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some disaster； for this period of sacred calm。 For a week or so I have been one of a small number； chosen out of the whole human race by fate's supreme benediction。 It may be that this es to every one in turn； to most； it can only be once in a lifetime； and so briefly。 That my own lot seems so much better than that of ordinary men； sometimes makes me fearful。
XXV
Walking in a favourite lane to…day； I found it covered with shed blossoms of the hawthorn。 Creamy white； fragrant even in ruin； lay scattered the glory of the May。 It told me that spring is over。
Have I enjoyed it as I should？ Since the day that brought me freedom； four times have I seen the year's new birth； and always； as the violet yielded to the rose； I have known a fear that I had not sufficiently prized this boon of heaven whilst it was with me。 Many hours I have spent shut up among my books； when I might have been in the meadows。 Was the gain equivalent？ Doubtfully； diffidently； I hearken what the mind can plead。
I recall my moments of delight； the recognition of each flower that unfolded； the surprise of budding branches clothed in a night with green。 The first snowy gleam upon the blackthorn did not escape me。 By its familiar bank； I watched for the earliest primrose； and in its copse I found the anemone。 Meadows shining with buttercups； hollows sunned with the marsh marigold held me long at gaze。 I saw the sallow glistening with its cones of silvery fur； and splendid with dust of gold。 These mon things touch me with more of admiration and of wonder each time I behold them。 They are once more gone。 As I turn to summer； a misgiving mingles with my joy。
SUMMER
I
To…day； as I was reading in the garden； a waft of summer perfume…… some hidden link of association in what I read……I know not what it may have been……took me back to schoolboy holidays； I recovered with strange intensity that lightsome mood of long release from tasks； of going away to the seaside； which is one of childhood's blessings。 I was in the train； no rushing express； such as bears you great distances； the sober train which goes to no place of importance； which lets you see the white steam of the engine float and fall upon a meadow ere you pass。 Thanks to a good and wise father； we youngsters saw nothing of seaside places where crowds assemble； I am speaking； too； of a time more than forty years ago； when it was still possible to find on the coasts of northern England； east or west； spots known only to those who loved the shore for its beauty and its solitude。 At every station the train stopped； little stations； decked with beds of flowers； smelling warm in the sunshine where country…folk got in with baskets； and talked in an unfamiliar dialect； an English which to us sounded almost like a foreign tongue。 Then the first glimpse of the sea； the excitement of noting whether tide was high or low……stretches of sand and weedy pools； or halcyon wavelets frothing at their furthest reach； under the sea… banks starred with convolvulus。 Of a sudden； OUR station！
Ah； that taste of the brine on a child's lips！ Nowadays； I can take holiday when I will； and go whithersoever it pleases me； but that salt kiss of the sea air I shall never know again。 My senses are dulled； I cannot get so near to Nature； I have a sorry dread of her clouds； her winds； and must walk with tedious circumspection where once I ran and leapt exultingly。 Were it possible； but for one half…hour； to plunge and bask in the sunny surf； to roll on the silvery sand…hills； to leap from rock to rock on shining sea…ferns； laughing if I slipped into the shallows among starfish and anemones！ I am much older in body than in mind； I can but look at what I once enjoyed。
II
I have been spending a week in Somerset。 The right June weather put me in the mind for rambling； and my thoughts turned to the Severn Sea。 I went to Glastonbury and Wells； and on to Cheddar； and so to the shore of the Channel at Clevedon； remembering my holiday of fifteen years ago； and too often losing myself in a contrast of the man I was then and what I am now。 Beautiful beyond all words of description that nook of oldest England； but that I feared the moist and misty winter climate； I should have chosen some spot below the Mendips for my home and resting…place。 Unspeakable the charm to my ear of those old names； exquisite the quiet of those little towns； lost amid tilth and pasture； untouched as yet by the fury of modern life； their ancient sanctuaries guarded； as it were； by noble trees and hedges overrun with flowers。 In all England there is no sweeter and more varied prospect than that from the hill of the Holy Thorn at Glastonbury； in all England there is no lovelier musing place than the leafy walk beside the Palace Moat at Wells。 As I think of the golden hours I spent there； a passion to which I can give no name takes hold upon me； my heart trembles with an indefinable ecstasy。
There was a time of my life when I was consumed with a desire for foreign travel； an impatience of everything familiar fretted me through all the changing year。 If I had not at length found the opportunity to escape； if I had not seen the landscapes for which my soul longed； I think I must have moped to death。 Few men； assuredly； have enjoyed such wanderings more than I； and few men revive them in memory with a richer delight or deeper longing。 But… …whatever temptation es to me in mellow autumn； when I think of the grape and of the olive……I do not believe I shall ever again cross the sea。 What remains to me of life and of energy is far too little for the enjoyment of all I know； and all I wish to know； of this dear island。
As a child I used to sleep in a room hung round with prints after English landscape painters……those steel engravings so mon half a century ago； which bore the legend； 〃From the picture in the Vernon Gallery。〃 Far more than I knew at the time； these pictures impressed me； I gazed and gazed at them； with that fixed attention of a child which is half curiosity； half reverie； till every line of them was fixed in my mind； at this moment I see the black…and…white landscapes as if they were hanging on the wall before me； and I have often thought that this early training of the imagination……for such it was……has much to do with the passionate love of rural scenery which lurked within me even when I did not recognize it； and which now for many a year has been one of the emotions directing my life。 Perhaps； too； that early memory explains why I love a good black… and…white print even more than a good painting。 And……to draw yet another inference……here may be a reason for the fact that； through my youth and early manhood； I found more pleasure in Nature as represented by art than in Nature herself。 Even during that strange time when hardships and passions held me captive far from any glimpse of the flowering earth； I could be moved； and moved deeply； by a picture of the simplest rustic scene。 At rare moments； when a happy chance led me into the National Gallery； I used to stand long before such pictures as 〃The Valley Farm；〃 〃The Cornfield；〃 〃Mousehold Heath。〃 In the murk confusion of my heart these visions of the world of peace and beauty from which I was excluded……to which； indeed； I hardly ever gave a thought……touched me to deep emotion。 But it did not need……nor does it now……the magic of a master to awake that mood in me。 Let me but e upon the poorest little woodcut； the cheapest 〃process〃 illustration； representing a thatched cottage； a lane； a field； and I hear that music begin to murmur。 It is a passion……Heaven be thanked……that grows with my advancing years。 The last thought of my brain as I lie dying will be that of sunshine upon an English meadow。
III
Sitting in my garden amid the evening scent of roses； I have read through Walton's Life of Hooker； could any place and time have been more appropriate？ Almost within sight is the tower of Heavitree church……Heavitree； which was Hooker's birthplace。 In other parts of England he must often have thought of these meadows falling to the green valley of the Exe； and of the sun setting behind the pines of Haldon。 Hooker loved the country。 Delightful to me； and infinitely touching； is that request of his to be transferred from London to a rural living……〃where I can see God's blessing spring out of the earth。〃 And that glimpse of him where he was found tending sheep； with a Horace in his hand。 It was in rural solitudes that he conceived the rhythm of mighty prose。 What music of the spheres sang to that poor； vixen…haunted； pimply…faced man！
The last few pages I read by the light of the full moon； that of afterglow having till then sufficed me。 Oh； why has it not been granted me in all my long years of pen…labour to write something small and perfect； even as one of these lives of honest Izaak！ Here is literature； look you……not 〃literary work。〃 Let me be thankful that I have the mind to enjoy it； not only to understand； but to savour； its great goodness。
IV
It is Sunday morning； and above earth's beauty shines the purest； softest sky this summer has yet gladdened us withal。 My window is thrown open； I see the sunny gleam upon garden leaves and flowers； I hear the birds whose wont it is to sing to me； ever and anon the martins that have the