8 A GARDEN DIARY 
garments, —those “short and simple flannels of the 
poor” hung to dry in silhouette against a back 
fence. The truth is it is not at all desirable to 
be so haughty. I will not go so far as to say 
that it is unchristian, but it is certainly unbecom- 
ing, for are we not all fellow-creatures? What 
if you can command seven counties from your 
windows? What if on one particular morning— 
to me incredible—you did see three ships cross 
Shoreham gap? What if from your garden chair 
you can be regaled by a fantasia of changing 
lights and shadows? be lapped into peace upon 
summer afternoons, or stirred by the drama of 
battle clouds, flung into blackness by a storm ? 
Well, if you can, be glad of it, but for pity’s 
sake abstain from bragging! ‘Gi God thanks, 
and say no more o’ it.” Believe me it is not even 
commonly lucky to be so proud, and I speak with 
some little authority upon that subject. 
For as regards this matter of views, I too have 
been haughty to the point of insupportableness. 
I too have believed that the possession of wide 
prospects argued some peculiar, some ineffable 
superiority in myself. There was a time when 
nothing short of an entire ocean, none of your 
petty babbling channels, but the whole thunder- 
ing Atlantic, sufficed for my ambition. In those 
days only upon the largest combination of sea, 
sky, mountain ; sea-scape, land-scape, cloud-scape, 
did it seem possible adequately to exist. As for 
