A Long yourney. 165 



him, and our knowledge of him grew gradually, till 

 we have come to feel that there is a good deal in his 

 life that dimly images the life of we human beings. 

 Yes, these things were veritable revelations then — all 

 was wonderful — every day brought its new surprise, 

 its fresh knowledge, its inspiration, its new hopes. 

 Well may the poet say, " Beautiful is youth, for every- 

 thing is allowed to it." 



Never shall I forget a long journey we took from 

 this low, thatch-roofed cottage, with its sluggish stream 

 in front of it, over the hills that lay behind. As we 

 went, it seemed as though life stirred up at every 

 footstep. The place was little frequented ; there was 

 no regular footpath. There were long reaches of 

 heathy common, broken up by patches of fir and birch 

 — that lady among trees truly — and here and there 

 clumps of gorse, with flowers golden in the sunlight. 

 The rabbits ran here and there, disturbed in their 

 feeding or in their play; the curlews called, and ran 

 circling round us, and then flew off away from their 

 nests with the most mournful cries and calls; the 

 omnipresent rook seemed to follow us, and the wild 

 pigeons cried to us from the belts of fir that straggled 

 along irregularly. 



The humble bees were busy, bumming on their way 

 or settling on the flowers; on the furze bushes the 

 webs of the spider still hung dewy and glistening in 

 the sun rays; linnets and goldfinches were busy on 

 the thistles that grew thickly here and there. Our 

 object was to reach the highest belt where the pines 

 were thick, as we wished to gather cones. How 

 delicious were the scents of this plantation when we 

 reached it, and what gatherings of birds and insects 

 there were. The wood appeared literally to be alive, 



