WALKS IN THE WHEAT-FIELDS. 125 



(■< »ck shine like a day-star as the sun goes down three 

 miles away, over the dark brown field, where the plough 

 has been going to and fro through the slow hours. I 

 can see the plough and the horses very well at three 

 miles, and know what they are doing. 



I wish the trees, the elms, would grow tall enough 



and thick enough to hide the steeples and towers which 



stand up so stiff and stark, and bare and cold, some of 



them blunted and squab, some of them sharp enough to 



im[)ale, with no more shape than a walking-stick, ferrule 



upwards — every one of them out of proportion and 



jarring to the eye. If by good fortune you can find a 



spot where you cannot see a steeple or a church tower, 



where you can see only fields and woods, you will find 



it so much more beautiful, for nature has made it of its 



kind perfect. The dim sea is always so beautiful a view 



because it is not disfigured by these buildings. In the 



ships men live ; in the houses among the trees they live ; 



these steeples and towers are empty, and no spirit can 



» dwell in that which is out of proportion. Scarcely any 



' one can paint a picture of the country without sticking 



in one of these repellent structures. The oast-houses, 



whose red cones are so plentiful in Kent and Sussex, 



, have quite a different effect ; they have some colour, and 



\ by a curious felicity the builders have hit upon a good 



proportion, so that the shape is pleasant ; these, too, 



, have some use in the world. 



Westward the sun was going down over the sea, and 

 a wild west wind, which the glow of the sun as it touched 

 the waves seemed to heat into fury, brought up the 

 , distant sound of the billows from the beach. A line of 

 dark Spanish oaks from which the sharp pointed acorns 

 were dropping, darkest green oaks, shut out the shore. 

 A thousand starlings were flung up into the air out of 



