54 IRature Stubies in Berftsbiie. 



that are fragrant with woody odours, that one inclines 

 that way. 



Straight on, the clear, clean ridge cutting the sky 

 prophesies a good outlook across to the mountains. 

 To the left lie some youthful pines, hobnobbing with 

 young birches, under whose branches, just leafy 

 enough to cast a shade, one may stretch upon the 

 turf and hear the idle gossip of the winds. Hither I 

 love best to stray. I have a natural affinity for pines, 

 and there is no better accompaniment for an hour's 

 day-dream over the landscape than the voice of these 

 half-human trees. With that sound in one's ears it 

 were possible to paint almost any fancy-picture of the 

 land which lies behind those eastern hills. 



I wonder if other people happen to share my pre- 

 ference for particular points of the compass ? From 

 my childhood I have loved the east better than any 

 other point, and the horizon where the sun begins 

 his day has a distinct claim over all the rest of the 

 circle. Perhaps it is because, when a little boy, i 

 used to gaze over the eastern hills from the garret 

 windows of my father's house, and long for a glimpse 

 of the fascinating ocean, which I knew was forty 

 miles away beyond those ridges. 1 never confided 

 this prejudice to anyone. So 1 cannot say whether 

 it is a common one. But perhaps Mr. Francis Galton, 

 who has discovered so many curious freaks of the 

 human intellect, — hatred of certain colours, passionate 

 love for odd numbers or even, association of colour with 

 days of the week, — might tell us that this is no un- 



