IN A GREEN COUNTRY 151 



district at the end of May, it seemed to me that never 

 since I had known England, from that morning in early 

 May when I saw the sun rise behind the white cliffs 

 and green downs of Wight and the Hampshire shore, 

 had it seemed so surpassingly lovely — so like a dream 

 of some heavenly country. There have been days of 

 torment and weariness when the wish has come to me 

 that I might be transported from this ball to the 

 uttermost confines of the universe, to the remotest of 

 all the unnumbered stars, to some rock or outpost 

 beyond the furthest of them all, where I might sit with 

 all matter, all life, for ever behind and with nothing 

 but infinite empty space before me, thinking, feeling, 

 remembering nothing, through all eternity. Now 

 the wish or thought of a journey to the stars came to 

 me again, but with a different motive : in the present 

 instance it was purely for the sake of the iong and 

 wholly delightful journey, not for anything at the 

 end. My wish was now to prolong the delight of 

 travelling in such scenes indefinitely. Could any one 

 imagine a greater bliss than to sit or recline at ease 

 in a railway carriage with that immortal green of 

 earth ever before him, so varied in its shades, so flowery, 

 splashed everywhere with tender, brilliant gold of 

 buttercups, so bathed in sunlight and shaded with 

 great trees — green woods with their roots in the divine 

 blue of the wild hyacinth. Who would not wish to 

 go on for days, months, years even, to the stars if we 

 could travel to them in that way ! 



I don't know much about the stars, nor am I anxious 



