CLEMATIS LANE. 81 



went over, laro^e and velvety, flying head to the wind, 

 but unable to make way against it, and so carried 

 sidelong across the current. From the summit of 

 the hill he drifted out into the air five hundred feet 

 above the flowers of the plain. Perhaps it was 

 a peacock; for there was a peacock-butterfly in 

 Clematis Lane. The harebells swung, and the dry 

 tips of the grass bent to the wind which came over the 

 hills from the sea, but from which the sun" had dried 

 the sea-moisture, leaving it twice refined — once by the 

 passage above a hundred miles of wave and foam and 

 again by the grasses and the hills, which forced the 

 current to a higher level, where the sunbeams dried it. 

 Twice refined, the air was strong and pure, sweet like 

 the scent of a flower. If the air at the sea beach is 

 good, that of the hills above the sea is at least twice 

 as good, and twice as strengthening. It possesses all 

 the virtue of the sea air without the moisture which 

 ultimately loosens the joints, and seems to penetrate 

 to the very nerves. Those who desire air and quick 

 recovery should go to the hills, where the wind has 

 a scent of the sunbeams. 



In the short time since ascending the slope the 

 definition of the view has changed. At first it was 

 clear indeed, and no one would have supposed there 

 was any mist. But now suddenly every hill stands out 

 sharp and definite ; the scattered hawthorn bushes are 

 distinct; the hills look higher than before. From about 

 the woods an impalpable bluish mistiness that was 

 there just now has been blown away. The yellow 

 squares of stubble — just cleared — far below are whiter 

 and look drier. I think it is the air that tints every- 



G 



