NATURE NEAR LONDON 



which, soon after passing Redhill, stretches away 

 on the right. It seems to us in the train to extend 

 from the foot of a great bluff there to the first 

 rampart of the still distant South Downs. In the 

 evening that haze will be changed to a flood of 

 purple light veiling the horizon. Fitful glances 

 at the newspaper or the novel pass the time ; but 

 now I can read no longer, for I know, without 

 any marks or tangible evidence, that the hills are 

 drawing near. There is always hope in the hills. 



The dust of London fills the eyes and blurs the 

 vision ; but it penetrates deeper than that. There 

 is a dust that chokes the spirit, and it is this that 

 makes the streets so long, the stones so stony, the 

 desk so wooden ; the very rustiness of the iron 

 railings about the offices sets the teeth on edge, the 

 sooty blackened walls (yet without shadow) thrust 

 back the sympathies which are ever trying to cling 

 to the inanimate things around us. A breeze 

 comes in at the carriage window a wild puff, 

 disturbing the heated stillness of the summer day. 

 It is easy to tell where that came from silently 

 the Downs have stolen into sight. 



So easy is the outline of the ridge, so broad and 

 flowing are the slopes, that those who have not 

 mounted them cannot grasp the idea of their real 

 height and steepness. The copse upon the summit 

 yonder looks but a short stroll distant ; how much 



