154 POT-POURRI FROM A SURREY GARDEN 



rocks and stones, which gave them firm hold to resist the 

 blast. But on this November morning two years ago 

 the snow was on the tree-tops, which made them heavy, 

 and the furious gale swept on them from the north, and 

 down they fell in thousands — whole hillsides laid bare, 

 without one tree left standing, aU torn up by the roots. 

 It wiU be many years before the countryside is cleared 

 of its own fallen timber. 



We lived a mile from the sea. The Sutherlandshire coast 

 is tame enough, but beautifully desolate — no travellers, 

 no tourists, nothing to disturb the solitude. I am not 

 very fond of the East Coast, as there in the afternoon one 

 is only able to enjoy reflected sujishine. It always 

 reminds me of friends as they grow cold ; they ex- 

 pect us to be warmed by the sunshine of yesterday. 

 Once I went down alone to the shore ; it was a beauti- 

 ful evening, with hundreds of shades of pearly greys 

 and pinks reflected on sand and wave — an evening to 

 make mean things noble and costly things ridiculous, an 

 evening that humbles one down to the very dust, and yet 

 lifts one clean ofif one's feet with enthusiasm and exultation. 

 I remember years ago a friend of mine telling me she 

 had met Jenny Lind, who had then just left the stage, at 

 a quiet South Coast seaside bathing-place. Jenny Lind 

 was sitting on the steps of a bathing-machine, and my friend 

 began talking to her and asking her ' if she did not think 

 she would miss terribly the excitement of acting.' ' Very 

 likely,' she answered, 'but I had ceased to be able to 

 admire that,' pointing to the great gold sun going down 

 in its glory, ' and I had ceased to be able to read this,' 

 tapping a Bible that lay on her knees. ' Don't you think 

 it was time to give it up ? ' 



I had not been five minutes on this lonely Sutherland 

 shore before I counted quite ten wild sea-birds of dif- 

 ferent kinds flying around, screaming to each other, and 



