270 HAMPSHIRE DAYS 



come over the green fields, wet or dry. The avenue 

 ends just at the point where the gently sloping chalk 

 down touches the level valley, and the half-hidden, low- 

 roofed cottage stands just there, with the shadow of the 

 last two lime trees falling on it at one side. It was an 

 ideal spot for a nature-lover and an angler to pitch his 

 tent upon. Here a small plot of ground, including the 

 end of the lime-tree avenue, was marked out, a hedge 

 of sweetbriar planted round it, the cottage erected, and 

 a green lawn made before it on the river side, and beds 

 of roses planted at the back. 



Nothing more no gravel walks ; no startling scarlet 

 geraniums, no lobelias, no cinerarias, no calceolarias, 

 nor other gardeners' abominations to hurt one's eyes 

 and make one's head ache. And no dog, nor cat, nor 

 chick, nor child only the wild birds to keep one com- 

 pany. They knew how to appreciate its shelter and 

 solitariness; they were all about it, and built their 

 nests amid the great green masses of ivy, honeysuckle, 

 Virginia creeper, rose, and wild clematis which covered 

 the trellised walls and part of the red roof with a 

 twelve years' luxuriant growth. 



To this delectable spot I returned on July 21 to 

 see the changeful summer of 1900 out, my friends 

 having gone north and left me their cottage for a 

 habitation. 



" There is the wind on the heath, brother," and one 

 heartily agrees with the half-mythical Petulengro that 

 it is a very good thing ; it had, indeed, been blowing 



