THE TEMPLES OF THE HILLS 267 



magic, that I like best to see tlic hill-top grove ; when 

 at a distance of a mile or two the tall columnar trunks 

 of the pines, showing the light between, seem to have a 

 wavering motion, .iiui, with the high dense roof of 

 branches, look absolutely black against the brilliant white- 

 ness of the air and the pale hot sky beyond. 



The downland groves are, however, less to me in their 

 aesthetic aspect, and as features in the landscape, than 

 as haunts of wild life. It is indeed as small islands 

 of animal life that I view them, scattered over the sea- 

 like smooth green waste, vacant as the sea. To others 

 it may not be so — to the artist, for example, in search 

 of something to draw. We have each our distinct in- 

 terests, aims, trades, or what you like: that which I 

 seek adds nothing, and takes nothing from his picture, 

 and is consequently negligible. We cannot escape the 

 reflex effect of our own little vocations — our prc-occu- 

 pations with one side of things, one aspect of nature. 

 Their life is to me their beauty, or the chief element 

 in it, without which they would indeed be melancholy 

 places. It refreshes me more than the shade of the 

 great leafy roof on a burning day. On this account, 

 because of the life in them, I prefer the clumps on the 

 lower hills. They grow more luxuriantly, often with 

 much undergrowth, sometimes surrounded with dense 

 thickets of thorn, furze, and bramble. These are at- 

 tractive spots to wild birds, and when not guarded by 

 a gamekeeper form little refuges where even the shy 

 persecuted species may breed in comparative security. It 

 is with a sense of positive relief that I often turn my 



