The Pleasures of June 8 1 



the sprouting heather-sprig beside him and the grow- 

 ing crops below. For him the exceeding splendour 

 of the earth and its life is all-sufficing ; if he have a 

 wish it is only that enchantment may fix them for 

 ever in their relative positions ; his dread arises from 

 the transience of pleasure. A spell is upon him. 

 The labouring men are but ' figures in the landscape ' 

 without sorrow or story ; the hawk drops like an 

 arrow on his harmless victim and awakens no thought 

 of cruelty ; the shy hill-rabbit pushes her silky ears 

 above the young fern and excites his envy, for in 

 admiration of her pretty attitude he forgets the terrors 

 and the perils of which it speaks. For him the smile 

 of the fields is one of intense and unalloyed love. 

 But how long will the magic endure ? 



Long ago I used to look on the same scene with 

 a friend whose dust may now be blowing in the white 

 cloud hurrying past gig and lime-cart on the road 

 across the moor. I do not complain that the fields 

 have called him back, but why was pain heaped so 

 heavily on the gentlest and most loving of creatures ? 

 It is no longer possible to regard this earth as a mere 

 picture or a sort of concert-room. These are not lay 

 figures in the fields. Though drugged with the anaes- 

 thetics, labour and care, till they have almost ceased 

 to feel, or aspire, or think, still their movements are not 

 quite automatic : each has his story and his sorrow. 

 Leaves bourgeon, and blow, and wither ; crops are sown, 

 and ripen, and fall ; the wild creatures are born, and 



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