79 



JANUARY 8, 1900 



have been enveloped all this morning 

 in a cloud of smoke, not exactly battle- 

 smoke, but nearly as thick, perhaps, in these days 

 of smokeless powder, rather thicker. Our inde- 

 fatigable Cuttle has decreed that we must at all 

 costs get rid of those mountains of garden rub- 

 bish, which seem to be for ever accumulating. 

 Hence this smoke ! Never in my life did I see 

 such volumes ! They rolled in blackish blue 

 columns all about our leafless copse, till towards 

 the afternoon, a wind getting up, they were swept 

 finally westward, across the downs, somewhere in 

 the direction of Guildford. 



Personally I like the smell, acrid though it 

 undoubtedly is. The pile itself is moreover the 

 nearest approach one ever gets in these de- 

 generate days to a bonfire, for which I still 

 retain the most infantile affection, and which 

 never seems to be so familiar, or so endearing, 

 as upon the afternoon of a winter's day. Who 

 can explain those incredibly remote, yet at the 



