142 IDLEHURST : 



clouds are still down on the hillsides, and a grey 

 misty light lies on the landscape ; but the driving pelt 

 of the morning has fallen to a soft blowing cloud 

 of moisture, which pleasantly bedews the face and 

 gathers in the eyebrows. The yellow brook by 

 Dogkennel has almost drowned the single plank that 

 makes the bridge, and my path lies through plashy 

 lanes and woods, where a moment's breeze brings 

 down a thunder-shower of drops. I make my way 

 to a barway in a tall hedge, giving a prospect to the 

 north over the moorland ridges of the Forest. As I 

 lean over the gateway in the silence of the vacant 

 hour, I can hear the drip from the elms in the further 

 field ; birds and beasts lie close and still. The hill- 

 side over against me shows dark at the bottom 

 under the trailing fringe of the rain-cloud, which 

 blots out the hedgerows halfway up the hill. Over 

 everything the fine rain sifts and drizzles : the drops 

 on the bramble beside me run together and slip into 

 the hedge bottom ; little rivers meander through the 

 grass at my feet ; the field furrows are pouring down 

 the slope to the brook, the river, back to the sea 

 again. Man and his works are put aside ; and earth 

 and heaven are at their business in that compre- 

 hensive way which our partial faculties may so pro- 

 fitably contemplate. 



