ix f Bindon Hill 227 



drawing, nor do they give you any idea of what 

 Bindon really is. The magnificent precipice of his 

 eastern end, pure white chalk falling sheer into a 

 clear blue sea, was the subject of a picture in a water- 

 colour exhibition not long ago. But, except at his 

 two extremities, Bindon is not attractive to artists ; 

 and to understand him truly it is not enough to 

 contemplate him from without. You must spend 

 whole mornings with him, lying on him, and being of 

 him. Better to be bookless there, in my opinion, 

 even on the warmest day ; I cannot keep my atten- 

 tion on the page, there is so much life and fragrance 

 around me. There is so much that is beautiful to 

 look at, not for the artist, but for me ; whether I turn 

 southward to the sparkling sea with its white sails, 

 or look northward over long miles of a purple heathery 

 plain, or lie down and look into the long dry grass 

 which the sun is turning golden, and catch the 

 millions of gossamer webs, stretched by some invisible 

 fairy spider from blade to blade over the sward. 



But we will contemplate Bindon for a moment, 

 and stoop to consider him outwardly as a hill, before 

 we stretch ourselves upon his back and see what he 

 has to show us. He is nothing more than a mighty 

 mound of chalk, nearly two miles long, and rising to 

 his highest point about midway; yet he is unlike 

 any other chalk hill I know of along the whole 

 southern coast. He has an individuality quite his 



