18 WAYFARING NOTIONS 



for themselves, is not in it with these. Many- 

 choice bits and articles came my way on the road 

 to the ridge, where, in air clear as an Australian 

 sun can give, and with half a gale to blow all 

 cobwebs out of your brain, you didn't want 

 any Davos Platz, or places of that sort, to make 

 you well and keep you so. Will my readers 

 take all the complimentary things I have said 

 from time to time of Goodwood in and about, 

 draw a thick line under them so as to read them 

 in italics, and make that do for this appreciation. 

 What a course it is, with its old down turf! 



I stayed about the tracks as long as I could, 

 and then, not minding about directions, made off 

 on a line of my own along the ridge, never going 

 to right nor left, but straight away on a voyage 

 of discovery over a delightful road where it was 

 a road, one not ruined by steam-rollers, as is the 

 highway from Arundel to Chichester. In eight 

 miles I did not meet a soul barring two children 

 and a donkey, one of the children riding in the 

 bleak breeze without an inch of stocking on its 

 poor little legs, and didn't want to. Thanks to 

 going my own road I came out right at the 

 Whiteways Lodge before-mentioned — I guess 

 this was a Roman road to begin with — and so 

 back to the Norfolk Hotel, the changing light 

 putting new faces on the landscape with each 

 new tone, the big red deer stalking about with 

 alarming dignity, and the ancient maples looking 

 sturdier and more obstinately unflinching as the 

 fading daylight showed them bigger than they 

 really were. Anyone who can do fine art criticism 

 with '' motives," ''themes," '' notes," and all, might 

 make quite a pretty study of the English maple 

 as it grows in the South, expressing in every 



