AUTUMN, 191 2 281 



you can imagine that there is no longer any life in Wells ; 

 you would not be in a quieter place on the wide brown 

 marsh itself, nor on the low grassy sand-hills faintly 

 seen in the distance, nor on the wide stretch of sand 

 beyond, where the men, crow-like, are seeking their 

 subsistence. 



To Wells I accordingly went on October 17, yet 

 was no sooner in this ideal spot than I began to think 

 it was the last place where I could do any work, since 

 even the noises and distractions of London would have 

 a less disturbing effect than that low murmur, that 

 familiar yet ever strange sound of the old old sea, that 

 came to me by day and night, and the wild cries 

 and calls of passing birds, especially the cries of the 

 geese. 



It is related of a man who has a great reputation in 

 his day which is now ended, that he was once taken 

 to task by a friend for having settled himself at Wells. 

 You, his friend said, with your love of mankind, your 

 noble ideals, your many talents, and especially your 

 eloquence in addressing your fellow men — how can 

 you endure to waste your years in this dead-alive little 

 town in a marsh ? 



The other answered that it was because Wells was 

 the only town in England where, sitting at ease in his 

 study, he could listen to the cries of wild geese. 



To me, just a naturalist, these same cries were even 

 more than to that famous man : to sit still and do any 

 work where I heard them was the difficulty. Thus 

 was I pulled two ways, and my state was that of being 



