PREFACE vii 



upon the stream, the warm sweet wind come breathing 

 over the young corn just when I should wish you to feel 

 it ? Every one must find their own locality. I find a 

 favourite wild-flower here, and the spot is dear to me ; 

 you find yours yonder. Neither painter nor writer can 

 show the spectator their originals. It would be very 

 easy, too, to pass any of these places and see nothing, 

 or but little. Birds are wayward, wild creatures uncer- 

 tain. The tree crowded with wood-pigeons one minute 

 is empty the next. To traverse the paths day by day, 

 and week by week ; to keep an eye ever on the fields 

 from year's end to year's end, is the one only method of 

 knowing what really is in or comes to them. That 

 the sitting gambler sweeps the board is true of these 

 matters. The richest locality may be apparently devoid 

 of interest just at the juncture of a chance visit. 



Though my preconceived ideas were overthrown by the 

 presence of so much that was beautiful and interesting 

 close to London, yet in course of time I came to under- 

 stand what was at first a dim sense of something wanting. 

 In the shadiest lane, in the still pinewoods, on the hills 

 of purple heath, after brief contemplation there arose a 

 restlessness, a feeling that it was essential to be moving. 

 In no grassy mead was there a nook where I could 

 stretch myself in slumberous ease and watch the swallows 

 ever wheeling, wheeling in the sky. This was the unseen 

 influence of mighty London. The strong life of the vast 

 city magnetised me, and I felt it under the calm oaks. 

 The something wanting in the fields was the absolute 

 quiet, peace, and rest which dwells in the meadows and 

 under the trees and on the hilltops in the country. 

 Under its power the mind gradually yields itself to the 



