IN LITERATURE 25 



and rolling woodland, through a faint transparency of 

 haze and under a shimmering of fleecy clouds, from 

 such a height as Richmond Hill or the terraces of the 

 Crystal Palace. The stray showers and the heavy 

 night dews keep everything fairly fresh and green, 

 even in the dryer seasons. The very high-roads wind 

 and dip as they are engineered in accordance with the 

 undulations of the ground, in place of unrolling them- 

 selves straight on end like so many kilometres of sad- 

 coloured ribbon, between their regular borderings of 

 dust-peppered poplars. As to the labyrinths of wood- 

 land lanes in the home counties, you had better take 

 your bearings before you commit yourself to them, if 

 you have not chartered an experienced pilot. Now 

 they have hidden themselves out of sight and well-nigh 

 out of sound between deep banks that are watered by 

 bubbling land-springs, and under the cool shade of the 

 boughs that interweave themselves thickly overhead. 

 The wheels grate lightly over gravel that reminds you 

 of a gentleman's approach, although here and there you 

 go jolting over the gnarled roots. Before you have 

 wearied of the dim religious light, and begin to long 

 for a glimpse of the glorious sunshine, you are emerg- 

 ing on some stretch of purple heath, or are breasting the 

 slopes of some breezy down. The crest of each eminence 

 and each turn of your road opens up a new infinity of 

 prospect, as the eye travels along the lines of leafy 

 undulations to some range of hills that hangs dimly in 

 the distance. Nor are the broad pastures of the 

 Midlands, or the wilder and more open landscapes of 



