dashes of pink and scarlet bring the faint shadow +of the sun into the room. As for our painters, their works are hung +behind a curtain, and we have to peer patiently through the dusk of +evening to see what they mean. Out-of-door colours do not need to +be gaudy—a mere dull stake of wood thrust in the ground often +stands out sharper than the pink flashes of the French studio; a +faggot; the outline of a leaf; low tints without reflecting power +strike the eye as a bell the ear. To me they are intensely clear, +and the clearer the greater the pleasure. It is often too great, +for it takes me away from solid pursuits merely to receive the +impression, as water is still to reflect the trees. To me it is +very painful when illness blots the definition of outdoor things, +so wearisome not to see them rightly, and more oppressive than +actual pain. I feel as if I was struggling to wake up with dim, +half-opened lids and heavy mind. This one yellowhammer still sits +on the ash branch in Stewart's Mash over the sward, singing in the +sun, his feathers freshly wet with colour, the same sun-song, and +will sing to me so long as the heart shall beat.</p> +<p>The first conscious thought about wild flowers was to find out +their names—the first conscious pleasure,—and then I +began to see so many that I had not previously noticed. Once you +wish to identify them there is nothing escapes, down to the little +white chickweed of the path and the moss of the wall. I put my hand +on the bridge across the brook to lean over and look down into the +water. Are there any fish? The bricks of the pier are covered with +green, like a wall-painting to the surface of the stream, mosses +along the lines of the mortar, and among the moss little +plants—what are these? In the dry sunlit lane I look up to +the top of the great wall about some domain, where the green figs +look over upright on their stalks; there are dry plants on the +coping—what are these? Some growing thus, high in the air, on +stone, and in the chinks of the tower, suspended in dry air and +sunshine; some low down under the arch of the bridge over the +brook, out of sight utterly, unless you stoop by the brink of the +water and project yourself forward to examine under. The kingfisher +sees them as he shoots through the barrel of the culvert. There the +sun direct never shines upon them, but the sunlight thrown up by +the ripples runs all day in bright bars along the vault of the +arch, playing on them. The stream arranges the sand in the shallow +in bars, minute fixed undulations; the stream arranges the sunshine +in successive flashes, undulating as if the sun, drowsy in the +heat, were idly closing and unclosing his eyelids for sleep.</p> +<p>Plants everywhere, hiding behind every tree, under the leaves, +in the shady places, behind the dry furrows of the field; they are +only just behind something, hidden openly. The instant you look for +them they multiply a hundredfold; if you sit on the beach and begin +to count the pebbles by you, their number instantly increases to +infinity by virtue of that conscious act.</p> +<p>The bird's-foot lotus was the first. The boy must have seen it, +must have trodden on it in the bare woodland pastures, certainly +run about on it, with wet naked feet from the bathing; but the boy +was not conscious of it. This was the first, when the desire came +to identify and to know, fixing upon it by means of a pale and +feeble picture. In the largest pasture there were different soils +and climates; it was so large it seemed a little country of itself +then—the more so because the ground rose and fell, making a +ridge to divide the view and enlarge by uncertainty. The high sandy +soil on the ridge where the rabbits had their warren; the rocky +soil of the quarry; the long grass by the elms where the rooks +built, under whose nests there were vast unpalatable +mushrooms—the true mushrooms with salmon gills grew nearer +the warren; the slope towards the nut-tree hedge and spring. +Several climates in one field: the wintry ridge over which leaves +were always driving in all four seasons of the year; the level +sunny plain and fallen cromlech still tall enough for a gnomon and +to cast its shadow in the treeless drought; the moist, warm, grassy +depression; the lotus-grown slope, warm and dry.</p> +<p>If you have been living in one house in the country for some +time, and then go on a visit to another, though hardly half a mile +distant, you will find a change in the air, the feeling, and tone +of the place. It is close by, but it is not the same. To discover +these minute differences, which make one locality healthy and home +happy, and the next adjoining unhealthy, the Chinese have invented +the science of Feng-shui, spying about with cabalistic mystery, +casting the horoscope of an acre. There is something in all +superstitions; they are often the foundation of science. +Superstition having made the discovery, science composes a lecture +on the reason why, and claims the credit. Bird's-foot lotus means a +fortunate spot, dry, warm—so far as soil is concerned. If you +were going to live out of doors, you might safely build your +kibitka where you found it. Wandering with the pictured +flower-book, just purchased, over the windy ridge where last year's +skeleton leaves, blown out from the alder copse below, came on with +grasshopper motion—lifted and laid down by the wind, lifted +and laid down—I sat on the sward of the sheltered slope, and +instantly recognised the orange-red claws of the flower beside me. +That was the first; and this very morning, I dread to consider how +many years afterwards, I found a plant on a wall which I do not +know. I shall have to trace out its genealogy and emblazon its +shield. So many years and still only at the beginning—the +beginning, too, of the beginning—for as yet I have not +thought of the garden or conservatory flowers (which are wild +flowers somewhere), or of the tropics, or the prairies.</p> +<p>The great stone of the fallen cromlech, crouching down afar off +in the plain behind me, cast its shadow in the sunny morn as it had +done, so many summers, for centuries—for thousands of years: +worn white by the endless sunbeams—the ceaseless flood of +light—the sunbeams of centuries, the impalpable beams +polishing and grinding like rushing water: silent, yet witnessing +of the Past; shadowing the Present on the dial of the field: a mere +dull stone; but what is it the mind will not employ to express to +itself its own thoughts?</p> +<p>There was a hollow near in which hundreds of skeleton leaves had +settled, a stage on their journey from the alder copse, so thick as +to cover the thin grass, and at the side of the hollow a wasp's +nest had been torn out by a badger. On the soft and spreading sand +thrown out from his burrow the print of his foot looked as large as +an elephant might make. The wild animals of our fields are so small +that the badger's foot seemed foreign in its size, calling up +thought of the great game of distant forests. He was a bold badger +to make his burrow there in the open warren, unprotected by park +walls or preserve laws, where every one might see who chose. I +never saw him by daylight: that they do get about in daytime is, +however, certain, for one was shot in Surrey recently by sportsmen; +they say he weighed forty pounds.</p> +<p>In the mind all things are written in pictures—there is no +alphabetical combination of letters and words; all things are +pictures and symbols. The bird's-foot lotus is the picture to me of +sunshine and summer, and of that summer in the heart which is known +only in youth, and then not alone. No words could write that +feeling: the bird's-foot lotus writes it.</p> +<p>When the efforts to photograph began, the difficulty was to fix +the scene thrown by the lens upon the plate. There the view +appeared perfect to the least of details, worked out by the sun, +and made as complete in miniature as that he shone upon in nature. +But it faded like the shadows as the summer sun declines. Have you +watched them in the fields among the flowers?—the deep strong +mark of the noonday shadow of a tree such as the pen makes drawn +heavily on the paper; gradually it loses its darkness and becomes +paler and thinner at the edge as it lengthens and spreads, till +shadow and grass mingle together. Image after image faded from the +plates, no more to be fixed than the reflection in water of the +trees by the shore. Memory, like the sun, paints to me bright +pictures of the golden summer time of lotus; I can see them, but +how shall I fix them for you? By no process can that be +accomplished. It is like a story that cannot be told because he who +knows it is tongue-tied and dumb. Motions of hands, wavings and +gestures, rudely convey the framework, but the finish is not +there.</p> +<p>To-day, and day after day, fresh pictures are coloured +instantaneously in the retina as bright and perfect in detail and +hue. This very power is often, I think, the cause of pain to me. To +see so clearly is to value so highly and to feel too deeply. The +smallest of the pencilled branches of the bare ash-tree drawn +distinctly against the winter sky, waving lines one within the +other, yet following and partly parallel, reproducing in the curve +of the twig the curve of the great trunk; is it not a pleasure to +trace each to its ending? The raindrops as they slide from leaf to +leaf in June, the balmy shower that reperfumes each wild flower and +green thing, drops lit with the sun, and falling to the chorus of +the refreshed birds; is not this beautiful to see? On the grasses +tall and heavy the purplish blue pollen, a shimmering dust, sown +broadcast over the ripening meadow from July's warm hand—the +bluish pollen, the lilac pollen of the grasses, a delicate mist of +blue floating on the surface, has always been an especial delight +to me. Finches shake it from the stalks as they rise. No day, no +hour of summer, no step but brings new mazes—there is no word +to express design without plan, and these designs of flower and +leaf and colours of the sun cannot be reduced to set order. The eye +is for ever drawn onward and finds no end. To see these always so +sharply, wet and fresh, is almost too much sometimes for the +wearied yet insatiate eye. I am obliged to turn away—to shut +my eyes and say I will not see, I will not observe; I will +concentrate my mind on my own little path of life, and steadily +gaze downwards. In vain. Who can do so? who can care alone for his +or her petty trifles of existence, that has once entered amongst +the wild flowers? How shall I shut out the sun? Shall I deny the +constellations of the night? They are there; the Mystery is for +ever about us—the question, the hope, the aspiration cannot +be put out. So that it is almost a pain not to be able to cease +observing and tracing the untraceable maze of beauty.</p> +<p>Blue veronica was the next identified, sometimes called +germander speedwell, sometimes bird's-eye, whose leaves are so +plain and petals so blue. Many names increase the trouble of +identification, and confusion is made certain by the use of various +systems of classification. The flower itself I knew, its name I +could not be sure of—not even from the illustration, which +was incorrectly coloured; the central white spot of the flower was +reddish in the plate. This incorrect colouring spoils much of the +flower-picturing done; pictures of flowers and birds are rarely +accurate unless hand-painted. Any one else, however, would have +been quite satisfied that the identification was right. I was too +desirous to be correct, too conscientious, and thus a summer went +by with little progress. If you really wish to identify with +certainty, and have no botanist friend and no <i>magnum opus</i> of +Sowerby to refer to, it is very difficult indeed to be quite sure. +There was no Sowerby, no Bentham, no botanist friend—no one +even to give the common country names; for it is a curious fact +that the country people of the time rarely know the names put down +as the vernacular for flowers in the books.</p> +<p>No one there could tell me the name of the marsh-marigold which +grew thickly in the water-meadows—"A sort of big buttercup," +that was all they knew. Commonest of common plants is the "sauce +alone"—in every hedge, on every bank, the whitish-green leaf +is found—yet <i>I</i> could not make certain of it. If some +one tells you a plant, you know it at once and never forget it, but +to learn it from a book is another matter; it does not at once take +root in the mind, it has to be seen several times before you are +satisfied—you waver in your convictions. The leaves were +described as large and heart-shaped, and to remain green (at the +ground) through the winter; but the colour of the flower was +omitted, though it was stated that the petals of the hedge-mustard +were yellow. The plant that seemed to me to be probably "sauce +alone" had leaves somewhat heart-shaped, but so confusing is +<i>partial</i> description that I began to think I had hit on +"ramsons" instead of "sauce alone," especially as ramsons was said +to be a very common plant. So it is in some counties, but, as I +afterwards found, there was not a plant of ramsons, or garlic, +throughout the whole of that district. When, some years afterwards, +I saw a white-flowered plant with leaves like the lily of the +valley, smelling of garlic, in the woods of Somerset, I recognised +It immediately. The plants that are really common—common +everywhere—are not numerous, and if you are studying you must +be careful to understand that word locally. My "sauce alone" +identification was right; to be right and not certain is still +unsatisfactory.</p> +<p>There shone on the banks white stars among the grass. Petals +delicately white in a whorl of rays—light that had started +radiating from a centre and become fixed—shining among the +flowerless green. The slender stem had grown so fast it had drawn +its own root partly out of the ground, and when I tried to gather +it, flower, stem and root came away together. The wheat was +springing, the soft air full of the growth and moisture, blackbirds +whistling, wood-pigeons nesting, young oak-leaves out; a sense of +swelling, sunny fulness in the atmosphere. The plain road was made +beautiful by the advanced boughs that overhung and cast their +shadows on the dust—boughs of ash-green, shadows that lay +still, listening to the nightingale. A place of enchantment in the +mornings where was felt the power of some subtle influence working +behind bough and grass and bird-song. The orange-golden dandelion +in the sward was deeply laden with colour brought to it anew again +and again by the ships of the flowers, the humble-bees—to +their quays they come, unlading priceless essences of sweet odours +brought from the East over the green seas of wheat, unlading +priceless colours on the broad dandelion disks, bartering these +things for honey and pollen. Slowly tacking aslant, the pollen ship +hums in the south wind. The little brown wren finds her way through +the great thicket of hawthorn. How does she know her path, hidden +by a thousand thousand leaves? Tangled and crushed together by +their own growth, a crown of thorns hangs over the thrush's nest; +thorns for the mother, hope for the young. Is there a crown of +thorns over your heart? A spike has gone deep enough into mine. The +stile looks farther away because boughs have pushed forward and +made it smaller. The willow scarce holds the sap that tightens the +bark and would burst it if it did not enlarge to the pressure.</p> +<p>Two things can go through the solid oak; the lightning of the +clouds that rends the iron timber, the lightning of the +spring—the electricity of the sunbeams forcing him to stretch +forth and lengthen his arms with joy. Bathed in buttercups to the +dewlap, the roan cows standing in the golden lake watched the hours +with calm frontlet; watched the light descending, the meadows +filling, with knowledge of long months of succulent clover. On +their broad brows the year falls gently; their great, beautiful +eyes, which need but a tear or a smile to make them +human,—without these, such eyes, so large and full, seem +above human life, eyes of the immortals enduring without +passion,—in these eyes, as a mirror, nature is reflected.</p> +<p>I came every day to walk slowly up and down the plain road, by +the starry flowers under the ash-green boughs; ash is the coolest, +softest green. The bees went drifting over by my head; as they +cleared the hedges they passed by my ears, the wind singing in +their shrill wings. White tent-walls of cloud—a warm white, +being full to overflowing of sunshine—stretched across from +ash-top to ash-top, a cloud-canvas roof, a tent-palace of the +delicious air. For of all things there is none so sweet as sweet +air—one great flower it is, drawn round about, over, and +enclosing, like Aphrodite's arms; as if the dome of the sky were a +bell-flower drooping down over us, and the magical essence of it +filling all the room of the earth. Sweetest of all things is +wild-flower air. Full of their ideal the starry flowers strained +upwards on the bank, striving to keep above the rude grasses that +pushed by them; genius has ever had such a struggle. The plain road +was made beautiful by the many thoughts it gave. I came every +morning to stay by the starlit bank.</p> +<p>A friend said, "Why do you go the same road every day? Why not +have a change and walk somewhere else sometimes? Why keep on up and +down the same place?" I could not answer; till then it had not +occurred to me that I did always go one way; as for the reason of +it I could not tell; I continued in my old mind while the summers +went away. Not till years afterwards was I able to see why I went +the same round and did not care for change. I do not want change: I +want the same old and loved things, the same wild-flowers, the same +trees and soft ash-green; the turtle-doves, the blackbirds, the +coloured yellowhammer sing, sing, singing so long as there is light +to cast a shadow on the dial, for such is the measure of his song, +and I want them in the same place. Let me find them morning after +morning, the starry-white petals radiating, striving upwards to +their ideal. Let me see the idle shadows resting on the white dust; +let me hear the humble-bees, and stay to look down on the rich +dandelion disk. Let me see the very thistles opening their great +crowns—I should miss the thistles; the reed-grasses hiding +the moorhen; the bryony bine, at first crudely ambitious and lifted +by force of youthful sap straight above the hedgerow to sink of its +own weight presently and progress with crafty tendrils; swifts shot +through the air with outstretched wings like crescent-headed +shaftless arrows darted from the clouds; the chaffinch with a +feather in her bill; all the living staircase of the spring, step +by step, upwards to the great gallery of the summer—let me +watch the same succession year by year.</p> +<p>Why, I knew the very dates of them all—the reddening elm, +the arum, the hawthorn leaf, the celandine, the may; the yellow +iris of the waters, the heath of the hillside. The time of the +nightingale—the place to hear the first note; onwards to the +drooping fern and the time of the redwing—the place of his +first note, so welcome to the sportsman as the acorn ripens and the +pheasant, come to the age of manhood, feeds himself; onwards to the +shadowless days—the long shadowless winter, for in winter it +is the shadows we miss as much as the light. They lie over the +summer sward, design upon design, dark lace on green and gold; they +glorify the sunlight: they repose on the distant hills like gods +upon Olympus; without shadow, what even is the sun? At the foot of +the great cliffs by the sea you may know this, it is dry glare; +mighty ocean is dearer as the shadows of the clouds sweep over as +they sweep over the green corn. Past the shadowless winter, when it +is all shade, and therefore no shadow; onwards to the first +coltsfoot and on to the seed-time again; I knew the dates of all of +them. I did not want change; I wanted the same flowers to return on +the same day, the titlark to rise soaring from the same oak to +fetch down love with a song from heaven to his mate on the nest +beneath. No change, no new thing; if I found a fresh wild-flower in +a fresh place, still it wove at once into the old garland. In vain, +the very next year was different even in the same +place—<i>that</i> had been a year of rain, and the flag +flowers were wonderful to see; <i>this</i> was a dry year, and the +flags not half the height, the gold of the flower not so deep; next +year the fatal billhook came and swept away a slow-grown hedge that +had given me crab-blossom in cuckoo-time and hazelnuts in harvest. +Never again the same, even in the same place.</p> +<p>A little feather droops downwards to the ground—a +swallow's feather fuller of miracle than the Pentateuch—how +shall that feather be placed again in the breast where it grew? +Nothing twice. Time changes the places that knew us, and if we go +back in after years, still even then it is not the old spot; the +gate swings differently, new thatch has been put on the old gables, +the road has been widened, and the sward the driven sheep lingered +on is gone. Who dares to think then? For faces fade as flowers, and +there is no consolation. So now I am sure I was right in always +walking the same way by the starry flowers striving upwards on a +slender ancestry of stem; I would follow the plain old road to-day +if I could. Let change be far from me; that irresistible change +must come is bitter indeed. Give me the old road, the same +flowers—they were only stitchwort—the old succession of +days and garland, ever weaving into it fresh wild-flowers from far +and near. Fetch them from distant mountains, discover them on +decaying walls, in unsuspected corners; though never seen before, +still they are the same: there has been a place in the heart +waiting for them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="4">SUNNY BRIGHTON</a></h3> +<p>Some of the old streets opening out of the King's Road look very +pleasant on a sunny day. They ran to the north, so that the sun +over the sea shines nearly straight up them, and at the farther +end, where the houses close in on higher ground, the deep blue sky +descends to the rooftrees. The old red tiles, the red chimneys, the +green jalousies, give some colour; and beneath there are shadowy +corners and archways. They are not too wide to whisper across, for +it is curious that to be interesting a street must be narrow, and +the pavements are but two or three bricks broad. These pavements +are not for the advantage of foot passengers; they are merely to +prevent cart-wheels from grating against the houses. There is +nothing ancient or carved in these streets, they are but moderately +old, yet turning from the illuminated sea it is pleasant to glance +up them as you pass, in their stillness and shadow, lying outside +the inconsiderate throng walking to and fro, and contrasting in +their irregularity with the set façades of the front. +Opposite, across the King's Road, the mastheads of the fishing +boats on the beach just rise above the rails of the cliff, tipped +with fluttering pennants, or fish-shaped vanes changing to the +wind. They have a pulley at the end of a curved piece of iron for +hauling up the lantern to the top of the mast when trawling; this +thin curve, with a dot at the extremity surmounting the straight +and rigid mast, suits the artist's pencil. The gold-plate +shop—there is a bust of Psyche in the doorway—often +attracts the eye in passing; gold and silver plate in large masses +is striking, and it is a very good place to stand a minute and +watch the passers-by.</p> +<p>It is a Piccadilly crowd by the sea-exactly the same style of +people you meet in Piccadilly, but freer in dress, and particularly +in hats. All fashionable Brighton parades the King's Road twice a +day, morning and afternoon, always on the side of the shops. The +route is up and down the King's Road as far as Preston Street, back +again and up East Street. Riding and driving Brighton extends its +Rotten Row sometimes to Third Avenue, Hove. These well-dressed and +leading people never look at the sea. Watching by the gold-plate +shop you will not observe a single glance in the direction of the +sea, beautiful as it is, gleaming under the sunlight. They do not +take the slightest interest in sea, or sun, or sky, or the fresh +breeze calling white horses from the deep. Their pursuits are +purely "social," and neither ladies nor gentlemen ever go on the +beach or lie where the surge comes to the feet. The beach is +ignored; it is almost, perhaps quite vulgar; or rather it is +entirely outside the pale. No one rows, very few sail; the sea is +not "the thing" in Brighton, which is the least nautical of seaside +places. There is more talk of horses.</p> +<p>The wind coming up the cliff seems to bring with it whole +armfuls of sunshine, and to throw the warmth and light against you +as you linger. The walls and glass reflect the light and push back +the wind in puffs and eddies; the awning flutters; light and wind +spring upwards from the pavement; the sky is richly blue against +the parapets overhead; there are houses on one side, but on the +other open space and sea, and dim clouds in the extreme distance. +The atmosphere is full of light, and gives a sense of liveliness! +every atom of it is in motion. How delicate are the fore legs of +these thoroughbred horses passing! Small and slender, the hoof, as +the limb rises, seems to hang by a thread, yet there is strength +and speed in those sinews. Strength is often associated with size, +with the mighty flank, the round barrel, the great shoulder. But I +marvel more at the manner in which that strength is conveyed +through these slender sinews; the huge brawn and breadth of flesh +all depend upon these little cords. It is at these junctions that +the wonder of life is most evident. The succession of well-shaped +horses, overtaking and passing, crossing, meeting, their +high-raised heads and action increase the impression of pleasant +movement. Quick wheels, sometimes a tandem, or a painted coach, +towering over the line,—so rolls the procession of busy +pleasure. There is colour in hat and bonnet, feathers, flowers, and +mantles, not brilliant but rapidly changing, and in that sense +bright. Faces on which the sun shines and the wind blows whether +cared for or not, and lit up thereby; faces seen for a moment and +immediately followed by others as interesting; a flowing gallery of +portraits; all life, life! Waiting unobserved under the awning, +occasionally, too, I hear voices as the throng goes by on the +pavement—pleasant tones of people chatting and the human +sunshine of laughter. The atmosphere is full of movement, full of +light, and life streams to and fro.</p> +<p>Yonder, over the road, a row of fishermen lean against the rails +of the cliff, some with their backs to the sea, some facing it. +"The cliff" is rather a misnomer, it is more like a sea-wall in +height. This row of stout men in blue jerseys, or copper-hued tan +frocks, seems to be always there, always waiting for the +tide—or nothing. Each has his particular position; one, +shorter than the rest, leans with his elbows backwards on the low +rail; another hangs over and looks down at the site of the fish +market; an older man stands upright, and from long habit looks +steadily out to sea. They have their hands in their pockets; they +appear fat and jolly, as round as the curves of their smacks drawn +up on the beach beneath them. They are of such that "sleep o' +nights;" no anxious ambition disturbs their placidity. No man in +this world knows how to absolutely do—nothing, like a +fisherman. Sometimes he turns round, sometimes he does not, that is +all. The sun shines, the breeze comes up the cliff, far away a +French fishing lugger is busy enough. The boats on the beach are +idle, and swarms of boys are climbing over them, swinging on a rope +from the bowsprit, or playing at marbles under the cliff. Bigger +boys collect under the lee of a smack, and do nothing cheerfully. +The fashionable throng hastens to and fro, but the row leaning +against the railings do not stir.</p> +<p>Doleful tales they have to tell any one who inquires about the +fishing. There have been "no herrings" these two years. One man +went out with his smack, and after working for hours returned with +<i>one sole</i>. I can never get this one sole out of my mind when +I see the row by the rails. While the fisherman was telling me this +woeful story, I fancied I heard voices from a crowd of the bigger +boys collected under a smack, voices that said, "Ho! ho! Go on! +you're kidding the man!" Is there much "kidding" in this business +of fish? Another man told me (but he was not a smack proprietor) +that L50, L70, or L80 was a common night's catch. Some people say +that the smacks never put to sea until the men have spent every +shilling they have got, and are obliged to sail. If truth lies at +the bottom of a well, it is the well of a fishing boat, for there +is nothing so hard to get at as the truth about fish. At the time +when society was pluming itself on the capital results attained by +the Fisheries Exhibition in London, and gentlemen described in the +papers how they had been to market and purchased cod at sixpence a +pound, one shilling and eightpence a pound was the price in the +Brighton fishmongers' shops, close to the sea. Not the least effect +was produced in Brighton; fish remains at precisely the same price +as before all this ridiculous trumpeting. But while the fishmongers +charge twopence each for fresh herrings, the old women bring them +to the door at sixteen a shilling. The poor who live in the old +part of Brighton, near the markets, use great quantities of the +smaller and cheaper fish, and their children weary of the taste to +such a degree that when the girls go out to service they ask to be +excused from eating it.</p> +<p>The fishermen say they can often find a better market by sending +their fish to Paris; much of the fish caught off Brighton goes +there. It is fifty miles to London, and 250 to Paris; how then can +this be? Fish somehow slip through ordinary rules, being slimy of +surface; the maxims of the writers on demand and supply are quite +ignored, and there is no groping to the bottom of this well of +truth.</p> +<p>Just at the corner of some of the old streets that come down to +the King's Road one or two old fishermen often stand. The front one +props himself against the very edge of the buildings, and peers +round into the broad sunlit thoroughfare; his brown copper frock +makes a distinct patch of colour at the edge of the house. There is +nothing in common between him and the moving throng: he is quite +separate and belongs to another race; he has come down from the +shadow of the old street, and his copper-hued frock might have come +out of the last century.</p> +<p>The fishing-boats and the fishing, the nets, and all the fishing +work are a great ornament to Brighton. They are real; there is +something about them that forms a link with the facts of the sea, +with the forces of the tides and winds, and the sunlight gleaming +on the white crests of the waves. They speak to thoughts lurking in +the mind; they float between life and death as with a billow on +either hand; their anchors go down to the roots of existence. This +is real work, real labour of man, to draw forth food from the deep +as the plough draws it from the earth. It is in utter contrast to +the artificial work—the feathers, the jewellery, the writing +at desks of the town. The writings of a thousand clerks, the busy +factory work, the trimmings and feathers, and counter attendance do +not touch the real. They are all artificial. For food you must +still go to the earth and to the sea, as in primeval days. Where +would your thousand clerks, your trimmers, and counter-salesmen be +without a loaf of bread, without meat, without fish? The old brown +sails and the nets, the anchors and tarry ropes, go straight to +nature. You do not care for nature now? Well! all I can say is, you +will have to go to nature one day—when you die: you will find +nature very real then. I rede you to recognise the sunlight and the +sea, the flowers and woods <i>now</i>.</p> +<p>I like to go down on the beach among the fishing-boats, and to +recline on the shingle by a smack when the wind comes gently from +the west, and the low wave breaks but a few yards from my feet. I +like the occasional passing scent of pitch: they are melting it +close by. I confess I like tar: one's hands smell nice after +touching ropes. It is more like home down on the beach here; the +men are doing something real, sometimes there is the clink of a +hammer; behind me there is a screen of brown net, in which rents +are being repaired; a big rope yonder stretches as the horse goes +round, and the heavy smack is drawn slowly up over the pebbles. The +full curves of the rounded bows beside me are pleasant to the eye, +as any curve is that recalls those of woman. Mastheads stand up +against the sky, and a loose rope swings as the breeze strikes it; +a veer of the wind brings a puff of smoke from the funnel of a +cabin, where some one is cooking, but it is not disagreeable, like +smoke from a house chimney-pot; another veer carries it away +again,—depend upon it the simplest thing cooked there is +nice. Shingle rattles as it is shovelled up for ballast—the +sound of labour makes me more comfortably lazy. They are not in a +hurry, nor "chivy" over their work either; the tides rise and fall +slowly, and they work in correspondence. No infernal fidget and +fuss. Wonder how long it would take me to pitch a pebble so as to +lodge on the top of that large brown pebble there? I try, once now +and then.</p> +<p>Far out over the sea there is a peculiar bank of clouds. I was +always fond of watching clouds; these do not move much. In my +pocket-book I see I have several notes about these peculiar +sea-clouds. They form a band not far above the horizon, not very +thick but elongated laterally. The upper edge is curled or wavy, +not so heavily as what is called mountainous, not in the least +threatening; this edge is white. The body of the vapour is a little +darker, either because thicker, or because the light is reflected +at a different angle. But it is the lower edge which is singular: +in direct contrast with the curled or wavy edge above, the under +edge is perfectly straight and parallel to the line of the horizon. +It looks as if the level of the sea made this under line. This bank +moves very slowly—scarcely perceptibly—but in course of +hours rises, and as it rises spreads, when the extremities break +off in detached pieces, and these gradually vanish. Sometimes when +travelling I have pointed out the direction of the sea, feeling +sure it was there, and not far off, though invisible, on account of +the appearance of the clouds, whose under edge was cut across so +straight. When this peculiar bank appears at Brighton it is an +almost certain sign of continued fine weather, and I have noticed +the same thing elsewhere; once particularly it remained fine after +this appearance despite every threat the sky could offer of a +storm. All the threats came to nothing for three weeks, not even +thunder and lightning could break it up,—"deceitful flashes," +as the Arabs say; for, like the sons of the desert, just then the +farmers longed for rain on their parched fields. To me, while on +the beach among the boats, the value of these clouds lies in their +slowness of movement, and consequent effect in soothing the mind. +Outside the hurry and drive of life a rest comes through the calm +of nature. As the swell of the sea carries up the pebbles, and +arranges the largest farthest inland, where they accumulate and +stay unmoved, so the drifting of the clouds, and the touch of the +wind, the sound of the surge, arrange the molecules of the mind in +still layers. It is then that a dream fills it, and a dream is +sometimes better than the best reality. Laugh at the idea of +dreaming where there is an odour of tar if you like, but you see it +is outside intolerable civilisation. It is a hundred miles from the +King's Road, though but just under it.</p> +<p>There is a scheme on foot for planking over the ocean, beginning +at the bottom of West Street. An immense central pier is proposed, +which would occupy the only available site for beaching the smacks. +If carried out, the whole fishing industry must leave +Brighton,—to the fishermen the injury would be beyond +compensation, and the aspect of Brighton itself would be destroyed. +Brighton ought to rise in revolt against it.</p> +<p>All Brighton chimney-pots are put on with giant cement, in order +to bear the strain of the tremendous winds rushing up from the sea. +Heavy as the gales are, they seldom do much mischief to the roofs, +such as are recorded inland. On the King's Road a plate-glass +window is now and then blown in, so that on hurricane days the +shutters are generally half shut. It is said that the wind gets +between the iron shutters and the plate glass and shakes the +windows loose. The heaviest waves roll in by the West Pier, and at +the bottom of East Street. Both sides of the West Pier are washed +by larger waves than can be seen all along the coast from the +Quarter Deck. Great rollers come in at the concrete groyne at the +foot of East Street. Exposed as the coast is, the waves do not +convey so intense an idea of wildness, confusion, and power as they +do at Dover. To see waves in their full vigour go to the Admiralty +Pier and watch the seas broken by the granite wall. Windy Brighton +has not an inch of shelter anywhere in a gale, and the salt rain +driven by the wind penetrates the thickest coat. The windiest spot +is at the corner of Second Avenue, Hove; the wind just there is +almost enough to choke those who face it. Double +windows—Russian fashion—are common all along the +sea-front, and are needed.</p> +<p>After a gale, when the wind changes, as it usually does, it is +pleasant to see the ships work in to the verge of the shore. The +sea is turbid and yellow with sand beaten up by the recent +billows,—this yellowness extends outwards to a certain line, +and is there succeeded by the green of clearer water. Beyond this +again the surface looks dark, as if still half angry, and clouds +hang over it, both to retire from the strife. As bees come out of +their hives when the rain ceases and the sun shines, so the vessels +which have been lying-to in harbour, or under shelter of +promontories, are now eagerly making their way down Channel, and, +in order to get as long a tack and as much advantage as possible, +they are brought to the edge of the shallow water. Sometimes +fifteen or twenty or more stand in; all sizes from the ketch to the +three-master. The wind is not strong, but that peculiar drawing +breeze which seems to pull a ship along as if with a tow-rope. The +brig stands straight for the beach, with all sail set; she heels a +little, not much; she scarcely heaves to the swell, and is not +checked by meeting waves; she comes almost to the yellow line of +turbid water, when round she goes, and you can see the sails shiver +as the breeze touches them on both surfaces for a moment. Then +again she shows her stern and away she glides, while another +approaches: and all day long they pass. There is always something +shadowy, not exactly unreal, but shadowy about a ship; it seems to +carry a romance, and the imagination fashions a story to the +swelling sails.</p> +<p>The bright light of Brighton brings all things into clear +relief, giving them an edge and outline; as steel burns with a +flame like wood in oxygen, so the minute particles of iron in the +atmosphere seem to burn and glow in the sunbeams, and a twofold +illumination fills the air. Coming back to the place after a +journey this brilliant light is very striking, and most new +visitors notice it. Even a room with a northern aspect is full of +light, too strong for some eyes, till accustomed to it. I am a +great believer in light—sunlight—and of my free will +never let it be shut out with curtains. Light is essential to life, +like air; life is thought; light is as fresh air to the mind. +Brilliant sunshine is reflected from the houses and fills the +streets. The walls of the houses are clean and less discoloured by +the deposit of carbon than usual in most towns, so that the +reflection is stronger from these white surfaces. Shadow there is +none in summer, for the shadows are lit up by diffusion. Something +in the atmosphere throws light down into shaded places as if from a +mirror. Waves beat ceaselessly on the beach, and the undulations of +light flow continuously forwards into the remotest corners. Pure +air, free from suspended matter, lets the light pass freely, and +perhaps this absence of suspended material is the reason that the +heat is not so oppressive as would be supposed considering the +glare. Certainly it is not so hot as London; on going up to town on +a July or August day it seems much hotter there, so much so that +one pants for air. Conversely in winter, London appears much +colder, the thick dark atmosphere seems to increase the bitterness +of the easterly winds, and returning to Brighton is entering a +warmer because clearer air. Many complain of the brilliance of the +light; they say the glare is overpowering, but the eyes soon become +acclimatised. This glare is one of the great recommendations of +Brighton; the strong light is evidently one of the causes of its +healthfulness to those who need change. There is no such glowing +light elsewhere along the south coast; these things are very +local.</p> +<p>A demand has been made for trees, to plant the streets and turn +them into boulevards for shade, than which nothing could be more +foolish. It is the dryness of the place that gives it its +character. After a storm, after heavy rain for days, in an hour the +pavements are not only dry but clean; no dirt, sticky and greasy, +remains. The only dirt in Brighton, for three-fourths of the year, +is that made by the water-carts. Too much water is used, and a good +clean road covered with mud an inch thick in August; but this is +not the fault of Brighton—it is the lack of observation on +the part of the Cadi who ought to have noticed the wretched +condition of ladies' boots when compelled to cross these miry +promenades. Trees are not wanted in Brighton; it is the peculiar +glory of Brighton to be treeless. Trees are the cause of damp, they +suck down moisture, and fill a circle round them with humidity. +Places full of trees are very trying in spring and autumn even to +robust people, much more so to convalescents and delicate persons. +Have nothing to do with trees, if Brighton is to retain its value. +Glowing light, dry, clear, and clean air, general +dryness—these are the qualities that rendered Brighton a +sanatorium; light and glow without oppressive moist heat; in winter +a clear cold. Most terrible of all to bear is cold when the +atmosphere is saturated with water. If any reply that trees have no +leaves in winter and so do not condense moisture, I at once deny +the conclusion; they have no leaves, but they condense moisture +nevertheless. This is effected by the minute twigs, thousands of +twigs and little branches, on which the mists condense, and distil +in drops. Under a large tree, in winter, there is often a perfect +shower, enough to require an umbrella, and it lasts for hours. +Eastbourne is a pleasant place, but visit Eastbourne, which is +proud of its trees, in October, and feel the damp fallen leaves +under your feet, and you would prefer no trees.</p> +<p>Let nothing check the descent of those glorious beams of +sunlight which fall at Brighton. Watch the pebbles on the beach; +the foam runs up and wets them, almost before it can slip back the +sunshine has dried them again. So they are alternately wetted and +dried. Bitter sea and glowing light, bright clear air, dry as +dry,—that describes the place. Spain is the country of +sunlight, burning sunlight; Brighton is a Spanish town in England, +a Seville. Very bright colours can be worn in summer because of +this powerful light; the brightest are scarcely noticed, for they +seem to be in concert with the sunshine. Is it difficult to paint +in so strong a light? Pictures in summer look dull and out of tune +when this Seville sun is shining. Artificial colours of the palette +cannot live in it. As a race we do not seem to care much for colour +or art—I mean in the common things of daily life—else a +great deal of colour might be effectively used in Brighton in +decorating houses and woodwork. Much more colour might be put in +the windows, brighter flowers and curtains; more, too, inside the +rooms; the sober hues of London furniture and carpets are not in +accord with Brighton light. Gold and ruby and blue, the blue of +transparent glass, or purple, might be introduced, and the romance +of colour freely indulged. At high tide of summer Spanish +mantillas, Spanish fans, would not be out of place in the open air. +No tint is too bright—scarlet, cardinal, anything the +imagination fancies; the brightest parasol is a matter of course. +Stand, for instance, by the West Pier, on the Esplanade, looking +east on a full-lit August day. The sea is blue, streaked with +green, and is stilled with heat; the low undulations can scarcely +rise and fall for somnolence. The distant cliffs are white; the +houses yellowish-white; the sky blue, more blue than fabled Italy. +Light pours down, and the bitter salt sea wets the pebbles; to look +at them makes the mouth dry, in the unconscious recollection of the +saltness and bitterness. The flags droop, the sails of the +fishing-boats hang idle; the land and the sea are conquered by the +great light of the sun.</p> +<p>Some people become famous by being always in one attitude. Meet +them when you will, they have invariably got an arm—the same +arm—crossed over the breast, and the hand thrust in between +the buttons of the coat to support it. Morning, noon, or evening, +in the street, the carriage, sitting, reading the paper, always the +same attitude; thus they achieve social distinction; it takes the +place of a medal or the red ribbon. What is a general or a famous +orator compared to a man always in the same attitude? Simply +nobody, nobody knows him, everybody knows the mono-attitude man. +Some people make their mark by invariably wearing the same short +pilot coat. Doubtless it has been many times renewed, still it is +the same coat. In winter it is thick, in summer thin, but identical +in cut and colour. Some people sit at the same window of the +reading-room at the same hour every day, all the year round. This +is the way to become marked and famous; winning a battle is nothing +to it. When it was arranged that a military band should play on the +Brunswick Lawns, it became the fashion to stop carriages in the +road and listen to it. Frequently there were carriages four deep, +while the gale blew the music out to sea and no one heard a note. +Still they sat content.</p> +<p>There are more handsome women in Brighton than anywhere else in +the world. They are so common that gradually the standard of taste +in the mind rises, and good-looking women who would be admired in +other places pass by without notice. Where all the flowers are +roses, you do not see a rose. They are all plump, not to say fat, +which would be rude; very plump, and have the glow and bloom of +youth upon the cheeks. They do not suffer from "pernicious +anaemia," that evil bloodlessness which London physicians are not +unfrequently called upon to cure, when the cheeks are white as +paper and have to be rosied with minute doses of arsenic. They +extract their arsenic from the air. The way they step and the +carriage of the form show how full they are of life and spirits. +Sarah Bernhardt will not come to Brighton if she can help it, lest +she should lose that high art angularity and slipperiness of shape +which suits her <i>rôle</i>. Dresses seem always to fit well, +because people somehow expand to them. It is pleasant to see the +girls walk, because the limbs do not drag, the feet are lifted +gaily and with ease. Horse-exercise adds a deeper glow to the face; +they ride up on the Downs first, out of pure cunning, for the air +there is certain to impart a freshness to the features like dew on +a flower, and then return and walk their horses to and fro the +King's Road, certain of admiration. However often these tricks are +played, they are always successful. Those philanthropic folk who +want to reform women's dress, and call upon the world to observe +how the present style contracts the chest, and forces the organs of +the body out of place (what a queer expression it seems, "organs"!) +have not a chance in Brighton. Girls lace tight and "go in" for the +tip of the fashion, yet they bloom and flourish as green bay trees, +and do not find their skirts any obstacle in walking or tennis. The +horse-riding that goes on is a thing to be chronicled; they are +always on horseback, and you may depend upon it that it is better +for them than all the gymnastic exercises ever invented. The +liability to strain, and even serious internal injury, which is +incurred in gymnastic exercises, ought to induce sensible people to +be extremely careful how they permit their daughters to sacrifice +themselves on this scientific altar. Buy them horses to ride, if +you want them to enjoy good health and sound constitutions. Nothing +like horses for women. Send the professors to Suakim, and put the +girls on horseback. Whether Brighton grows handsome girls, or +whether they flock there drawn by instinct, or become lovely by +staying there, is an inquiry too difficult to pursue.</p> +<p>There they are, one at least in every group, and you have to +walk, as the Spaniards say, with your beard over your shoulder, +continually looking back at those who have passed. The only +antidote known is to get married before you visit the place, and +doubts have been expressed as to its efficacy. In the south-coast +Seville there is nothing done but heart-breaking; it is so common +it is like hammering flints for road mending; nobody cares if your +heart is in pieces. They break hearts on horseback, and while +walking, playing tennis, shopping—actually at shopping, not +to mention parties of every kind. No one knows where the next +danger will be encountered—at the very next corner perhaps. +Feminine garments have an irresistible flutter in the sea-breeze; +feathers have a beckoning motion. No one can be altogether good in +Brighton, and that is the great charm of it. The language of the +eyes is cultivated to a marvellous degree; as we say of dogs, they +quite talk with their eyes. Even when you do not chance to meet an +exceptional beauty, still the plainer women are not plain like the +plain women in other places. The average is higher among them, and +they are not so irredeemably uninteresting. The flash of an eye, +the shape of a shoulder, the colour of the hair—something or +other pleases. Women without a single good feature are often +good-looking in New Seville because of an indescribable style or +manner. They catch the charm of the good-looking by living among +them, so that if any young lady desires to acquire the art of +attraction she has only to take train and join them. Delighted with +our protectorate of Paphos, Venus has lately decided to reside on +these shores, Every morning the girls' schools go for their +constitutional walks; there seem no end of these schools—the +place has a garrison of girls, and the same thing is noticeable in +their ranks. Too young to have developed actual loveliness, some in +each band distinctly promise future success. After long residence +the people become accustomed to good looks, and do not see anything +especial around them, but on going away for a few days soon miss +these pleasant faces.</p> +<p>In reconstructing Brighton station, one thing was +omitted—a balcony from which to view the arrival and +departure of the trains in summer and autumn. The scene is as +lively and interesting as the stage when a good play is proceeding. +So many happy expectant faces, often very beautiful; such a +mingling of colours, and succession of different figures; now a +brunette, now golden hair: it is a stage, only it is real. The +bustle, which is not the careworn anxious haste of business; the +rushing to and fro; the greetings of friends; the smiles; the +shifting of the groups, some coming, and some going—plump and +rosy,—it is really charming. One has a fancy dog, another a +bright-bound novel; very many have cavaliers; and look at the piles +of luggage! What dresses, what changes and elegance concealed +therein!—conjurors' trunks out of which wonders will spring. +Can anything look jollier than a cab overgrown with luggage, like +huge barnacles, just starting away with its freight? One can +imagine such a fund of enjoyment on its way in that cab. This happy +throng seems to express something that delights the heart. I often +used to walk up to the station just to see it, and left feeling +better.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="5">THE PINE WOOD</a></h3> +<p>There was a humming in the tops of the young pines as if a swarm +of bees were busy at the green cones. They were not visible through +the thick needles, and on listening longer it seemed as if the +sound was not exactly the note of the bee—a slightly +different pitch, and the hum was different, while bees have a habit +of working close together. Where there is one bee there are usually +five or six, and the hum is that of a group; here there only +appeared one or two insects to a pine. Nor was the buzz like that +of the humble-bee, for every now and then one came along low down, +flying between the stems, and his note was much deeper. By-and-by, +crossing to the edge of the plantation, where the boughs could be +examined, being within reach, I found it was wasps. A yellow wasp +wandered over the blue-green needles till he found a pair with a +drop of liquid like dew between them. There he fastened himself and +sucked at it; you could see the drop gradually drying up till it +was gone. The largest of these drops were generally between two +needles—those of the Scotch fir or pine grow in +pairs—but there were smaller drops on the outside of other +needles. In searching for this exuding turpentine the wasps filled +the whole plantation with the sound of their wings. There must have +been many thousands of them. They caused no inconvenience to any +one walking in the copse, because they were high overhead.</p> +<p>Watching these wasps I found two cocoons of pale yellow silk on +a branch of larch, and by them a green spider. He was quite +green—two shades, lightest on the back, but little lighter +than the green larch bough. An ant had climbed up a pine and over +to the extreme end of a bough; she seemed slow and stupefied in her +motions, as if she had drunken of the turpentine and had lost her +intelligence. The soft cones of the larch could be easily cut down +the centre with a penknife, showing the structure of the cone and +the seeds inside each scale. It is for these seeds that birds +frequent the fir copses, shearing off the scales with their beaks. +One larch cone had still the tuft at the top—a pineapple in +miniature. The loudest sound in the wood was the humming in the +trees; there was no wind, no sunshine; a summer day, still and +shadowy, under large clouds high up. To this low humming the sense +of hearing soon became accustomed, and it served but to render the +silence deeper. In time, as I sat waiting and listening, there came +the faintest far-off song of a bird away in the trees; the merest +thin upstroke of sound, slight in structure, the echo of the strong +spring singing. This was the summer repetition, dying away. A +willow-wren still remembered his love, and whispered about it to +the silent fir tops, as in after days we turn over the pages of +letters, withered as leaves, and sigh. So gentle, so low, so tender +a song the willow-wren sang that it could scarce be known as the +voice of a bird, but was like that of some yet more delicate +creature with the heart of a woman.</p> +<p>A butterfly with folded wings clung to a stalk of grass; upon +the under side of his wing thus exposed there were buff spots, and +dark dots and streaks drawn on the finest ground of pearl-grey, +through which there came a tint of blue; there was a blue, too, +shut up between the wings, visible at the edges. The spots, and +dots, and streaks were not exactly the same on each wing; at first +sight they appeared similar, but, on comparing one with the other, +differences could be traced. The pattern was not mechanical; it was +hand-painted by Nature, and the painter's eye and fingers varied in +their work.</p> +<p>How fond Nature is of spot-markings!—the wings of +butterflies, the feathers of birds, the surface of eggs, the leaves +and petals of plants are constantly spotted; so, too, fish—as +trout. From the wing of the butterfly I looked involuntarily at the +foxglove I had just gathered; inside, the bells were thickly +spotted—dots and dustings that might have been transferred to +a butterfly's wing. The spotted meadow-orchis; the brown dots on +the cowslips; brown, black, greenish, reddish dots and spots and +dustings on the eggs of the finches, the whitethroats, and so many +others—some of the spots seem as if they had been splashed on +and had run into short streaks, some mottled, some gathered +together at the end; all spots, dots, dustings of minute specks, +mottlings, and irregular markings. The histories, the stories, the +library of knowledge contained in those signs! It was thought a +wonderful thing when at last the strange inscriptions of Assyria +were read, made of nail-headed characters whose sound was lost; it +was thought a triumph when the yet older hieroglyphics of Egypt +were compelled to give up their messages, and the world hoped that +we should know the secrets of life. That hope was disappointed; +there was nothing in the records but superstition and useless +ritual. But here we go back to the beginning; the antiquity of +Egypt is nothing to the age of these signs—they date from +unfathomable time. In them the sun has written his commands, and +the wind inscribed deep thought. They were before superstition +began; they were composed in the old, old world, when the Immortals +walked on earth. They have been handed down thousands upon +thousands of years to tell us that to-day we are still in the +presence of the heavenly visitants, if only we will give up the +soul to these pure influences. The language in which they are +written has no alphabet, and cannot be reduced to order. It can +only be understood by the heart and spirit. Look down into this +foxglove bell and you will know that; look long and lovingly at +this blue butterfly's underwing, and a feeling will rise to your +consciousness.</p> +<p>Some time passed, but the butterfly did not move; a touch +presently disturbed him, and flutter, flutter went his blue wings, +only for a few seconds, to another grass-stalk, and so on from +grass-stalk to grass-stalk as compelled, a yard flight at most. He +would not go farther; he settled as if it had been night. There was +no sunshine, and under the clouds he had no animation. A swallow +went by singing in the air, and as he flew his forked tail was +shut, and but one streak of feathers drawn past. Though but young +trees, there was a coating of fallen needles under the firs an inch +thick, and beneath it the dry earth touched warm. A fern here and +there came up through it, the palest of pale green, quite a +different colour to the same species growing in the hedges away +from the copse. A yellow fungus, streaked with scarlet as if blood +had soaked into it, stood at the foot of a tree occasionally. Black +fungi, dry, shrivelled, and dead, lay fallen about, detached from +the places where they had grown, and crumbling if handled. Still +more silent after sunset, the wood was utterly quiet; the swallows +no longer passed twittering, the willow-wren was gone, there was no +hum or rustle; the wood was as silent as a shadow.</p> +<p>But before the darkness a song and an answer arose in a tree, +one bird singing a few notes and another replying side by side. Two +goldfinches sat on the cross of a larch-fir and sang, looking +towards the west, where the light lingered. High up, the larch-fir +boughs with the top shoot form a cross; on this one goldfinch sat, +the other was immediately beneath. At even the birds often turn to +the west as they sing.</p> +<p>Next morning the August sun shone, and the wood was all a-hum +with insects. The wasps were working at the pine boughs high +overhead; the bees by dozens were crowding to the bramble flowers; +swarming on them, they seemed so delighted; humble-bees went +wandering among the ferns in the copse and in the +ditches—they sometimes alight on fern—and calling at +every purple heath-blossom, at the purple knapweeds, purple +thistles, and broad handfuls of yellow-weed flowers. Wasp-like +flies barred with yellow suspended themselves in the air between +the pine-trunks like hawks hovering, and suddenly shot themselves a +yard forward or to one side, as if the rapid vibration of their +wings while hovering had accumulated force which drove them as if +discharged from a cross-bow. The sun had set all things in +motion.</p> +<p>There was a hum under the oak by the hedge, a hum in the pine +wood, a humming among the heath and the dry grass which heat had +browned. The air was alive and merry with sound, so that the day +seemed quite different and twice as pleasant. Three blue +butterflies fluttered in one flowery corner, the warmth gave them +vigour; two had a silvery edging to their wings, one was brown and +blue. The nuts reddening at the tips appeared ripening like apples +in the sunshine. This corner is a favourite with wild bees and +butterflies; if the sun shines they are sure to be found there at +the heath-bloom and tall yellow-weed, and among the dry seeding +bennets or grass-stalks. All things, even butterflies, are local in +their habits. Far up on the hillside the blue green of the pines +beneath shone in the sun—a burnished colour; the high +hillside is covered with heath and heather. Where there are open +places a small species of gorse, scarcely six inches high, is in +bloom, the yellow blossom on the extremity of the stalk.</p> +<p>Some of these gorse plants seemed to have a different flower +growing at the side of the stem, instead of at the extremity. These +florets were cream-coloured, so that it looked like a new species +of gorse. On gathering it to examine the thick-set florets, if was +found that a slender runner or creeper had been torn up with it. +Like a thread the creeper had wound itself round and round the +furze, buried in and hidden by the prickles, and it was this +creeper that bore the white or cream-florets. It was tied round as +tightly as thread could be, so that the florets seemed to start +from the stem, deceiving the eye at first. In some places this +parasite plant had grown up the heath and strangled it, so that the +tips turned brown and died. The runners extended in every direction +across the ground, like those of strawberries. One creeper had +climbed up a bennet, or seeding grass-stalk, binding the stalk and +a blade of the grass together, and flowering there. On the ground +there were patches of grey lichen; many of the pillar-like stems +were crowned with a red top. Under a small boulder stone there was +an ants' nest. These boulders, or, as they are called locally, +"bowlers," were scattered about the heath. Many of the lesser +stones were spotted with dark dots of lichen, not unlike a +toad.</p> +<p>Thoughtlessly turning over a boulder about nine inches square, +lo! there was subject enough for thinking underneath it—a +subject that has been thought about many thousand years; for this +piece of rock had formed the roof of an ants' nest. The stone had +sunk three inches deep into the dry soil of sand and peaty mould, +and in the floor of the hole the ants had worked out their +excavations, which resembled an outline map. The largest excavation +was like England; at the top, or north, they had left a narrow +bridge, an eighth of an inch wide, under which to pass into +Scotland, and from Scotland again another narrow arch led to the +Orkney Islands; these last, however, were dug in the perpendicular +side of the hole. In the corners of these excavations tunnels ran +deeper into the ground, and the ants immediately began hurrying +their treasures, the eggs, down into these cellars. At one angle a +tunnel went beneath the heath into further excavations beneath a +second boulder stone. Without, a fern grew, and the dead dry stems +of heather crossed each other.</p> +<p>This discovery led to the turning over of another boulder stone +not far off, and under it there appeared a much more extensive and +complete series of galleries, bridges, cellars and tunnels. In +these the whole life-history of the ant was exposed at a single +glance, as if one had taken off the roofs of a city. One cell +contained a dust-like deposit, another a collection resembling the +dust, but now elongated and a little greenish; a third treasury, +much larger, was piled up with yellowish grains about the size of +wheat, each with a black dot on the top, and looking like minute +hop-pockets. Besides these, there was a pure white substance in a +corridor, which the irritated ants seemed particularly anxious to +remove out of sight, and quickly carried away. Among the ants +rushing about there were several with wings; one took flight; one +was seized by a wingless ant and dragged down into a cellar, as if +to prevent its taking wing. A helpless green fly was in the midst, +and round the outside galleries there crept a creature like a +spider, seeming to try to hide itself. If the nest had been formed +under glass, it could not have been more open to view. The stone +was carefully replaced.</p> +<p>Below the pine wood on the slope of the hill a plough was +already at work, the crop of peas having been harvested. The four +horses came up the slope, and at the ridge swept round in a fine +curve to go back and open a fresh furrow. As soon as they faced +down-hill they paused, well aware of what had to be done, and the +ploughman in a manner knocked his plough to pieces, putting it +together again the opposite way, that the earth he was about to cut +with the share might fall on what he had just turned. With a piece +of iron he hammered the edge of the share, to set it, for the hard +ground had bent the edge, and it did not cut properly. I said his +team looked light; they were not so heavily built as the +cart-horses used in many places. No, he said, they did not want +heavy horses. "Dese yer thick-boned hosses be more clutter-headed +over the clots," as he expressed it, <i>i.e.</i> more clumsy or +thick-headed over the clods. He preferred comparatively light +cart-horses to step well. In the heat of the sun the furze-pods +kept popping and bursting open; they are often as full of insects +as seeds, which come creeping out. A green and black +lady-bird—exactly like a tortoise—flew on to my hand. +Again on the heath, and the grasshoppers rose at every step, +sometimes three or four springing in as many directions. They were +winged, and as soon as they were up spread their vanes and floated +forwards. As the force of the original hop decreased, the wind took +their wings and turned them aside from the straight course before +they fell. Down the dusty road, inches deep in sand, comes a +sulphur butterfly, rushing as quick as if hastening to a +butterfly-fair. If only rare, how valued he would be! His colour is +so evident and visible; he fills the road, being brighter than all, +and for the moment is more than the trees and flowers.</p> +<p>Coming so suddenly over the hedge into the road close to me, he +startled me as if I had been awakened from a dream—I had been +thinking it was August, and woke to find it February—for the +sulphur butterfly is the February pleasure. Between the dark storms +and wintry rains there is a warm sunny interval of a week in +February. Away one goes for a walk, and presently there appears a +bright yellow spot among the furze, dancing along like a flower let +loose. It is a sulphur butterfly, who thus comes before the +earliest chiffchaff—before the watch begins for the first +swallow. I call it the February pleasure, as each month has its +delight. So associated as this butterfly is with early spring, to +see it again after months of leaf and flower—after June and +July—with the wheat in shock and the scent of harvest in the +land, is startling. The summer, then, is a dream! It is still +winter; but no, here are the trees in leaf, the nuts reddening, the +hum of bees, and dry summer dust on the high wiry grass. The +sulphur butterfly comes twice; there is a second brood; but there +are some facts that are always new and surprising, however well +known. I may say again, if only rare, how this butterfly would be +prized! Along the hedgerow there are several spiders' webs. In the +centre they are drawn inwards, forming a funnel, which goes back a +few inches into the hedge, and at the bottom of this the spider +waits. If you look down the funnel you see his claws at the bottom, +ready to run up and seize a fly.</p> +<p>Sitting in the garden after a walk, it is pleasant to watch the +eave-swallows feeding their young on the wing. The young bird +follows the old one; then they face each other and stay a moment in +the air, while the insect food is transferred from beak to beak; +with a loud note they part. There was a constant warfare between +the eave-swallows and the sparrows frequenting a house where I was +staying during the early part of the summer. The sparrows strove +their utmost to get possession of the nests the swallows built, and +there was no peace between them It is common enough for one or two +swallows' nests to be attacked in this way, but here every nest +along the eaves was fought for, and the sparrows succeeded in +conquering many of them. The driven-out swallows after a while +began to build again, and I noticed that more than a pair seemed to +work at the same nest. One nest was worked at by four swallows; +often all four came together and twittered at it.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="6">NATURE ON THE ROOF</a></h3> +<p>Increased activity on the housetop marks the approach of spring +and summer exactly as in the woods and hedges, for the roof has its +migrants, its semi-migrants, and its residents. When the first +dandelion is opening on a sheltered bank, and the pale-blue field +veronica flowers in the waste corner, the whistle of the starling +comes from his favourite ledge. Day by day it is heard more and +more, till, when the first green spray appears on the hawthorn, he +visits the roof continually. Besides the roof-tree and the +chimney-pot, he has his own special place, sometimes under an eave, +sometimes between two gables; and as I sit writing, I can see a +pair who have a ledge which slightly projects from the wall between +the eaves and the highest window. This was made by the builder for +an ornament; but my two starlings consider it their own particular +possession. They alight with a sort of half-scream half-whistle +just over the window, flap their wings, and whistle again, run +along the ledge to a spot where there is a gable, and with another +note, rise up and enter an aperture between the slates and the +wall. There their nest will be in a little time, and busy indeed +they will be when the young require to be fed, to and fro the +fields and the gable the whole day through; the busiest and the +most useful of birds, for they destroy thousands upon thousands of +insects, and if farmers were wise they would never have one shot, +no matter how the thatch was pulled about.</p> +<p>My pair of starlings were frequently at this ledge last autumn, +very late in autumn, and I suspect they had a winter brood there. +The starling does rear a brood sometimes in the midst of the +winter, contrary as that may seem to our general ideas of natural +history. They may be called roof-residents, as they visit it all +the year round; they nest in the roof, rearing two and sometimes +three broods; and use it as their club and place of meeting. +Towards July the young starlings and those that have for the time +at least finished nesting, flock together, and pass the day in the +fields, returning now and then to their old home. These flocks +gradually increase; the starling is so prolific that the flocks +become immense, till in the latter part of the autumn in southern +fields it is common to see a great elm-tree black with them, from +the highest bough downwards, and the noise of their chattering can +be heard a long distance. They roost in firs or in osier-beds. But +in the blackest days of winter, when frost binds the ground hard as +iron, the starlings return to the roof almost every day; they do +not whistle much, but have a peculiar chuckling whistle at the +instant of alighting. In very hard weather, especially snow, the +starlings find it difficult to obtain a living, and at such times +will come to the premises at the rear, and at farmhouses where +cattle are in the yards, search about among them for insects.</p> +<p>The whole history of the starling is interesting, but I must +here only mention it as a roof-bird. They are very handsome in +their full plumage, which gleams bronze and green among the darker +shades; quick in their motions, and full of spirit; loaded to the +muzzle with energy, and never still. I hope none of those who are +so good as to read what I have written will ever keep a starling in +a cage; the cruelty is extreme. As for shooting pigeons at a trap, +it is mercy in comparison.</p> +<p>Even before the starling whistles much, the sparrows begin to +chirp: in the dead of winter they are silent; but so soon as the +warmer winds blow, if only for a day, they begin to chirp. In +January this year I used to listen to the sparrows chirping, the +starlings whistling, and the chaffinches' "chink, chink" about +eight o'clock, or earlier, in the morning: the first two on the +roof; the latter, which is not a roof-bird, in some garden shrubs. +As the spring advances, the sparrows sing—it is a short song, +it is true, but still it is singing—perched at the edge of a +sunny wall. There is not a place about the house where they will +not build—under the eaves, on the roof, anywhere where there +is a projection or shelter, deep in the thatch, under the tiles, in +old eave-swallows' nest. The last place I noticed as a favourite +one in towns is on the half-bricks left projecting in perpendicular +rows at the sides of unfinished houses, Half a dozen nests may be +counted at the side of a house on these bricks; and like the +starlings, they rear several broods, and some are nesting late in +the autumn. By degrees as the summer advances they leave the houses +for the corn, and gather in vast flocks, rivalling those of the +starlings. At this time they desert the roofs, except those who +still have nesting duties. In winter and in the beginning of the +new year, they gradually return; migration thus goes on under the +eyes of those who care to notice it. In London, some who fed +sparrows on the roof found that rooks also came for the crumbs +placed out. I sometimes see a sparrow chasing a rook, as if angry, +and trying to drive it away over the roofs where I live, the thief +does not retaliate, but, like a thief, flees from the scene of his +guilt. This is not only in the breeding season, when the rook +steals eggs, but in winter. Town residents are apt to despise the +sparrow, seeing him always black; but in the country the sparrows +are as clean as a pink; and in themselves they are the most +animated, clever little creatures.</p> +<p>They are easily tamed. The Parisians are fond of taming them. At +a certain hour in the Tuilleries Gardens, you may see a man +perfectly surrounded with a crowd of sparrows—some perching +on his shoulder; some fluttering in the air immediately before his +face; some on the ground like a tribe of followers; and others on +the marble seats. He jerks a crumb of bread into the air—a +sparrow dexterously seizes it as he would a flying insect; he puts +a crumb between his lips—a sparrow takes it out and feeds +from his mouth. Meantime they keep up a constant chirping; those +that are satisfied still stay by and adjust their feathers. He +walks on, giving a little chirp with his mouth, and they follow him +along the path—a cloud about his shoulders, and the rest +flying from shrub to shrub, perching, and then following again. +They are all perfectly clean—a contrast to the London +Sparrow. I came across one of these sparrow-tamers by chance, and +was much amused at the scene, which, to any one not acquainted with +birds, appears marvellous; but it is really as simple as possible, +and you can repeat it for yourself if you have patience, for they +are so sharp they soon understand you. They seem to play at +nest-making before they really begin; taking up straws in their +beaks, and carrying them half-way to the roof, then letting the +straws float away; and the same with stray feathers, Neither of +these, starlings nor sparrows, seem to like the dark. Under the +roof, between it and the first ceiling, there is a large open +space; if the slates or tiles are kept in good order, very little +light enters, and this space is nearly dark in daylight. Even if +chinks admit a beam of light, it is not enough; they seldom enter +or fly about there, though quite accessible to them. But if the +roof is in bad order, and this space light, they enter freely. +Though nesting in holes, yet they like light. The swallows could +easily go in and make nests upon the beams, but they will not, +unless the place is well lit. They do not like darkness in the +daytime.</p> +<p>The swallows bring us the sunbeams on their wings from Africa to +fill the fields with flowers. From the time of the arrival of the +first swallow the flowers take heart; the few and scanty plants +that had braved the earlier cold are succeeded by a constantly +enlarging list, till the banks and lanes are full of them. The +chimney-swallow is usually the forerunner of the three +house-swallows; and perhaps no fact in natural history has been so +much studied as the migration of these tender birds. The commonest +things are always the most interesting. In summer there is no bird +so common everywhere as the swallow, and for that reason many +overlook it, though they rush to see a "white elephant." But the +deepest thinkers have spent hours and hours in considering the +problem of the swallow—its migrations, its flight, its +habits; great poets have loved it; great artists and art-writers +have curiously studied it. The idea that it is necessary to seek +the wilderness or the thickest woods for nature is a total mistake; +nature it, at home, on the roof, close to every one. Eave-swallows, +or house-martins (easily distinguished by the white bar across the +tail), build sometimes in the shelter of the porches of old +houses.</p> +<p>As you go in or out, the swallows visiting or leaving their +nests fly so closely as almost to brush the face. Swallow means +porch-bird, and for centuries and centuries their nests have been +placed in the closest proximity to man. They might be called man's +birds, so attached are they to the human race. I think the greatest +ornament a house can have is the nest of an eave-swallow under the +eaves—far superior to the most elaborate carving, colouring, +or arrangement the architect can devise. There is no ornament like +the swallow's nest; the home of a messenger between man and the +blue heavens, between us and the sunlight, and all the promise of +the sky. The joy of life, the highest and tenderest feelings, +thoughts that soar on the swallow's wings, come to the round nest +under the roof. Not only to-day, not only the hopes of future +years, but all the past dwells there. Year after year the +generations and descent of the swallow have been associated with +our homes, and all the events of successive lives have taken place +under their guardianship. The swallow is the genius of good to a +house. Let its nest, then, stay; to me it seems the extremity of +barbarism, or rather stupidity, to knock it down. I wish I could +induce them to build under the eaves of this house; I would if I +could discover some means of communicating with them.</p> +<p>It is a peculiarity of the swallow that you cannot make it +afraid of you; just the reverse of other birds. The swallow does +not understand being repulsed, but comes back again. Even knocking +the nest down will not drive it away, until the stupid process has +been repeated several years. The robin must be coaxed; the sparrow +is suspicious, and though easy to tame, quick to notice the least +alarming movement. The swallow will not be driven away. He has not +the slightest fear of man; he flies to his nest close to the +window, under the low eave, or on the beams in the out-houses, no +matter if you are looking on or not. Bold as the starlings are, +they will seldom do this. But in the swallow the instinct of +suspicion is reversed, an instinct of confidence occupies its +place. In addition to the eave-swallow, to which I have chiefly +alluded, and the chimney-swallow, there is the swift, also a +roof-bird, and making its nest in the slates of houses in the midst +of towns. These three are migrants in the fullest sense, and come +to our houses over thousands of miles of land and sea.</p> +<p>Robins frequently visit the roof for insects, especially when it +is thatched; so do wrens; and the latter, after they have peered +along, have a habit of perching at the extreme angle of a gable, or +the extreme edge of a corner, and uttering their song. Finches +occasionally fly up to the roofs of country-houses if shrubberies +are near, also in pursuit of insects; but they are not truly +roof-birds. Wagtails perch on roofs; they often have their nests in +the ivy, or creepers trained against walls; they are quite at +borne, and are frequently seen on the ridges of farmhouses. Tits of +several species, particularly the great titmouse and the blue tit, +come to thatch for insects, both in summer and winter. In some +districts where they are common, it is not unusual to see a +goatsucker or fern-owl hawk along close to the eaves in the dusk of +the evening for moths. The white owl is a roof-bird (though not +often of the house), building inside the roof, and sitting there +all day in some shaded corner. They do sometimes take up their +residence in the roofs of outhouses attached to dwellings, but not +often nowadays, though still residing in the roofs of old castles. +Jackdaws, again, are roof-birds, building in the roofs of towers. +Bats live in roofs, and hang there wrapped up in their membranous +wings till the evening calls them forth. They are residents in the +full sense, remaining all the year round, though principally seen +in the warmer months; but they are there in the colder, hidden +away, and if the temperature rises, will venture out and hawk to +and fro in the midst of the winter. Tame pigeons and doves hardly +come into this paper, but still it is their habit to use roofs as +tree-tops. Rats and mice creep through the crevices of roofs, and +in old country-houses hold a sort of nightly carnival, racing to +and fro under the roof. Weasels sometimes follow them indoors and +up to their roof strongholds.</p> +<p>When the first warm days of spring sunshine strike against the +southern side of the chimney, sparrows perch there and enjoy it; +and again in autumn, when the general warmth of the atmosphere is +declining, they still find a little pleasant heat there. They make +use of the radiation of heat, as the gardener does who trains his +fruit-trees to a wall. Before the autumn has thinned the leaves, +the swallows gather on the highest ridge of the roof in a row and +twitter to each other; they know the time is approaching when they +must depart for another climate. In winter, many birds seek the +thatched roofs to roost. Wrens, tits, and even blackbirds roost in +the holes left by sparrows or starlings.</p> +<p>Every crevice is the home of insects, or used by them for the +deposit of their eggs—under the tiles or slates, where mortar +has dropped out between the bricks, in the holes of thatch, and on +the straws. The number of insects that frequent a large roof must +be very great—all the robins, wrens, bats, and so on, can +scarcely affect them; nor the spiders, though these, too, are +numerous. Then there are the moths, and those creeping creatures +that work out of sight, boring their way through the rafters and +beams. Sometimes a sparrow may be seen clinging to the bare wall of +the house; tits do the same thing. It is surprising how they manage +to hold on. They are taking insects from the apertures of the +mortar. Where the slates slope to the south, the sunshine soon +heats them, and passing butterflies alight on the warm surface, and +spread out their wings, as if hovering over the heat. Flies are +attracted in crowds sometimes to heated slates and tiles, and wasps +will occasionally pause there. Wasps are addicted to haunting +houses, and, in the autumn, feed on the flies. Floating germs +carried by the air must necessarily lodge in numbers against roofs; +so do dust and invisible particles; and together, these make the +rain-water collected in water-butts after a storm turbid and dark; +and it soon becomes full of living organisms.</p> +<p>Lichen and moss grow on the mortar wherever it has become +slightly disintegrated; and if any mould, however minute, by any +means accumulates between the slates, there, too, they spring up, +and even on the slates themselves. Tiles are often coloured yellow +by such growths. On some old roofs, which have decayed, and upon +which detritus has accumulated, wallflowers may be found; and the +house-leek takes capricious root where it fancies. The stonecrop is +the finest of roof-plants, sometimes forming a broad patch of +brilliant yellow. Birds carry up seeds and grains, and these +germinate in moist thatch. Groundsel, for instance, and stray +stalks of wheat, thin and drooping for lack of soil, are sometimes +seen there, besides grasses. Ivy is familiar as a roof-creeper. +Some ferns and the pennywort will grow on the wall close to the +roof. A correspondent tells me that in Wales he found a cottage +perfectly roofed with fern—it grew so thickly as to conceal +the roof. Had a painter put this in a picture, many would have +exclaimed: "How fanciful! He must have made it up; it could never +have grown like that!" Not long after receiving my correspondent's +kind letter, I chanced to find a roof near London upon which the +same fern was growing in lines along the tiles. It grew +plentifully, but was not in so flourishing a condition as that +found in Wales. Painters are sometimes accused of calling upon +their imagination when they are really depicting fact, for the ways +of nature vary very much in different localities, and that which +may seem impossible in one place is common enough in another.</p> +<p>Where will not ferns grow? We saw one attached to the under-side +of a glass coal-hole cover; its green could be seen through the +thick glass on which people stepped daily.</p> +<p>Recently, much attention has been paid to the dust which is +found on roofs and ledges at great heights. This meteoric dust, as +it is called, consists of minute particles of iron, which are +thought to fall from the highest part of the atmosphere, or +possibly to be attracted to the earth from space. Lightning usually +strikes the roof. The whole subject of lightning-conductors has +been re-opened of late years, there being reason to think that +mistakes have been made in the manner of their erection. The reason +English roofs are high-pitched is not only because of the rain, +that it may shoot off quickly, but on account of snow. Once now and +then there comes a snow-year, and those who live in houses with +flat surfaces anywhere on the roof soon discover how inconvenient +they are. The snow is sure to find its way through, damaging +ceilings, and doing other mischief. Sometimes, in fine summer +weather, people remark how pleasant it would be if the roof were +flat, so that it could be used as a terrace, as it is in warmer +climates. But the fact is, the English roof, although now merely +copied and repeated without a thought of the reason of its shape, +grew up from experience of severe winters. Of old, great care and +ingenuity—what we should now call artistic skill—were +employed in contracting the roof. It was not only pleasant to the +eye with its gables, but the woodwork was wonderfully well done. +Such roofs may still be seen on ancient mansions, having endured +for centuries. They are splendid pieces of workmanship, and seen +from afar among foliage, are admired by every one who has the least +taste. Draughtsmen and painters value them highly. No matter +whether reproduced on a large canvas or in a little woodcut, their +proportions please. The roof is much neglected in modern houses; it +is either conventional, or it is full indeed of gables, but gables +that do not agree, as it were, with each other—that are +obviously put there on purpose to look artistic, and fail +altogether. Now, the ancient roofs were true works of art, +consistent, and yet each varied to its particular circumstances, +and each impressed with the individuality of the place and of the +designer. The finest old roofs were built of oak or chestnut; the +beams are black with age, and, in that condition, oak is scarcely +distinguishable from chestnut.</p> +<p>So the roof has its natural history, its science, and art; it +has its seasons, its migrants and residents, of whom a housetop +calendar might be made. The fine old roofs which have just been +mentioned are often associated with historic events and the rise of +families; and the roof-tree, like the hearth, has a range of +proverbs or sayings and ancient lore to itself. More than one great +monarch has been slain by a tile thrown from the housetop, and +numerous other incidents have occurred in connection with it. The +most interesting is the story of the Grecian mother who, with her +infant, was on the roof, when, in a moment of inattention, the +child crept to the edge, and was balanced on the very verge. To +call to it, to touch it, would have insured its destruction; but +the mother, without a second's thought, bared her breast, and the +child eagerly turning to it, was saved!</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="7">ONE OF THE NEW VOTERS</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>If any one were to get up about half-past five on an August +morning and look out of an eastern window in the country, he would +see the distant trees almost hidden by a white mist. The tops of +the larger groups of elms would appear above it, and by these the +line of the hedgerows could be traced. Tier after tier they stretch +along, rising by degrees on a gentle slope, the space between +filled with haze. Whether there were corn-fields or meadows under +this white cloud he could not tell—a cloud that might have +come down from the sky, leaving it a clear azure. This morning haze +means intense heat in the day. It is hot already, very hot, for the +sun is shining with all his strength, and if you wish the house to +be cool it is time to set the sunblinds.</p> +<p>Roger, the reaper, had slept all night in the cowhouse, lying on +the raised platform of narrow planks put up for cleanliness when +the cattle were there. He had set the wooden window wide open and +left the door ajar when he came stumbling in overnight, long after +the late swallows had settled in their nests in the beams, and the +bats had wearied of moth catching. One of the swallows twittered a +little, as much as to say to his mate, "my love, it is only a +reaper, we need not be afraid," and all was silence and darkness. +Roger did not so much as take off his boots, but flung himself on +the boards crash, curled himself up hedgehog fashion with some old +sacks, and immediately began to breathe heavily. He had no +difficulty in sleeping, first because his muscles had been tried to +the utmost, and next because his skin was full to the brim, not of +jolly "good ale and old" but of the very smallest and poorest of +wish-washy beer. In his own words, it "blowed him up till he very +nigh bust." Now the great authorities on dyspepsia, so eagerly +studied by the wealthy folk whose stomachs are deranged, tell us +that a very little flatulence will make the heart beat irregularly +and cause the most distressing symptoms.</p> +<p>Roger had swallowed at least a gallon of a liquid chemically +designed, one might say, on purpose to utterly upset the internal +economy. Harvest beer is probably the vilest drink in the world. +The men say it is made by pouring muddy water into empty casks +returned sour from use, and then brushing them round and round +inside with a besom. This liquid leaves a stickiness on the tongue +and a harsh feeling at the back of the mouth which soon turns to +thirst, so that having once drunk a pint the drinker must go on +drinking. The peculiar dryness caused by this beer is not like any +other throat drought—worse than dust, or heat, or thirst from +work; there is no satisfying it. With it there go down the germs of +fermentation, a sour, yeasty, and, as it were, secondary +fermentation; not that kind which is necessary to make beer, but +the kind that unmakes and spoils beer. It is beer rotting and +decomposing in the stomach. Violent diarrhoea often follows, and +then the exhaustion thus caused induces the men to drink more in +order to regain the strength necessary to do their work. The great +heat of the sun and the heat of hard labour, the strain and +perspiration, of course try the body and weaken the digestion. To +distend the stomach with half a gallon of this liquor, expressly +compounded to ferment, is about the most murderous thing a man +could do—murderous because it exposes him to the risk of +sunstroke. So vile a drink there is not elsewhere in the world; +arrack, and potato-spirit, and all the other killing extracts of +the distiller are not equal to it. Upon this abominable mess the +golden harvest of English fields is gathered in.</p> +<p>Some people have in consequence endeavoured to induce the +harvesters to accept a money payment in place of beer, and to a +certain extent successfully. Even then, however, they must drink +something. Many manage on weak tea after a fashion, but not so well +as the abstainers would have us think. Others have brewed for their +men a miserable stuff in buckets, an infusion of oatmeal, and got a +few to drink it; but English labourers will never drink +oatmeal-water unless they are paid to do it. If they are paid extra +beer-money and oatmeal water is made for them gratis, some will, of +course, imbibe it, especially if they see that thereby they may +obtain little favours from their employer by yielding to his fad. +By drinking the crotchet perhaps they may get a present now and +then-food for themselves, cast-off clothes for their families, and +so on. For it is a remarkable feature of human natural history, the +desire to proselytise. The spectacle of John Bull—jovial John +Bull—offering his men a bucket of oatmeal liquor is not a +pleasant one. Such a John Bull ought to be ashamed of himself.</p> +<p>The truth is the English farmer's man was and is, and will be, a +drinker of beer. Neither tea, nor oatmeal, nor vinegar and water +(coolly recommended by indoor folk) will do for him. His natural +constitution rebels against such "peevish" drink. In winter he +wants beer against the cold and the frosty rime and the heavy raw +mist that hangs about the hollows; in spring and autumn against the +rain, and in summer to support him under the pressure of additional +work and prolonged hours. Those who really wish well to the +labourer cannot do better than see that he really has beer to +drink—real beer, genuine brew of malt and hops, a moderate +quantity of which will supply force to his thews and sinews, and +will not intoxicate or injure. If by giving him a small money +payment in lieu of such large quantities you can induce him to be +content with a little, so much the better. If an employer followed +that plan, and at the same time once or twice a day sent out a +moderate supply of genuine beer as a gift to his men, he would do +them all the good in the world, and at the same time obtain for +himself their goodwill and hearty assistance, that hearty work +which is worth so much.</p> +<p>Roger breathed heavily in his sleep in the cowhouse, because the +vile stuff he had taken puffed him up and obstructed nature. The +tongue in his open mouth became parched and cracked, swollen and +dry; he slept indeed, but he did not rest; he groaned heavily at +times and rolled aside. Once he awoke choking—he could not +swallow, his tongue was so dry and large; he sat up, swore, and +again lay down. The rats in the sties had already discovered that a +man slept in the cowhouse, a place they rarely visited, as there +was nothing there to eat; how they found it out no one knows. They +are clever creatures, the despised rats. They came across in the +night and looked under his bed, supposing that he might have eaten +his bread-and-cheese for supper there, and that fragments might +have dropped between the boards. There were none. They mounted the +boards and sniffed round him; they would have stolen the food from +his very pocket if it had been there. Nor could they find a bundle +in a handkerchief, which they would have gnawn through speedily. +Not a scrap of food was there to be smelt at, so they left him. +Roger had indeed gone supperless, as usual; his supper he had +swilled and not eaten. His own fault; he should have exercised +self-control. Well, I don't know; let us consider further before we +judge.</p> +<p>In houses the difficulty often is to get the servants up in the +morning; one cannot wake, and the rest sleep too sound—much +the same thing; yet they have clocks and alarums. The reapers are +never behind. Roger got off his planks, shook himself, went outside +the shed, and tightened his shoelaces in the bright light. His +rough hair he just pushed back from his forehead, and that was his +toilet. His dry throat sent him to the pump, but he did not swallow +much of the water—he washed his mouth out, and that was +enough; and so without breakfast he went to his work. Looking down +from the stile on the high ground there seemed to be a white cloud +resting on the valley, through which the tops of the high trees +penetrated; the hedgerows beneath were concealed, and their course +could only be traced by the upper branches of the elms. Under this +cloud the wheat-fields were blotted out; there seemed neither corn +nor grass, work for man nor food for animal; there could be nothing +doing there surely. In the stillness of the August morning, without +song of bird, the sun, shining brilliantly high above the mist, +seemed to be the only living thing, to possess the whole and reign +above absolute peace. It is a curious sight to see the early +harvest morn—all hushed under the burning sun, a morn that +you know is full of life and meaning, yet quiet as if man's foot +had never trodden the land. Only the sun is there, rolling on his +endless way.</p> +<p>Roger's head was bound with brass, but had it not been he would +not have observed anything in the aspect of the earth. Had a brazen +band been drawn firmly round his forehead it could not have felt +more stupefied. His eyes blinked in the sunlight; every now and +then he stopped to save himself from staggering; he was not in a +condition to think. It would have mattered not at all if his head +had been clear; earth, sky, and sun were nothing to him; he knew +the footpath, and saw that the day would be fine and hot, and that +was sufficient for him, because his eyes had never been opened.</p> +<p>The reaper had risen early to his labour, but the birds had +preceded him hours. Before the sun was up the swallows had left +their beams in the cowshed and twittered out into the air. The +rooks and wood-pigeons and doves had gone to the corn, the +blackbird to the stream, the finch to the hedgerow, the bees to the +heath on the hills, the humble-bees to the clover in the plain. +Butterflies rose from the flowers by the footpath, and fluttered +before him to and fro and round and back again to the place whence +they had been driven. Goldfinches tasting the first thistledown +rose from the corner where the thistles grew thickly. A hundred +sparrows came rushing up into the hedge, suddenly filling the +boughs with brown fruit; they chirped and quarrelled in their talk, +and rushed away again back to the corn as he stepped nearer. The +boughs were stripped of their winged brown berries as quickly as +they had grown. Starlings ran before the cows feeding in the +aftermath, so close to their mouths as to seem in danger of being +licked up by their broad tongues. All creatures, from the tiniest +insect upward, were in reality busy under that curtain of +white-heat haze. It looked so still, so quiet, from afar; entering +it and passing among the fields, all that lived was found busy at +its long day's work. Roger did not interest himself in these +things, in the wasps that left the gate as he approached—they +were making <i>papier-maché</i> from the wood of the top +bar,—in the bright poppies brushing against his drab +unpolished boots, in the hue of the wheat or the white convolvulus; +they were nothing to him.</p> +<p>Why should they be? His life was work without skill or thought, +the work of the horse, of the crane that lifts stones and timber. +His food was rough, his drink rougher, his lodging dry planks. His +books were—none; his picture-gallery a coloured print at the +alehouse—a dog, dead, by a barrel, "Trust is dead! Bad Pay +killed him." Of thought he thought nothing; of hope his idea was a +shilling a week more wages; of any future for himself of comfort +such as even a good cottage can give—of any future +whatever—he had no more conception than the horse in the +shafts of the waggon. A human animal simply in all this, yet if you +reckoned upon him as simply an animal—as has been done these +centuries—you would now be mistaken. But why should he note +the colour of the butterfly, the bright light of the sun, the hue +of the wheat? This loveliness gave him no cheese for breakfast; of +beauty in itself, for itself, he had no idea. How should he? To +many of us the harvest—the summer—is a time of joy in +light and colour; to him it was a time for adding yet another crust +of hardness to the thick skin of his hands.</p> +<p>Though the haze looked like a mist it was perfectly dry; the +wheat was as dry as noon; not a speck of dew, and pimpernels wide +open for a burning day. The reaping-machine began to rattle as he +came up, and work was ready for him. At breakfast-time his fellows +lent him a quarter of a loaf, some young onions, and a drink from +their tea. He ate little, and the tea slipped from his hot tongue +like water from the bars of a grate; his tongue was like the heated +iron the housemaid tries before using it on the linen. As the +reaping-machine went about the gradually decreasing square of corn, +narrowing it by a broad band each time, the wheat fell flat on the +short stubble. Roger stooped, and, gathering sufficient together, +took a few straws, knotted them to another handful as you might tie +two pieces of string, and twisted the band round the sheaf. He +worked stooping to gather the wheat, bending to tie it in sheaves; +stooping, bending—stooping, bending,—and so across the +field. Upon his head and back the fiery sun poured down the +ceaseless and increasing heat of the August day. His face grew red, +his neck black; the drought of the dry ground rose up and entered +his mouth and nostrils, a warm air seemed to rise from the earth +and fill his chest. His body ached from the ferment of the vile +beer, his back ached with stooping, his forehead was bound tight +with a brazen band. They brought some beer at last; it was like the +spring in the desert to him. The vicious liquor—"a hair of +the dog that bit him"—sank down his throat grateful and +refreshing to his disordered palate as if he had drunk the very +shadow of green boughs. Good ale would have seemed nauseous to him +at that moment, his taste and stomach destroyed by so many gallons +of this. He was "pulled together," and worked easier; the slow +hours went on, and it was luncheon. He could have borrowed more +food, but he was content instead with a screw of tobacco for his +pipe and his allowance of beer.</p> +<p>They sat in the corner of the field. There were no trees for +shade; they had been cut down as injurious to corn, but there were +a few maple bushes and thin ash sprays, which seemed better than +the open. The bushes cast no shade at all, the sun being so nearly +overhead, but they formed a kind of enclosure, an open-air home, +for men seldom sit down if they can help it on the bare and level +plain; they go to the bushes, to the corner, or even to some +hollow. It is not really any advantage; it is habit; or shall we +not rather say that it is nature? Brought back as it were in the +open field to the primitive conditions of life, they resumed the +same instincts that controlled man in the ages past. Ancient man +sought the shelter of trees and banks, of caves and hollows, and so +the labourers under somewhat the same conditions came to the corner +where the bushes grew. There they left their coats and slung up +their luncheon-bundles to the branches; there the children played +and took charge of the infants; there the women had their hearth +and hung their kettle over a fire of sticks.</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +In August the unclouded sun, when there is no wind, shines as +fervently in the harvest-field as in Spain. It is doubtful if the +Spanish people feel the heat so much as our reapers; they have +their siesta; their habits have become attuned to the sun, and it +is no special strain upon them. In India our troops are carefully +looked after in the hot weather, and everything made as easy for +them as possible; without care and special clothing and coverings +for the head they could not long endure. The English simoon of heat +drops suddenly on the heads of the harvesters and finds them +entirely unprepared; they have not so much as a cooling drink +ready; they face it, as it were, unarmed. The sun spares not; It is +fire from morn till night. Afar in the town the sun-blinds are up, +there is a tent on the lawn in the shade, people drink claret-cup +and use ice; ice has never been seen in the harvest-field. Indoors +they say they are melting lying on a sofa in a darkened room, made +dusky to keep out the heat. The fire falls straight from the sky on +the heads of the harvesters—men, women, and +children—and the white-hot light beats up again from the dry +straw and the hard ground. <br> +<br> + +<p>The tender flowers endure; the wide petal of the poppy, which +withers between the fingers, lies afloat on the air as the lilies +on water, afloat and open to the weight of the heat. The red +pimpernel looks straight up at the sky from the early morning till +its hour of closing in the afternoon. Pale blue speedwell does not +fade; the pale blue stands the warmth equally with the scarlet. Far +in the thick wheat the streaked convolvulus winds up the stalks, +and is not smothered for want of air though wrapped and circled +with corn. Beautiful though they are, they are bloodless, not +sensitive; we have given to them our feelings, they do not share +our pain or pleasure. Heat has gone into the hollow stalks of the +wheat and down the yellow tubes to the roots, drying them in the +earth. Heat has dried the leaves upon the hedge, and they touch +rough—dusty rough, as books touch that have been lying +unused; the plants on the bank are drying up and turning white. +Heat has gone down into the cracks of the ground; the bar of the +stile is so dry and powdery in the crevices that if a reaper +chanced to drop a match on it there would seem risk of fire. The +still atmosphere is laden with heat, and does not move in the +corner of the field between the bushes.</p> +<p>Roger the reaper smoked out his tobacco; the children played +round and watched for scraps of food; the women complained of the +heat; the men said nothing. It is seldom that a labourer grumbles +much at the weather, except as interfering with his work. Let the +heat increase, so it would only keep fine. The fire in the sky +meant money. Work went on again; Roger had now to go to another +field to pitch—that is, help to load the waggon; as a young +man, that was one of the jobs allotted to him. This was the +reverse. Instead of stooping he had now to strain himself upright +and lift sheaves over his head. His stomach empty of everything but +small ale did not like this any more than his back had liked the +other; but those who work for bare food must not question their +employment. Heavily the day drove on; there was more beer, and +again more beer, because it was desired to clear some fields that +evening. Monotonously pitching the sheaves, Roger laboured by the +waggon till the last had been loaded—till the moon was +shining. His brazen forehead was unbound now; in spite of the beer +the work and the perspiration had driven off the aching. He was +weary but well. Nor had he been dull during the day; he had talked +and joked—cumbrously in labourers' fashion—with his +fellows. His aches, his empty stomach, his labour, and the heat had +not overcome the vitality of his spirits. There was life enough +left for a little rough play as the group gathered together and +passed out through the gateway. Life enough left in him to go with +the rest to the alehouse; and what else, oh moralist, would you +have done in his place? This, remember, is not a fancy sketch of +rural poetry; this is the reaper's real existence.</p> +<p>He had been in the harvest-field fourteen hours, exposed to the +intense heat, not even shielded by a pith helmet; he had worked the +day through with thew and sinew; he had had for food a little dry +bread and a few onions, for drink a little weak tea and a great +deal of small beer. The moon was now shining in the sky, still +bright with sunset colours. Fourteen hours of sun and labour and +hard fare! Now tell him what to do. To go straight to his plank-bed +in the cowhouse; to eat a little more dry bread, borrow some cheese +or greasy bacon, munch it alone, and sit musing till sleep +came—he who had nothing to muse about. I think it would need +a very clever man indeed to invent something for him to do, some +way for him to spend his evening. Read! To recommend a man to read +after fourteen hours' burning sun is indeed a mockery; darn his +stockings would be better. There really is nothing whatsoever that +the cleverest and most benevolent person could suggest. Before any +benevolent or well-meaning suggestions could be effective the +preceding circumstances must be changed—the hours and +conditions of labour, everything; and can that be done? The world +has been working these thousands of years, and still it is the +same; with our engines, our electric light, our printing press, +still the coarse labour of the mine, the quarry, the field has to +be carried out by human hands. While that is so, it is useless to +recommend the weary reaper to read. For a man is not a horse: the +horse's day's work is over; taken to his stable he is content, his +mind goes no deeper than the bottom of his manger, and so long as +his nose does not feel the wood, so long as it is met by corn and +hay, he will endure happily. But Roger the reaper is not a +horse.</p> +<p>Just as his body needed food and drink, so did his mind require +recreation, and that chiefly consists of conversation. The drinking +and the smoking are in truth but the attributes of the labourer's +public-house evening. It is conversation that draws him thither, +just as it draws men with money in their pockets to the club and +the houses of their friends. Any one can drink or smoke alone; it +needs several for conversation, for company. You pass a +public-house—the reaper's house—in the summer evening. +You see a number of men grouped about trestle-tables out of doors, +and others sitting at the open window; there is an odour of +tobacco, a chink of glasses and mugs. You can smell the tobacco and +see the ale; you cannot see the indefinite power which holds men +there—the magnetism of company and conversation. <i>Their</i> +conversation, not <i>your</i> conversation; not the last book, the +last play; not saloon conversation; but theirs—talk in which +neither you nor any one of your condition could really join. To us +there would seem nothing at all in that conversation, vapid and +subjectless; to them it means much. We have not been through the +same circumstances: our day has been differently spent, and the +same words have therefore a varying value. Certain it is, that it +is conversation that takes men to the public-house. Had Roger been +a horse he would have hastened to borrow some food, and, having +eaten that, would have cast himself at once upon his rude bed. Not +being an animal, though his life and work were animal, he went with +his friends to talk. Let none unjustly condemn him as a blackguard +for that—no, not even though they had seen him at ten o'clock +unsteadily walking to his shed, and guiding himself occasionally +with his hands to save himself from stumbling. He blundered against +the door, and the noise set the swallows on the beams twittering. +He reached his bedstead, and sat down and tried to unlace his +boots, but could not. He threw himself upon the sacks and fell +asleep. Such was one twenty-four hours of harvest-time.</p> +<p>The next and the next, for weeks, were almost exactly similar; +now a little less beer, now a little more; now tying up, now +pitching, now cutting a small field or corner with a fagging-hook. +Once now and then there was a great supper at the farm. Once he +fell out with another fellow, and they had a fight; Roger, however, +had had so much ale, and his opponent so much whisky, that their +blows were soft and helpless. They both fell—that is, they +stumbled,—they were picked up, there was some more beer, and +it was settled. One afternoon Roger became suddenly giddy, and was +so ill that he did no more work that day, and very little on the +following. It was something like a sunstroke, but fortunately a +slight attack; on the third day he resumed his place. Continued +labour in the sun, little food and much drink, stomach derangement, +in short, accounted for his illness. Though he resumed his place +and worked on, he was not so well afterwards; the work was more of +an effort to him, and his face lost its fulness, and became drawn +and pointed. Still he laboured, and would not miss an hour, for +harvest was coming to an end, and the extra wages would soon cease. +For the first week or so of haymaking or reaping the men usually +get drunk, delighted with the prospect before them, they then +settle down fairly well. Towards the end they struggle hard to +recover lost time and the money spent in ale.</p> +<p>As the last week approached, Roger went up into the village and +ordered the shoemaker to make him a good pair of boots. He paid +partly for them then, and the rest next pay-day. This was a +tremendous effort. The labourer usually pays a shilling at a time, +but Roger mistrusted himself. Harvest was practically over, and +after all the labour and the long hours, the exposure to the sun +and the rude lodging, he found he should scarcely have thirty +shillings. With the utmost ordinary care he could have saved a good +lump of money. He was a single man, and his actual keep cost but +little. Many married labourers, who had been forced by hard +necessity to economy, contrived to put by enough to buy clothes for +their families. The single man, with every advantage, hardly had +thirty shillings, and even then it showed extraordinary prudence on +his part to go and purchase a pair of boots for the winter. Very +few in his place would have been as thoughtful as that; they would +have got boots somehow in the end, but not beforehand. This life of +animal labour does not grow the spirit of economy. Not only in +farming, but in navvy work, in the rougher work of factories and +mines, the same fact is evident. The man who labours with thew and +sinew at horse labour—crane labour—not for himself, but +for others, is not the man who saves. If he worked for his own hand +possibly he might, no matter how rough his labour and fare; not +while working for another. Roger reached his distant home among the +meadows at last, with one golden half-sovereign in his pocket. That +and his new pair of boots, not yet finished, represented the golden +harvest to him. He lodged with his parents when at home; he was so +far fortunate that he had a bed to go to; therefore in the +estimation of his class he was not badly off. But if we consider +his position as regards his own life we must recognise that he was +very badly off indeed, so much precious time and the strength of +his youth having been wasted.</p> +<p>Often it is stated that the harvest wages recoup the labourer +for the low weekly receipts of the year, and if the money be put +down in figures with pen and ink it is so. But in actual fact the +pen-and-ink figures do not represent the true case; these extra +figures have been paid for, and gold may be bought too dear. Roger +had paid heavily for his half-sovereign and his boots; his pinched +face did not look as if he had benefited greatly. His cautious old +father, rendered frugal by forty years of labour, had done fairly +well; the young man not at all. The old man, having a cottage, in a +measure worked for his own hand. The young man, with none but +himself to think of, scattered his money to the winds. Is money +earned with such expenditure of force worth the having? Look at the +arm of a woman labouring in the harvest-field—thin, muscular, +sinewy, black almost, it tells of continual strain. After much of +this she becomes pulled out of shape, the neck loses its roundness +and shows the sinews, the chest flattens. In time the women find +the strain of it tell severely. I am not trying to make out a case +of special hardship, being aware that both men, women, and children +work as hard and perhaps suffer more in cities; I am simply +describing the realities of rural life behind the scenes. The +golden harvest is the first scene: the golden wheat, glorious under +the summer sun. Bright poppies flower in its depths, and +convolvulus climbs the stalks. Butterflies float slowly over the +yellow surface as they might over a lake of colour. To linger by +it, to visit it day by day, at even to watch the sunset by it, and +see it pale under the changing light, is a delight to the +thoughtful mind. There is so much in the wheat, there are books of +meditation in it, it is dear to the heart. Behind these beautiful +aspects comes the reality of human labour—hours upon hours of +heat and strain; there comes the reality of a rude life, and in the +end little enough of gain. The wheat is beautiful, but human life +is labour.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="8">THE MODERN THAMES</a></h3> + +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>The wild red deer can never again come down to drink at the +Thames in the dusk of the evening as once they did. While modern +civilisation endures, the larger fauna must necessarily be confined +to parks or restrained to well-marked districts; but for that very +reason the lesser creatures of the wood, the field, and the river +should receive the more protection. If this applies to the secluded +country, far from the stir of cities, still more does it apply to +the neighbourhood of London. From a sportsman's point of view, or +from that of a naturalist, the state of the river is one of chaos. +There is no order. The Thames appears free even from the usual +rules which are in force upon every highway. A man may not fire a +gun within a certain distance of a road under a penalty—a law +enacted for the safety of passengers, who were formerly endangered +by persons shooting small birds along the hedges bordering roads. +Nor may he shoot at all, not so much as fire off a pistol (as +recently publicly proclaimed by the Metropolitan police to restrain +the use of revolvers), without a licence. But on the river people +do as they choose, and there does not seem to be any law at +all—or at least there is no authority to enforce it, if it +exists. Shooting from boats and from the towing-path is carried on +in utter defiance of the licensing law, of the game law (as +applicable to wild fowl), and of the safety of persons who may be +passing. The moorhens are shot, the kingfishers have been nearly +exterminated or driven away from some parts, the once common +black-headed bunting is comparatively scarce in the more frequented +reaches, and if there is nothing else to shoot at, then the +swallows are slaughtered. Some have even taken to shooting at the +rooks in the trees or fields by the river with small-bore +rifles—a most dangerous thing to do. The result is that the +osier-beds on the eyots and by the backwaters—the copses of +the river—are almost devoid of life. A few moorhens creep +under the aquatic grasses and conceal themselves beneath the +bushes, water-voles hide among the flags, but the once extensive +host of waterfowl and river life has been reduced to the smallest +limits. Water-fowl cannot breed because they are shot on the nest, +or their eggs taken. As for rarer birds, of course they have not +the slightest chance. The fish have fared better because they have +received the benefit of close seasons, enforced with more or less +vigilance all along the river. They are also protected by +regulations making it illegal to capture them except in a +sportsmanlike manner; snatching, for instance, is unlawful. +Riverside proprietors preserve some reaches, piscatorial societies +preserve others, and the complaint indeed is that the rights of the +public have been encroached upon. The too exclusive preservation of +fish is in a measure responsible for the destruction of water-fowl, +which are cleared off preserved places in order that they may not +help themselves to fry or spawn. On the other hand, the societies +may claim to have saved parts of the river from being entirely +deprived of fish, for it is not long since it appeared as if the +stream would be quite cleared out. Large quantities of fish have +also been placed in the river taken from ponds and bodily +transported to the Thames. So that upon the whole the fish have +been well looked after of recent years.</p> +<p>The more striking of the aquatic plants—such as white +water-lilies—have been much diminished in quantity by the +constant plucking, and injury is said to have been done by careless +navigation. In things of this kind a few persons can do a great +deal of damage. Two or three men with guns, and indifferent to the +interests of sport or natural history, at work every day, can clear +a long stretch of river of waterfowl, by scaring if not by actually +killing them. Imagine three or four such gentry allowed to wander +at will in a large game preserve—in a week they would totally +destroy it as a preserve. The river, after all, is but a narrow +band as it were, and is easily commanded by a gun. So, too, with +fish poachers; a very few men with nets can quickly empty a good +piece of water: and flowers like water-lilies, which grow only in +certain spots, are soon pulled or spoiled. This aspect of the +matter—the immense mischief which can be effected by a very +few persons—should be carefully borne in mind in framing any +regulations. For the mischief done on the river is really the work +of a small number, a mere fraction of the thousands of all classes +who frequent it. Not one in a thousand probably perpetrates any +intentional damage to fish, fowl, or flowers.</p> +<p>As the river above all things is, and ought to be, a place of +recreation, care must be particularly taken that in restraining +these practices the enjoyment of the many be not interfered with. +The rational pleasure of 999 people ought not to be checked because +the last of the thousand acts as a blackguard. This point, too, +bears upon the question of steam-launches. A launch can pass as +softly and quietly as a skiff floating with the stream. And there +is a good deal to be said on the other side, for the puntsmen stick +themselves very often in the way of every one else; and if you +analyse fishing for minnows from a punt you will not find it a +noble sport. A river like the Thames, belonging as it does—or +as it ought—to a city like London, should be managed from the +very broadest standpoint. There should be pleasure for all, and +there certainly is no real difficulty in arranging matters to that +end. The Thames should be like a great aquarium, in which a certain +balance of life has to be kept up. When aquaria first came into +favour such things as snails and weeds were excluded as eyesores +and injurious. But it was soon discovered that the despised snails +and weeds were absolutely necessary; an aquarium could not be +maintained in health without them, and now the most perfect +aquarium is the one in which the natural state is most completely +copied. On the same principle it is evident that too exclusive +preservation must be injurious to the true interests of the river. +Fish enthusiasts, for instance, desire the extinction of +water-fowl—there is not a single aquatic bird which they do +not accuse of damage to fry, spawn, or full-grown fish; no, not +one, from the heron down to the tiny grebe. They are nearly as +bitter against animals, the poor water-vole (or water-rat) even is +denounced and shot. Any one who chooses may watch the water-rat +feeding on aquatic vegetation; never mind, shoot him because he's +there. There is no other reason. Bitterest, harshest, most +envenomed of all is the outcry and hunt directed against the otter. +It is as if the otter were a wolf—as if he were as injurious +as the mighty boar whom Meleager and his companions chased in the +days of dim antiquity. What, then, has the otter done? Has he +ravaged the fields? does he threaten the homesteads? is he at +Temple Bar? are we to run, as the old song says, from the Dragon? +The fact is, the ravages attributed to the otter are of a local +character. They are chiefly committed in those places where fish +are more or less confined. If you keep sheep close together in a +pen the wolf who leaps the hurdles can kill the flock if he +chooses. In narrow waters, and where fish are maintained in +quantities out of proportion to extent, an otter can work doleful +woe. That is to say, those who want too many fish are those who +give the otter his opportunity.</p> +<p>In a great river like the Thames a few otters cannot do much or +lasting injury except in particular places. The truth is, that the +otter is an ornament to the river, and more worthy of preservation +than any other creature. He is the last and largest of the wild +creatures who once roamed so freely in the forests which enclosed +Londinium, that fort in the woods and marshes—marshes which +to this day, though drained and built over, enwrap the +nineteenth-century city in thick mists. The red deer are gone, the +boar is gone, the wolf necessarily destroyed—the red deer can +never again drink at the Thames in the dusk of the evening while +our civilisation endures. The otter alone remains—the +wildest, the most thoroughly self-supporting of all living things +left—a living link going back to the days of Cassivelaunus. +London ought to take the greatest interest in the otters of its +river. The shameless way in which every otter that dares to show +itself is shot, trapped, beaten to death, and literally battered +out of existence, should rouse the indignation of every sportsman +and every lover of nature. The late Rev. John Russell, who, it will +be admitted, was a true sportsman, walked three thousand miles to +see an otter. That was a different spirit, was it not?</p> +<p>That is the spirit in which the otter in the Thames should be +regarded. Those who offer money rewards for killing Thames otters +ought to be looked on as those who would offer rewards for +poisoning foxes in Leicestershire, I suppose we shall not see the +ospreys again; but I should like to. Again, on the other side of +the boundary, in the tidal waters, the same sort of ravenous +destruction is carried on against everything that ventures up. A +short time ago a porpoise came up to Mortlake; now, just think, a +porpoise up from the great sea—that sea to which Londoners +rush with such joy—past Gravesend, past Greenwich, past the +Tower, under London Bridge, past Westminster and the Houses of +Parliament, right up to Mortlake. It is really a wonderful thing +that a denizen of the sea, so large and interesting as a porpoise, +should come right through the vast City of London. In an aquarium, +people would go to see it and admire it, and take their children to +see it. What happened? Some one hastened out in a boat, armed with +a gun or a rifle, and occupied himself with shooting at it. He did +not succeed in killing it, but it was wounded. Some difference here +to the spirit of John Russell. If I may be permitted to express an +opinion, I think that there is not a single creature, from the +sand-marten and the black-headed bunting to the broad-winged heron, +from the water-vole to the otter, from the minnow on one side of +the tidal boundary to the porpoise on the other—big and +little, beasts and birds (of prey or not)—that should not be +encouraged and protected on this beautiful river, morally the +property of the greatest city in the world.</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +<p>I looked forward to living by the river with delight, +anticipating the long rows I should have past the green eyots and +the old houses red-tiled among the trees. I should pause below the +weir and listen to the pleasant roar, and watch the fisherman cast +again and again with the "transcendent patience" of genius by which +alone the Thames trout is captured. Twisting the end of a willow +bough round my wrist I could moor myself and rest at ease, though +the current roared under the skiff, fresh from the waterfall. A +thousand thousand bubbles rising to the surface would whiten the +stream—a thousand thousand succeeded by another thousand +thousand—and still flowing, no multiple could express the +endless number. That which flows continually by some sympathy is +acceptable to the mind, as if thereby it realised its own existence +without an end. Swallows would skim the water to and fro as yachts +tack, the sandpiper would run along the strand, a black-headed +bunting would perch upon the willow; perhaps, as the man of genius +fishing and myself made no noise, a kingfisher might come, and we +might see him take his prey.</p> +<p>Or I might quit hold of the osier, and, entering a shallow +backwater, disturb shoals of roach playing where the water was +transparent to the bottom, after their wont. Winding in and out +like an Indian in his canoe, perhaps traces of an otter might be +found—his kitchen mödding—and in the sedges +moorhens and wildfowl would hide from me. From its banks I should +gather many a flower and notice many a plant, there would be, too, +the beautiful water-lily. Or I should row on up the great stream by +meadows full of golden buttercups, past fields crimson with +trifolium or green with young wheat. Handsome sailing craft would +come down spanking before the breeze, laden with bright +girls—laughter on board, and love the golden fleece of their +argosy.</p> +<p>I should converse with the ancient men of the ferries, and +listen to their river lore; they would show me the mark to which +the stream rose in the famous year of floods. On again to the cool +hostelry whose sign was reflected in the water, where there would +be a draught of fine ale for the heated and thirsty sculler. On +again till steeple or tower rising over the trees marked my +journey's end for the day, some old town where, after rest and +refreshment, there would be a ruin or a timbered house to look at, +where I should meet folk full of former days and quaint tales of +yore. Thus to journey on from place to place would be the great +charm of the river—travelling by water, not merely sculling +to and fro, but really travelling. Upon a lake I could but row +across and back again, and however lovely the scenery might be, +still it would always be the same. But the Thames, upon the river I +could really travel, day after day, from Teddington Lock upwards to +Windsor, to Oxford, on to quiet Lechlade, or even farther deep into +the meadows by Cricklade. Every hour there would be something +interesting, all the freshwater life to study, the very barges +would amuse me, and at last there would be the delicious ease of +floating home carried by the stream, repassing all that had pleased +before.</p> +<p>The time came. I lived by the river, not far from its widest +reaches, before the stream meets its tide. I went to the eyot for a +boat, and my difficulties began. The crowd of boats lashed to each +other in strings ready for the hirer disconcerted me. There were so +many I could not choose; the whole together looked like a broad +raft. Others were hauled on the shore. Over on the eyot, a little +island, there were more boats, boats launched, boats being +launched, boats being carried by gentlemen in coloured flannels as +carefully as mothers handle their youngest infants, boats covered +in canvas mummy-cases, and dim boats under roofs, their sharp prows +projecting like crocodiles' snouts. Tricksy outriggers, ready to +upset on narrow keel, were held firmly for the sculler to step +daintily into his place. A strong eight shot by up the stream, the +men all pulling together as if they had been one animal. A strong +sculler shot by down the stream, his giant arms bare and the +muscles visible as they rose, knotting and unknotting with the +stroke. Every one on the bank and eyot stopped to watch +him—they knew him, he was training. How could an amateur +venture out and make an exhibition of himself after such splendid +rowing! Still it was noticeable that plenty of amateurs did venture +out, till the waterway was almost concealed—boated over +instead of bridged—and how they managed to escape locking +their oars together, I could not understand.</p> +<p>I looked again at the boats. Some were outriggers. I could not +get into an outrigger after seeing the great sculler. The rest were +one and all after the same pattern, <i>i.e.</i> with the stern +cushioned and prepared for a lady. Some were larger, and could +carry three or four ladies, but they were all intended for the same +purpose. If the sculler went out in such a boat by himself he must +either sit too forward and so depress the stem and dig himself, as +it were, into the water at each stroke, or he must sit too much to +the rear and depress the stern, and row with the stem lifted up, +sniffing the air. The whole crowd of boats on hire were exactly the +same; in short, they were built for woman and not for man, for +lovely woman to recline, parasol in one hand and tiller ropes in +the other, while man—inferior man—pulled and pulled and +pulled as an ox yoked to the plough. They could only be balanced by +man and woman, that was the only way they could be trimmed on an +even keel; they were like scales, in which the weight on one side +must be counterpoised by a weight in the other. They were dead +against bachelors. They belonged to woman, and she was absolute +mistress of the river.</p> +<p>As I looked, the boats ground together a little, chafing, +laughing at me, making game of me, asking distinctly what business +a man had there without at least one companion in petticoats? My +courage ebbed, and it was in a feeble voice that I inquired whether +there was no such thing as a little skiff a fellow might paddle +about in? No, nothing of the kind; would a canoe do? Somehow a +canoe would not do. I never took kindly to canoes, excepting always +the Canadian birch-bark pattern; evidently there was no boat for +me. There was no place on the great river for an indolent, dreamy +particle like myself, apt to drift up into nooks, and to spend much +time absorbing those pleasures which enter by the exquisite +sensitiveness of the eye—colour, and shade, and form, and the +cadence of glittering ripple and moving leaf. You must be prepared +to pull and push, and struggle for your existence on the river, as +in the vast city hard by men push and crush for money. You must +assert yourself, and insist upon having your share of the waterway; +you must be perfectly convinced that yours is the very best style +of rowing to be seen; every one ought to get out of your way. You +must consult your own convenience only, and drive right into other +people's boats, forcing them up into the willows, or against the +islands. Never slip along the shore, or into quiet backwaters; +always select the more frequented parts, not because you want to go +there, but to make your presence known, and go amongst the crowd; +and if a few sculls get broken, it only proves how very inferior +and how very clumsy other people are. If you see another boat +coming down stream, in the centre of the river with a broad space +on either side for others to pass, at once head your own boat +straight at her, and take possession of the way. Or, better still, +never look ahead, but pull straight on, and let things happen as +they may. Annoy everybody, and you are sure to be right, and to be +respected; splash the ladies as you pass with a dexterous flip of +the scull, and soak their summer costumes; it is capital sport, and +they look so sulky—or is it contemptuous?</p> +<p>There was no such thing as a skiff in which one could quietly +paddle about, or gently make way—mile after mile—up the +beautiful stream. The boating throng grew thicker, and my courage +less and less, till I desperately resorted to the ferry—at +all events, I could be rowed over in the ferry-boat, that would be +something; I should be on the water, after a fashion—and the +ferryman would know a good deal. The burly ferryman cared nothing +at all about the river, and merely answered "Yes," or "No;" he was +full of the Derby and Sandown; didn't know about the fishing; +supposed there were fish; didn't see 'em, nor eat 'em; want a punt? +No. So he landed me, desolate and hopeless, on the opposite bank, +and I began to understand how the souls felt after Charon had got +them over. They could not have been more unhappy than I was on the +towing-path, as the ferryboat receded and left me watching the +continuous succession of boats passing up and down the river.</p> +<p>By-and-by an immense black hulk came drifting round the +bend—an empty barge—almost broadside across the stream, +for the current at the curve naturally carried it out from the +shore. This huge helpless monster occupied the whole river, and had +no idea where it was going, for it had no fins or sweeps to guide +its course, and the rudder could only induce it to submit itself +lengthways to the stream after the lapse of some time. The fairway +of the river was entirely taken up by this irresponsible +Frankenstein of the Thames, which some one had started, but which +now did as it liked. Some of the small craft got up into the +willows and waited; some seemed to narrowly escape being crushed +against a wall on the opposite bank. The bright white sails of a +yacht shook and quivered as its steersman tried all he knew to coax +his vessel an inch more into the wind out of the monster's path. In +vain! He had to drop down the stream, and lose what it had taken +him half an hour's skill to gain. What a pleasing monster to meet +in the narrow arches of a bridge! The man in charge leaned on the +tiller, and placidly gazed at the wild efforts of some unskilful +oarsmen to escape collision. In fact, the monster had charge of the +man, and did as it liked with him.</p> +<p>Down the river they drifted together, Frankenstein swinging +round and thrusting his blunt nose first this way and then that; +down the river, blocking up the narrow passage by the eyot; +stopping the traffic at the lock; out at last into the tidal +stream, there to begin a fresh life of annoyance, and finally to +endanger the good speed of many a fine three-master and ocean +steamer off the docks. The Thames barge knows no law. No judge, no +jury, no Palace of Justice, no Chancery, no appeal to the Lords has +any terror for the monster barge. It drifts by the Houses of +Parliament with no more respect than it shows for the lodge of the +lock-keeper. It drifts by Royal Windsor and cares not. The guns of +the Tower are of no account. There is nothing in the world so +utterly free as this monster.</p> +<p>Often have I asked myself if the bargee at the tiller, now +sucking at his short black pipe, now munching onions and cheese +(the little onions he pitches on the lawns by the river side, there +to take root and flourish)—if this amiable man has any notion +of his own incomparable position. Just some inkling of the irony of +the situation must, I fancy, now and then dimly dawn within his +grimy brow. To see all these gentlemen shoved on one side; to be +lying in the way of a splendid Australian clipper; to stop an +incoming vessel, impatient for her berth; to swing, and sway, and +roll as he goes; to bump the big ships, and force the little ones +aside; to slip, and slide, and glide with the tide, ripples dancing +under the prow, and be master of the world-famed Thames from source +to mouth, is not this a joy for ever? Liberty is beyond price; now +no one is really free unless he can crush his neighbour's interest +underfoot, like a horse-roller going over a daisy. Bargee is free, +and the ashes of his pipe are worth a king's ransom.</p> +<p>Imagine a great van loaded at the East-end of London with the +heaviest merchandise, with bags of iron nails, shot, leaden sheets +in rolls, and pig iron; imagine four strong +horses—dray-horses—harnessed thereto. Then let the +waggoner mount behind in a seat comfortably contrived for him +facing the rear, and settle himself down happily among his sacks, +light his pipe, and fold his hands untroubled with any worry of +reins. Away they go through the crowded city, by the Bank of +England, and across into Cheapside, cabs darting this way, +carriages that, omnibuses forced up into side-streets, foot traffic +suspended till the monster has passed; up Fleet-street, clearing +the road in front of them—right through the stream of lawyers +always rushing to and fro the Temple and the New Law Courts, along +the Strand, and finally in triumph into Rotten Row at five o'clock +on a June afternoon. See how they scatter! see how they run! The +Row is swept clear from end to end—beauty, fashion, +rank,—what are such trifles of an hour? The monster vans +grind them all to powder. What such a waggoner might do on land, +bargee does on the river.</p> +<p>Of olden time the silver Thames was the chosen mode of travel of +Royalty—the highest in the land were rowed from palace to +city, or city to palace, between its sunlit banks. Noblemen had +their special oarsmen, and were in like manner conveyed, and could +any other mode of journeying be equally pleasant? The coal-barge +has bumped them all out of the way.</p> +<p>No man dares send forth the commonest cart unless in proper +charge, and if the horse is not under control a fine is promptly +administered. The coal-barge rolls and turns and drifts as chance +and the varying current please. How huge must be the rent in the +meshes of the law to let so large a fish go through! But in truth +there is no law about it, and to this day no man can confidently +affirm that he knows to whom the river belongs. These curious +anomalies are part and parcel of our political system, and as I +watched the black monster slowly go by with the stream it occurred +to me that grimy bargee, with his short pipe and his onions, was +really the guardian of the British Constitution.</p> +<p>Hardly had he gone past than a loud Pant! pant! pant! began some +way down the river; it came from a tug, whose short puffs of steam +produced a giant echo against the walls and quays and houses on the +bank. These angry pants sounded high above the splash of oars and +laughter, and the chorus of singers in a boat; they conquered all +other sounds and noises, and domineered the place. It was +impossible to shut the ears to them, or to persuade the mind not to +heed. The swallows dipped their breasts; how gracefully they drank +on the wing! Pant! pant! pant! The sunlight gleamed on the wake of +a four-oar. Pant! pant! pant! The soft wind blew among the trees +and over the hawthorn hedge. Pant! pant! pant! Neither the eye nor +ear could attend to aught but this hideous uproar. The tug was +weak, the stream strong, the barges behind heavy, broad, and deeply +laden, so that each puff and pant and turn of the screw barely +advanced the mass a foot. There are many feet in a mile, and for +all that weary time—Pant! pant! pant! This dreadful uproar, +like that which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza heard proceeding from +the fulling mill, must be endured. Could not philosophy by stoic +firmness shut out the sound? Can philosophy shut out anything that +is real? A long black streak of smoke hung over the water, fouling +the gleaming surface. A noise of Dante—hideous, +uncompromising as the rusty hinge of the gate which forbids hope. +Pant! pant! pant!</p> +<p>Once upon a time a Queen of England was rowed down the silver +Thames to the sweet low sound of the flute.</p> +<p>At last the noise grew fainter in the distance, and the black +hulls disappeared round the bend. I walked on up the towing-path. +Accidentally lifting my hand to shade my eyes, I was hailed by a +ferryman on the watch. He conveyed me over without much volition on +my part, and set me ashore by the inn of my imagination. The rooms +almost overhung the water: so far my vision was fulfilled. Within +there was an odour of spirits and spilled ale, a rustle of sporting +papers, talk of racings, and the click of billiard-balls. Without +there were two or three loafers, half boatmen, half vagabonds, +waiting to pick up stray sixpences—a sort of leprosy of +rascal and sneak in their faces and the lounge of their bodies. +These Thames-side "beach-combers" are a sorry lot, a special Pariah +class of themselves. Some of them have been men once: perhaps one +retains his sculling skill, and is occasionally engaged by a +gentleman to give him lessons. They regarded me eagerly—they +"spotted" a Thames freshman who might be made to yield silver; but +I walked away down the road into the village. The spire of the +church interested me, being of shingles—<i>i.e.</i> of wooden +slates—as the houses are roofed in America, as houses were +roofed in Elizabethan England; for Young America reproduces Old +England even in roofs. Some of the houses so closely approached the +churchyard that the pantry windows on a level with the ground were +partly blocked up by the green mounds of graves. Borage grew +thickly all over the yard, dropping its blue flowers on the dead. +The sharp note of a bugle rang in the air: they were changing +guard, I suppose, in Wolsey's Palace.</p> +<h4 align="center">III</h4> +<p>In time I did discover a skiff moored in a little-visited creek, +which the boatman got out for me. The sculls were rough and +shapeless—it is a remarkable fact that sculls always are, +unless you have them made and keep them for your own use. I paddled +up the river; I paused by an osier-grown islet; I slipped past the +barges, and avoided an unskilful party; it was the morning, and +none of the uproarious as yet were about. Certainly, it was very +pleasant. The sunshine gleamed on the water, broad shadows of trees +fell across; swans floated in the by-channels. A peacefulness which +peculiarly belongs to water hovered above the river. A house-boat +was moored near the willow-grown shore, and it was evidently +inhabited, for there was a fire smouldering on the bank, and some +linen that had been washed spread on the bushes to bleach. All the +windows of this gipsy-van of the river were wide open, and the air +and light entered freely into every part of the dwelling-house +under which flowed the stream. A lady was dressing herself before +one of these open windows, twining up large braids of dark hair, +her large arms bare to the shoulder, and somewhat farther. I +immediately steered out into the channel to avoid intrusion; but I +felt that she was regarding me with all a matron's contempt for an +unknown man—a mere member of the opposite sex, not +introduced, or of her "set." I was merely a man—no more than +a horse on the bank,—and had she been in her smock she would +have been just as indifferent.</p> +<p>Certainly it was a lovely morning; the old red palace of the +Cardinal seemed to slumber amid its trees, as if the passage of the +centuries had stroked and soothed it into indolent peace. The +meadows rested; even the swallows, the restless swallows, glided in +an effortless way through the busy air. I could see this, and yet I +did not quite enjoy it; something drew me away from perfect +contentment, and gradually it dawned upon me that it was the +current causing an unsuspected amount of labour in sculling. The +forceless particles of water, so yielding to the touch, which +slipped aside at the motion of the oar, in their countless myriads +ceaselessly flowing grew to be almost a solid obstruction to the +boat. I had not noticed it for a mile or so; now the pressure of +the stream was becoming evident. I persuaded myself that it was +nothing. I held on by the boathook to a root and rested, and so +went on again. Another mile or more; another rest: decidedly +sculling against a swift current is work—downright work. You +have no energy to spare over and above that needed for the labour +of rowing, not enough even to look round and admire the green +loveliness of the shore. I began to think that I should not get as +far as Oxford after all.</p> +<p>By-and-by, I began to question if rowing on a river is as +pleasant as rowing on a lake, where you can rest on your oars +without losing ground, where no current opposes progress, and after +the stroke the boat slips ahead some distance of its own impetus. +On the river the boat only travels as far as you actually pull it +at each stroke; there is no life in it after the scull is lifted, +the impetus dies, and the craft first pauses and then drifts +backward. I crept along the shore, so near that one scull +occasionally grounded, to avoid the main force of the water, which +is in the middle of the river. I slipped behind eyots and tried all +I knew. In vain, the river was stronger than I, and my arms could +not for many hours contend with the Thames. So faded another part +of my dream. The idea of rowing from one town to another—of +expeditions and travelling across the country, so pleasant to think +of—in practice became impossible. An athlete bent on nothing +but athleticism—a canoeist thinking of nothing but his +canoe—could accomplish it, setting himself daily so much work +to do, and resolutely performing it. A dreamer, who wanted to enjoy +his passing moment, and not to keep regular time with his strokes, +who wanted to gather flowers, and indulge his luxurious eyes with +effects of light and shadow and colour, could not succeed. The +river is for the man of might.</p> +<p>With a weary back at last I gave up the struggle at the foot of +a weir, almost in the splash of the cascade. My best friend, the +boathook, kept me stationary without effort, and in time rest +restored the strained muscles to physical equanimity. The roar of +the river falling over the dam soothed the mind—the sense of +an immense power at hand, working with all its might while you are +at ease, has a strangely soothing influence. It makes me sleepy to +see the vast beam of an engine regularly rise and fall in ponderous +irresistible labour. Now at last some fragment of my fancy was +realised—a myriad myriad rushing bubbles whitening the stream +burst, and were instantly succeeded by myriads more; the boat +faintly vibrated as the wild waters shot beneath it; the green +cascade, smooth at its first curve, dashed itself into the depth +beneath, broken to a million million particles; the eddies whirled, +and sucked, and sent tiny whirlpools rotating along the surface; +the roar rose or lessened in intensity as the velocity of the wind +varied; sunlight sparkled—the warmth inclined the senses to a +drowsy idleness. Yonder was the trout fisherman, just as I had +imagined him, casting and casting again with that transcendental +patience which is genius; his line and the top of his rod formed +momentary curves pleasant to look at. The kingfisher did not +come—no doubt he had been shot—but a reed-sparrow did, +in velvet black cap and dainty brown, pottering about the willow +near me. This was really like the beautiful river I had dreamed of. +If only we could persuade ourselves to remain quiescent when we are +happy! If only we would remain still in the armchair as the last +curl of vapour rises from a cigar that has been enjoyed! If only we +would sit still in the shadow and not go indoors to write that +letter! Let happiness alone. Stir not an inch; speak not a word: +happiness is a coy maiden—hold her hand and be still.</p> +<p>In an evil moment I spied the corner of a newspaper projecting +from the pocket of my coat in the stern-sheets. Folly led me to +open that newspaper, and in it I saw and read a ghastly paragraph. +Two ladies and a gentleman while boating had been carried by the +current against the piles of a weir. The boat upset; the ladies +were rescued, but the unfortunate gentleman was borne over the fall +and drowned. His body had not been recovered; men were watching the +pool day and night till some chance eddy should bring it to the +surface. So perished my dream, and the coy-maiden happiness left me +because I could not be content to be silent and still. The accident +had not happened at this weir, but it made no difference; I could +see all as plainly. A white face, blurred and indistinct, seemed to +rise up from beneath the rushing bubbles till, just as it was about +to jump to the surface, as things do that come up, down it was +drawn again by that terrible underpull which has been fatal to so +many good swimmers.</p> +<p>Who can keep afloat with a force underneath dragging at the +feet? Who can swim when the water—all bubbles, that is +air—gives no resistance to the hands? Hands and feet slip +through the bubbles. You might as well spring from the parapet of a +house and think to float by striking out as to swim in such a +medium. Sinking under, a hundred tons of water drive the body to +the bottom; there it rotates, it rises, it is forced down again, a +hundred tons of water beat upon it; the foot, perhaps, catches +among stones or woodwork, and what was once a living being is +imprisoned in death. Enough of this. I unloosed the boathook, and +drifted down with the stream, anxious to get away from the horrible +weir.</p> +<p>These accidents, which are entirely preventable, happen year +after year with lamentable monotony. Each weir is a little Niagara, +and a boat once within its influence is certain to be driven to +destruction. The current carries it against the piles, where it is +either broken or upset, the natural and reasonable alarm of the +occupants increasing the risk. In descending the river every boat +must approach the weir, and must pass within a few yards of the +dangerous current. If there is a press of boats one is often forced +out of the proper course into the rapid part of the stream without +any negligence on the part of those in it. There is nothing to +prevent this—no fence, or boom; no mark, even, between what +is dangerous and what is not; no division whatever. Persons +ignorant of the river may just as likely as not row right into +danger. A vague caution on a notice-board may or may not be seen; +in either case it gives no directions, and is certainly no +protection. Let the matter be argued from whatever point of view, +the fact remains that these accidents occur from the want of an +efficient division between the dangerous and the safe part of the +approach to a weir. A boom or some kind of fence is required, and +how extraordinary it seems that nothing of the kind is done! It is +not done because there is no authority, no control, no one +responsible. Two or three gentlemen acquainted with aquatics could +manage the river from end to end, to the safety and satisfaction of +all, if they were entrusted with discretionary powers. Stiff rules +and rigid control are not needed; what is wanted is a rational +power freely using its discretion. I do not mean a Board with its +attendant follies; I mean a small committee, unfettered, +untrammelled by "legal advisers" and so forth, merely using their +own good sense.</p> +<p>I drifted away from the weir—now grown hideous—and +out of hearing of its wailing dirge for the unfortunate. I drifted +past more barges coming up, and more steam-tugs; past river lawns, +where gay parties were now sipping claret-cup or playing tennis. +By-and-by, I began to meet pleasure-boats and to admire their +manner of progress. First there came a gentleman in white flannels, +walking on the tow-path, with a rope round his waist, towing a boat +in which two ladies were comfortably seated. In a while came two +more gentlemen in striped flannels, one streaked with gold the +other with scarlet, striding side by side and towing a boat in +which sat one lady. They were very earnestly at work, pacing in +step, their bodies slightly leaning forwards, and every now and +then they mopped their faces with handkerchiefs which they carried +in their girdles. Something in their slightly-bowed attitude +reminded me of the captives depicted on Egyptian monuments, with +cords about their necks. How curious is that instinct which makes +each sex, in different ways, the willing slave of the other! These +human steam-tugs paced and pulled, and drew the varnished craft +swiftly against the stream, evidently determined to do a certain +distance by a certain hour. As I drifted by without labour, I +admired them very much. An interval, and still more gentlemen in +flannel, labouring like galley-slaves at the tow-rope, hot, +perspiring, and happy after their kind, and ladies under parasols, +comfortably seated, cool, and happy after their kind.</p> +<p>Considering upon these things, I began to discern the true and +only manner in which the modern Thames is to be enjoyed. Above all +things—nothing heroic. Don't scull—don't +row—don't haul at tow-ropes—don't swim—don't +flourish a fishing-rod. Set your mind at ease. Make friends with +two or more athletes, thorough good fellows, good-natured, +delighting in their thews and sinews. Explain to them that somehow, +don't you see, nature did not bless you with such superabundant +muscularity, although there is nothing under the sun you admire so +much. Forthwith these good fellows will pet you, and your Thames +fortune is made. You take your place in the stern-sheets, happily +protected on either side by feminine human nature, and the parasols +meeting above shield you from the sun. The tow-rope is adjusted, +and the tugs start. The gliding motion soothes the soul. Feminine +boating nature has no antipathy to the cigarette. A delicious +odour, soft as new-mown hay, a hint of spices and distant +flowers—sunshine dried and preserved, sunshine you can +handle—rises from the smouldering fibres. This is smoking +summer itself. Yonder in the fore part of the craft I espy certain +vessels of glass on which is the label of Epernay. And of such is +peace.</p> +<p>Drifting ever downwards, I approached the creek where my skiff +had to be left; but before I reached it a "beach-comber," with a +coil of cord over his shoulder, asked me if he should tow me "up to +'Ampton." I shook my head, whereupon he abused me in such choice +terms that I listened abashed at my ignorance. It had never +occurred to me that swearing could be done like that. It is true we +have been swearing now, generation after generation, these eight +thousand years for certain, and language expands with use. It is +also true that we are all educated now. Shakespeare is credited +with knowing everything, past or future, but I doubt if he knew how +a Thames "beach-comber" can curse in these days.</p> +<p>The Thames is swearing free. You must moderate your curses on +the Queen's highway; you must not be even profane in the streets, +lest you be taken before the magistrates; but on the Thames you may +swear as the wind blows—howsoever you list. You may begin at +the mouth, off the Nore, and curse your way up to Cricklade. A +hundred miles for swearing is a fine preserve. It is one of the +marvels of our civilisation.</p> +<p>Aided by scarce a touch of the sculls the stream drifted me up +into the creek, and the boatman took charge of his skiff. "Shall I +keep her handy for you, sir?" he said, thinking to get me down +every day as a newcomer. I begged him not to put himself to any +trouble, still he repeated that he would keep her ready. But in the +road I shook off the dust of my feet against the river, and +earnestly resolved never, never again to have anything to do with +it (in the heroic way) lower down than Henley.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="9">THE SINGLE-BARREL GUN</a></h3> +<p>The single-barrel gun has passed out of modern sport; but I +remember mine with regret, and think I shall some day buy another. +I still find that the best double-barrel seems top-heavy in +comparison; in poising it the barrels have a tendency to droop. +Guns, of course, are built to balance and lie level in the hand, so +as to almost aim themselves as they come to the shoulder; and those +who have always shot with a double-barrel are probably quite +satisfied with the gun on that score. To me there seems too much +weight in the left hand and towards the end of the gun. Quickness +of firing keeps the double-barrel to the front; but suppose a +repeater were to be invented, some day, capable of discharging two +cartridges in immediate succession? And if two cartridges, why not +three? An easy thought, but a very difficult one to realise. +Something in the <i>power</i> of the double-barrel—the +overwhelming odds it affords the sportsman over bird and +animal—pleases. A man feels master of the copse with a +double-barrel; and such a sense of power, though only over feeble +creatures, is fascinating. Besides, there is the delight of effect; +for a clever right and left is sure of applause and makes the +gunner feel "good" in himself. Doubtless, if three barrels could be +managed, three barrels would be more saleable than doubles. One +gun-maker has a four-barrel gun, quite a light weight too, which +would be a tremendous success if the creatures would obligingly run +and fly a little slower, so that all four cartridges could be got +in. But that they will not do. For the present, the double-barrel +is the gun of the time.</p> +<p>Still I mean some day to buy a single-barrel, and wander with it +as of old along the hedges, aware that if I am not skilful enough +to bring down with the first shot I shall lose my game. It is +surprising how confident of that one shot you may get after a +while. On the one hand, it is necessary to be extremely keen; on +the other, to be sure of your own self-control, not to fire +uselessly. The bramble-bushes on the shore of the ditch ahead might +cover a hare. Through the dank and dark-green aftermath a rabbit +might suddenly come bounding, disturbed from the furrow where he +had been feeding. On the sandy paths which the rabbits have made +aslant up the mound, and on their terraces, where they sit and look +out from under the boughs, acorns have dropped ripe from the tree. +Where there are acorns there may be pheasants; they may crouch in +the fern and dry grey grass of the hedge thinking you do not see +them, or else rush through and take wing on the opposite side. The +only chance of a shot is as the bird passes a gap—visible +while flying a yard—just time to pull the trigger. But I +would rather have that chance than have to fire between the bars of +a gate; for the horizontal lines cause an optical illusion, making +the object appear in a different position from what it really is +in, and half the pellets are sure to be buried in the rails. +Wood-pigeons, when eagerly stuffing their crops with acorns, +sometimes forget their usual caution; and, walking slowly, I have +often got right underneath one—as unconscious of his presence +as he was of mine, till a sudden dashing of wings against boughs +and leaves announced his departure. This he always makes on the +opposite side of the oak, so as to have the screen of the thick +branches between himself and the gunner. The wood-pigeon, starting +like this from a tree, usually descends in the first part of his +flight, a gentle downward curve followed by an upward rise, and +thus comes into view at the lower part of the curve. He still seems +within shot, and to afford a good mark; and yet experience has +taught me that it is generally in vain to fire. His stout quills +protect him at the full range of the gun. Besides, a wasted shot +alarms everything within several hundred yards; and in stalking +with a single-barrel it needs as much knowledge to choose when not +to fire as when you may.</p> +<p>The most exciting work with the single-barrel was woodcock +shooting; woodcock being by virtue of rarity a sort of royal game, +and a miss at a woodcock a terrible disappointment. They have a +trick of skimming along the very summit of a hedge, and looking so +easy to kill; but, as they fly, the tops of tall briers here, +willow-rods next, or an ash-pole often intervene, and the result is +apt to be a bough cut off and nothing more. Snipes, on the +contrary, I felt sure of with the single-barrel, and never could +hit them so well with a double. Either at starting, before the +snipe got into his twist, or waiting till he had finished that +uncertain movement, the single-barrel seemed to drop the shot with +certainty. This was probably because of its perfect natural +balance, so that it moved as if on a pivot. With the single I had +nothing to manage but my own arms; with the other I was conscious +that I had a gun also. With the single I could kill farther, no +matter what it was. The single was quicker at short +shots—snap-shots, as at rabbits darting across a narrow lane; +and surer at long shots, as at a hare put out a good way ahead by +the dog.</p> +<p>For everything but the multiplication of slaughter I liked the +single best; I had more of the sense of woodcraft with it. When we +consider how helpless a partridge is, for instance, before the +fierce blow of shot, it does seem fairer that the gunner should +have but one chance at the bird. Partridges at least might be kept +for single-barrels: great bags of partridges never seemed to be +quite right. Somehow it seems to me that to take so much advantage +as the double-barrel confers is not altogether in the spirit of +sport. The double-barrel gives no "law." At least to those who love +the fields, the streams, and woods for their own sake, the +single-barrel will fill the bag sufficiently, and will permit them +to enjoy something of the zest men knew before the invention of +weapons not only of precision but of repetition: inventions that +rendered them too absolute masters of the situation. A +single-barrel will soon make a sportsman the keenest of shots. The +gun itself can be built to an exquisite perfection—lightness, +handiness, workmanship, and performance of the very best. It is +said that you can change from a single-barrel shot-gun to a +sporting rifle and shoot with the rifle almost at once; while many +who have been used to the slap-dash double cannot do anything for +some time with a rifle. More than one African explorer has found +his single-barrel smooth-bore the most useful of all the pieces in +his battery; though, of course, of much larger calibre than +required in our fields.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="10">THE HAUNT OF THE HARE</a></h3> +<p>It is never so much winter in the country as it is in the town. +The trees are still there, and in and about them birds remain. +"Quip! whip!" sounds from the elms; "Whip! quip!" Redwing thrushes +threaten with the "whip" those who advance towards them; they spend +much of the day in the elm-tops. Thick tussocks of old grass are +conspicuous at the skirt of a hedge; half green, half grey, they +contrast with the bare thorn. From behind one of these tussocks a +hare starts, his black-tipped ears erect, his long hinder limbs +throwing him almost like a grasshopper over the sward—no +creature looks so handsome or startling, and it is always a +pleasant surprise to see him. Pheasant or partridge do not surprise +in the least—they are no more than any other bird; but a hare +causes quite a different feeling. He is perfectly wild, unfed, +untended, and then he is the largest animal to be shot in the +fields. A rabbit slips along the mound, under bushes and behind +stoles, but a hare bolts for the open, and hopes in his speed. He +leaves the straining spaniel behind, and the distance between them +increases as they go. The spaniel's broad hind paws are thrown wide +apart as he runs, striking outwards as well as backwards, and his +large ears are lifted by the wind of his progress. Overtaken by the +cartridge, still the hare, as he lies in the dewy grass, is +handsome; lift him up and his fur is full of colour, there are +layers of tint, shadings of brown within it, one under the other, +and the surface is exquisitely clean. The colours are not really +bright, at least not separately; but they are so clean and so clear +that they give an impression of warmth and brightness. Even in the +excitement of sport regret cannot but be felt at the sight of those +few drops of blood about the mouth which indicate that all this +beautiful workmanship must now cease to be. Had he escaped the +sportsman would not have been displeased.</p> +<p>The black bud-sheaths of the ash may furnish a comparison for +his ear-tips; the brown brake in October might give one hue for his +fur; the yellow or buff bryony leaf perhaps another; the clematis +is not whiter than the white part. His colours, as those of so many +of our native wild creatures, appear selected from the woods, as if +they had been gathered and skilfully mingled together. They can be +traced or paralleled in the trees, the bushes, grasses, or flowers, +as if extracted from them by a secret alchemy. In the plumage of +the partridge there are tints that may be compared with the brown +corn, the brown ripe grains rubbed from the ear; it is in the +corn-fields that the partridge delights. There the young brood are +sheltered, there they feed and grow plump. The red tips of other +feathers are reflections of the red sorrel of the meadows. The grey +fur of the rabbit resembles the grey ash hue of the underwood in +which he hides.</p> +<p>A common plant in moist places, the figwort, bears small velvety +flowers, much the colour of the red velvet topknot of the +goldfinch, the yellow on whose wings is like the yellow bloom of +the furze which he frequents in the winter, perching cleverly on +its prickly extremities. In the woods, in the bark of the trees, +the varied shades of the branches as their size diminishes, the +adhering lichens, the stems of the underwood, now grey, now green; +the dry stalks of plants, brown, white, or dark, all the +innumerable minor hues that cross and interlace, there is suggested +the woven texture of tints found on the wings of birds. For +brighter tones the autumn leaves can be resorted to, and in summer +the finches rising from the grass spring upwards from among flowers +that could supply them with all their colours. But it is not so +much the brighter as the undertones that seem to have been drawn +from the woodlands or fields. Although no such influence has really +been exerted by the trees and plants upon the living creatures, yet +it is pleasant to trace the analogy. Those who would convert it +into a scientific fact are met with a dilemma to which they are +usually oblivious, <i>i.e.</i> that most birds migrate, and the +very tints which in this country might perhaps, by a stretch of +argument, be supposed to conceal them, in a distant climate with a +different foliage, or none, would render them conspicuous. Yet it +is these analogies and imaginative comparisons which make the +country so delightful.</p> +<p>One day in autumn, after toiling with their guns, which are +heavy in the September heats, across the fields and over the hills, +the hospitable owner of the place suddenly asked his weary and +thirsty friend which he would have, champagne, ale, or spirits. +They were just then in the midst of a cover, the trees kept off the +wind, the afternoon sun was warm, and thirst very natural. They had +not been shooting in the cover, but had to pass through to other +cornfields. It seemed a sorry jest to ask which would be preferred +in that lonely and deserted spot, miles from home or any house +whence refreshment could be obtained—wine, spirits, or +ale?—an absurd question, and irritating under the +circumstances. As it was repeated persistently, however, the reply +was at length given, in no very good humour, and wine chosen. +Forthwith putting down his gun, the interrogator pushed in among +the underwood, and from a cavity concealed beneath some bushes drew +forth a bottle of champagne. He had several of these stores hidden +in various parts of the domain, ready whichever way the chance of +sport should direct their footsteps.</p> +<p>Now the dry wild parsnip, or "gicks," five feet high, stands +dead and dry, its jointed tube of dark stem surmounted with +circular frills or umbels; the teazle heads are brown, the great +burdocks leafless, and their burs, still adhering, are withered; +the ground, almost free of obstruction, is comparatively easy to +search over, but the old sportsman is too cunning to bury his wine +twice in the same place, and it is no use to look about. No birds +in last year's nests—the winds have torn and upset the mossy +structures in the bushes; no champagne in last year's cover. The +driest place is under the firs, where the needles have fallen and +strew the surface thickly. Outside the wood, in the waggon-track, +the beech leaves lie on the side of the mound, dry and shrivelled +at the top, but stir them, and under the top layer they still +retain the clear brown of autumn.</p> +<p>The ivy trailing on the bank is moist and freshly green. There +are two tints of moss; one light, the other deeper—both very +pleasant and restful to the eye. These beds of moss are the +greenest and brightest of the winter's colours. Besides these there +are ale-hoof, or ground-ivy leaves (not the ivy that climbs trees), +violet leaves, celandine mars, primrose mars, foxglove mars, teazle +mars, and barren strawberry leaves, all green in the midst of +winter. One tiny white flower of barren strawberry has ventured to +bloom. Round about the lower end of each maple stick, just at the +ground, is a green wrap of moss. Though leafless above, it is green +at the foot. At the verge of the ploughed field below, exposed as +it is, chickweed, groundsel, and shepherd's-purse are flowering. +About a little thorn there hang withered red berries of bryony, as +if the bare thorn bore fruit; the bine of the climbing plant clings +to it still; there are traces of "old man's beard," the white +fluffy relics of clematis bloom, stained brown by the weather; +green catkins droop thickly on the hazel. Every step presents some +item of interest, and thus it is that it is never so much winter in +the country. Where fodder has been thrown down in a pasture field +for horses, a black congregation of rooks has crowded together in a +ring. A solitary pole for trapping hawks stands on the sloping +ground outside the cover. These poles are visited every morning +when the trap is there, and the captured creature put out of pain. +Of the cruelty of the trap itself there can be no doubt; but it is +very unjust to assume that therefore those connected with sport are +personally cruel. In a farmhouse much frequented by rats, and from +which they cannot be driven out, these animals are said to have +discovered a means of defying the gin set for them. One such gin +was placed in the cheese-room, near a hole from which they issued, +but they dragged together pieces of straw, little fragments of +wood, and various odds and ends, and so covered the pan that the +trap could not spring. They formed, in fact, a bridge over it.</p> +<p>Red and yellow fungi mark decaying places on the trunks and +branches of the trees; their colour is brightest when the boughs +are bare. By a streamlet wandering into the osier beds the winter +gnats dance in the sunshine, round about an old post covered with +ivy, on which green berries are thick. The warm sunshine gladdens +the hearts of the moorhens floating on the water yonder by the +bushes, and their singular note, "coorg-coorg," is uttered at +intervals. In the plantation close to the house a fox resides as +safe as King Louis in "Quentin Durward," surrounded with his guards +and archers and fortified towers, though tokens of his midnight +rambles, in the shape of bones, strew the front of his castle. He +crosses the lawn in sight of the windows occasionally, as if he +really knew and understood that his life is absolutely safe at +ordinary times, and that he need beware of nothing but the +hounds.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="11">THE BATHING SEASON</a></h3> +<p>Most people who go on the West Pier at Brighton walk at once +straight to the farthest part. This is the order and custom of pier +promenading; you are to stalk along the deck till you reach the +end, and there go round and round the band in a circle like a horse +tethered to an iron pin, or else sit down and admire those who do +go round and round. No one looks back at the gradually extending +beach and the fine curve of the shore. No one lingers where the +surf breaks—immediately above it—listening to the +remorseful sigh of the dying wave as it sobs back to the sea. +There, looking downwards, the white edge of the surf recedes in +hollow crescents, curve after curve for a mile or more, one +succeeding before the first can disappear and be replaced by a +fresh wave. A faint mistiness hangs above the beach at some +distance, formed of the salt particles dashed into the air and +suspended. At night, if the tide chances to be up, the white surf +rushing in and returning immediately beneath has a strange effect, +especially in its pitiless regularity. If one wave seems to break a +little higher it is only in appearance, and because you have not +watched long enough. In a certain number of times another will +break there again; presently one will encroach the merest trifle; +after a while another encroaches again, and the apparent +irregularity is really sternly regular. The free wave has no +liberty—it does not act for itself,—no real generous +wildness. "Thus far and no farther," is not a merciful saying. Cold +and dread and pitiless, the wave claims its due—it stretches +its arms to the fullest length, and does not pause or hearken to +the desire of any human heart. Hopeless to appeal to is the unseen +force that sends the white surge underneath to darken the pebbles +to a certain line. The wetted pebbles are darker than the dry; even +in the dusk they are easily distinguished. Something merciless is +there not in this conjunction of restriction and impetus? Something +outside human hope and thought—indifferent—cold?</p> +<p>Considering in this way, I wandered about fifty yards along the +pier, and sat down in an abstracted way on the seat on the right +side. Beneath, the clear green sea rolled in crestless waves +towards the shore—they were moving "without the animation of +the wind," which had deserted them two days ago, and a hundred +miles out at sea. Slower and slower, with an indolent undulation, +rising and sinking of mere weight and devoid of impetus, the waves +passed on, scarcely seeming to break the smoothness of the surface. +At a little distance it seemed level; yet the boats every now and +then sank deeply into the trough, and even a large fishing-smack +rolled heavily. For it is the nature of a groundswell to be +exceedingly deceptive. Sometimes the waves are so far apart that +the sea actually is level—smooth as the surface of a polished +dining-table—till presently there appears a darker line +slowly approaching, and a wave of considerable size comes in, +advancing exactly like the crease in the cloth which the housemaid +spreads on the table—the air rolling along underneath it +forms a linen imitation of the groundswell. These unexpected +rollers are capital at upsetting boats just touching the beach; the +boat is broadside on and the occupants in the water in a second. +To-day the groundswell was more active, the waves closer together, +not having had time to forget the force of the extinct gale. Yet +the sea looked calm as a millpond—just the morning for a +bath.</p> +<p>Along the yellow line where sand and pebbles meet there stood a +gallant band, in gay uniforms, facing the water. Like the imperial +legions who were ordered to charge the ocean, and gather the shells +as spoils of war, the cohorts gleaming in purple and gold extended +their front rank—their fighting line one to a +yard—along the strand. Some tall and stately; some tall and +slender; some well developed and firm on their limbs; some gentle +in attitude, even in their war dress; some defiant; perhaps forty +or fifty, perhaps more, ladies; a splendid display of womanhood in +the bright sunlight. Blue dresses, pink dresses, purple dresses, +trimmings of every colour; a gallant show. The eye had but just +time to receive these impressions as it were with a blow of the +camera—instantaneous photography—when, boom! the +groundswell was on them, and, heavens, what a change! They +disappeared. An arm projected here, possibly a foot yonder, tresses +floated on the surface like seaweed, but bodily they were gone. The +whole rank from end to end was overthrown—more than that, +overwhelmed, buried, interred in water like Pharaoh's army in the +Red Sea. Crush! It had come on them like a mountain. The wave so +clear, so beautifully coloured, so cool and refreshing, had struck +their delicate bodies with the force of a ton weight. Crestless and +smooth to look at, in reality that treacherous roller weighed at +least a ton to a yard.</p> +<p>Down went each fair bather as if hit with shot from a Gatling +gun. Down she went, frantically, and vainly grasping at a useless +rope; down with water driven into her nostrils, with a fragment, a +tiny blade, of seaweed forced into her throat, choking her; crush +on the hard pebbles, no feather bed, with the pressure of a ton of +water overhead, and the strange rushing roar it makes in the ears. +Down she went, and at the same time was dragged head foremost, +sideways, anyhow, but dragged—<i>ground</i> along on the +bitter pebbles some yards higher up the beach, each pebble leaving +its own particular bruise, and the suspended sand filling the eyes. +Then the wave left her, and she awoke from the watery nightmare to +the bright sunlight, and the hissing foam as it subsided, prone at +full length, high and dry like a stranded wreck. Perhaps her head +had tapped the wheel of the machine in a friendly way—a sort +of genial battering ram. The defeat was a perfect rout; yet they +recovered position immediately. I fancy I did see one slip limply +to cover; but the main body rose manfully, and picked their way +with delicate feet on the hard, hard stones back again to the +water, again to meet their inevitable fate.</p> +<p>The white ankles of the blonde gleaming in the sunshine were +distinguishable, even at that distance, from the flesh tint of the +brunette beside her, and these again from the swarthiness of still +darker ankles, which did not gleam, but had a subdued colour like +dead gold. The foam of a lesser wave ran up and touched their feet +submissively. Three young girls in pink clustered together; one +crouched with her back to the sea and glanced over her timorous +shoulder. Another lesser wave ran up and left a fringe of foam +before them. I looked for a moment out to sea and saw the smack +roll heavily, the big wave was coming. By now the bathers had +gathered confidence, and stepped, a little way at a time, closer +and closer down to the water. Some even stood where each lesser +wave rose to their knees. Suddenly a few leant forwards, pulling +their ropes taut, and others turned sideways; these were the more +experienced or observant. Boom! The big roller broke near the pier +and then ran along the shore; it did not strike the whole length at +once, it came in aslant and rushed sideways. The three in pink went +first—they were not far enough from their machine to receive +its full force, it barely reached to the waist, and really I think +it was worse for them. They were lifted off their feet and shot +forward with their heads under water; one appeared to be under the +two others, a confused mass of pink. Their white feet emerged +behind the roller, and as it sank it drew them back, grinding them +over the pebbles: every one knows how pebbles grate and grind their +teeth as a wave subsides. Left lying on their faces, I guessed from +their attitudes that they had dug their finger-nails into the +pebbles in an effort to seize something that would hold. Somehow +they got on their knees and crept up the slope of the beach. Beyond +these three some had been standing about up to their knees; these +were simply buried as before—quite concealed and thrown like +beams of timber, head first, feet first, high up on shore. Group +after group went down as the roller reached them, and the sea was +dyed for a minute with blue dresses, purple dresses, pink dresses; +they coloured the wave which submerged them. From end to end the +whole rank was again overwhelmed, nor did any position prove of +advantage; those who sprang up as the wave came were simply turned +over and carried on their backs, those who tried to dive under were +swept back by the tremendous under-rush. Sitting on the beach, +lying at full length, on hands and knees, lying on this side or +that, doubled up—there they were, as the roller receded, in +every disconsolate attitude imaginable; the curtain rose and +disclosed the stage in disorder. Again I thought I saw one or two +limp to their machines, but the main body adjusted themselves and +faced the sea.</p> +<p>Was there ever such courage? National untaught +courage—inbred, and not built of gradual instruction as it +were in hardihood. Yet some people hesitate to give women the +franchise! actually, a miserable privilege which any poor fool of a +man may exercise.</p> +<p>I was philosophising admirably in this strain when first a +shadow came and then the substance, that is, a gentleman sat down +by me and wished me good morning, in a slightly different accent to +that we usually hear. I looked wistfully at the immense length of +empty seats; on both sides of the pier for two hundred yards or +more there extended an endless empty seat. Why could not he have +chosen a spot to himself? Why must he place himself just here, so +close as to touch me? Four hundred yards of vacant seats, and he +could not find room for himself.</p> +<p>It is a remarkable fact in natural history that one's elbow is +sure to be jogged. It does not matter what you do; suppose you +paint in the most secluded spot, and insert yourself, moreover, in +the most inconspicuous part of that spot, some vacant physiognomy +is certain to intrude, glaring at you with glassy eye. Suppose you +do nothing (like myself), no matter where you do it some inane +humanity obtrudes itself. I took out my note-book once in a great +open space at the Tower of London, a sort of court or place of +arms, quite open and a gunshot across; there was no one in sight, +and if there had been half a regiment they could have passed (and +would have passed) without interference. I had scarcely written +three lines when the pencil flew up the page, some hulking lout +having brushed against me. He could not find room for himself. A +hundred yards of width was not room enough for him to go by. He +meant no harm; it did not occur to him that he could be otherwise +than welcome. He was the sort of man who calmly sleeps on your +shoulder in a train, and merely replaces his head if you wake him +twenty times. The very same thing has happened to me in the parks, +and in country fields; particularly it happens at the British +Museum and the picture galleries, there is room sufficient in all +conscience; but if you try to make a note or a rough memorandum +sketch you get a jog. There is a jogger everywhere, just as there +is a buzzing fly everywhere in summer. The jogger travels, too.</p> +<p>One day, while studying in the Louvre, I am certain three or +four hundred French people went by me, mostly provincials I fancy, +country-folks, in short, from their dress, which was not Parisian, +and their accent, which was not of the Boulevards. Of all these not +one interfered with me; they did not approach within four or five +feet. How grateful I felt towards them! One man and his sweetheart, +a fine southern girl with dark eyes and sun-browned cheeks, sat +down near me on one of the scanty seats provided. The man put his +umbrella and his hat on the seat beside him. What could be more +natural? No one else was there, and there was room for three more +couples. Instantly an official—an authority!—stepped +hastily forward from the shadow of some sculpture (beasts of prey +abide in darkness), snatched up the umbrella and hat, and rudely +dashed them on the floor. In a flow of speech he explained that +nothing must be placed on the seats. The man, who had his +handkerchief in his hand, quietly dropped it into his hat on the +floor, and replied nothing. This was an official "jogger." I felt +indignant to see and hear people treated in this rough manner; but +the provincial was used to the jogger system and heeded it not. My +own jogger was coming. Three to four hundred country-folk had gone +by gently and in a gentlemanly way. Then came an English gentleman, +middle-aged, florid, not much tinctured with art or letters, but +garnished with huge gold watchchain and with wealth as it were +bulging out of his waistcoat pocket. This gentleman positively +walked into me, pushed me-literally pushed me aside and took my +place, a place valuable to me at that moment for one special +aspect, and having shoved me aside, gazed about him through his +eyeglass, I suppose to discover what it was interested me. He was a +genuine, thoroughbred jogger. The vast galleries of the Louvre had +not room enough for him. He was one of the most successful joggers +in the world, I feel sure; any family might be proud of him. While +I am thus digressing, the bathers have gone over thrice.</p> +<p>The individual who had sat himself down by me produced a little +box and offered me a lozenge. I did not accept it; he took one +himself in token that they were harmless. Then he took a second, +and a third, and began to tell me of their virtues; they cured this +and they alleviated that, they were the greatest discovery of the +age; this universal lozenge was health in the waistcoat pocket, a +medicine-chest between finger and thumb; the secret had been +extracted at last, and nature had given up the ghost as it were of +her hidden physic. His eloquence conjured up in my mind a vision of +the rocks beside the Hudson river papered over with acres of +advertising posters. But no; by his further conversation I found +that I had mentally slandered him; he was not a proprietor of +patent medicine; he was a man of education and private means; he +belonged to a much higher profession, in fact he was a "jogger" +travelling about from place to place—"globetrotting" from +capital city to watering-place—all over the world in the +exercise of his function. I had wondered if his accent was American +(petroleum-American), or German, or Italian, or Russian, or what. +Now I wondered no longer, for the jogger is cosmopolitan. When he +had exhausted his lozenge he told me how many times the screw of +the steamer revolved while carrying him across the Pacific from +Yokohama to San Francisco. I nearly suggested that it was about +equal to the number of times his tongue had vibrated in the last +ten minutes. The bathers went over twice more. I was anxious to +take note of their bravery, and turned aside, leaning over the iron +back of the seat. He went on just the same; a hint was no more to +him than a feather bed to an ironclad.</p> +<p>My rigid silence was of no avail; so long as my ears were open +he did not care. He was a very energetic jogger. However, it +occurred to me to try another plan: I turned towards him (he would +much rather have had my back) and began to talk in the most +strident tones I could command. I pointed out to him that the pier +was decked like a vessel, that the cliffs were white, that a lady +passing had a dark blue dress on, which did not suit with the green +sea, not because it was blue, but because it was the wrong tint of +blue. I informed him that the Pavilion was once the residence of +royalty, and similar novelties; all in a string without a +semicolon. His eyes opened; he fumbled with his lozenge-box, said +"Good morning," and went on up the pier. I watched him +go—English-Americano- +Germano-Franco-Prussian-Russian-Chinese-New Zealander that he was. +But he was not a man of genius; you could choke him off by talking. +Still he had effectually jogged me and spoiled my contemplative +enjoyment of the bathers' courage; upon the whole I thought I would +go down on the beach now and see them a little closer. The truth +is, I suppose, that it is people like myself who are in the wrong, +or are in the way. What business had I to make a note in the Tower +yard, or study in the Louvre? what business have I to think, or +indulge myself in an idea? What business has any man to paint, or +sketch, or do anything of the sort? I suppose the joggers are in +the right.</p> +<p>Dawdling down Whitehall one day a jogger nailed me—they +come to me like flies to honey—and got me to look at his +pamphlet. He went about, he said, all his time distributing them as +a duty for the safety of the nation. The pamphlet was printed in +the smallest type, and consisted of extracts from various +prophetical authors, pointing out the enormity of the Babylonian +Woman, of the City of Scarlet, or some such thing; the gist being +the bitterest—almost scurrilous—attack on the Church of +Rome. The jogger told me, with tears of pride in his eyes and a +glorified countenance, that only a few days before, in the +waiting-room of a railway station, he had the pleasure to present +his pamphlet to Cardinal Manning. And the Cardinal bowed and put it +in his pocket.</p> +<p>Just as everybody walks on the sunny side of Regent-street, so +there are certain spots on the beach where people crowd together. +This is one of them; just west of the West Pier there is a fair +between eleven and one every bright morning. Everybody goes because +everybody else does. Mamma goes down to bathe with her daughters +and the little ones; they take two machines at least; the pater +comes to smoke his cigar; the young fellows of the family-party +come to look at "the women," as they irreverently speak of the sex. +So the story runs on <i>ad infinitum</i>, down to the shoeless ones +that turn up everywhere. Every seat is occupied; the boats and +small yachts are filled; some of the children pour pebbles into the +boats, some carefully throw them out; wooden spades are busy; +sometimes they knock each other on the head with them, sometimes +they empty pails of sea-water on a sister's frock. There is a +squealing, squalling, screaming, shouting, singing, bawling, +howling, whistling, tin-trumpeting, and every luxury of noise. Two +or three bands work away; niggers clatter their bones; a conjurer +in red throws his heels in the air; several harps strum merrily +different strains; fruit-sellers push baskets into folks' faces; +sellers of wretched needlework and singular baskets coated with +shells thrust their rubbish into people's laps. These shell baskets +date from George IV. The gingerbeer men and the newsboys cease not +from troubling. Such a volume of uproar, such a complete organ of +discord I mean a whole organful cannot be found anywhere else on +the face of the earth in so comparatively small a space. It is a +sort of triangular plot of beach crammed with everything that +ordinarily annoys the ears and offends the sight.</p> +<p>Yet you hear nothing and see nothing; it is perfectly +comfortable, perfectly jolly and exhilarating, a preferable spot to +any other. A sparkle of sunshine on the breakers, a dazzling gleam +from the white foam, a warm sweet air, light and brightness and +champagniness; altogether lovely. The way in which people lie about +on the beach, their legs this way, and their arms that, their hats +over their eyes, their utter give-themselves-up expression of +attitude is enough in itself to make a reasonable being contented. +Nobody cares for anybody; they drowned Mrs. Grundy long ago. The +ancient philosopher (who had a mind to eat a fig) held that a nail +driven into wood could only support a certain weight. After that +weight was exceeded either the wood must break or the nail come +out. Yonder is a wooden seat put together with nails—a flimsy +contrivance, which defies all rules of gravity and adhesion. One +leg leans one way, the other in the opposite direction; very lame +legs indeed. Careful folk would warn you not to sit on it lest it +should come to pieces. The music, I suppose, charms it, for it +holds together in the most marvellous manner. Four people are +sitting on it, four big ones, middle-aged, careful people; every +moment the legs gape wide apart, the structure visibly stretches +and yields and sinks in the pebbles, yet it does not come down. The +stoutest of all sits actually over the lame legs, reading his paper +quite oblivious of the odd angle his plump person makes, quite +unconscious of the threatened crack—crash! It does not +happen. A sort of magnetism sticks it together; it is in the air; +it makes things go right that ought to go wrong. Awfully naughty +place; no sort of idea of rightness here. Humming and strumming, +and singing and smoking, splashing, and sparkling; a buzz of voices +and booming of sea! If they could only be happy like this +always!</p> +<p>Mamma has a tremendous fight over the bathing-dresses, her own, +of course; the bathing woman cannot find them, and denies that she +had them, and by-and-by, after half an hour's exploration, finds +them all right, and claims commendation for having put them away so +safely. Then there is the battle for a machine. The nurse has been +keeping guard on the steps, to seize it the instant the occupant +comes out. At last they get it, and the wonder is how they pack +themselves in it. Boom! The bathers have gone over again, I know. +The rope stretches as the men at the capstan go round, and heave up +the machines one by one before the devouring tide.</p> +<p>As it is not at all rude, but the proper thing to do, I thought +I would venture a little nearer (not too obtrusively near) and see +closer at hand how brave womanhood faced the rollers. There was a +young girl lying at full length at the edge of the foam. She +reclined parallel to the beach, not with her feet towards the sea, +but so that it came to her side. She was clad in some material of a +gauzy and yet opaque texture, permitting the full outline and the +least movement to be seen. The colour I do not exactly know how to +name; they could tell you at the Magasin du Louvre, where men +understand the hues of garments as well as women. I presume it was +one of the many tints that are called at large "creamy." It suited +her perfectly. Her complexion was in the faintest degree swarthy, +and yet not in the least like what a lady would associate with that +word. The difficulty in describing a colour is that different +people take different views of the terms employed; ladies have one +scale founded a good deal on dress, men another, and painters have +a special (and accurate) gamut which they use in the studio. This +was a clear swarthiness a translucent swarthiness clear as the most +delicate white. There was something in the hue of her neck as +freely shown by the loose bathing dress, of her bare arms and feet, +somewhat recalling to mind the kind of beauty attributed to the +Queen of Egypt. But it was more delicate. Her form was almost fully +developed, more so than usual at her age. Again and again the foam +rushed up deep enough to cover her limbs, but not sufficiently so +to hide her chest, as she was partly raised on one arm. Washed thus +with the purest whiteness of the sparkling foam, her beauty +gathered increase from the touch of the sea. She swayed slightly as +the water reached her, she was luxuriously recked to and fro. The +waves, toyed with her; they came and retired, happy in her +presence; the breeze and the sunshine were there.</p> +<p>Standing somewhat back, the machines hid the waves from me till +they reached the shore, so that I did not observe the heavy roller +till it came and broke. A ton of water fell on her, crush! The edge +of the wave curled and dropped over her, the arch bowed itself +above her, the keystone of the wave fell in. She was under the +surge while it rushed up and while it rushed back; it carried her +up to the steps of the machine and back again to her original +position. When it subsided she simply shook her head, raised +herself on one arm, and adjusted herself parallel to the beach as +before.</p> +<p>Let any one try this, let any one lie for a few minutes just +where the surge bursts, and he will understand what it means. Men +go out to the length of their ropes—past and outside the line +of the breakers, or they swim still farther out and ride at ease +where the wave, however large, merely lifts them pleasantly as it +rolls under. But the smashing force of the wave is where it curls +and breaks, and it is there that the ladies wait for it. It is +these breakers in a gale that tear to pieces and destroy the +best-built ships once they touch the shore, scattering their +timbers as the wind scatters leaves. The courage and the endurance +women must possess to face a groundswell like this! All the year +they live in luxury and ease, and are shielded from everything that +could hurt. A bruise—a lady to receive a bruise; it is not be +to thought of! If a ruffian struck a lady in Hyde Park the world +would rise from its armchair in a fury of indignation. These waves +and pebbles bruise them as they list. They do not even flinch. +There must, then, be a natural power of endurance in them.</p> +<p>It is unnecessary, and yet I was proud to see it. An English +lady could do it; but could any other?—unless, indeed, an +American of English descent. Still, it is a barbarous thing, for +bathing could be easily rendered pleasant. The cruel roller +receded, the soft breeze blew, the sunshine sparkled, the gleaming +foam rushed up and gently rocked her. The Infanta Cleopatra lifted +her arm gleaming wet with spray, and extended it indolently; the +sun had only given her a more seductive loveliness. How much more +enjoyable the sea and breeze and sunshine when one is gazing at +something so beautiful. That arm, rounded and +soft——</p> +<p>"Excuse me, sir, but your immortal soul"—a hand was placed +on my elbow. I turned, and saw a beaming face; a young lady, +elegantly dressed, placed a fly-sheet of good intentions in my +fingers. The fair jogger beamed yet more sweetly as I took it, and +went on among the crowd. When I looked back the Infanta Cleopatra +had ascended into her machine. I had lost the last few moments of +loveliness.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="12">UNDER THE ACORNS</a></h3> +<p>Coming along a woodland lane, a small round and glittering +object in the brushwood caught my attention. The ground was but +just hidden in that part of the wood with a thin growth of +brambles, low, and more like creepers than anything else. These +scarcely hid the surface, which was brown with the remnants of +oak-leaves; there seemed so little cover, indeed, that a mouse +might have been seen. But at that spot some great spurge-plants +hung this way and that, leaning aside, as if the sterns were too +weak to uphold the heads of dark-green leaves. Thin grasses, +perfectly white, bleached by the sun and dew, stood in a bunch by +the spurge; their seeds had fallen, the last dregs of sap had dried +within them, there was nothing left but the bare stalks. A creeper +of bramble fenced round one side of the spurge and white grass +bunch, and brown leaves were visible on the surface of the ground +through the interstices of the spray. It was in the midst of this +little thicket that a small, dark, and glittering object caught my +attention. I knew it was the eye of some creature at once, but, +supposing it nothing more than a young rabbit, was passing on, +thinking of other matters, when it occurred to me, before I could +finish the step I had taken, so quick is thought, that the eye was +not large enough to be that of a rabbit. I stopped; the black +glittering eye had gone—the creature had lowered its neck, +but immediately noticing that I was looking in that direction, it +cautiously raised itself a little, and I saw at once that the eye +was the eye of a bird. This I knew first by its size, and next by +its position in relation to the head, which was invisible—for +had it been a rabbit or hare, its ears would have projected. The +moment after, the eye itself confirmed this—the nictitating +membrane was rapidly drawn over it, and as rapidly removed. This +membrane is the distinguishing mark of a bird's eye. But what bird? +Although I was within two yards, I could not even see its head, +nothing but the glittering eyeball, on which the light of the sun +glinted. The sunbeams came over my shoulder straight into the +bird's face.</p> +<p>Without moving—which I did not wish to do, as it would +disturb the bird—I could not see its plumage; the bramble +spray in front, the spurge behind, and the bleached grasses at the +side, perfectly concealed it. Only two birds I considered would be +likely to squat and remain quiescent like this—partridge or +pheasant; but I could not contrive to view the least portion of the +neck. A moment afterwards the eye came up again, and the bird +slightly moved its head, when I saw its beak, and knew it was a +pheasant immediately. I then stepped forward—almost on the +bird—and a young pheasant rose, and flew between the +tree-trunks to a deep dry watercourse, where it disappeared under +some withering yellow-ferns.</p> +<p>Of course I could easily have solved the problem long before, +merely by startling the bird; but what would have been the pleasure +of that? Any plough-lad could have forced the bird to rise, and +would have recognised it as a pheasant; to me, the pleasure +consisted in discovering it under every difficulty. That was +woodcraft; to kick the bird up would have been simply nothing at +all. Now I found why I could not see the pheasant's neck or body; +it was not really concealed, but shaded out by the mingled hues of +white grasses, the brown leaves of the surface, and the general +grey-brown tints. Now it was gone, there was a vacant space its +plumage had filled up that vacant space with hues so similar, that, +at no farther distance than two yards, I did not recognise it by +colour. Had the bird fully carried out its instinct of concealment, +and kept its head down as well as its body, I should have passed +it. Nor should I have seen its head if it had looked the other way; +the eye betrayed its presence. The dark glittering eye, which the +sunlight touched, caught my attention instantly. There is nothing +like an eye in inanimate nature; no flower, no speck on a bough, no +gleaming stone wet with dew, nothing, indeed, to which it can be +compared. The eye betrayed it; I could not overlook an eye. Neither +nature nor inherited experience had taught the pheasant to hide its +eye; the bird not only wished to conceal itself, but to watch my +motions and, looking up from its cover, was immediately +observed.</p> +<p>At a turn of the lane there was a great heap of oak "chumps," +crooked logs, sawn in lengths, and piled together. They were so +crooked, it was difficult to find a seat, till I hit on one larger +than the rest. The pile of "chunks" rose halfway up the stem of an +oak tree, and formed a wall of wood at my back; the oak-boughs +reached over and made a pleasant shade. The sun was warm enough, to +render resting in the open air delicious, the wind cool enough to +prevent the heat becoming too great; the pile of timber kept off +the draught, so that I could stay and listen to the gentle "hush, +rush" of the breeze in the oak above me; "hush" as it came slowly, +"rush" as it came fast, and a low undertone as it nearly ceased. So +thick were the haws on a bush of thorn opposite, that they tinted +the hedge a red colour among the yellowing hawthorn-leaves. To this +red hue the blackberries that were not ripe, the thick dry red +sorrel stalks, a bright canker on a brier almost as bright as a +rose, added their colours. Already the foliage of the bushes had +been thinned, and it was possible to see through the upper parts of +the boughs. The sunlight, therefore, not only touched their outer +surfaces, but passed through and lit up the branches within, and +the wild-fruit upon them. Though the sky was clear and blue between +the clouds, that is, without mist or haze, the sunbeams were +coloured the faintest yellow, as they always are on a ripe autumn +day. This yellow shone back from grass and leaves, from bough and +tree-trunk, and seemed to stain the ground. It is very pleasant to +the eyes, a soft, delicate light, that gives another beauty to the +atmosphere. Some roan cows were wandering down the lane, feeding on +the herbage at the side; their colour, too, was lit up by the +peculiar light, which gave a singular softness to the large shadows +of the trees upon the sward. In a meadow by the wood the oaks cast +broad shadows on the short velvety sward, not so sharp and definite +as those of summer, but tender, and, as it were, drawn with a +loving hand. They were large shadows, though it was mid-day—a +sign that the sun was no longer at his greatest height, but +declining. In July, they would scarcely have extended beyond the +rim of the boughs; the rays would have dropped perpendicularly, now +they slanted. Pleasant as it was, there was regret in the thought +that the summer was going fast. Another sign—the grass by the +gateway, an acre of it, was brightly yellow with hawkweeds, and +under these were the last faded brown heads of meadow clover; the +brown, the bright yellow disks, the green grass, the tinted +sunlight falling upon it, caused a wavering colour that fleeted +before the glance.</p> +<p>All things brown, and yellow, and red, are brought out by the +autumn sun; the brown furrows freshly turned where the stubble was +yesterday, the brown bark of trees, the brown fallen leaves, the +brown stalks of plants; the red haws, the red unripe blackberries, +red bryony berries, reddish-yellow fungi, yellow hawkweed, yellow +ragwort, yellow hazel-leaves, elms, spots in lime or beech; not a +speck of yellow, red, or brown the yellow sunlight does not find +out. And these make autumn, with the caw of rooks, the peculiar +autumn caw of laziness and full feeding, the sky blue as March +between the great masses of dry cloud floating over, the mist in +the distant valleys, the tinkle of traces as the plough turns and +the silence of the woodland birds. The lark calls as he rises from +the earth, the swallows still wheeling call as they go over, but +the woodland birds are mostly still and the restless sparrows gone +forth in a cloud to the stubble. Dry clouds, because they evidently +contain no moisture that will fall as rain here; thick mists, +condensed haze only, floating on before the wind. The oaks were not +yet yellow, their leaves were half green, half brown; Time had +begun to invade them, but had not yet indented his full mark.</p> +<p>Of the year there are two most pleasurable seasons: the spring, +when the oak-leaves come russet-brown on the great oaks; the +autumn, when the oak-leaves begin to turn. At the one, I enjoy the +summer that is coming; at the other, the summer that is going. At +either, there is a freshness in the atmosphere, a colour +everywhere, a depth of blue in the sky, a welcome in the woods. The +redwings had not yet come; the acorns were full, but still green; +the greedy rooks longed to see them riper. They were very numerous, +the oaks covered with them, a crop for the greedy rooks, the +greedier pigeons, the pheasants, and the jays.</p> +<p>One thing I missed—the corn. So quickly was the harvest +gathered, that those who delight in the colour of the wheat had no +time to enjoy it. If any painter had been looking forward to August +to enable him to paint the corn, he must have been disappointed. +There was no time; the sun came, saw, and conquered, and the +sheaves were swept from the field. Before yet the reapers had +entered one field of ripe wheat, I did indeed for a brief evening +obtain a glimpse of the richness and still beauty of an English +harvest. The sun was down, and in the west a pearly grey light +spread widely, with a little scarlet drawn along its lower border. +Heavy shadows hung in the foliage of the elms, the clover had +closed, and the quiet moths had taken the place of the humming +bees. Southwards, the full moon, a red-yellow disk, shone over the +wheat, which appeared the finest pale amber. A quiver of +colour—an undulation—seemed to stay in the air, left +from the heated day; the sunset hues and those of the red-tinted +moon fell as it were into the remnant of day, and filled the wheat; +they were poured into it, so that it grew in their colours. Still +heavier the shadows deepened in the elms; all was silence, save for +the sound of the reapers on the other side of the hedge, +slash—rustle, slash—rustle, and the drowsy night came +down as softly as an eyelid.</p> +<p>While I sat on the log under the oak, every now and then wasps +came to the crooked pieces of sawn timber, which had been barked. +They did not appear to be biting it—they can easily snip off +fragments of the hardest oak,—they merely alighted and +examined it, and went on again. Looking at them, I did not notice +the lane till something moved, and two young pheasants ran by along +the middle of the track and into the cover at the side. The grass +at the edge which they pushed through closed behind them, and +feeble as it was—grass only—it shut off the interior of +the cover as firmly as iron bars. The pheasant is a strong lock +upon the woods; like one of Chubb's patent locks, he closes the +woods as firmly as an iron safe can be shut. Wherever the pheasant +is artificially reared, and a great "head" kept up for +battue-shooting, there the woods are sealed. No matter if the +wanderer approach with the most harmless of intentions, it is +exactly the same as if he were a species of burglar. The botanist, +the painter, the student of nature, all are met with the +high-barred gate and the throat of law. Of course, the +pheasant-lock can be opened by the silver key; still, there is the +fact, that since pheasants have been bred on so large a scale, half +the beautiful woodlands of England have been fastened up. Where +there is no artificial rearing there is much more freedom; those +who love the forest can roam at their pleasure, for it is not the +fear of damage that locks the gate, but the pheasant. In every +sense, the so-called sport of battue-shooting is +injurious—injurious to the sportsman, to the poorer class, to +the community. Every true sportsman should discourage it, and +indeed does. I was talking with a thorough sportsman recently, who +told me, to my delight, that he never reared birds by hand; yet he +had a fair supply, and could always give a good day's sport, judged +as any reasonable man would judge sport. Nothing must enter the +domains of the hand-reared pheasant; even the nightingale is not +safe. A naturalist has recorded that in a district he visited, the +nightingales were always shot by the keepers and their eggs +smashed, because the singing of these birds at night disturbed the +repose of the pheasants! They also always stepped on the eggs of +the fern-owl, which are laid on the ground, and shot the bird if +they saw it, for the same reason, as it makes a jarring sound at +dusk. The fern-owl, or goatsucker, is one of the most harmless of +birds—a sort of evening swallow—living on moths, +chafers, and similar night-flying insects.</p> +<p>Continuing my walk, still under the oaks and green acorns, I +wondered why I did not meet any one. There was a man cutting fern +in the wood—a labourer—and another cutting up thistles +in a field; but with the exception of men actually employed and +paid, I did not meet a single person, though the lane I was +following is close to several well-to-do places. I call that a +well-to-do place where there are hundreds of large villas inhabited +by wealthy people. It is true that the great majority of persons +have to attend to business, even if they enjoy a good income; +still, making every allowance for such a necessity, it is singular +how few, how very few, seem to appreciate the quiet beauty of this +lovely country. Somehow, they do not seem to see it—to look +over it; there is no excitement in it, for one thing. They can see +a great deal in Paris, but nothing in an English meadow. I have +often wondered at the rarity of meeting any one in the fields, and +yet—curious anomaly—if you point out anything—or +describe it, the interest exhibited is marked. Every one takes an +interest, but no one goes to see for himself. For instance, since +the natural history collection was removed from the British Museum +to a separate building at South Kensington, it is stated that the +visitors to the Museum have fallen from an average of twenty-five +hundred a day to one thousand; the inference is, that out of every +twenty-five, fifteen came to see the natural history cases. Indeed, +it is difficult to find a person who does not take an interest in +some department of natural history, and yet I scarcely ever meet +any one in the fields. You may meet many in the autumn far away in +places famous for scenery, but almost none in the meadows at +home.</p> +<p>I stayed by a large pond to look at the shadows of the trees on +the green surface of duckweed. The soft green of the smooth weed +received the shadows as if specially prepared to show them to +advantage. The more the tree was divided—the more interlaced +its branches and less laden with foliage, the more it "came out" on +the green surface; each slender twig was reproduced, and sometimes +even the leaves. From an oak, and from a lime, leaves had fallen, +and remained on the green weed; the flags by the shore were turning +brown; a tint of yellow was creeping up the rashes, and the great +trunk of a fir shone reddish brown in the sunlight. There was +colour even about the still pool, where the weeds grew so thickly +that the moorhens could scarcely swim through them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="13">DOWNS</a></h3> +<p>A good road is recognised as the groundwork of civilisation. So +long as there is a firm and artificial track under his feet the +traveller may be said to be in contact with city and town, no +matter how far they may be distant. A yard or two outside the +railway in America the primeval forest or prairie often remains +untouched, and much in the same way, though in a less striking +degree at first sight, some of our own highways winding through +Down districts are bounded by undisturbed soil. Such a road wears +for itself a hollow, and the bank at the top is fringed with long +rough grass hanging over the crumbling chalk. Broad discs of +greater knapweed with stalks like wire, and yellow toad-flax with +spotted lip grow among it. Grasping this tough grass as a handle to +climb up by, the explorer finds a rising slope of sward, and having +walked over the first ridge, shutting off the road behind him, is +at once out of civilisation. There is no noise. Wherever there are +men there is a hum, even in the harvest-field; and in the road +below, though lonely, there is sometimes the sharp clatter of hoofs +or the grating of wheels on flints. But here the long, long slopes, +the endless ridges, the gaps between, hazy and indistinct, are +absolutely without noise. In the sunny autumn day the peace of the +sky overhead is reflected in the silent earth. Looking out over the +steep hills, the first impression is of an immense void like the +sea; but there are sounds in detail, the twitter of passing +swallows, the restless buzz of bees at the thyme, the rush of the +air beaten by a ringdove's wings. These only increase the sense of +silent peace, for in themselves they soothe; and how minute the bee +beside this hill, and the dove to the breadth of the sky! A white +speck of thistledown comes upon a current too light to swing a +harebell or be felt by the cheek. The furze-bushes are lined with +thistledown, blown there by a breeze now still; it is glossy in the +sunbeams, and the yellow hawkweeds cluster beneath. The sweet, +clear air, though motionless at this height, cools the rays; but +the sun seems to pause and neither to rise higher nor decline. It +is the space open to the eye which apparently arrests his movement. +There is no noise, and there are no men.</p> +<p>Glance along the slope, up the ridge, across to the next, +endeavour to penetrate the hazy gap, but no one is visible. In +reality it is not quite so vacant; there may, perhaps, be four or +five men between this spot and the gap, which would be a pass if +the Downs were high enough. One is not far distant; he is digging +flints over the ridge, and, perhaps, at this moment rubbing the +earth from a corroded Roman coin which he has found in the pit. +Another is thatching, for there are three detached wheat-ricks +round a spur of the Down a mile away, where the plain is arable, +and there, too, a plough is at work. A shepherd is asleep on his +back behind the furze a mile in the other direction. The fifth is a +lad trudging with a message; he is in the nut-copse, over the next +hill, very happy. By walking a mile the explorer may, perhaps, +sight one of these, if they have not moved by then and disappeared +in another hollow. And when you have walked the mile—knowing +the distance by the time occupied in traversing it—if you +look back you will sigh at the hopelessness of getting over the +hills. The mile is such a little way, only just along one slope and +down into the narrow valley strewn with flints and small boulders. +If that is a mile, it must be another up to the white chalk quarry +yonder, another to the copse on the ridge; and how far is the hazy +horizon where the ridges crowd on and hide each other? Like rowing +at sea, you row and row and row, and seem where you +started—waves in front and waves behind; so you may walk and +walk and walk, and still there is the intrenchment on the summit, +at the foot of which, well in sight, you were resting some hours +ago.</p> +<p>Rest again by the furze, and some goldfinches come calling +shrilly and feasting undisturbed upon the seeds of thistles and +other plants. The bird-catcher does not venture so far; he would if +there was a rail near; but he is a lazy fellow, fortunately, and +likes not the weight of his own nets. When the stubbles are +ploughed there will be troops of finches and linnets up here, +leaving the hedgerows of the valley almost deserted. Shortly the +fieldfares will come, but not generally till the redwings have +appeared below in the valleys; while the fieldfares go upon the +hills, the green plovers, as autumn comes on, gather in flocks and +go down to the plains. Hawks regularly beat along the furze, +darting on a finch now and then, and owls pass by at night. +Nightjars, too, are down-land birds, staying in woods or fern by +day, and swooping on the moths which flutter about the furze in the +evening. Crows are too common, and work on late into the shadows. +Sometimes, in getting over the low hedges which divide the +uncultivated sward from the ploughed lands, you almost step on a +crow, and it is difficult to guess what he can have been about so +earnestly, for search reveals nothing—no dead lamb, hare, or +carrion, or anything else is visible. Rooks, of course, are seen, +and larks, and once or twice in a morning a magpie, seldom seen in +the cultivated and preserved valley. There are more partridges than +rigid game preservers would deem possible where the overlooking, if +done at all, is done so carelessly. Partridges will never cease out +of the land while there are untouched downs. Of all southern inland +game, they afford the finest sport; for spoil in its genuine sense +cannot be had without labour, and those who would get partridges on +the hills must work for them. Shot down, coursed, poached, killed +before maturity in the corn, still hares are fairly plentiful, and +couch in the furze and coarse grasses. Rabbits have much decreased; +still there are some. But the larger fir copses, when they are +enclosed, are the resort of all kinds of birds of prey yet left in +the south, and, perhaps, more rare visitors are found there than +anywhere else. Isolated on the open hills, such a copse to birds is +like an island in the sea. Only a very few pheasants frequent it, +and little effort is made to exterminate the wilder creatures, +while they are continually replenished by fresh arrivals. Even +ocean birds driven inland by stress of weather seem to prefer the +downs to rest on, and feel safer there.</p> +<p>The sward is the original sward, untouched, unploughed, +centuries old. It is that which was formed when the woods that +covered the hills were cleared, whether by British tribes whose +markings are still to be found, by Roman smiths working the +ironstone (slag is sometimes discovered), by Saxon settlers, or +however it came about in the process of the years. Probably the +trees would grow again were it not for sheep and horses, but these +preserve the sward. The plough has nibbled at it and gnawed away +great slices, but it extends mile after mile; these are mere +touches on its breadth. It is as wild as wild can be without deer +or savage beasts. The bees like it, and the finches come. It is +silent and peaceful like the sky above. By night the stars shine, +not only overhead and in a narrow circle round the zenith, but down +to the horizon; the walls of the sky are built up of them as well +as the roof. The sliding meteors go silently over the gleaming +surface; silently the planets rise; silently the earth moves to the +unfolding east. Sometimes a lunar rainbow appears; a strange scene +at midnight, arching over almost from the zenith down into the dark +hollow of the valley. At the first glance it seems white, but +presently faint prismatic colours are discerned.</p> +<p>Already as the summer changes into autumn there are orange +specks on the beeches in the copses, and the firs will presently be +leafless. Then those who live in the farmsteads placed at long +intervals begin to prepare for the possibilities of the winter. +There must be a good store of fuel and provisions, for it will be +difficult to go down to the villages. The ladies had best add as +many new volumes as they can to the bookshelf, for they may be +practically imprisoned for weeks together. Wind and rain are very +different here from what they are where the bulwark of the houses +shelters one side of the street, or the thick hedge protects half +the road. The fury of the storm is unchecked, and nothing can keep +out the raindrops which come with the velocity of shot. If snow +falls, as it does frequently, it does not need much to obscure the +path; at all times the path is merely a track, and the ruts worn +down to the white chalk and the white snow confuse the eyes. Flecks +of snow catch against the bunches of grass, against the +furze-bushes, and boulders; if there is a ploughed field, against +every clod, and the result is bewildering. There is nothing to +guide the steps, nothing to give the general direction, and once +off the track, unless well accustomed to the district, the +traveller may wander in vain. After a few inches have fallen the +roads are usually blocked, for all the flakes on miles of hills are +swept along and deposited into hollows where the highways run. To +be dug out now and then in the winter is a contingency the +mail-driver reckons as part of his daily life, and the waggons +going to and fro frequently pass between high walls of frozen snow. +In these wild places, which can scarcely be said to be populated at +all, a snow-storm, however, does not block the King's highways and +paralyse traffic as London permits itself to be paralysed under +similar circumstances. Men are set to work and cut a way through in +a very short time, and no one makes the least difficulty about it. +But with the tracks that lead to isolated farmsteads it is +different; there is not enough traffic to require the removal of +the obstruction, and the drifts occasionally accumulate to twenty +feet deep. The ladies are imprisoned, and must be thankful if they +have got down a box of new novels.</p> +<p>The dread snow-tempest of 1880-81 swept over these places with +tremendous fury, and the most experienced shepherds, whose whole +lives had been spent going to and fro on the downs, frequently lost +their way. There is a story of a waggoner and his lad going slowly +along the road after the thaw, and noticing an odd-looking +scarecrow in a field. They went to it, and found it was a man, +dead, and still standing as he had stiffened in the snow, the +clothes hanging on his withered body, and the eyes gone from the +sockets, picked out by the crows. It is only one of many similar +accounts, and it is thought between twenty and thirty unfortunate +persons perished. Such miserable events are of rare occurrence, but +show how open, wild, and succourless the country still remains. In +ordinary winters it is only strangers who need be cautious, and +strangers seldom appear. Even in summer time, however, a stranger, +if he stays till dusk, may easily wander for hours. Once off the +highway, all the ridges and slopes seem alike, and there is no end +to them.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="14">FOREST</a></h3> +<p>The beechnuts are already falling in the forest, and the swine +are beginning to search for them while yet the harvest lingers. The +nuts are formed by midsummer, and now, the husk opening, the brown +angular kernel drops out. Many of the husks fall, too; others +remain on the branches till next spring. Under the beeches the +ground is strewn with the mast as hard almost to walk on as +pebbles. Rude and uncouth as swine are in themselves, somehow they +look different under trees. The brown leaves amid which they rout, +and the brown-tinted fern behind lend something of their colour and +smooth away their ungainliness. Snorting as they work with very +eagerness of appetite, they are almost wild, approaching in a +measure to their ancestors, the savage boars. Under the trees the +imagination plays unchecked, and calls up the past as if yew bow +and broad arrow were still in the hunter's hands. So little is +changed since then. The deer are here still. Sit down on the root +of this oak (thinly covered with moss), and on that very spot it is +quite possible a knight fresh home from the Crusades may have +rested and feasted his eyes on the lovely green glades of his own +unsurpassed England. The oak was there then, young and strong; it +is here now, ancient, but sturdy. Rarely do you see an oak fall of +itself. It decays to the last stump; it does not fall. The sounds +are the same—the tap as a ripe acorn drops, the rustle of a +leaf which comes down slowly, the quick rushes of mice playing in +the fern. A movement at one side attracts the glance, and there is +a squirrel darting about. There is another at the very top of the +beech yonder out on the boughs, nibbling the nuts. A brown spot a +long distance down the glade suddenly moves, and thereby shows +itself to be a rabbit. The bellowing sound that comes now and then +is from the stags, which are preparing to fight. The swine snort, +and the mast and leaves rustle as they thrust them aside. So little +is changed: these are the same sounds and the same movements, just +as in the olden time.</p> +<p>The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, lights up with +colour the fern, the fronds of which are yellow and brown, the +leaves, the grey grass, and hawthorn sprays already turned. It +seems as if the early morning's mists have the power of tinting +leaf and fern, for so soon as they commence the green hues begin to +disappear. There are swathes of fern yonder, cut down like grass or +corn, the harvest of the forest. It will be used for litter and for +thatching sheds. The yellow stalks—the stubble—will +turn brown and wither through the winter, till the strong spring +shoot conies up and the anemones flower. Though the sunbeams reach +the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, and for one +step that you walk in sunlight ten are in shade. Thus, partly +concealed in full day, the forest always contains a mystery. The +idea that there may be something in the dim arches held up by the +round columns of the beeches lures the footsteps onwards. Something +must have been lately in the circle under the oak where the fern +and bushes remain at a distance and wall in a lawn of green. There +is nothing on the grass but the upheld leaves that have dropped, no +mark of any creature, but this is not decisive; if there are no +physical signs, there is a feeling that the shadow is not vacant. +In the thickets, perhaps—the shadowy thickets with front of +thorn—it has taken refuge and eluded us. Still onward the +shadows lead us in vain but pleasant chase.</p> +<p>These endless trees are a city to the tree-building birds. The +round knot-holes in the beeches, the holes in the elms and oaks; +they find them all out. From these issue the immense flocks of +starlings which, when they alight on an isolated elm in winter, +make it suddenly black. From these, too, come forth the tits, not +so welcome to the farmer, as he considers they reduce his fruit +crop; and in these the gaudy woodpeckers breed. With starlings, +wood-pigeons, and rooks the forest is crowded like a city in +spring, but now in autumn it is comparatively deserted. The birds +are away in the fields, some at the grain, others watching the +plough, and following it so soon as a furrow is opened. But the +stoats are busy—they have not left, nor the weasels; and so +eager are they that, though they hide in the fern at first, in a +minute or two they come out again, and so get shot.</p> +<p>Like the fields, which can only support a certain proportion of +cattle, the forest, wide as it seems, can only maintain a certain +number of deer. Carrying the same thought further, it will be +obvious that the forest, or England in a natural state, could only +support a limited human population. Is this why the inhabitants of +countries like France, where they cultivate every rood and try to +really keep a man to a rood, do not increase in number? Certainly +there is a limit in nature which can only be overcome by artificial +aid. After wandering for some time in a forest like this, the +impression arises that the fauna is not now large enough to be in +thorough keeping with the trees—their age and size and +number. The breadth of the arboreal landscape requires a longer +list of living creatures, and creatures of greater bulk. The stoat +and weasel are lost in bramble and fern, the squirrels in the +branches; the fox is concealed, and the badger; the rabbit, too, is +small. There are only the deer, and there is a wide gap between +them and the hares. Even the few cattle which are permitted to +graze are better than nothing; though not wild, yet standing in +fern to their shoulders and browsing on the lower branches, they +are, at all events, animals for the time in nearly a natural state. +By watching them it is apparent how well the original wild cattle +agreed with the original scenery of the island. One almost regrets +the marten and polecat, though both small creatures, and wishes +that the fox would come forth more by day. These acres of bracken +and impenetrable thickets need more inhabitants; how well they are +fitted for the wild boar! Such thoughts are, of course, only +thoughts, and we must be thankful that we have as many wild +creatures left as we have.</p> +<p>Looking at the soil as we walk, where it is exposed by the roots +of a fallen tree, or where there is an old gravel pit, the question +occurs whether forests, managed as they are in old countries, ever +really increase the fertility of the earth? That decaying +vegetation produces a fine mould cannot be disputed; but it seems +here that there is no more decaying vegetation than is required for +the support of the trees themselves. The leaves that fall—the +million million leaves—blown to and fro, at last disappear, +absorbed into the ground. So with quantities of the lesser twigs +and branches; but these together do not supply more material to the +soil than is annually abstracted by the extensive roots of trees, +of bushes, and by the fern. If timber is felled, it is removed, and +the bark and boughs with it; the stump, too, is grubbed and split +for firewood. If a tree dies it is presently sawn off and cut up +for some secondary use or other. The great branches which +occasionally fall are some one's perquisite. When the thickets are +thinned out, the fagots are carted away, and much of the fern is +also removed. How, then, can there be any accumulation of +fertilising material? Rather the reverse; it is, if anything, taken +away, and the soil must be less rich now than it was in bygone +centuries. Left to itself the process would be the reverse, every +tree as it fell slowly enriching the spot where it mouldered, and +all the bulk of the timber converted into fertile earth. It was in +this way that the American forests laid the foundation of the +inexhaustible wheat-lands there. But the modern management of a +forest tends in the opposite direction—too much is removed; +for if it is wished to improve a soil by the growth of timber, +something must be left in it besides the mere roots. The leaves, +even, are not all left; they have a value for gardening purposes: +though, of course, the few cartloads collected make no appreciable +difference. There is always something going on in the forest; and +more men are employed than would be supposed. In the winter the +selected elms are thrown and the ash poles cut; in the spring the +oak timber comes down and is barked; in the autumn the fern is cut. +Splitting up wood goes on nearly all the year round, so that you +may always hear the axe. No charcoal-burning is practised, but the +mere maintenance of the fences, as, for instance, round the +pheasant enclosures, gives much to do. Deer need attention in +winter, like cattle; the game has its watchers; and ferreting lasts +for months. So that the forest is not altogether useless from the +point of view of work. But in so many hundred acres of trees these +labourers are lost to sight, and do not in the least detract from +its wild appearance. Indeed, the occasional ring of the axe or the +smoke rising from the woodman's fire accentuates the fact that it +is a forest. The oaks keep a circle round their base and stand at a +majestic distance from each other, so that the wind and the +sunshine enter, and their precincts are sweet and pleasant. The +elms gather together, rubbing their branches in the gale till the +bark is worn off and the boughs die; the shadow is deep under them, +and moist, favourable to rank grass and coarse mushrooms. Beneath +the ashes, after the first frost, the air is full of the bitterness +of their blackened leaves, which have all come down at once. By the +beeches there is little underwood, and the hollows are filled +ankle-deep with their leaves. From the pines comes a fragrant +odour, and thus the character of each group dominates the +surrounding ground. The shade is too much for many flowers, which +prefer the nooks of hedgerows. If there is no scope for the use of +"express" rifles, this southern forest really is a forest and not +an open hillside. It is a forest of trees, and there are no +woodlands so beautiful and enjoyable as these, where it is possible +to be lost a while without fear of serious consequences; where you +can walk without stepping up to the waist in a decayed tree-trunk, +or floundering in a bog; where neither venomous snake not torturing +mosquito causes constant apprehensions and constant irritation. To +the eye there is nothing but beauty; to the imagination pleasant +pageants of old time; to the ear the soothing cadence of the leaves +as the gentle breeze goes over. The beeches rear their Gothic +architecture, the oaks are planted firm like castles, unassailable. +Quick squirrels climb and dart hither and thither, deer cross the +distant glade, and, occasionally, a hawk passes like thought.</p> +<p>The something that may be in the shadow or the thicket, the +vain, pleasant chase that beckons us on, still leads the footsteps +from tree to tree, till by-and-by a lark sings, and, going to look +for it, we find the stubble outside the forest—stubble still +bright with the blue and white flowers of grey speedwell. One of +the earliest to bloom in the spring, it continues till the plough +comes again in autumn. Now looking back from the open stubble on +the high wall of trees, the touch of autumn here and there is the +more visible—oaks dotted with brown, horse chestnuts yellow, +maples orange, and the bushes beneath red with haws.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="15">BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I—THE MAKING OF BEAUTY</h4> +<p>It takes a hundred and fifty years to make a beauty—a +hundred and fifty years out-of-doors. Open air, hard manual labour +or continuous exercise, good food, good clothing, some degree of +comfort, all of these, but most especially open air, must play +their part for five generations before a beautiful woman can +appear. These conditions can only be found in the country, and +consequently all beautiful women come from the country. Though the +accident of birth may cause their register to be signed in town, +they are always of country extraction.</p> +<p>Let us glance back a hundred and fifty years, say to 1735, and +suppose a yeoman to have a son about that time. That son would be +bred upon the hardest fare, but, though hard, it would be plentiful +and of honest sort. The bread would be home-baked, the beef salted +at home, the ale home-brewed. He would work all day in the fields +with the labourers, but he would have three great advantages over +them—in good and plentiful food, in good clothing, and in +home comforts. He would ride, and join all the athletic sports of +the time. Mere manual labour stiffens the limbs, gymnastic +exercises render them supple. Thus he would obtain immense strength +from simple hard work, and agility from exercise. Here, then, is a +sound constitution, a powerful frame, well knit, hardened—an +almost perfect physical existence.</p> +<p>He would marry, if fortunate, at thirty or thirty-five, +naturally choosing the most charming of his acquaintances. She +would be equally healthy and proportionally as strong, for the +ladies of those days were accustomed to work from childhood. By +custom soon after marriage she would work harder than before, +notwithstanding her husband's fair store of guineas in the +iron-bound box. The house, the dairy, the cheese-loft, would keep +her arms in training. Even since I recollect, the work done by +ladies in country houses was something astonishing, ladies by right +of well-to-do parents, by right of education and manners. Really, +it seems that there is no work a woman cannot do with the best +results for herself, always provided that it does not throw a +strain upon the loins. Healthy children sprung from such parents, +while continuing the general type, usually tend towards a +refinement of the features. Under such natural and healthy +conditions, if the mother have a good shape, the daughter is finer; +if the father be of good height, the son is taller. These children +in their turn go through the same open-air training. In course of +years, the family guineas increasing, home comforts increase, and +manners are polished. Another generation sees the cast of +countenance smoothed of its original ruggedness, while preserving +its good proportion. The hard chin becomes rounded and not too +prominent, the cheek-bones sink, the ears are smaller, a softness +spreads itself over the whole face. That which was only honest now +grows tender. Again another generation, and it is a settled axiom +that the family are handsome. The country-side, as it gossips, +agrees that the family are marked out as good-looking. Like seeks +like, as we know; the handsome intermarry with the handsome. Still, +the beauty has not arrived yet, nor is it possible to tell whether +she will appear from the female or male branches. But in the fifth +generation appear she does, with the original features so moulded +and softened by time, so worked and refined and sweetened, so +delicate and yet so rich in blood, that she seems like a new +creation that has suddenly started into being. No one has watched +and recorded the slow process which has thus finally resulted. No +one could do so, because it has spread over a century and a half. +If any one will consider, they will agree that the sentiment at the +sight of a perfect beauty is as much amazement as admiration. It is +so astounding, so outside ordinary experience, that it wears the +aspect of magic.</p> +<p>A stationary home preserves the family intact, so that the +influences already described have time to produce their effect. +There is nothing uncommon in a yeoman's family continuing a hundred +and fifty years in the same homestead. Instances are known of such +occupation extending for over two hundred years; cases of three +hundred years may be found: now and then one is known to exceed +that, and there is said to be one that has not moved for six +hundred. Granting the stock in its origin to have been fairly well +proportioned, and to have been subject for such a lapse of time to +favourable conditions, the rise of beauty becomes intelligible.</p> +<p>Cities labour under every disadvantage. First, families have no +stationary home, but constantly move, so that it is rare to find +one occupying a house fifty years, and will probably become much +rarer in the future. Secondly, the absence of fresh air, and that +volatile essence, as it were, of woods, and fields, and hills, +which can be felt but not fixed. Thirdly, the sedentary employment. +Let a family be never so robust, these must ultimately affect the +constitution. If beauty appears it is too often of the unhealthy +order; there is no physique, no vigour, no richness of blood. +Beauty of the highest order is inseparable from health; it is the +outcome of health—centuries of health—and a really +beautiful woman is, in proportion, stronger than a man. It is +astonishing with what persistence a type of beauty once established +in the country will struggle to perpetuate itself against all the +drawbacks of town life after the family has removed thither.</p> +<p>When such results are produced under favourable conditions at +the yeoman's homestead, no difficulty arises in explaining why +loveliness so frequently appears in the houses of landed +proprietors. Entailed estates fix the family in one spot, and tend, +by inter-marriage, to deepen any original physical excellence. +Constant out-of-door exercise, riding, hunting, shooting, takes the +place of manual labour. All the refinements that money can +purchase, travel, education, are here at work. That the culture of +the mind can alter the expression of the individual is certain; if +continued for many generations, possibly it may leave its mark upon +the actual bodily frame. Selection exerts a most powerful influence +in these cases. The rich and titled have so wide a range to choose +from. Consider these things working through centuries, perhaps in a +more or less direct manner, since the Norman Conquest. The fame of +some such families for handsome features and well-proportioned +frames is widely spread, so much so that a descendant not handsome +is hardly regarded by the outside world as legitimate. But even +with all these advantages beauty in the fullest sense does not +appear regularly. Few indeed are those families that can boast of +more than one. It is the best of all boasts; it is almost as if the +Immortals had especially favoured their house. Beauty has no +period; it comes at intervals, unexpected! it cannot be fixed. No +wonder the earth is at its feet.</p> +<p>The fisherman's daughter ere now has reached very high in the +scale of beauty. Hardihood is the fisherman's talent by which he +wins his living from the sea. Tribal in his ways, his settlements +are almost exclusive, and his descent pure. The wind washed by the +sea enriches his blood, and of labour he has enough. Here are the +same constant factors; the stationary home keeping the family +intact, the out-door life, the air, the sea, the sun. Refinement is +absent, but these alone are so powerful that now and then beauty +appears. The lovely Irish girls, again: their forefathers have +dwelt on the mountainside since the days of Fingal, and all the +hardships of their lot cannot destroy the natural tendency to shape +and enchanting feature. Without those constant factors beauty +cannot be, but yet they will not alone produce it. There must be +something in the blood which these influences gradually ripen. If +it is not there centuries are in vain; but if it is there then it +needs these conditions. Erratic, meteor-like beauty! for how many +thousand years has man been your slave! Let me repeat, the +sentiment at the sight of a perfect beauty is as much amazement as +admiration. It so draws the heart out of itself as to seem like +magic.</p> +<p>She walks, and the very earth smiles beneath her feet. Something +comes with her that is more than mortal; witness the yearning +welcome that stretches towards her from all. As the sunshine lights +up the aspect of things, so her presence sweetens the very flowers +like dew. But the yearning welcome is, I think, the most remarkable +of the evidence that may be accumulated about it. So deep, so +earnest, so forgetful of the rest the passion of beauty is almost +sad in its intense abstraction. It is a passion, this yearning. She +walks in the glory of young life; she is really centuries old.</p> +<p>A hundred and fifty years at the least—more probably twice +that—have passed away, while from all enchanted things of +earth and air this preciousness has been drawn. From the south wind +that breathed a century and a half ago over the green wheat. From +the perfume of the growing grasses waving over honey-laden clover +and laughing veronica, hiding the greenfinches, baffling the bee. +From rose-loved hedges, woodbine, and cornflower azure-blue, where +yellowing wheat-stalks crowd up under the shadow of green firs. All +the devious brooklet's sweetness where the iris stays the sunlight; +all the wild woods hold the beauty; all the broad hill's thyme and +freedom: thrice a hundred years repeated. A hundred years of +cowslips, blue-bells, violets; purple spring and golden autumn; +sunshine, shower, and dewy mornings; the night immortal; all the +rhythm of Time unrolling. A chronicle unwritten and past all power +of writing: who shall preserve a record of the petals that fell +from the roses a century ago? The swallows to the housetops three +hundred times—think a moment of that. Thence she sprang, and +the world yearns towards her beauty as to flowers that are past. +The loveliness of seventeen is centuries old. Is this why passion +is almost sad?</p> +<h4 align="center">II—THE FORCE OF FORM</h4> +<p>Her shoulders were broad, but not too broad—just enough to +accentuate the waist, and to give a pleasant sense of ease and +power. She was strong, upright, self-reliant, finished in herself. +Her bust was full, but not too prominent—more after nature +than the dressmaker. There was something, though, of the +corset-maker in her waist, it appeared naturally fine, and had been +assisted to be finer. But it was in the hips that the woman was +perfect:—fulness without coarseness; large but not big: in a +word, nobly proportioned. Now imagine a black dress adhering to +this form. From the shoulders to the ankles it fitted "like a +glove." There was not a wrinkle, a fold, a crease, smooth as if +cast in a mould, and yet so managed that she moved without effort. +Every undulation of her figure, as she stepped lightly forward +flowed to the surface. The slight sway of the hip as the foot was +lifted, the upward and <i>inward</i> movement of the limb as the +knee was raised, the straightening as the instep felt her weight, +each change as the limb described the curves of walking was +repeated in her dress. At every change of position she was as +gracefully draped as before. All was revealed, yet all concealed. +As she passed there was the sense of a presence—the presence +of perfect form. She was lifted as she moved above the ground by +the curves of beauty as rapid revolution in a curve suspends the +down-dragging of gravity. A force went by—the force of +animated perfect form.</p> +<p>Merely as an animal, how grand and beautiful is a perfect woman! +Simply as a living, breathing creature, can anything imaginable +come near her?</p> +<p>There is such strength in shape—such force in form. +Without muscular development shape conveys the impression of the +greatest of all strength—that is, of completeness in itself. +The ancient philosophy regarded a globe as the most perfect of all +bodies, because it was the same—that is, it was perfect and +complete in itself—from whatever point it was contemplated. +Such is woman's form when nature's intent is fulfilled in beauty, +and that beauty gives the idea of self-contained power.</p> +<p>A full-grown woman is, too, physically stronger than a man. Her +physique excels man's. Look at her torso, at the size, the fulness, +the rounded firmness, the depth of the chest. There is a nobleness +about it. Shoulders, arms, limbs, all reach a breadth of make +seldom seen in man. There is more than merely +sufficient—there is a luxuriance indicating a surpassing +vigour. And this occurs without effort. She needs no long manual +labour, no exhaustive gymnastic exercise, nor any special care in +food or training. It is difficult not to envy the superb physique +and beautiful carriage of some women. They are so strong without +effort.</p> +<h4 align="center">III—AN ARM</h4> +<p>A large white arm, bare, in the sunshine, to the shoulder, +carelessly leant against a low red wall, lingers in my memory. +There was a house roofed with old grey stone slates in the +background, and peaches trained up by the window. The low garden +wall of red brick—ancient red brick, not the pale, dusty +blocks of these days—was streaked with dry mosses hiding the +mortar. Clear and brilliant, the gaudy sun of morning shone down +upon her as she stood in the gateway, resting her arm on the red +wall, and pressing on the mosses which the heat had dried. Her face +I do not remember, only the arm. She had come out from dairy work, +which needs bare arms, and stood facing the bold sun. It was very +large—some might have called it immense—and yet natural +and justly proportioned to the woman, her work, and her physique. +So immense an arm was like a revelation of the vast physical +proportions which our race is capable of attaining under favourable +conditions. Perfectly white—white as the milk in which it was +often plunged—smooth and pleasant in the texture of the skin, +it was entirely removed from coarseness. The might of its size was +chiefly by the shoulder; the wrist was not large, nor the hand. +Colossal, white, sunlit, bare—among the trees and the meads +around it was a living embodiment of the limbs we attribute to the +first dwellers on earth.</p> +<h4 align="center">IV—LIPS</h4> +<p>The mouth is the centre of woman's beauty. To the lips the +glance is attracted the moment she approaches, and their shape +remains in the memory longest. Curve, colour, and substance are the +three essentials of the lips, but these are nothing without +mobility, the soul of the mouth. If neither sculpture, nor the +palette with its varied resources, can convey the spell of perfect +lips, how can it be done in black letters of ink only? Nothing is +so difficult, nothing so beautiful. There are lips which have an +elongated curve (of the upper one), ending with a slight curl, like +a ringlet at the end of a tress, like those tiny wavelets on a +level sand which float in before the tide, or like a frond of fern +unrolling. In this curl there lurks a smile, so that she can +scarcely open her mouth without a laugh, or the look of one. These +upper lips are drawn with parallel lines, the verge is defined by +two lines near together, enclosing the narrowest space possible, +which is ever so faintly less coloured than the substance of the +lip. This makes the mouth appear larger than it really is; the bow, +too, is more flattened than in the pure Greek lip. It is beautiful, +but not perfect, tempting, mischievous, not retiring, and belongs +to a woman who is never long alone. To describe it first is +natural, because this mouth is itself the face, and the rest of the +features are grouped to it. If you think of her you think of her +mouth only—the face appears as memory acts, but the mouth is +distinct, the remainder uncertain. She laughs and the curl runs +upwards, so that you must laugh too, you cannot help it. Had the +curl gone downwards, as with habitually melancholy people, you +might have withstood her smile. The room is never dull where she +is, for there is a distinct character in it—a woman—and +not a mere living creature, and it is noticeable that if there are +five or six or more present, somehow the conversation centres round +her.</p> +<p>There was a lady I knew who had lips like these. Of the kind +they were perfect. Though she was barely fourteen she was +<i>the</i> woman of that circle by the magnetism of her mouth. When +we all met together in the evening all that went on in some way or +other centred about her. By consent the choice of what game should +be played was left to her to decide. She was asked if it was not +time for some one to sing, and the very mistress of the household +referred to her whether we should have another round or go in to +supper. Of course, she always decided as she supposed the hostess +wished. At supper, if there was a delicacy on the table it was +invariably offered to her. The eagerness of the elderly gentlemen, +who presumed on their grey locks and conventional harmlessness to +press their attentions upon her, showed who was the most attractive +person in the room. Younger men feel a certain reserve, and do not +reveal their inclinations before a crowd, but the harmless old +gentleman makes no secret of his admiration. She managed them all, +old and young, with unconscious tact, and never left the ranks of +the other ladies as a crude flirt would have done. This tact and +way of modestly holding back when so many would have pushed her too +much to the front retained for her the good word of her own sex. If +a dance was proposed it was left to her to say yes or no, and if it +was not too late the answer was usually in the affirmative. So in +the morning, should we make an excursion to some view or pleasant +wood, all eyes rested upon her, and if she thought it fine enough +away we went.</p> +<p>Her features were rather fine, but not especially so; her +complexion a little dusky, eyes grey, and dark hair; her figure +moderately tall, slender but shapely. She was always dressed well; +a certain taste marked her in everything. Upon introduction no one +would have thought anything of her; they would have said, +"insignificant—plain;" in half an hour, "different to most +girls;" in an hour, "extremely pleasant;" in a day, "a singularly +attractive girl;" and so on, till her empire was established. It +was not the features—it was the mouth, the curling lips, the +vivacity and life that sparkled in them. There is wine, +deep-coloured, strong, but smooth at the surface. There is +champagne with its richness continually rushing to the rim. Her +lips flowed with champagne. It requires a clever man indeed to +judge of men; now how could so young and inexperienced a creature +distinguish the best from so many suitors?</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="16">OUT OF DOORS IN FEBRUARY</a></h3> +<p>The cawing of the rooks in February shows that the time is +coming when their nests will be re-occupied. They resort to the +trees, and perch above the old nests to indicate their rights; for +in the rookery possession is the law, and not nine-tenths of it +only. In the slow dull cold of winter even these noisy birds are +quiet, and as the vast flocks pass over, night and morning, to and +from the woods in which they roost, there is scarcely a sound. +Through the mist their black wings advance in silence, the jackdaws +with them are chilled into unwonted quiet, and unless you chance to +look up the crowd may go over unnoticed. But so soon as the waters +begin to make a sound in February, running in the ditches and +splashing over stones, the rooks commence the speeches and +conversations which will continue till late into the following +autumn.</p> +<p>The general idea is that they pair in February, but there are +some reasons for thinking that the rooks, in fact, choose their +males at the end of the preceding summer. They are then in large +flocks, and if only casually glanced at appear mixed together +without any order or arrangement. They move on the ground and fly +in the air so close, one beside the other, that at the first glance +or so you cannot distinguish them apart. Yet if you should be +lingering along the by-ways of the fields as the acorns fall, and +the leaves come rustling down in the warm sunny autumn afternoons, +and keep an observant eye upon the rooks in the trees, or on the +fresh-turned furrows, they will be seen to act in couples. On the +ground couples alight near each other, on the trees they perch near +each other, and in the air fly side by side. Like soldiers each has +his comrade. Wedged in the ranks every man looks like his fellow, +and there seems no tie between them but a common discipline. +Intimate acquaintance with barrack or camp life would show that +every one had his friend. There is also the mess, or companionship +of half a dozen, or dozen, or more, and something like this exists +part of the year in the armies of the rooks. After the nest time is +over they flock together, and each family of three or four flies in +concert. Later on they apparently choose their own particular +friends, that is the young birds do so. All through the winter +after, say October, these pairs keep together, though lost in the +general mass to the passing spectator. If you alarm them while +feeding on the ground in winter, supposing you have not got a gun, +they merely rise up to the nearest tree, and it may then be +observed that they do this in pairs. One perches on a branch and a +second comes to him. When February arrives, and they resort to the +nests to look after or seize on the property there, they are in +fact already paired, though the almanacs put down St. Valentine's +day as the date of courtship.</p> +<p>There is very often a warm interval in February, sometimes a few +days earlier and sometimes later, but as a rule it happens that a +week or so of mild sunny weather occurs about this time. Released +from the grip of the frost, the streams trickle forth from the +fields and pour into the ditches, so that while walking along the +footpath there is a murmur all around coming from the rush of +water. The murmur of the poets is indeed louder in February than in +the more pleasant days of summer, for then the growth of aquatic +grasses checks the flow and stills it, whilst in February every +stone, or flint, or lump of chalk divides the current and causes a +vibration, With this murmur of water, and mild time, the rooks caw +incessantly, and the birds at large essay to utter their welcome of +the sun. The wet furrows reflect the rays so that the dark earth +gleams, and in the slight mist that stays farther away the light +pauses and fills the vapour with radiance. Through this luminous +mist the larks race after each other twittering, and as they turn +aside, swerving in their swift flight, their white breasts appear +for a moment. As while standing by a pool the fishes came into +sight, emerging as they swim round from the shadow of the deeper +water, so the larks dart over the low edge, and through the mist, +and pass before you, and are gone again. All at once one checks his +pursuit, forgets the immediate object, and rises, singing as he +soars. The notes fall from the air over the dark wet earth, over +the dank grass, and broken withered fern of the hedge, and +listening to them it seems for a moment spring. There is sunshine +in the song; the lark and the light are one. He gives us a few +minutes of summer in February days. In May he rises before as yet +the dawn is come, and the sunrise flows down to us under through +his notes. On his breast, high above the earth, the first rays fall +as the rim of the sun edges up at the eastward hill. The lark and +the light are as one, and wherever he glides over the wet furrows +the glint of the sun goes with him. Anon alighting he runs between +the lines of the green corn. In hot summer, when the open hillside +is burned with bright light, the larks are then singing and +soaring. Stepping up the hill laboriously, suddenly a lark starts +into the light and pours forth a rain of unwearied notes overhead. +With bright light, and sunshine, and sunrise, and blue skies the +bird is so associated in the mind, that even to see him in the +frosty days of wjnter, at least assures us that summer will +certainly return.</p> +<p>Ought not winter, in allegorical designs, the rather to be +represented with such things that might suggest hope than such as +convey a cold and grim despair? The withered leaf, the snowflake, +the hedging bill that cuts and destroys, why these? Why not rather +the dear larks for one? They fly in flocks, and amid the white +expanse of snow (in the south) their pleasant twitter or call is +heard as they sweep along seeking some grassy spot cleared by the +wind. The lark, the bird of the light, is there in the bitter short +days. Put the lark then for winter, a sign of hope, a certainty of +summer. Put, too, the sheathed bud, for if you search the hedge you +will find the buds there, on tree and bush, carefully wrapped +around with the case which protects them as a cloak. Put, too, the +sharp needles of the green corn; let the wind clear it of snow a +little way, and show that under cold clod and colder snow the green +thing pushes up, knowing that summer must come. Nothing despairs +but man. Set the sharp curve of the white new moon in the sky: she +is white in true frost, and yellow a little if it is devising +change. Set the new moon as something that symbols an increase. Set +the shepherd's crook in a corner as a token that the flocks are +already enlarged in number. The shepherd is the symbolic man of the +hardest winter time. His work is never more important than then. +Those that only roam the fields when they are pleasant in May, see +the lambs at play in the meadow, and naturally think of lambs and +May flowers. But the lamb was born in the adversity of snow. Or you +might set the morning star, for it burns and burns and glitters in +the winter dawn, and throws forth beams like those of metal +consumed in oxygen. There is nought that I know by comparison with +which I might indicate the glory of the morning star, while yet the +dark night hides in the hollows. The lamb is born in the fold. The +morning star glitters in the sky. The bud is alive in its sheath; +the green corn under the snow; the lark twitters as he passes. Now +these to me are the allegory of winter.</p> +<p>These mild hours in February check the hold which winter has +been gaining, and as it were, tear his claws out of the earth, +their prey. If it has not been so bitter previously, when this Gulf +stream or current of warmer air enters the expanse it may bring +forth a butterfly and tenderly woo the first violet into flower. +But this depends on its having been only moderately cold before, +and also upon the stratum, whether it is backward clay, or forward +gravel and sand. Spring dates are quite different according to the +locality, and when violets may be found in one district, in another +there is hardly a woodbine-leaf out. The border line may be traced, +and is occasionally so narrow, one may cross over it almost at a +step. It would sometimes seem as if even the nut-tree bushes bore +larger and finer nuts on the warmer soil, and that they ripened +quicker. Any curious in the first of things, whether it be a leaf, +or flower, or a bird, should bear this in mind, and not be +discouraged because he hears some one else has already discovered +or heard something.</p> +<p>A little note taken now at this bare time of the kind of earth +may lead to an understanding of the district. It is plain where the +plough has turned it, where the rabbits have burrowed and thrown it +out, where a tree has been felled by the gales, by the brook where +the bank is worn away, or by the sediment at the shallow places. +Before the grass and weeds, and corn and flowers have hidden it, +the character of the soil is evident at these natural sections +without the aid of a spade. Going slowly along the +footpath—indeed you cannot go fast in moist February—it +is a good time to select the places and map them out where herbs +and flowers will most likely come first. All the autumn lies prone +on the ground. Dead dark leaves, some washed to their woody frames, +short grey stalks, some few decayed hulls of hedge fruit, and among +these the mars or stocks of the plants that do not die away, but +lie as it were on the surface waiting. Here the strong teazle will +presently stand high; here the ground-ivy will dot the mound with +bluish-purple. But it will be necessary to walk slowly to find the +ground-ivy flowers under the cover of the briers. These bushes will +be a likely place for a blackbird's nest; this thick close hawthorn +for a bullfinch; these bramble thickets with remnants of old nettle +stalks will be frequented by the whitethroat after a while. The +hedge is now but a lattice-work which will before long be hung with +green. Now it can be seen through, and now is the time to arrange +for future discovery. In May everything will be hidden, and unless +the most promising places are selected beforehand, it will not be +easy to search them out. The broad ditch will be arched over, the +plants rising on the mound will meet the green boughs drooping, and +all the vacancy will be filled. But having observed the spot in +winter you can almost make certain of success in spring.</p> +<p>It is this previous knowledge which invests those who are always +on the spot, those who work much in the fields or have the care of +woods, with their apparent prescience. They lead the new comer to a +hedge, or the corner of a copse, or a bend of the brook, announcing +beforehand that they feel assured something will be found there; +and so it is. This, too, is one reason why a fixed observer usually +sees more than one who rambles a great deal and covers ten times +the space. The fixed observer who hardly goes a mile from home is +like the man who sits still by the edge of a crowd, and by-and-by +his lost companion returns to him. To walk about in search of +persons in a crowd is well known to be the worst way of recovering +them. Sit still and they will often come by. In a far more certain +manner this is the case with birds and animals. They all come back. +During a twelvemonth probably every creature would pass over a +given locality: every creature that is not confined to certain +places. The whole army of the woods and hedges marches across a +single farm in twelve months. A single tree—especially an old +tree—is visited by four-fifths of the birds that ever perch +in the course of that period. Every year, too, brings something +fresh, and adds new visitors to the list. Even the wild sea birds +are found inland, and some that scarce seem able to fly at all are +cast far ashore by the gales. It is difficult to believe that one +would not see more by extending the journey, but, in fact, +experience proves that the longer a single locality is studied the +more is found in it. But you should know the places in winter as +well as in tempting summer, when song and shade and colour attract +every one to the field. You should face the mire and slippery path. +Nature yields nothing to the sybarite. The meadow glows with +buttercups in spring, the hedges are green, the woods lovely; but +these are not to be enjoyed in their full significance unless you +have traversed the same places when bare, and have watched the slow +fulfilment of the flowers.</p> +<p>The moist leaves that remain upon the mounds do not rustle, and +the thrush moves among them unheard. The sunshine may bring out a +rabbit, feeding along the slope of the mound, following the paths +or runs. He picks his way, he does not like wet. Though out at +night in the dewy grass of summer, in the rain-soaked grass of +winter, and living all his life in the earth, often damp nearly to +his burrows, no time, and no succession of generations can make him +like wet. He endures it, but he picks his way round the dead fern +and the decayed leaves. He sits in the bunches of long grass, but +he does not like the drops of dew on it to touch him. Water lays +his fur close, and mats it, instead of running off and leaving him +sleek. As he hops a little way at a time on the mound he chooses +his route almost as we pick ours in the mud and pools of February. +By the shore of the ditch there still stand a few dry, dead dock +stems, with some dry reddish-brown seed adhering. Some dry brown +nettle stalks remain; some grey and broken thistles; some teazles +leaning on the bushes. The power of winter has reached its utmost +now, and can go no farther. These bines which still hang in the +bushes are those of the greater bindweed, and will be used in a +month or so by many birds as conveniently curved to fit about their +nests. The stem of wild clematis, grey and bowed, could scarcely +look more dead. Fibres are peeling from it, they come off at the +touch of the fingers. The few brown feathers that perhaps still +adhere where the flowers once were are stained and discoloured by +the beating of the rain. It is not dead: it will flourish again ere +long. It is the sturdiest of creepers, facing the ferocious winds +of the hills, the tremendous rains that blow up from the sea, and +bitter frost, if only it can get its roots into soil that suits it. +In some places it takes the place of the hedge proper and becomes +itself the hedge. Many of the trunks of the elms are swathed in +minute green vegetation which has flourished in the winter, as the +clematis will in in the summer. Of all, the brambles bear the wild +works of winter best. Given only a little shelter, in the corner of +the hedges or under trees and copses they retain green leaves till +the buds burst again. The frosts tint them in autumn with crimson, +but not all turn colour or fall. The brambles are the bowers of the +birds; in these still leafy bowers they do the courting of the +spring, and under the brambles the earliest arum, and cleaver, or +avens, push up. Round about them the first white nettle flowers, +not long now; latest too, in the autumn. The white nettle sometimes +blooms so soon (always according to locality), and again so late, +that there seems but a brief interval between, as if it flowered +nearly all the year round. So the berries on the holly if let alone +often stay till summer is in, and new berries begin to appear +shortly afterwards. The ivy, too, bears its berries far into the +summer. Perhaps if the country be taken at large there is never a +time when there is not a flower of some kind out, in this or that +warm southern nook. The sun never sets, nor do the flowers ever +die. There is life always, even in the dry fir-cone that looks so +brown and sapless.</p> +<p>The path crosses the uplands where the lapwings stand on the +parallel ridges of the ploughed field like a drilled company; if +they rise they wheel as one, and in the twilight move across the +fields in bands invisible as they sweep near the ground, but seen +against the sky in rising over the trees and the hedges. There is a +plantation of fir and ash on the slope, and a narrow waggon-way +enters it, and seems to lose itself in the wood. Always approach +this spot quietly, for whatever is in the wood is sure at some time +or other to come to the open space of the track. Wood-pigeons, +pheasants, squirrels, magpies, hares, everything feathered or +furred, down to the mole, is sure to seek the open way. Butterflies +flutter through the copse by it in summer, just as you or I might +use the passage between the trees. Towards the evening the +partridges may run through to join their friends before roost-time +on the ground. Or you may see a covey there now and then, creeping +slowly with humped backs, and at a distance not unlike hedgehogs in +their motions. The spot therefore should be approached with care; +if it is only a thrush out it is a pleasure to see him at his ease +and, as he deems, unobserved. If a bird or animal thinks itself +noticed it seldom does much, some will cease singing immediately +they are looked at. The day is perceptibly longer already. As the +sun goes down, the western sky often takes a lovely green tint in +this month, and one stays to look at it, forgetting the dark and +miry way homewards. I think the moments when we forget the mire of +the world are the most precious. After a while the green corn rises +higher out of the rude earth.</p> +<p>Pure colour almost always gives the idea of fire, or rather it +is perhaps as if a light shone through as well as colour itself. +The fresh green blade of corn is like this, so pellucid, so clear +and pure in its green as to seem to shine with colour. It is not +brilliant—not a surface gleam or an enamel,—it is +stained through. Beside the moist clods the slender flags arise +filled with the sweetness of the earth. Out of the darkness +under—that darkness which knows no day save when the +ploughshare opens its chinks—they have come to the light. To +the light they have brought a colour which will attract the +sunbeams from now till harvest. They fall more pleasantly on the +corn, toned, as if they mingled with it. Seldom do we realise that +the world is practically no thicker to us than the print of our +footsteps on the path. Upon that surface we walk and act our comedy +of life, and what is beneath is nothing to us. But it is out from +that under-world, from the dead and the unknown, from the cold +moist ground, that these green blades have sprung. Yonder a +steam-plough pants up the hill, groaning with its own strength, yet +all that strength and might of wheels, and piston, and chains, +cannot drag from the earth one single blade like these. Force +cannot make it; it must grow—an easy word to speak or write, +in fact full of potency. It is this mystery of growth and life, of +beauty, and sweetness, and colour, starting forth from the clods +that gives the corn its power over me. Somehow I identify myself +with it; I live again as I see it. Year by year it is the same, and +when I see it I feel that I have once more entered on a new life. +And I think the spring, with its green corn, its violets, and +hawthorn-leaves, and increasing song, grows yearly dearer and more +dear to this our ancient earth. So many centuries have flown! Now +it is the manner with all natural things to gather as it were by +smallest particles. The merest grain of sand drifts unseen into a +crevice, and by-and-by another; after a while there is a heap; a +century and it is a mound, and then every one observes and comments +on it. Time itself has gone on like this; the years have +accumulated, first in drifts, then in heaps, and now a vast mound, +to which the mountains are knolls, rises up and overshadows us. +Time lies heavy on the world. The old, old earth is glad to turn +from the cark and care of drifted centuries to the first sweet +blades of green.</p> +<p>There is sunshine to-day after rain, and every lark is singing. +Across the vale a broad cloud-shadow descends the hillside, is lost +in the hollow, and presently, without warning, slips over the edge, +coming swiftly along the green tips. The sunshine follows—the +warmer for its momentary absence. Far, far down in a grassy coomb +stands a solitary cornrick, conical roofed, casting a lonely +shadow—marked because so solitary, and beyond it on the +rising slope is a brown copse. The leafless branches take a brown +tint in the sunlight; on the summit above there is furze; then more +hill lines drawn against the sky. In the tops of the dark pines at +the corner of the copse, could the glance sustain itself to see +them, there are finches warming themselves in the sunbeams. The +thick needles shelter them, from the current of air, and the sky is +bluer above the pines. Their hearts are full already of the happy +days to come, when the moss yonder by the beech, and the lichen on +the fir-trunk, and the loose fibres caught in the fork of an +unbending bough, shall furnish forth a sufficient mansion for their +young. Another broad cloud-shadow, and another warm embrace of +sunlight. All the serried ranks of the green corn bow at the word +of command as the wind rushes over them.</p> +<p>There is largeness and freedom here. Broad as the down and free +as the wind, the thought can roam high over the narrow roofs in the +vale. Nature has affixed no bounds to thought. All the palings, and +walls, and crooked fences deep down yonder are artificial. The +fetters and traditions, the routine, the dull roundabout which +deadens the spirit like the cold moist earth, are the merest +nothings. Here it is easy with the physical eye to look over the +highest roof. The moment the eye of the mind is filled with the +beauty of things natural an equal freedom and width of view come to +it. Step aside from the trodden footpath of personal experience, +throwing away the petty cynicism born of petty hopes disappointed. +Step out upon the broad down beside the green corn, and let its +freshness become part of life.</p> +<p>The wind passes, and it bends—let the wind, too, pass over +the spirit. From the cloud-shadow it emerges to the +sunshine—let the heart come out from the shadow of roofs to +the open glow of the sky. High above, the songs of the larks fall +as rain—receive it with open hands. Pure is the colour of the +green flags, the slender-pointed blades—let the thought be +pure as the light that shines through that colour. Broad are the +downs and open the aspect—gather the breadth and largeness of +view. Never can that view be wide enough and large enough, there +will always be room to aim higher. As the air of the hills enriches +the blood, so let the presence of these beautiful things enrich the +inner sense. One memory of the green corn, fresh beneath the sun +and wind, will lift up the heart from the clods.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="17">HAUNTS OF THE LAPWING</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I—WINTER</h4> +<p>Coming like a white wall the rain reaches me, and in an instant +everything is gone from sight that is more than ten yards distant. +The narrow upland road is beaten to a darker hue, and two runnels +of water rush along at the sides, where, when the chalk-laden +streamlets dry, blue splinters of flint will be exposed in the +channels. For a moment the air seems driven away by the sudden +pressure, and I catch my breath and stand still with one shoulder +forward to receive the blow. Hiss, the land shudders under the cold +onslaught; hiss, and on the blast goes, and the sound with it, for +the very fury of the rain, after the first second, drowns its own +noise. There is not a single creature visible, the low and stunted +hedgerows, bare of leaf, could conceal nothing; the rain passes +straight through to the ground. Crooked and gnarled, the bushes are +locked together as if in no other way could they hold themselves +against the gales. Such little grass as there is on the mounds is +thin and short, and could not hide a mouse. There is no finch, +sparrow, thrush, blackbird. As the wave of rain passes over and +leaves a hollow between the waters, that which has gone and that to +come, the ploughed lands on either side are seen to be equally +bare. In furrows full of water, a hare would not sit, nor partridge +run; the larks, the patient larks which endure almost everything, +even they have gone. Furrow on furrow with flints dotted on their +slopes, and chalk lumps, that is all. The cold earth gives no sweet +petal of flower, nor can any bud of thought or bloom of imagination +start forth in the mind. But step by step, forcing a way through +the rain and over the ridge, I find a small and stunted copse down +in the next hollow. It is rather a wide hedge than a copse, and +stands by the road in the corner of a field. The boughs are bare; +still they break the storm, and it is a relief to wait a while +there and rest. After a minute or so the eye gets accustomed to the +branches and finds a line of sight through the narrow end of the +copse. Within twenty yards—just outside the copse—there +are a number of lapwings, dispersed about the furrows. One runs a +few feet forward and picks something from the ground; another runs +in the same manner to one side; a third rushes in still a third +direction. Their crests, their green-tinted wings, and white +breasts are not disarranged by the torrent. Something in the style +of the birds recalls the wagtail, though they are so much larger. +Beyond these are half a dozen more, and in a straggling line others +extend out into the field. They have found some slight shelter here +from the sweeping of the rain and wind, and are not obliged to face +it as in the open. Minutely searching every clod they gather their +food in imperceptible items from the surface.</p> +<p>Sodden leaves lie in the furrows along the side of the copse; +broken and decaying burdocks still uphold their jagged stems, but +will be soaked away by degrees; dank grasses droop outwards! the +red seed of a dock is all that remains of the berries and fruit, +the seeds and grain of autumn. Like the hedge, the copse is vacant. +Nothing moves within, watch as carefully as I may. The boughs are +blackened by wet and would touch cold. From the grasses to the +branches there is nothing any one would like to handle, and I stand +apart even from the bush that keeps away the rain. The green +plovers are the only things of life that save the earth from utter +loneliness. Heavily as the rain may fall, cold as the saturated +wind may blow, the plovers remind us of the beauty of shape, +colour, and animation. They seem too slender to withstand the +blast—they should have gone with the swallows—too +delicate for these rude hours; yet they alone face them.</p> +<p>Once more the wave of rain has passed, and yonder the hills +appear; these are but uplands. The nearest and highest has a green +rampart, visible for a moment against the dark sky, and then again +wrapped in a toga of misty cloud. So the chilled Roman drew his +toga around him in ancient days as from that spot he looked +wistfully southwards and thought of Italy. Wee-ah-wee! Some chance +movement has been noticed by the nearest bird, and away they go at +once as if with the same wings, sweeping overhead, then to the +right, then to the left, and then back again, till at last lost in +the coming shower. After they have thus vibrated to and fro long +enough, like a pendulum coming to rest, they will alight in the +open field on the ridge behind. There in drilled ranks, well closed +together, all facing the same way, they will stand for hours. Let +us go also and let the shower conceal them. Another time my path +leads over the hills.</p> +<p>It is afternoon, which in winter is evening. The sward of the +down is dry under foot, but hard, and does not lift the instep with +the springy feel of summer. The sky is gone, it is not clouded, it +is swathed in gloom. Upwards the still air thickens, and there is +no arch or vault of heaven. Formless and vague, it seems some vast +shadow descending. The sun has disappeared, and the light there +still is, is left in the atmosphere enclosed by the gloomy mist as +pools are left by a receding tide. Through the sand the water +slips, and through the mist the light glides away. Nearer comes the +formless shadow and the visible earth grows smaller. The path has +faded, and there are no means on the open downs of knowing whether +the direction pursued is right or wrong, till a boulder (which is a +landmark) is perceived. Thence the way is down the slope, the last +and limit of the hills there. It is a rough descent, the paths worn +by sheep may at any moment cause a stumble. At the foot is a +waggon-track beside a low hedge, enclosing the first arable field. +The hedge is a guide, but the ruts are deep, and it still needs +slow and careful walking. Wee-ah-wee! Up from the dusky surface of +the arable field springs a plover, and the notes are immediately +repeated by another. They can just be seen as darker bodies against +the shadow as they fly overhead. Wee-ah-wee! The sound grows +fainter as they fetch a longer circle in the gloom.</p> +<p>There is another winter resort of plovers in the valley where a +barren waste was ploughed some years ago. A few furze bushes still +stand in the hedges about it, and the corners are full of rushes. +Not all the grubbing of furze and bushes, the deep ploughing and +draining, has succeeded in rendering the place fertile like the +adjacent fields. The character of a marsh adheres to it still. So +long as there is a crop, the lapwings keep away, but as soon as the +ploughs turn up the ground in autumn they return. The place lies +low, and level with the waters in the ponds and streamlets. A mist +hangs about it in the evening, and even when there is none, there +is a distinct difference in the atmosphere while passing it. From +their hereditary home the lapwings cannot be entirely driven away. +Out of the mist comes their plaintive cry; they are hidden, and +their exact locality is not to be discovered. Where winter rules +most ruthlessly, where darkness is deepest in daylight, there the +slender plovers stay undaunted.</p> +<h4 align="center">II—SPRING</h4> +<p>A soft sound of water moving among thousands of +grass-blades—to the hearing it is as the sweetness of spring +air to the scent. It is so faint and so diffused that the exact +spot whence it issues cannot be discerned, yet it is distinct, and +my footsteps are slower as I listen. Yonder, in the corners of the +mead, the atmosphere is full of some ethereal vapour. The sunshine +stays in the air there, as if the green hedges held the wind from +brushing it away. Low and plaintive come the notes of a lapwing; +the same notes, but tender with love.</p> +<p>On this side, by the hedge, the ground is a little higher and +dry, hung over with the lengthy boughs of an oak, which give some +shade. I always feel a sense of regret when I see a seedling oak in +the grass. The two green leaves—the little stem so upright +and confident, and, though but a few inches high, already so +completely a tree—are in themselves beautiful. Power, +endurance, grandeur are there; you can grasp all with your hand, +and take a ship between the finger and thumb. Time, that sweeps +away everything, is for a while repelled; the oak will grow when +the time we know is forgotten, and when felled will be the mainstay +and safety of a generation in a future century. That the plant +should start among the grass, to be severed by the scythe or +crushed by cattle, is very pitiful; I cannot help wishing that it +could be transplanted and protected. Of the countless acorns that +drop in autumn not one in a million is permitted to become a +tree—a vast waste of strength and beauty. From the bushes by +the stile on the left hand, which I have just passed, follows the +long whistle of a nightingale. His nest is near; he sings night and +day. Had I waited on the stile, in a few minutes, becoming used to +my presence, he would have made the hawthorn vibrate, so powerful +in his voice when heard close at hand. There is not another +nightingale along this path for at least a mile, though it crosses +meadows and runs by hedges to all appearance equally suitable; but +nightingales will not pass their limits; they seem to have a +marked-out range as strictly defined as the lines of a geological +map. They will not go over to the next hedge—hardly into the +field on one side of a favourite spot, nor a yard farther along the +mound, Opposite the oak is a low fence of serrated green. Just +projecting above the edge of a brook, fast-growing flags have +thrust up their bayonet-tips. Beneath their stalks are so thick in +the shallow places that a pike can scarcely push a way between +them. Over the brook stand some high maple trees; to their thick +foliage wood-pigeons come. The entrance to a coomb, the widening +mouth of a valley, is beyond, with copses on the slopes.</p> +<p>Again the plover's notes; this time in the field immediately +behind; repeated, too, in the field on the right hand. One comes +over, and as he flies he jerks a wing upwards and partly turns on +his side in the air, rolling like a vessel in a swell. He seems to +beat the air sideways, as if against a wall, not downwards. This +habit makes his course appear so uncertain; he may go there, or +yonder, or in a third direction, more undecided than a startled +snipe. Is there a little vanity in that wanton flight? Is there a +little consciousness of the spring-freshened colours of his +plumage, and pride in the dainty touch of his wings on the sweet +wind? His love is watching his wayward course. He prolongs it. He +has but a few yards to fly to reach the well-known feeding-ground +by the brook where the grass is short; perhaps it has been eaten +off by sheep. It is a straight and easy line as a starling would +fly. The plover thinks nothing of a straight line; he winds first +with the course of the hedge, then rises aslant, uttering his cry, +wheels, and returns; now this way, direct at me, as if his object +was to display his snowy breast; suddenly rising aslant again, he +wheels once more, and goes right away from his object over above +the field whence he came. Another moment and he returns; and so to +and fro, and round and round, till with a sidelong, unexpected +sweep he alights by the brook. He stands a minute, then utters his +cry, and runs a yard or so forward. In a little while a second +plover arrives from the field behind. He too dances a maze in the +air before he settles. Soon a third joins them. They are visible at +that spot because the grass is short, elsewhere they would be +hidden. If one of these rises and flies to and fro almost instantly +another follows, and then it is, indeed, a dance before they +alight. The wheeling, maze-tracing, devious windings continue till +the eye wearies and rests with pleasure on a passing butterfly. +These birds have nests in the meadows adjoining; they meet here as +a common feeding-ground. Presently they will disperse, each +returning to his mate at the nest. Half an hour afterwards they +will meet once more, either here or on the wing.</p> +<p>In this manner they spend their time from dawn through the +flower-growing day till dusk. When the sun arises over the hill +into the sky already blue the plovers have been up a long while. +All the busy morning they go to and fro—the busy morning, +when the wood-pigeons cannot rest in the copses on the coomb-side, +but continually fly in and out; when the blackbirds whistle in the +oaks, when the bluebells gleam with purplish lustre. At noontide, +in the dry heat, it is pleasant to listen to the sound of water +moving among the thousand thousand grass-blades of the mead. The +flower-growing day lengthens out beyond the sunset, and till the +hedges are dim the lapwings do not cease.</p> +<p>Leaving now the shade of the oak, I follow the path into the +meadow on the right, stepping by the way over a streamlet, which +diffuses its rapid current broadcast over the sward till it +collects again and pours into the brook. This next meadow is +somewhat more raised, and not watered; the grass is high and full +of buttercups. Before I have gone twenty yards a lapwing rises out +in the field, rushes towards me through the air, and circles round +my head, making as if to dash at me, and uttering shrill cries. +Immediately another comes from the mead behind the oak; then a +third from over the hedge, and all those that have been feeding by +the brook, till I am encircled with them. They wheel round, dive, +rise aslant, cry, and wheel again, always close over me, till I +have walked some distance, when, one by one, they fall off, and, +still uttering threats, retire. There is a nest in this meadow, +and, although it is, no doubt, a long way from the path, my +presence even in the field, large as it is, is resented. The couple +who imagine their possessions threatened are quickly joined by +their friends, and there is no rest till I have left their +treasures far behind.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="18">OUTSIDE LONDON</a></h3> +<h4 align="center">I</h4> +<p>There was something dark on the grass under an elm in the field +by the barn. It rose and fell; and we saw that it was a +wing—a single black wing, striking the ground instead of the +air; indeed, it seemed to come out of the earth itself, the body of +the bird being hidden by the grass. This black wing flapped and +flapped, but could not lift itself—a single wing of course +could not fly. A rook had dropped out of the elm and was lying +helpless at the foot of the tree—it is a favourite tree with +rooks; they build in it, and at that moment there were twenty or +more perched aloft, cawing and conversing comfortably, without the +least thought of their dying comrade. Not one of all the number +descended to see what was the matter, nor even fluttered half-way +down. This elm is their clubhouse, where they meet every afternoon +as the sun gets low to discuss the scandals of the day, before +retiring to roost in the avenues and tree-groups of the park +adjacent. While we looked, a peacock came round the corner of the +barn; he had caught sight of the flapping wing, and approached with +long deliberate steps and outstretched neck. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! What's +this? What's this?" he inquired in bird-language. "Ee-aw! Ee-aw! My +friends, see here!" Gravely, and step by step, he came nearer and +nearer, slowly, and not without some fear, till curiosity had +brought him within a yard. In a moment or two a peahen followed and +also stretched out her neck—the two long necks pointing at +the black flapping wing. A second peacock and peahen approached, +and the four great birds stretched out their necks towards the +dying rook—a "crowner's quest" upon the unfortunate +creature.</p> +<p>If any one had been at hand to sketch it, the scene would have +been very grotesque, and not without a ludicrous sadness. There was +the tall elm tinted with yellow, the black rooks high above flying +in and out, yellow leaves twirling down, the blue peacocks with +their crests, the red barn behind, the golden sun afar shining low +through the trees of the park, the brown autumn sward, a grey +horse, orange maple bushes. There was the quiet tone of the coming +evening—the early evening of October—such an evening as +the rook had seen many a time from the tops of the trees. A man +dies, and the crowd goes on passing under the window along the +street without a thought. The rook died, and his friends, who had +that day been with him in the oaks feasting on acorns, who had been +with him in the fresh-turned furrows, born perhaps in the same +nest, utterly forgot him before he was dead. With a great common +caw—a common shout—they suddenly left the tree in a +bevy and flew towards the park. The peacocks having brought in +their verdict, departed, and the dead bird was left alone.</p> +<p>In falling out of the elm, the rook had alighted partly on his +side and partly on his back, so that he could only flutter one +wing, the other being held down by his own weight. He had probably +died from picking up poisoned grain somewhere, or from a parasite. +The weather had been open, and he could not have been starved. At a +distance, the rook's plumage appears black; but close at hand it +will be found a fine blue-black, glossy, and handsome.</p> +<p>These peacocks are the best "rain-makers" in the place; whenever +they cry much, it is sure to rain; and if they persist day after +day, the rain is equally continuous. From the wall by the barn, or +the elm-branch above, their cry resounds like the wail of a +gigantic cat, and is audible half a mile or more. In the summer, I +found one of them, a peacock in the fall brilliance of his colours, +on a rail in the hedge under a spreading maple bush. His rich-hued +neck, the bright light and shadow, the tall green meadow grass, +brought together the finest colours. It is curious that a bird so +distinctly foreign, plumed for the Asiatic sun, should fit so well +with English meads. His splendid neck immediately pleases, pleases +the first time it is seen, and on the fiftieth occasion. I see +these every day, and always stop to look at them; the colour +excites the sense of beauty in the eye, and the shape satisfies the +idea of form. The undulating curve of the neck is at once approved +by the intuitive judgment of the mind, and it is a pleasure to the +mind to reiterate that judgment frequently. It needs no teaching to +see its beauty—the feeling comes of itself.</p> +<p>How different with the turkey-cock which struts round the same +barn! A fine big bird he is, no doubt; but there is no intrinsic +beauty about him; on the contrary, there is something fantastic in +his style and plumage. He has a way of drooping his wings as if +they were armour-plates to shield him from a shot. The ornaments +upon his head and beak are in the most awkward position. He was put +together in a dream, of uneven and odd pieces that live and move, +but do not fit. Ponderously gawky, he steps as if the world was +his, like a "motley" crowned in sport. He is good eating, but he is +not beautiful. After the eye has been accustomed to him for some +time—after you have fed him every day and come to take an +interest in him—after you have seen a hundred turkey-cocks, +then he may become passable, or, if you have the fancier's taste, +exquisite. Education is requisite first; you do not fall in love at +first sight. The same applies to fancy-pigeons, and indeed many pet +animals, as pugs, which come in time to be animated with a soul in +some people's eyes. Compare a pug with a greyhound straining at the +leash. Instantly he is slipped he is gone as a wave let loose. His +flexible back bends and undulates, arches and unarches, rises and +falls as a wave rises and rolls on. His pliant ribs open; his whole +frame "gives" and stretches, and closing again in a curve, springs +forward. Movement is as easy to him as to the wave, which melting, +is remoulded, and sways onward. The curve of the greyhound is not +only the line of beauty, but a line which suggests motion; and it +is the idea of motion, I think, which so strongly appeals to the +mind.</p> +<p>We are often scornfully treated as a nation by people who write +about art, because they say we have no taste; we cannot make art +jugs for the mantelpiece, crockery for the bracket, screens for the +fire; we cannot even decorate the wall of a room as it should be +done. If these are the standards by which a sense of art is to be +tried, their scorn is to a certain degree just. But suppose we try +another standard. Let us put aside the altogether false opinion +that art consists alone in something actually made, or painted, or +decorated, in carvings, colourings, touches of brush or chisel. Let +us look at our lives. I mean to say that there is no nation so +thoroughly and earnestly artistic as the English in their lives, +their joys, their thoughts, their hopes. Who loves nature like an +Englishman? Do Italians care for their pale skies? I never heard +so. We go all over the world in search of beauty—to the keen +north, to the cape whence the midnight sun is visible, to the +extreme south, to the interior of Africa, gazing at the vast +expanse of Tanganyika or the marvellous falls of the Zambesi. We +admire the temples and tombs and palaces of India; we speak of the +Alhambra of Spain almost in whispers, so deep is our reverent +admiration; we visit the Parthenon. There is not a picture or a +statue in Europe we have not sought. We climb the mountains for +their views and the sense of grandeur they inspire; we roam over +the wide ocean to the coral islands of the far Pacific; we go deep +into the woods of the West; and we stand dreamily under the +Pyramids of the East. What part is there of the English year which +has not been sung by the poets? all of whom are full of its +loveliness; and our greatest of all, Shakespeare, carries, as it +were, armfuls of violets, and scatters roses and golden wheat +across his pages, which are simply fields written with human +life.</p> +<p>This is art indeed—art in the mind and soul, infinitely +deeper, surely, than the construction of crockery, jugs for the +mantelpiece, dados, or even of paintings. The lover of nature has +the highest art in his soul. So, I think, the bluff English farmer +who takes such pride and delight in his dogs and horses, is a much +greater man of art than any Frenchman preparing with cynical +dexterity of hand some coloured presentment of flashy beauty for +the <i>salon</i>. The English girl who loves her horse—and +English girls <i>do</i> love their horses most intensely—is +infinitely more artistic in that fact than the cleverest painter on +enamel. They who love nature are the real artists; the "artists" +are copyists, St. John the naturalist, when exploring the recesses +of the Highlands, relates how he frequently came in contact with +men living in the rude Highland way—forty years since, no +education then—whom at first you would suppose to be morose, +unobservant, almost stupid. But when they found out that their +visitor would stay for hours gazing in admiration at their glens +and mountains, their demeanour changed. Then the truth appeared: +they were fonder than he was himself of the beauties of their hills +and lakes; they could see the art <i>there</i>, though perhaps they +had never seen a picture in their lives, certainly not any +blue-and-white crockery. The Frenchman flings his fingers +dexterously over the canvas, but he has never had that in his heart +which the rude Highlander had.</p> +<p>The path across the arable field was covered with a design of +bird's feet. The reversed broad arrow of the fore-claws, and the +straight line of the hinder claw, trailed all over it in curving +lines. In the dry dust, their feet were marked as clearly as a seal +on wax—their trails wound this way and that, and crossed as +their quick eyes had led them to turn to find something. For fifty +or sixty yards the path was worked with an inextricable design; it +was a pity to step on it and blot out the traces of those little +feet. Their hearts so happy, their eyes so observant, the earth so +bountiful to them with its supply of food, and the late warmth of +the autumn sun lighting up their life. They know and feel the +different loveliness of the seasons as much as we do. Every one +must have noticed their joyousness in spring; they are quiet, but +so very, very busy in the height of summer; as autumn comes on they +obviously delight in the occasional hours of warmth. The marks of +their little feet are almost sacred—a joyous life has been +there—do not obliterate it. It is so delightful to know that +something is happy.</p> +<p>The hawthorn hedge that goes down the slope is more coloured +than the hedges in the sheltered plain. Yonder, a low bush on the +brow is a deep crimson; the hedge as it descends varies from brown +to yellow, dotted with red haws, and by the gateway has another +spot of crimson. The lime trees turn yellow from top to bottom, all +the leaves together; the elms by one or two branches at a time. A +lime tree thus entirely coloured stands side by side with an elm, +their boughs intermingling; the elm is green except a line at the +outer extremity of its branches. A red light as of fire plays in +the beeches, so deep is their orange tint in which the sunlight is +caught. An oak is dotted with buff, while yet the main body of the +foliage is untouched. With these tints and sunlight, nature gives +us so much more than the tree gives. A tree is nothing but a tree +in itself: but with light and shadow, green leaves moving, a bird +singing, another moving to and fro—in autumn with +colour—the boughs are filled with imagination. There then +seems so much more than the mere tree; the timber of the trunk, the +mere sticks of the branches, the wooden framework is animated with +a life. High above, a lark sings, not for so long as in +spring—the October song is shorter—but still he sings. +If you love colour, plant maple; maple bushes colour a whole hedge. +Upon the bank of a pond, the brown oak-leaves which have fallen are +reflected in the still deep water.</p> +<p>It is from the hedges that taste must be learned. A garden abuts +on these fields, and being on slightly rising ground, the maple +bushes, the brown and yellow and crimson hawthorn, the limes and +elms, are all visible from it; yet it is surrounded by stiff, +straight iron railings, unconcealed even by the grasses, which are +carefully cut down with the docks and nettles, that do their best, +three or four times in the summer, to hide the blank iron. Within +these iron railings stands a row of <i>arbor vitæ</i>, +upright, and stiff likewise, and among them a few other evergreens; +and that is all the shelter the lawn and flower-beds have from the +east wind, blowing for miles over open country, or from the glowing +sun of August. This garden belongs to a gentleman who would +certainly spare no moderate expense to improve it, and yet there it +remains, the blankest, barest, most miserable-looking square of +ground the eye can find; the only piece of ground from which the +eye turns away; for even the potato-field close by, the common +potato-field, had its colour in bright poppies, and there were +partridges in it, and at the edges, fine growths of mallow and its +mauve flowers. Wild parsley, still green in the shelter of the +hazel stoles, is there now on the bank, a thousand times sweeter to +the eye than bare iron and cold evergreens. Along that hedge, the +white bryony wound itself in the most beautiful manner, completely +covering the upper part of the thick brambles, a robe thrown over +the bushes; its deep cut leaves, its countless tendrils, its +flowers, and presently the berries, giving pleasure every time one +passed it. Indeed, you could not pass without stopping to look at +it, and wondering if any one ever so skilful, even those +sure-handed Florentines Mr. Ruskin thinks so much of, could ever +draw that intertangled mass of lines. Nor could you easily draw the +leaves and head of the great parsley—commonest of +hedge-plants—the deep indented leaves, and the shadow by +which to express them. There was work enough in that short piece of +hedge by the potato-field for a good pencil every day the whole +summer. And when done, you would not have been satisfied with it, +but only have learned how complex and how thoughtful and far +reaching Nature is in the simplest of things. But with a +straight-edge or ruler, any one could draw the iron railings in +half an hour, and a surveyor's pupil could make them look as well +as Millais himself. Stupidity to stupidity, genius to genius; any +hard fist can manage iron railings; a hedge is a task for the +greatest.</p> +<p>Those, therefore, who really wish their gardens or grounds, or +any place, beautiful, must get that greatest of geniuses, Nature, +to help them, and give their artist freedom to paint to fancy, for +it is Nature's imagination which delights us—as I tried to +explain about the tree, the imagination, and not the fact of the +timber and sticks. For those white bryony leaves and slender +spirals and exquisitely defined flowers are full of imagination, +products of a sunny dream, and tinted so tastefully, that although +they are green, and all about them is green too, yet the plant is +quite distinct, and in no degree confused or lost in the mass of +leaves under and by it. It stands out, and yet without violent +contrast. All these beauties of form and colour surround the place, +and try, as it were, to march in and take possession, but are shut +out by straight iron railings. Wonderful it is that education +should make folk tasteless! Such, certainly, seems to be the case +in a great measure, and not in our own country only, for those who +know Italy tell us that the fine old gardens there, dating back to +the days of the Medici, are being despoiled of ilex and made formal +and straight. Is all the world to be Versaillised?</p> +<p>Scarcely two hundred yards from these cold iron railings, which +even nettles and docks would hide if they could, and thistles +strive to conceal, but are not permitted, there is an old cottage +by the roadside. The roof is of old tile, once red, now dull from +weather; the walls some tone of yellow; the folk are poor. Against +it there grows a vigorous plant of jessamine, a still finer rose, a +vine covers the lean-to at one end, and tea-plant the corner of the +wall; beside these, there is a yellow-flowering plant, the name of +which I forget at the moment, also trained to the walls; and ivy. +Altogether, six plants grow up the walls of the cottage; and over +the wicket-gate there is a rude arch—a framework of tall +sticks—from which droop thick bunches of hops. It is a very +commonplace sort of cottage; nothing artistically picturesque about +it, no effect of gable or timber-work; it stands by the roadside in +the most commonplace way, and yet it pleases. They have called in +Nature, that great genius, and let the artist have his own way. In +Italy, the art-country, they cut down the ilex trees, and get the +surveyor's pupil with straight-edge and ruler to put it right and +square for them. Our over-educated and well-to-do people set iron +railings round about their blank pleasure-grounds, which the +potato-field laughs at in bright poppies; and actually one who has +some fine park-grounds has lifted up on high a mast and +weather-vane! a thing useful on the sea-board at coastguard +stations for signalling, but oh! how repellent and straight and +stupid among clumps of graceful elms!</p> +<h4 align="center">II</h4> +<p>The dismal pits in a disused brickfield, unsightly square holes +in a waste, are full in the shallow places of an aquatic grass, +Reed Canary Grass, I think, which at this time of mists stretches +forth sharp-pointed tongues over the stagnant water. These +sharp-pointed leaf-tongues are all on one side of the stalks, so +that the most advanced project across the surface, as if the water +were the canvas, and the leaves drawn on it. For water seems always +to rise away from you—to slope slightly upwards; even a pool +has that appearance, and therefore anything standing in it is drawn +on it as you might sketch on this paper. You see the water beyond +and above the top of the plant, and the smooth surface gives the +leaf and stalk a sharp, clear definition. But the mass of the tall +grass crowds together, every leaf painted yellow by the autumn, a +thick cover at the pit-side. This tall grass always awakes my +fancy, its shape partly, partly its thickness, perhaps; and yet +these feelings are not to be analysed. I like to look at it; I like +to stand or move among it on the bank of a brook, to feel it touch +and rustle against me. A sense of wildness comes with its touch, +and I feel a little as I might feel if there was a vast forest +round about. As a few strokes from a loving hand will soothe a +weary forehead, so the gentle pressure of the wild grass soothes +and strokes away the nervous tension born of civilised life.</p> +<p>I could write a whole history of it; the time when the leaves +were fresh and green, and the sedge-birds frequented it; the time +when the moorhen's young crept after their mother through its +recesses; from the singing of the cuckoo by the river, till now +brown and yellow leaves strew the water. They strew, too, the dry +brown grass of the land, thick tuffets, and lie even among the +rushes, blown hither from the distant trees. The wind works its +full will over the exposed waste, and drives through the +reed-grass, scattering the stalks aside, and scarce giving them +time to spring together again, when the following blast a second +time divides them.</p> +<p>A cruder piece of ground, ruder and more dismal in its unsightly +holes, could not be found; and yet, because of the reed-grass, it +is made as it were full of thought. I wonder the painters, of whom +there are so many nowadays, armies of amateurs, do not sometimes +take these scraps of earth and render into them the idea which +fills a clod with beauty. In one such dismal pit—not +here—I remember there grew a great quantity of bulrushes. +Another was surrounded with such masses of swamp-foliage that it +reminded those who saw it of the creeks in semi-tropical countries. +But somehow they do not seem to see these things, but go on the old +mill-round of scenery, exhausted many a year since. They do not see +them, perhaps, because most of those who have educated themselves +in the technique of painting are city-bred, and can never have the +<i>feeling</i> of the country, however fond they may be of it.</p> +<p>In those fields of which I was writing the other day, I found an +artist at work at his easel; and a pleasant nook be had chosen. His +brush did its work with a steady and sure stroke that indicated +command of his materials. He could delineate whatever he selected +with technical skill at all events. He had pitched his easel where +two hedges formed an angle, and one of them was full of oak-trees. +The hedge was singularly full of "bits"—bryony, tangles of +grasses, berries, boughs half-tinted and boughs green, hung as it +were with pictures like the wall of a room. Standing as near as I +could without disturbing him, I found that the subject of his +canvas was none of these. It was that old stale and dull device of +a rustic bridge spanning a shallow stream crossing a lane. Some +figure stood on the bridge—the old, old trick. He was filling +up the hedge of the lane with trees from the hedge, and they were +cleverly executed. But why drag them into this fusty scheme, which +has appeared in every child's sketch-book for fifty years? Why not +have simply painted the beautiful hedge at hand, purely and simply, +a hedge hung with pictures for any one to copy? The field in which +he had pitched his easel is full of fine trees and good "effects." +But no; we must have the ancient and effete old story. This is not +all the artist's fault, because he must in many cases paint what he +can sell; and if his public will only buy effete old stories, he +cannot help it. Still, I think if a painter <i>did</i> paint that +hedge in its fulness of beauty, just simply as it stands in the +mellow autumn light, it would win approval of the best people, and +that ultimately, a succession of such work would pay.</p> +<p>The clover was dying down, and the plough would soon be among +it—the earth was visible in patches. Out in one of these bare +patches there was a young mouse, so chilled by the past night that +his dull senses did not appear conscious of my presence. He had +crept out on the bare earth evidently to feel the warmth of the +sun, almost the last hour he would enjoy. He looked about for food, +but found none; his short span of life was drawing to a close; even +when at last he saw me, he could only run a few inches under cover +of a dead clover-plant. Thousands upon thousands of mice perish +like this as the winter draws on, born too late in the year to grow +strong enough or clever enough to prepare a store. Other kinds of +mice perish like leaves at the first blast of cold air. Though but +a mouse, to me it was very wretched to see the chilled creature, so +benumbed as to have almost lost its sense of danger. There is +something so ghastly in birth that immediately leads to death; a +sentient creature born only to wither. The earth offered it no +help, nor the declining sun; all things organised seem to depend so +much on circumstances. Nothing but pity can be felt for thousands +upon thousands of such organisms. But thus, too, many a miserable +human being has perished in the great Metropolis, dying, chilled +and benumbed, of starvation, and finding the hearts of +fellow-creatures as bare and cold as the earth of the +clover-field.</p> +<p>In these fields outside London the flowers are peculiarly rich +in colour. The common mallow, whose flower is usually a light +mauve, has here a deep, almost purple bloom; the bird's-foot lotus +is a deep orange. The fig-wort, which is generally two or three +feet high, stands in one ditch fully eight feet, and the stem is +more than half an inch square. A fertile soil has doubtless +something to do with this colour and vigour. The red admiral +butterflies, too, seemed in the summer more brilliant than usual. +One very fine one, whose broad wings stretched out like fans, +looked simply splendid floating round and round the willows which +marked the margin of a dry pool. His blue markings were really +blue—blue velvet—his red, and the white stroke shone as +if sunbeams were in his wings. I wish there were more of these +butterflies; in summer, dry summer, when the flowers seem gone and +the grass is not so dear to us, and the leaves are dull with heat, +a little colour is so pleasant. To me, colour is a sort of food; +every spot of colour is a drop of wine to the spirit. I used to +take my folding-stool on those long, heated days, which made the +summer of 1884 so conspicuous among summers, down to the shadow of +a row of elms by a common cabbage-field. Their shadow was nearly as +hot as the open sunshine; the dry leaves did not absorb the heat +that entered them, and the dry hedge and dry earth poured heat up +as the sun poured it down. Dry, dead leaves—dead with heat, +as with frost—strewed the grass, dry, too, and withered at my +feet. But among the cabbages, which were very small, there grew +thousands of poppies, fifty times more poppies than cabbage, so +that the pale green of the cabbage-leaves was hidden by the scarlet +petals falling wide open to the dry air. There was a broad band of +scarlet colour all along the side of the field, and it was this +which brought me to the shade of those particular elms. The use of +the cabbages was in this way: they fetched for me all the white +butterflies of the neighbourhood, and they fluttered, hundreds and +hundreds of white butterflies, a constant stream and flow of them +over the broad band of scarlet. Humble-bees came too; bur-bur-bur; +and the buzz, and the flutter of the white wings over those fixed +red butterflies the poppies, the flutter and sound and colour +pleased me in the dry heat of the day. Sometimes I set my +camp-stool by a humble-bees' nest. I like to see and hear them go +in and out, so happy, busy, and wild; the humble-bee is a +favourite. That summer their nests were very plentiful; but +although the heat might have seemed so favourable to them, the +flies were not at all numerous, I mean out-of-doors. Wasps, on the +contrary, flourished to an extraordinary degree. One willow tree +particularly took their fancy; there was a swarm in the tree for +weeks, attracted by some secretion; the boughs and leaves were +yellow with wasps. But it seemed curious that flies should not be +more numerous than usual; they are dying now fast enough, except a +few of the large ones, that still find some sugar in the flowers of +the ivy. The finest show of ivy flower is among some yew trees; the +dark ivy has filled the dark yew tree, and brought out its pale +yellow-green flowers in the sombre boughs. Last night, a great fly, +the last in the house, buzzed into my candle. I detest flies, but I +was sorry for his scorched wings; the fly itself hateful, its wings +so beautifully made. I have sometimes picked a feather from the +dirt of the road and placed it on the grass. It is contrary to +one's feelings to see so beautiful a thing lying in the mud. +Towards my window now, as I write, there comes suddenly a shower of +yellow leaves, wrested out by main force from the high elms; the +blue sky behind them, they droop slowly, borne onward, twirling, +fluttering towards me—a cloud of autumn butterflies.</p> +<p>A spring rises on the summit of a green brow that overlooks the +meadows for miles. The spot is not really very high, still it is +the highest ground in that direction for a long distance, and it +seems singular to find water on the top of the hill, a thing common +enough, but still sufficiently opposed to general impressions to +appear remarkable. In this shallow water, says a faint +story—far off, faint and uncertain, like the murmur of a +distant cascade—two ladies and some soldiers lost their +lives. The brow is defended by thick bramble-bushes, which bore a +fine crop of blackberries that autumn, to the delight of the boys; +and these bushes partly conceal the sharpness of the short descent. +But once your attention is drawn to it, you see that it has all the +appearance of having been artificially sloped, like a rampart, or +rather a glacis. The grass is green and the sward soft, being +moistened by the spring, except in one spot, where the grass is +burnt up under the heat of the summer sun, indicating the existence +of foundations beneath.</p> +<p>There is a beautiful view from this spot; but leaving that now, +and wandering on among the fields, presently you may find a meadow +of peculiar shape, extremely long and narrow, half a mile long, +perhaps; and this the folk will tell you was the King's Drive, or +ride. Stories there are, too, of subterranean passages—there +are always such stories in the neighbourhood of ancient +buildings—I remember one, said to be three miles long; it led +to an abbey. The lane leads on, bordered with high hawthorn hedges, +and occasionally a stout hawthorn tree, hardy and twisted by the +strong hands of the passing years; thick now with red haws, and the +haunt of the redwings, whose "chuck-chuck" is heard every minute; +but the birds themselves always perch on the outer side of the +hedge. They are not far ahead, but they always keep on the safe +side, flying on twenty yards or so, but never coming to my +side.</p> +<p>The little pond, which in summer was green with weed, is now +yellow with the fallen hawthorn-leaves; the pond is choked with +them. The lane has been slowly descending; and now, on looking +through a gateway, an ancient building stands up on the hill, +sharply defined against the sky. It is the banqueting hall of a +palace of old times, in which kings and princes once sat at their +meat after the chase. This is the centre of those dim stories which +float like haze over the meadows around. Many a wild red stag has +been carried thither after the hunt, and many a wild boar slain in +the glades of the forest.</p> +<p>The acorns are dropping now as they dropped five centuries +since, in the days when the wild boars fed so greedily upon them; +the oaks are broadly touched with brown; the bramble thickets in +which the boars hid, green, but strewn with the leaves that have +fallen from the lofty trees. Though meadow, arable, and hop-fields +hold now the place of the forest, a goodly remnant remains, for +every hedge is full of oak and elm and ash; maple too, and the +lesser bushes. At a little distance, so thick are the trees, the +whole country appears a wood, and it is easy to see what a forest +it must have been centuries ago.</p> +<p>The Prince leaving the grim walls of the Tower of London by the +Water-gate, and dropping but a short way down with the tide, could +mount his horse on the opposite bank, and reach his palace here, in +the midst of the thickest woods and wildest country, in half an +hour. Thence every morning setting forth upon the chase, he could +pass the day in joyous labours, and the evening in feasting, still +within call—almost within sound of horn—of the Tower, +if any weighty matter demanded his presence.</p> +<p>In our time, the great city has widened out, and comes at this +day down to within three miles of the hunting-palace. There still +intervenes a narrow space between the last house of London and the +ancient Forest Hall, a space of corn-field and meadow; the last +house, for although not nominally London, there is no break of +continuity in the bricks and mortar thence to London Bridge. London +is within a stone's-throw, as it were, and yet, to this day the +forest lingers, and it is country. The very atmosphere is +different. That smoky thickness characteristic of the suburbs +ceases as you ascend the gradual rise, and leave the outpost of +bricks and mortar behind. The air becomes clear and strong, till on +the brow by the spring on a windy day it is almost like sea-air. It +comes over the trees, over the hills, and is sweet with the touch +of grass and leaf. There is no gas, no sulphurous acid in that. As +the Edwards and Henries breathed it centuries since, so it can be +inhaled now. The sun that shone on the red deer is as bright now as +then; the berries are thick on the bushes; there is colour in the +leaf. The forest is gone; but the spirit of nature stays, and can +be found by those who search for it. Dearly as I love the open air, +I cannot regret the mediaeval days. I do not wish them back again, +I would sooner fight in the foremost ranks of Time. Nor do we need +them, for the spirit of nature stays, and will always be here, no +matter to how high a pinnacle of thought the human mind may attain; +still the sweet air, and the hills, and the sea, and the sun, will +always be with us.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="19">ON THE LONDON ROAD</a></h3> +<p>The road comes straight from London, which is but a very short +distance off, within a walk, yet the village it passes is +thoroughly a village, and not suburban, not in the least like +Sydenham, or Croydon, or Balham, or Norwood, as perfect a village +in every sense as if it stood fifty miles in the country. There is +one long street, just as would be found in the far west, with +fields at each end. But through this long street, and on and out +into the open, is continually pouring the human living undergrowth +of that vast forest of life, London. The nondescript inhabitants of +the thousand and one nameless streets of the unknown east are great +travellers, and come forth into the country by this main desert +route. For what end? Why this tramping and ceaseless movement? what +do they buy, what do they sell, how do they live? They pass through +the village street and out into the country in an endless stream on +the shutter on wheels. This is the true London vehicle, the +characteristic conveyance, as characteristic as the Russian +droshky, the gondola at Venice, or the caique at Stamboul. It is +the camel of the London desert routes; routes which run right +through civilisation, but of which daily paper civilisation is +ignorant. People who can pay for a daily paper are so far above it; +a daily paper is the mark of the man who is in civilisation.</p> +<p>Take an old-fashioned shutter and balance it on the axle of a +pair of low wheels, and you have the London camel in principle. To +complete it add shafts in front, and at the rear run a low +free-board, as a sailor would say, along the edge, that the cargo +may not be shaken off. All the skill of the fashionable +brougham-builders in Long Acre could not contrive a vehicle which +would meet the requirements of the case so well as this. On the +desert routes of Palestine a donkey becomes romantic; in a +coster-monger's barrow he is only an ass; the donkey himself +doesn't see the distinction. He draws a good deal of human nature +about in these barrows, and perhaps finds it very much the same in +Surrey and Syria. For if any one thinks the familiar barrow is +merely a truck for the conveyance of cabbages and carrots, and for +the exposure of the same to the choice of housewives in Bermondsey, +he is mistaken. Far beyond that, it is the symbol, the solid +expression, of life itself to the owner, his family, and circle of +connections, more so than even the ship to the sailor, as the +sailor, no matter how he may love his ship, longs for port, and the +joys of the shore, but the barrow folk are always at sea on land, +Such care has to be taken of the miserable pony or the shamefaced +jackass; he has to be groomed, and fed, and looked to in his shed, +and this occupies three or four of the family at least, lads and +strapping young girls, night and morning. Besides which, the circle +of connections look in to see how he is going on, and to hear the +story of the day's adventures, and what is proposed for to-morrow. +Perhaps one is invited to join the next excursion, and thinks as +much of it as others might do of an invitation for a cruise in the +Mediterranean. Any one who watches the succession of barrows +driving along through the village out into the fields of Kent can +easily see how they bear upon their wheels the fortunes of whole +families and of their hangers-on. Sometimes there is a load of +pathos, of which the race of the ass has carried a good deal in all +ages. More often it is a heavy lump of dull, evil, and exceedingly +stupid cunning. The wild evil of the Spanish contrabandistas seems +atoned by that wildness; but this dull wickedness has no flush of +colour, no poppy on its dirt heaps.</p> +<p>Over one barrow the sailors had fixed up a tent—canvas +stretched from corner poles, two fellows sat almost on the shafts +outside; they were well. Under the canvas there lay a young fellow +white and emaciated, whose face was drawn down with severe +suffering of some kind, and his dark eyes, enlarged and +accentuated, looked as if touched with belladonna. The family +council at home in the close and fetid court had resolved +themselves into a medical board and ordered him to the sunny +Riviera. The ship having been fitted up for the invalid, away they +sailed for the south, out from the ends of the earth of London into +the ocean of green fields and trees, thence past many an island +village, and so to the shores where the Kentish hops were yellowing +fast for the pickers. There, in the vintage days, doubtless he +found solace, and possibly recovery. To catch a glimpse of that +dark and cavernous eye under the shade of the travelling tent +reminded me of the eyes of the wounded in the ambulance-waggons +that came pouring into Brussels after Sedan. In the dusk of the +lovely September evenings—it was a beautiful September, the +lime-leaves were just tinted with orange—the waggons came in +a long string, the wounded and maimed lying in them, packed +carefully, and rolled round, as it were, with wadding to save them +from the jolts of the ruts and stones. It is fifteen years ago, and +yet I can still distinctly see the eyes of one soldier looking at +me from his berth in the waggon. The glow of intense pain—the +glow of long-continued agony—lit them up as coals that +smouldering are suddenly fanned. Pain brightens the eyes as much as +joy, there is a fire in the brain behind it; it is the flame in the +mind you see, and not the eyeball. A thought that might easily be +rendered romantic, but consider how these poor fellows appeared +afterwards. Bevies of them hopped about Brussels in their +red-and-blue uniforms, some on crutches, some with two sticks, some +with sleeves pinned to their breasts, looking exactly like a +company of dolls a cruel child had mutilated, snapping a foot off +here, tearing out a leg here, and battering the face of a third. +Little men most of them—the bowl of a German pipe inverted +would have covered them all, within which, like bees in a hive, +they might hum "Te Deum Bismarckum Laudamus." But the romantic +flame in the eye is not always so beautiful to feel as to read +about.</p> +<p>Another shutter on wheels went by one day with one little pony +in the shafts, and a second harnessed in some way at the side, so +as to assist in pulling, but without bearing any share of the load. +On this shutter eight men and boys balanced themselves; enough for +the Olympian height of a four-in-hand. Eight fellows perched round +the edge like shipwrecked mariners, clinging to one plank. They +were so balanced as to weigh chiefly on the axle, yet in front of +such a mountain of men, such a vast bundle of ragged clothes, the +ponies appeared like rats.</p> +<p>On a Sunday morning two fellows came along on their shutter: +they overtook a girl who was walking on the pavement, and one of +them, more sallow and cheeky than his companion, began to talk to +her. "That's a nice nosegay, now—give us a rose. Come and +ride—there's plenty of room. Won't speak? Now, you'll tell us +if this is the road to London Bridge." She nodded. She was dressed +in full satin for Sunday; her class think much of satin. She was +leading two children, one in each hand, clean and well-dressed. She +walked more lightly than a servant does, and evidently lived at +home; she did not go to service. Tossing her head, she looked the +other way, for you see the fellow on the shutter was dirty, not +"dressed" at all, though it was Sunday, poor folks' ball-day; a +dirty, rough fellow, with a short clay pipe in his mouth, a +chalky-white face—apparently from low dissipation—a +disreputable rascal, a monstrously impudent "chap," a true London +mongrel. He "cheeked" her; she tossed her head, and looked the +other way. But by-and-by she could not help a sly glance at him, +not an angry glance—a look as much as to say, "You're a man, +anyway, and you've the good taste to admire me, and the courage to +speak to me; you're dirty, but you're a man. If you were +well-dressed, or if it wasn't Sunday, or if it was dark, or nobody +about, I wouldn't mind; I'd let you 'cheek' me, though I have got +satin on." The fellow "cheeked" her again, told her she had a +pretty face, "cheeked" her right and left. She looked away, but +half smiled; she had to keep up her dignity, she did not feel it. +She would have liked to have joined company with him. His leer grew +leerier—the low, cunning leer, so peculiar to the London +mongrel, that seems to say, "I am so intensely knowing; I am so +very much all there;" and yet the leerer always remains in a dirty +dress, always smokes the coarsest tobacco in the nastiest of pipes, +and rides on a barrow to the end of his life. For his leery cunning +is so intensely stupid that, in fact, he is as "green" as grass; +his leer and his foul mouth keep him in the gutter to his very last +day. How much more successful plain, simple straightforwardness +would be! The pony went on a little, but they drew rein, and waited +for the girl again; and again he "cheeked" her. Still, she looked +away, but she did not make any attempt to escape by the side-path, +nor show resentment. No; her face began to glow, and once or twice +she answered him, but still she would not quite join company. If +only it had not been Sunday—if it had been a lonely road, and +not so near the village, if she had not had the two tell-tale +children with her—she would have been very good friends with +the dirty, chalky, ill-favoured, and ill-savoured wretch. At the +parting of the roads each went different ways, but she could not +help looking back.</p> +<p>He was a thorough specimen of the leery London mongrel. That +hideous leer is so repulsive—one cannot endure it—but +it is so common; you see it on the faces of four-fifths of the +ceaseless stream that runs out from the ends of the earth of London +into the green sea of the country. It disfigures the faces of the +carters who go with the waggons and other vehicles—not +nomads, but men in steady employ; it defaces—absolutely +defaces—the workmen who go forth with vans, with timber, with +carpenters' work, and the policeman standing at the corners, in +London itself particularly. The London leer hangs on their faces. +The Mosaic account of the Creation is discredited in these days, +the last revelation took place at Beckenham; the Beckenham +revelation is superior to Mount Sinai, yet the consideration of +that leer might suggest the idea of a fall of man even to an +Amoebist. The horribleness of it is in this way, it hints—it +does more than hint, it conveys the leerer's decided +opinion—that you, whether you may be man or woman, must +necessarily be as coarse as himself. Especially he wants to impress +that view upon every woman who chances to cross his glance. The +fist of Hercules is needed to dash it out of his face.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="20">RED ROOFS OF LONDON</a></h3> +<p>Tiles and tile roofs have a curious way of tumbling to pieces in +an irregular and eye-pleasing manner. The roof-tree bends, bows a +little under the weight, curves in, and yet preserves a sharpness +at each end. The Chinese exaggerate this curve of set purpose. Our +English curve is softer, being the product of time, which always +works in true taste. The mystery of tile-laying is not known to +every one; for to all appearance tiles seem to be put on over a +thin bed of hay or hay-like stuff. Lately they have begun to use +some sort of tarpaulin or a coarse material of that kind; but the +old tiles, I fancy, were comfortably placed on a shake-down of hay. +When one slips off, little bits of hay stick up; and to these the +sparrows come, removing it bit by bit to line their nests. If they +can find a gap they get in, and a fresh couple is started in life. +By-and-by a chimney is overthrown during a twist of the wind, and +half a dozen tiles are shattered. Time passes; and at last the +tiler arrives to mend the mischief. His labour leaves a light red +patch on the dark dull red of the breadth about it. After another +while the leaks along the ridge need plastering: mortar is laid on +to stay the inroad of wet, adding a dull white and forming a rough, +uncertain undulation along the general drooping curve. Yellow +edgings of straw project under the eaves—the work of the +sparrows. A cluster of blue-tinted pigeons gathers about the +chimney-side; the smoke that comes out of the stack droops and +floats sideways, downwards, as if the chimney enjoyed the smother +as a man enjoys his pipe. Shattered here and cracked yonder, some +missing, some overlapping in curves, the tiles have an aspect of +irregular existence. They are not fixed, like slates, as it were +for ever: they have a newness, and then a middle-age, and a time of +decay like human beings.</p> +<p>One roof is not much; but it is often a study. Put a thousand +roofs, say rather thousands of red-tiled roofs, and overlook +them—not at a great altitude but at a pleasant easy +angle—and then you have the groundwork of the first view of +London over Bermondsey from the railway. I say groundwork, because +the roofs seem the level and surface of the earth, while the +glimpses of streets are glimpses of catacombs. A city—as +something to look at—depends very much on its roofs. If a +city have no character in its roofs it stirs neither heart nor +thought. These red-tiled roofs of Bermondsey, stretching away mile +upon mile, and brought up at the extremity with thin masts rising +above the mist—these red-tiled roofs have a distinctiveness, +a character; they are something to think about. Nowhere else is +there an entrance to a city like this. The roads by which you +approach them give you distant aspects—minarets, perhaps, in +the East, domes in Italy; but, coming nearer, the highway somehow +plunges into houses, confounding you with façades, and the +real place is hidden. Here from the railway you see at once the +vastness of London. Roof-tree behind roof-tree, ridge behind ridge, +is drawn along in succession, line behind line till they become as +close together as the test-lines used for microscopes. Under this +surface of roofs what a profundity of life there is! Just as the +great horses in the waggons of London streets convey the idea of +strength, so the endlessness of the view conveys the idea of a mass +of life. Life converges from every quarter. The iron way has many +ruts: the rails are its ruts; and by each of these a ceaseless +stream of men and women pours over the tiled roofs into London. +They come from the populous suburbs, from far-away towns and quiet +villages, and from over sea.</p> +<p>Glance down as you pass into the excavations, the streets, +beneath the red surface: you catch a glimpse of men and women +hastening to and fro, of vehicles, of horses struggling with mighty +loads, of groups at the corners, and fragments, as it were, of +crowds. Busy life everywhere: no stillness, no quiet, no repose. +Life crowded and crushed together; life that has hardly room to +live. If the train slackens, look in at the open windows of the +houses level with the line—they are always open for air, +smoke-laden as it is—and see women and children with scarce +room to move, the bed and the dining-table in the same apartment. +For they dine and sleep and work and play all at the same time. A +man works at night and sleeps by day: he lies yonder as calmly as +if in a quiet country cottage. The children have no place to play +in but the living-room or the street. It is not squalor—it is +crowded life. The people are pushed together by the necessities of +existence. These people have no dislike to it at all: it is right +enough to them, and so long as business is brisk they are happy. +The man who lies sleeping so calmly seems to me to indicate the +immensity of the life around more than all the rest. He is +oblivious of it all; it does not make him nervous or wakeful; he is +so used to it, and bred to it, that it seems to him nothing. When +he is awake lie does not see it; now he sleeps he does not hear it. +It is only in great woods that you cannot see the trees. He is like +a leaf in a forest—he is not conscious of it. Long hours of +work have given him slumber; and as he sleeps he seems to express +by contrast the immensity and endlessness of the life around +him.</p> +<p>Sometimes a floating haze, now thicker here, and now lit up +yonder by the sunshine, brings out objects more distinctly than a +clear atmosphere. Away there tall thin masts stand out, rising +straight up above the red roofs. There is a faint colour on them; +the yards are dark—being inclined, they do not reflect the +light at an angle to reach us. Half-furled canvas droops in folds, +now swelling a little as the wind blows, now heavily sinking. One +white sail is set and gleams alone among the dusky folds; for the +canvas at large is dark with coal-dust, with smoke, with the grime +that settles everywhere where men labour with bare arms and chests. +Still and quiet as trees the masts rise into the hazy air; who +would think, merely to look at them, of the endless labour they +mean? The labour to load, and the labour to unload; the labour at +sea, and the long hours of ploughing the waves by night; the labour +at the warehouses; the labour in the fields, the mines, the +mountains; the labour in the factories. Ever and again the sunshine +gleams now on this group of masts, now on that; for they stand in +groups as trees often grow, a thicket here and a thicket yonder. +Labour to obtain the material, labour to bring it hither, labour to +force it into shape—work without end. Masts are always dreamy +to look at: they speak a romance of the sea; of unknown lands; of +distant forests aglow with tropical colours and abounding with +strange forms of life. In the hearts of most of us there is always +a desire for something beyond experience. Hardly any of us but have +thought, Some day I will go on a long voyage; but the years go by, +and still we have not sailed.</p> +<hr> +<h3 align="center"><a name="21">A WET NIGHT IN LONDON</a></h3> +<p>Opaque from rain drawn in slant streaks by wind and speed across +the pane, the window of the railway carriage lets nothing be seen +but stray flashes of red lights—the signals rapidly passed. +Wrapped in thick overcoat, collar turned up to his ears, warm +gloves on his hands, and a rug across his knees, the traveller may +well wonder how those red signals and the points are worked out in +the storms of wintry London, Rain blown in gusts through the misty +atmosphere, gas and smoke-laden, deepens the darkness; the howl of +the blast humming in the telegraph wires, hurtling round the +chimney-pots on a level with the line, rushing up from the +archways; steam from the engines, roar, and whistle, shrieking +brakes, and grinding wheels—how is the traffic worked at +night in safety over the inextricable windings of the iron roads +into the City? At London Bridge the door is opened by some one who +gets out, and the cold air comes in; there is a rush of people in +damp coats, with dripping umbrellas, and time enough to notice the +archaeologically interesting wooden beams which support the roof of +the South-Eastern station. Antique beams they are, good old Norman +oak, such as you may sometimes find in very old country churches +that have not been restored, such as yet exist in Westminster Hall, +temp. Rufus or Stephen, or so. Genuine old woodwork, worth your +while to go and see. Take a sketch-book and make much of the ties +and angles and bolts; ask Whistler or Macbeth, or some one to etch +them, get the Royal Antiquarian Society to pay a visit and issue a +pamphlet; gaze at them reverently and earnestly, for they are not +easily to be matched in London. Iron girders and spacious roofs are +the modern fashion; here we have the Middle Ages +well-preserved—slam! the door is banged-to, onwards, over the +invisible river, more red signals and rain, and finally the +terminus. Five hundred well-dressed and civilised savages, wet, +cross, weary, all anxious to get in—eager for home and +dinner; five hundred stiffened and cramped folk equally eager to +get out—mix on a narrow platform, with a train running off +one side, and a detached engine gliding gently after it. Push, +wriggle, wind in and out, bumps from portmanteaus, and so at last +out into the street.</p> +<p>Now, how are you going to get into an omnibus? The street is +"up," the traffic confined to half a narrow thoroughfare, the +little space available at the side crowded with newsvendors whose +contents bills are spotted and blotted with wet, crowded, too, with +young girls, bonnetless, with aprons over their heads, whose object +is simply to do nothing—just to stand in the rain and chaff; +the newsvendors yell their news in your ears, then, finding you +don't purchase, they "Yah!" at you; an aged crone begs you to buy +"lights"; a miserable young crone, with pinched face, offers +artificial flowers—oh, Naples! Rush comes the rain, and the +gas-lamps are dimmed; whoo-oo comes the wind like a smack; cold +drops get in the ears and eyes; clean wristbands are splotched; +greasy mud splashed over shining boots; some one knocks the +umbrella round, and the blast all but turns it. "Wake +up!"—"Now then—stop here all night?"—"Gone to +sleep?" They shout, they curse, they put their hands to their +mouths trumpet wise and bellow at each other, these cabbies, +vanmen, busmen, all angry at the block in the narrow way. The +'bus-driver, with London stout, and plenty of it, polishing his +round cheeks like the brasswork of a locomotive, his neck well +wound and buttressed with thick comforter and collar, heedeth not, +but goes on his round, now fast, now slow, always stolid and +rubicund, the rain running harmlessly from him as if he were oiled. +The conductor, perched like the showman's monkey behind, hops and +twists, and turns now on one foot and now on the other as if the +plate were red-hot; now holds on with one hand, and now dexterously +shifts his grasp; now shouts to the crowd and waves his hands +towards the pavement, and again looks round the edge of the 'bus +forwards and curses somebody vehemently. "Near side up! Look alive! +Full inside"—curses, curses, curses; rain, rain, rain, and no +one can tell which is most plentiful.</p> +<p>The cab-horse's head comes nearly inside the 'bus, the 'bus-pole +threatens to poke the hansom in front; the brougham would be +careful, for varnish sake, but is wedged and must take its chance; +van-wheels catch omnibus hubs; hurry, scurry, whip, and drive; +slip, slide, bump, rattle, jar, jostle, an endless stream +clattering on, in, out, and round. On, on—"Stanley, +on"—the first and last words of cabby's life; on, on, the one +law of existence in a London street—drive on, stumble or +stand, drive on—strain sinews, crack, splinter—drive +on; what a sight to watch as you wait amid the newsvendors and +bonnetless girls for the 'bus that will not come! Is it real? It +seems like a dream, those nightmare dreams in which you know that +you must run, and do run, and yet cannot lift the legs that are +heavy as lead, with the demon behind pursuing, the demon of +Drive-on. Move, or cease to be—pass out of Time or be +stirring quickly; if you stand you must suffer even here on the +pavement, splashed with greasy mud, shoved by coarse ruffianism, +however good your intentions—just dare to stand still! Ideas +here for moralising, but I can't preach with the roar and the din +and the wet in my ears, and the flickering street lamps flaring. +That's the 'bus—no; the tarpaulin hangs down and obscures the +inscription; yes. Hi! No heed; how could you be so confiding as to +imagine conductor or driver would deign to see a signalling +passenger; the game is to drive on.</p> +<p>A gentleman makes a desperate rush and grabs the handrail; his +foot slips on the asphalt or wood, which is like oil, he slides, +his hat totters; happily he recovers himself and gets in. In the +block the 'bus is stayed a moment, and somehow we follow, and are +landed—"somehow" advisedly. For how do we get into a 'bus? +After the pavement, even this hard seat would be nearly an +easy-chair, were it not for the damp smell of soaked overcoats, the +ceaseless rumble, and the knockings overhead outside. The noise is +immensely worse than the shaking or the steamy atmosphere, the +noise ground into the ears, and wearying the mind to a state of +drowsy narcotism—you become chloroformed through the sense of +hearing, a condition of dreary resignation and uncomfortable ease. +The illuminated shops seem to pass like an endless window without +division of doors; there are groups of people staring in at them in +spite of the rain; ill-clad, half-starving people for the most +part; the well-dressed hurry onwards; they have homes. A dull +feeling of satisfaction creeps over you that you are at least in +shelter; the rumble is a little better than the wind and the rain +and the puddles. If the Greek sculptors were to come to life again +and cut us out in bas-relief for another Parthenon, they would have +to represent us shuffling along, heads down and coat-tails flying, +splash-splosh—a nation of umbrellas.</p> +<p>Under a broad archway, gaily lighted, the broad and happy way to +a theatre, there is a small crowd waiting, and among them two +ladies, with their backs to the photographs and bills, looking out +into the street. They stand side by side, evidently quite oblivious +and indifferent to the motley folk about them, chatting and +laughing, taking the wet and windy wretchedness of the night as a +joke. They are both plump and rosy-cheeked, dark eyes gleaming and +red lips parted; both decidedly good-looking, much too rosy and +full-faced, too well fed and comfortable to take a prize from +Burne-Jones, very worldly people in the roast-beef sense. Their +faces glow in the bright light—merry sea coal-fire faces; +they have never turned their backs on the good things of this life. +"Never shut the door on good fortune," as Queen Isabella of Spain +says. Wind and rain may howl and splash, but here are two faces +they never have touched—rags and battered shoes drift along +the pavement—no wet feet or cold necks here. Best of all they +glow with good spirits, they laugh, they chat; they are full of +enjoyment, clothed thickly with health and happiness, as their +shoulders—good wide shoulders—are thickly wrapped in +warmest furs. The 'bus goes on, and they are lost to view; if you +came back in an hour you would find them still there without +doubt—still jolly, chatting, smiling, waiting perhaps for the +stage, but anyhow far removed, like the goddesses on Olympus, from +the splash and misery of London. Drive on.</p> +<p>The head of a great grey horse in a van drawn up by the +pavement, the head and neck stand out and conquer the rain and +misty dinginess by sheer force of beauty, sheer strength of +character. He turns his head—his neck forms a fine curve, his +face is full of intelligence, in spite of the half dim light and +the driving rain, of the thick atmosphere, and the black hollow of +the covered van behind, his head and neck stand out, just as in old +portraits the face is still bright, though surrounded with crusted +varnish. It would be a glory to any man to paint him. Drive on.</p> +<p>How strange the dim, uncertain faces of the crowd, half-seen, +seem in the hurry and rain; faces held downwards and muffled by the +darkness—not quite human in their eager and intensely +concentrated haste. No one thinks of or notices another—on, +on—splash, shove, and scramble; an intense selfishness, so +selfish as not to be selfish, if that can be understood, so +absorbed as to be past observing that any one lives but themselves. +Human beings reduced to mere hurrying machines, worked by wind and +rain, and stern necessities of life; driven on; something very hard +and unhappy in the thought of this. They seem reduced to the +condition of the wooden cabs—the mere vehicles—pulled +along by the irresistible horse Circumstance. They shut their eyes +mentally, wrap themselves in the overcoat of indifference, and +drive on, drive on. It is time to get out at last. The 'bus stops +on one side of the street, and you have to cross to the other. Look +up and down—lights are rushing each way, but for the moment +none are close. The gas-lamps shine in the puddles of thick greasy +water, and by their gleam you can guide yourself round them. Cab +coming! Surely he will give way a little and not force you into +that great puddle; no, he neither sees, nor cares, Drive on, drive +on. Quick! the shafts! Step in the puddle and save your life!</p> +<hr> +<h4 align="center">End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Open +Air</h4> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<BR> +<PRE> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE OPEN AIR *** + +This file should be named thpnr10h.htm or thpnr10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, thpnr11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, thpnr10ah.htm + + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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