Thelace—makersthemselveshavenotentirelyforgivenourcountry—
women；andIthinktheytakeaspecialpleasureinthelegendofthenorthernquarterofthetown，calledL’Anglade，becausetheretheEnglishfree—lanceswerearrestedanddrivenbackbythepotencyofalittleVirginMaryonthewall。
Fromtimetotimeamarketisheld，andthetownhasaseasonofrevival；cattleandpigsarestabledinthestreets；andpickpocketshavebeenknowntocomeallthewayfromLyonsfortheoccasion。
EverySundaythecountryfolkthronginwithdaylighttobuyapples，toattendmass，andtovisitoneofthewine—shops，ofwhichtherearenofewerthanfiftyinthislittletown。Sundaywearforthemenisagreentailcoatofsomecoarsesortofdrugget，andusuallyacompletesuittomatch。Ihaveneverseteyesonsuchdegradingraiment。Hereitclings，therebulges；andthehumanbody，withitsagreeableandlivelylines，isturnedintoamockeryandlaughing—
stock。AnotherpieceofSundaybusinesswiththepeasantsistotaketheirailmentstothechemistforadvice。ItisasmuchamatterforSundayaschurch—going。IhaveseenawomanwhohadbeenunabletospeaksincetheMondaybefore，wheezing，catchingherbreath，endlesslyandpainfullycoughing；andyetshehadwaitedupwardsofahundredhoursbeforecomingtoseekhelp，andhadtheweekbeentwiceaslong，shewouldhavewaitedstill。Therewasacanonicaldayforconsultation；suchwastheancestralhabit，towhicharespectableladymuststudytoconform。
TwoconveyancesgodailytoLePuy，buttheyrivaleachotherinpoliteconcessionsratherthaninspeed。Eachwillwaitanhourortwohourscheerfullywhileanoldladydoeshermarketingoragentlemanfinishesthepapersinacafe。TheCOURRIER（suchisthenameofone）shouldleaveLePuybytwointheafternoonandarriveatMonastieringoodonthereturnvoyage，andarriveatMonastieringoodtimeforasix—o’clockdinner。Butthedriverdaresnotdisobligehiscustomers。Hewillpostponehisdepartureagainandagain，hourafterhour；andIhaveknownthesuntogodownonhisdelay。Thesepurelypersonalfavours，thisconsiderationofmen’sfancies，ratherthanthehandsofamechanicalclock，asmarkingtheadvanceoftheabstraction，time，makesamorehumorousbusinessofstage—coachingthanweareusedtoseeit。
Asfarastheeyecanreach，oneswellinglineofhilltoprisesandfallsbehindanother；andifyouclimbaneminence，itisonlytoseenewandfatherrangesbehindthese。Manylittleriversrunfromallsidesincliffyvalleys；andoneofthem，afewmilesfromMonastier，bearsthegreatnameofLoire。Themeanlevelofthecountryisalittlemorethanthreethousandfeetabovethesea，whichmakestheatmosphereproportionallybriskandwholesome。Thereislittletimberexceptpines，andthegreaterpartofthecountryliesinmoorlandpasture。Thecountryiswildandtumbledratherthancommanding；anuplandratherthanamountaindistrict；andthemoststrikingaswellasthemostagreeablescenerylieslowbesidetherivers。There，indeed，youwillfindmanycornersthattakethefancy；suchasmadetheEnglishnoblechoosehisgravebyaSwissstreamlet，wherenatureisatherfreshest，andlooksasyoungasontheseventhmorning。SuchaplaceisthecourseoftheGazeille，whereitwatersthecommonofMonastierandthencedownwardstillitjoinstheLoire；aplacetohearbirdssinging；aplaceforloverstofrequent。Thenameoftheriverwasperhapssuggestedbythesoundofitspassageoverthestones；foritisagreatwarbler，andatnight，afterIwasinbedatMonastier，IcouldhearitgosingingdownthevalleytillIfellasleep。
Onthewhole，thisisaScottishlandscape，althoughnotsonobleasthebestinScotland；andbyanoddcoincidence，thepopulationis，initsway，asScottishasthecountry。Theyhaveabrupt，uncouth，Fifeshiremanners，andaccostyou，asifyouweretrespassing，an’Ou’st—cequevousallez？’onlytranslatableintotheLowland’Whauryegaun？’TheykeeptheScottishSabbath。Thereisnolabourdoneonthatdaybuttodriveinandoutthevariouspigsandsheepandcattlethatmakesopleasantatinklinginthemeadows。Thelace—
makershavedisappearedfromthestreet。Nottoattendmasswouldinvolvesocialdegradation；andyoumayfindpeoplereadingSundaybooks，inparticularasortofCatholicMONTHLYVISITORonthedoingsofOurLadyofLourdes。IrememberoneSunday，whenIwaswalkinginthecountry，thatIfellonahamletandfoundalltheinhabitants，fromthepatriarchtothebaby，gatheredintheshadowofagableatprayer。Onestrappinglassstoodwithherbacktothewallanddidthesolopart，therestchimingindevoutly。Notfaroff，aladlayflatonhisfaceasleepamongsomestraw，torepresenttheworldlyelement。
Again，thispeopleiseagertoproselytise；andthepostmaster’sdaughterusedtoarguewithmebythehalf—houraboutmyheresy，untilshegrewquiteflushed。IhaveheardthereverseprocessgoingonbetweenaScotswomanandaFrenchgirl；andtheargumentsinthetwocaseswereidentical。Eachapostlebasedherclaimonthesuperiorvirtueandattainmentsofherclergy，andclenchedthebusinesswithathreatofhell—fire。’PASBONGPRETRESICI，’saidthePresbyterian，’BONGPRETRESENECOSSE。’Andthepostmaster’sdaughter，takingupthesameweapon，pliedme，sotospeak，withthebuttofitinsteadofthebayonet。Weareahopefulrace，itseems，andeasilypersuadedforourgood。OnecheerfulcircumstanceInoteintheseguerillamissions，thateachsidereliesonhell，andProtestantandCatholicalikeaddressthemselvestoasupposedmisgivingintheiradversary’sheart。AndIcallitcheerful，forfaithisamoresupportingqualitythanimagination。
Here，asinScotland，manypeasantfamiliesboastasoninholyorders。Andherealso，theyoungmenhaveatendencytoemigrate。
Itiscertainlynotpovertythatdrivesthemtothegreatcitiesoracrosstheseas，formanypeasantfamilies，Iwastold，haveafortuneofatleast40，000francs。Theladsgoforthprickedwiththespiritofadventureandthedesiretoriseinlife，andleavetheirhomespuneldersgrumblingandwonderingovertheevent。Once，atavillagecalledLaussonne，Imetoneofthesedisappointedparents：adrakewhohadfatheredawildswanandseenittakewinganddisappear。ThewildswaninquestionwasnowanapothecaryinBrazil。HehadflownbywayofBordeaux，andfirstlandedinAmerica，bareheadedandbarefoot，andwithasinglehalfpennyinhispocket。Andnowhewasanapothecary！Suchawonderfulthingisanadventurouslife！Ithoughthemightaswellhavestayedathome；
butyounevercantellwhereinaman’slifeconsists，norinwhathesetshispleasure：onetodrink，anothertomarry，athirdtowritescurrilousarticlesandberepeatedlycanedinpublic，andnowthisfourth，perhaps，tobeanapothecaryinBrazil。Asforhisoldfather，hecouldconceivenoreasonforthelad’sbehaviour。’Ihadalwaysbreadforhim，’hesaid；’heranawaytoannoyme。Helovedtoannoyme。Hehadnogratitude。’Butathearthewasswellingwithprideoverhistravelledoffspring，andheproducedaletteroutofhispocket，where，ashesaid，itwasrotting，amerelumpofpaperrags，andwaveditgloriouslyintheair。’ThiscomesfromAmerica，’hecried，’sixthousandleaguesaway！’Andthewine—shopaudiencelookeduponitwithacertainthrill。
Isoonbecameapopularfigure，andwasknownformilesinthecountry。OU’STQUEVOUSALLEZ？waschangedformeintoQUOI，VOUS
RENTREZAUMONASTIERandinthetownitselfeveryurchinseemedtoknowmyname，althoughnolivingcreaturecouldpronounceit。Therewasoneparticulargroupoflace—makerswhobroughtoutachairformewheneverIwentby，anddetainedmefrommywalktogossip。TheywerefilledwithcuriosityaboutEngland，itslanguage，itsreligion，thedressofthewomen，andwereneverwearyofseeingtheQueen’sheadonEnglishpostage—stamps，orseekingforFrenchwordsinEnglishJournals。Thelanguage，inparticular，filledthemwithsurprise。
’DotheyspeakPATOISinEngland？’Iwasonceasked；andwhenItoldthemnot，’Ah，then，French？’saidthey。
’No，no，’Isaid，’notFrench。’
’Then，’theyconcluded，’theyspeakPATOIS。’
YoumustobviouslyeitherspeakFrenchorPATIOS。Talkoftheforceoflogic—hereitwasinallitsweakness。Igaveupthepoint，butproceedingtogiveillustrationsofmynativejargon，Iwasmetwithanewmortification。OfallPATIOStheydeclaredthatminewasthemostpreposterousandthemostjocoseinsound。Ateachnewwordtherewasanewexplosionoflaughter，andsomeoftheyoungeronesweregladtorisefromtheirchairsandstampaboutthestreetinecstasy；andIlookedonupontheirmirthinafaintandslightlydisagreeablebewilderment。’Bread，’whichsoundsacommonplace，plain—sailingmonosyllableinEngland，wasthewordthatmostdelightedthesegoodladiesofMonastier；itseemedtothemfrolicsomeandracy，likeapageofPickwick；andtheyallgotitcarefullybyheart，asastand—by，Ipresume，forwinterevenings。I
havetrieditsincethenwitheverysortofaccentandinflection，butIseemtolackthesenseofhumour。
Theywereofallages：childrenattheirfirstweboflace，astriplinggirlwithabashfulbutencouragingplayofeyes，solidmarriedwomen，andgrandmothers，someonthetopoftheirageandsomefallingtowardsdecrepitude。Oneandallwerepleasantandnatural，readytolaughandreadywithacertainquietsolemnitywhenthatwascalledforbythesubjectofourtalk。Life，sincethefallinwages，hadbeguntoappeartothemwithamoreseriousair。Thestriplinggirlwouldsometimeslaughatmeinaprovocativeandnotunadmiringmanner，ifIjudgearight；andoneofthegrandmothers，whowasmygreatfriendoftheparty，gavememanyasharpwordofjudgmentonmysketches，myheresy，orevenmyarguments，andgavethemwithawrymouthandahumoroustwinkleinhereyethatwereeminentlyScottish。Buttherestusedmewithacertainreverence，assomethingcomefromafarandnotentirelyhuman。Nothingwouldputthemattheireasebuttheirresistiblegaietyofmynativetongue。BetweentheoldladyandmyselfIthinktherewasarealattachment。Shewasneverwearyofsittingtomeforherportrait，inherbestcapandbrigandhat，andwithallherwrinklestidilycomposed，andthoughsheneverfailedtorepudiatetheresult，shewouldalwaysinsistuponanothertrial。Itwasasgoodasaplaytoseehersittinginjudgmentoverthelast。’No，no，’shewouldsay，’thatisnotit。Iamold，tobesure，butIambetter—lookingthanthat。Wemusttryagain。’WhenIwasabouttoleaveshebademegood—byeforthislifeinasomewhattouchingmanner。Weshouldnotmeetagain，shesaid；itwasalongfarewell，andshewassorry。Butlifeissofullofcrooks，oldlady，thatwhoknows？Ihavesaidgood—byetopeopleforgreaterdistancesandtimes，and，pleaseGod，Imeantoseethemyetagain。
Onethingwasnotableaboutthesewomen，fromtheyoungesttotheoldest，andwithhardlyanexception。Inspiteoftheirpiety，theycouldtwangoffanoathwithSirTobyBelchinperson。Therewasnothingsohighorsolow，inheavenorearthorinthehumanbody，butawomanofthisneighbourhoodwouldwhipoutthenameofit，fairandsquare，bywayofconversationaladornment。Mylandlady，whowasprettyandyoung，dressedlikealadyandavoidedPATOISlikeaweakness，commonlyaddressedherchildinthelanguageofadrunkenbully。AndofalltheswearersthatIeverheard，commendmetoanoldladyinGondet，avillageoftheLoire。Iwasmakingasketch，andhercursewasnotyetendedwhenIhadfinisheditandtookmydeparture。Itistrueshehadarighttobeangry；forherewasherson，ahulkingfellow，visiblytheworsefordrinkbeforethedaywaswellbegun。Butitwasstrangetohearherunwearyingflowofoathsandobscenities，endlesslikeariver，andnowandthenrisingtoapassionateshrillness，intheclearandsilentairofthemorning。
Incityslums，thethingmighthavepassedunnoticed；butinacountryvalley，andfromaplainandhonestcountrywoman，thisbeastlinessofspeechsurprisedtheear。
TheCONDUCTOR，asheiscalled，OFROADSANDBRIDGESwasmyprincipalcompanion。Hewasgenerallyintelligent，andcouldhavespokenmoreorlessfalsettoonanyofthetritetopics；butitwashisspeciallytohaveageneroustasteineating。Thiswaswhatwasmostindigenousintheman；itwasherehewasanartist；andIfoundinhiscompanywhatIhadlongsuspected，thatenthusiasmandspecialknowledgearethegreatsocialqualities，andwhattheyareabout，whetherwhitesauceorShakespeare’splays，analtogethersecondaryquestion。
IusedtoaccompanytheConductoronhisprofessionalrounds，andgrewtobelievemyselfanexpertinthebusiness。IthoughtIcouldmakeanentryinastone—breaker’stime—book，orordermanureoffthewaysidewithanylivingengineerinFrance。Gondetwasoneoftheplaceswevisitedtogether；andLaussonne，whereImettheapothecary’sfather，wasanother。There，atLaussonne，GeorgeSandspentadaywhileshewasgatheringmaterialsfortheMARQUISDE
VILLEMER；andIhavespokenwithanoldman，whowasthenachildrunningabouttheinnkitchen，andwhostillremembersherwithasortofreverence。ItappearsthathespokeFrenchimperfectly；forthisreasonGeorgeSandchosehimforcompanion，andwheneverheletslipabroadandpicturesquephraseinPATOIS，shewouldmakehimrepeatitagainandagaintillitwasgraveninhermemory。Thewordforafrogparticularlypleasedherfancy；anditwouldbecurioustoknowifsheafterwardsemployeditinherworks。Thepeasants，whoknewnothingofbettersandhadneversomuchasheardoflocalcolour，couldnotexplainherchatteringwiththisbackwardchild；
andtothemsheseemedaveryhomelyladyandfarfrombeautiful：
themostfamousman—killeroftheageappealedsolittletoVelaisianswine—herds！
Onmyfirstengineeringexcursion，whichlayupbyCrouzialstowardsMountMezencandthebordersofArdeche，Ibegananimprovingacquaintancewiththeforemanroad—mender。Hewasingreatgleeathavingmewithhim，passedmeoffamonghissubalternsasthesupervisingengineer，andinsistedonwhathecalled’thegallantry’
ofpayingformybreakfastinaroadsidewine—shop。Onthewhole，hewasamanofgreatweather—wisdom，somespirits，andasocialtemper。
ButIamafraidhewassuperstitious。Whenhewasnineyearsold，hehadseenonenightacompanyofBOURGEOISETDAMESQUIFAISAIENTLA
MANEGEAVECDESCHAISES，andconcludedthathewasinthepresenceofawitches’Sabbath。Isuppose，butventurewithtimidityonthesuggestion，thatthismayhavebeenaromanticandnocturnalpicnicparty。Again，comingfromPradelleswithhisbrother，theysawagreatemptycartdrawnbysixenormoushorsesbeforethemontheroad。Thedrivercriedaloudandfilledthemountainswiththecrackingofhiswhip。Heneverseemedtogofasterthanawalk，yetitwasimpossibletoovertakehim；andatlength，atthecomerofahill，thewholeequipagedisappearedbodilyintothenight。Atthetime，peoplesaiditwasthedevilQUIS’AMUSAITAFAIRECA。
Isuggestedtherewasnothingmorelikely，ashemusthavesomeamusement。
Theforemansaiditwasodd，buttherewaslessofthatsortofthingthanformerly。’C’ESTDIFFICILE，’headded，’AEXPLIQUER。’
WhenwewerewelluponthemoorsandtheCONDUCTORwastryingsomeroad—metalwiththegauge—
’Hark！’saidtheforeman，’doyouhearnothing？’
Welistened，andthewind，whichwasblowingchillyoutoftheeast，broughtafaint，tangledjanglingtoourears。
’ItistheflocksofVivarais，’saidhe。
Foreverysummer，theflocksoutofallArdechearebroughtuptopastureonthesegrassyplateaux。
Hereandtherealittleprivateflockwasbeingtendedbyagirl，onespinningwithadistaff，anotherseatedonawallandintentlymakinglace。Thislast，whenweaddressedher，leapedupinapanicandputoutherarms，likeapersonswimming，tokeepusatadistance，anditwassomesecondsbeforewecouldpersuadeherofthehonestyofourintentions。
TheCONDUCTORtoldmeofanotherherdswomanfromwhomhehadonceaskedhisroadwhilehewasyetnewtothecountry，andwhofledfromhim，drivingherbeastsbeforeher，untilhehadgivenuptheinformationindespair。Ataleofoldlawlessnessmayyetbereadintheseuncouthtimidities。
Thewinterintheseuplandsisadangerousandmelancholytime。
Housesaresnowedup，andway—farerslostinaflurrywithinhailoftheirownfireside。Nomanventuresabroadwithoutmeatandabottleofwine，whichhereplenishesateverywine—shop；andeventhusequippedhetakestheroadwithterror。Alldaythefamilysitsaboutthefireinafoulandairlesshovel，andequallywithoutworkordiversion。Thefathermaycarvearudepieceoffurniture，butthatisallthatwillbedoneuntilthespringsetsinagain，andalongwithitthelaboursofthefield。Itisnotfornothingthatyoufindaclockinthemeanestofthesemountainhabitations。A
clockandanalmanac，youwouldfancy，wereindispensableinsuchalife……
CHAPTERVII—RANDOMMEMORIES：ROSAQUOLOCORUM
THROUGHwhatlittlechannels，bywhathintsandpremonitions，theconsciousnessoftheman’sartdawnsfirstuponthechild，itshouldbenotonlyinterestingbutinstructivetoinquire。Amatterofcuriosityto—day，itwillbecomethegroundofscienceto—morrow。
Fromthemindofchildhoodthereismorehistoryandmorephilosophytobefishedupthanfromalltheprintedvolumesinalibrary。Thechildisconsciousofaninterest，notinliteraturebutinlife。A
tastefortheprecise，theadroit，orthecomelyintheuseofwords，comeslate；butlongbeforethathehasenjoyedinbooksadelightfuldressrehearsalofexperience。Heisfirstconsciousofthismaterial—Ihadalmostsaidthispractical—pre—occupation；itdoesnotfollowthatitreallycamethefirst。Ihavesomeoldfoggednegativesinmycollectionthatwouldseemtoimplyapriorstage’TheLordisgoneupwithashout，andGodwiththesoundofatrumpet’—memorialversion，Iknownotwheretofindthetext—
ringsstillinmyearfrommyfirstchildhood，andperhapswithsomethingofmynursesaccent。Therewaspossiblysomesortofimagewritteninmymindbytheseloudwords，butIbelievethewordsthemselveswerewhatIcherished。Ihadaboutthesametime，andunderthesameinfluence—thatofmydearnurse—afavouriteauthor：itispossiblethereaderhasnotheardofhim—theRev。
RobertMurrayM’Cheyne。MynurseandIadmiredhisnameexceedingly，sothatImusthavebeentaughttheloveofbeautifulsoundsbeforeI
wasbreeched；andIremembertwospecimensofhismuseuntilthisday：—
’BehindthehillsofNaphtaliThesunwentslowlydown，Leavingonmountain，tower，andtree，Atingeofgoldenbrown。’
Thereisimageryhere，andIsetitononeside。Theother—itisbutaverse—notonlycontainsnoimage，butisquiteunintelligibleeventomycomparativelyinstructedmind，andIknownotevenhowtospelltheoutlandishvocablethatcharmedmeinmychildhood：
’JehovahTschidkenuisnothingtoher’；—
Imaysay，withoutflippancy，thathewasnothingtomeeither，sinceIhadnorayofaguessofwhathewasabout；yettheverse，fromthentonow，alongerintervalthanthelifeofageneration，hascontinuedtohauntme。
IhavesaidthatIshouldsetapassagedistinguishedbyobviousandpleasingimagery，howeverfaint；forthechildthinksmuchinimages，wordsareverylivetohim，phrasesthatimplyapictureeloquentbeyondtheirvalue。Rummaginginthedustypigeon—holesofmemory，I
cameonceuponagraphicversionofthefamousPsalm，’TheLordismyshepherd’：andfromtheplacesemployedinitsillustration，whichareallintheimmediateneighbourhoodofahousethenoccupiedbymyfather，Iamable，todateitbeforetheseventhyearofmyage，althoughitwasprobablyearlierinfact。The’pasturesgreen’wererepresentedbyacertainsuburbanstubble—field，whereIhadoncewalkedwithmynurse，underanautumnalsunset，onthebanksoftheWaterofLeith：theplaceislongagobuiltup；nopasturesnow，nostubble—fields；onlyamazeoflittlestreetsandsmokingchimneysandshrillchildren。Here，inthefleecypersonofasheep，Iseemedtomyselftofollowsomethingunseen，unrealised，andyetbenignant；
andclosebythesheepinwhichIwasincarnated—asifforgreatersecurity—rustledtheskirt，ofmynurse。’Death’sdarkvale’wasacertainarchwayintheWarristonCemetery：aformidableyetbelovedspot，forchildrenlovetobeafraid，—inmeasureastheyloveallexperienceofvitality。HereIbeheldmyselfsomepacesahead（seeingmyself，Imean，frombehind）utterlyaloneinthatuncannypassage；ontheonesideofmearude，knobby，shepherd’sstaff，suchascheerstheheartofthecockneytourist，ontheotherarodlikeabilliardcue，appearedtoaccompanymyprogress；thestiffsturdilyupright，thebilliardcueinclinedconfidentially，likeonewhispering，towardsmyear。Iwasaware—Iwillnevertellyouhow—thatthepresenceofthesearticlesaffordedmeencouragement。Thethirdandlastofmypicturesillustratedwords：—
’MytableThouhastfurnishedInpresenceofmyfoes：
MyheadThoudostwithoilanoint，Andmycupoverflows’：
andthiswasperhapsthemostinterestingoftheseries。Isawmyselfseatedinakindofopenstonesummer—houseattable；overmyshoulderahairy，bearded，androbedpresenceanointedmefromanauthenticshoe—horn；thesummer—housewaspartofthegreencourtofaruin，andfromthefarsideofthecourtblackandwhiteimpsdischargedagainstmeineffectualarrows。Thepictureappearsarbitrary，butIcantraceeverydetailtoitssource，asMr。BrockanalysedthedreamofAlanArmadale。Thesummer—houseandcourtweremuddledtogetheroutofBillings’ANTIQUITIESOFSCOTLAND；theimpsconveyedfromBagster’sPILGRIM’SPROGRESS；thebeardedandrobedfigurefromanyoneofthethousandBiblepictures；andtheshoe—hornwasplagiarisedfromanoldillustratedBible，whereitfiguredinthehandofSamuelanointingSaul，andhadbeenpointedouttomeasajestbymyfather。Itwasshownmeforajest，remark；buttheseriousspiritofinfancyadopteditinearnest。Childrenareallclassics；abottlewouldhaveseemedanintermediarytootrivial—
thatdivinerefreshmentofwhosemeaningIhadnoguess；andIseizedontheideaofthatmysticshoe—hornwithdelight，evenas，alittlelater，Ishouldhavewrittenflagon，chalice，hanaper，beaker，oranywordthatmighthaveappealedtomeatthemomentasleastcontaminatewithmeanassociations。InthisstringofpicturesI
believethegistofthepsalmtohaveconsisted；Ibelieveithadnomoretosaytome；andtheresultwasconsolatory。Iwouldgotosleepdwellingwithrestfulnessupontheseimages；theypassedbeforeme，besides，toanappropriatemusic；forIhadalreadysingledoutfromthatrudepsalmtheonelovelyversewhichdwellsinthemindsofall，notgrowingold，notdisgracedbyitsassociationwithlongSundaytasks，ascarceconsciousjoyinchildhood，inageacompanionthought：—
’InpasturesgreenThouleadestme，Thequietwatersby。’
Theremainderofmychildishrecollectionsareallofthematterofwhatwasreadtome，andnotofanymannerinthewords。Ifthesepleasedmeitwasunconsciously；IlistenedfornewsofthegreatvacantworlduponwhoseedgeIstood；IlistenedfordelightfulplotsthatImightre—enactinplay，andromanticscenesandcircumstancesthatImightcallupbeforeme，withclosedeyes，whenIwastiredofScotland，andhome，andthatwearyprisonofthesick—chamberinwhichIlaysolongindurance。ROBINSONCRUSOE；someofthebooksofthatcheerful，ingenious，romanticsoul，MayneReid；andaworkrathergruesomeandbloodyforachild，butverypicturesque，calledPAULBLAKE；thesearethethreestrongestimpressionsIremember：
THESWISSFAMILYROBINSONcamenext，LONGOINTERVALLO。AttheseI
played，conjureduptheirscenes，anddelightedtohearthemrehearseduntoseventytimesseven。IamnotsurebutwhatPAUL
BLAKEcameafterIcouldread。Itseemsconnectedwithavisittothecountry，andanexperienceunforgettable。Thedayhadbeenwarm；
H—andIhadplayedtogethercharminglyalldayinasandywildernessacrosstheroad；thencametheeveningwithagreatflashofcolourandaheavenlysweetnessintheair。Somehowmyplay—matehadvanished，orisoutofthestory，asthesagessay，butIwassentintothevillageonanerrand；and，takingabookoffairytales，wentdownalonethroughafir—wood，readingasIwalked。Howoftensincethenhasitbefallenmetobehappyevenso；butthatwasthefirsttime：theshockofthatpleasureIhaveneversinceforgot，andifmymindservesmetothelast，Inevershall，foritwasthenthatIknewIlovedreading。
II
Topassfromhearingliteraturetoreadingitistotakeagreatanddangerousstep。Withnotafew，Ithinkalargeproportionoftheirpleasurethencomestoanend；’themaladyofnotmarking’overtakesthem；theyreadthenceforwardbytheeyealoneandhearneveragainthechimeoffairwordsorthemarchofthestatelyperiod。NON
RAGIONIAMofthese。Buttoallthestepisdangerous；itinvolvescomingofage；itisevenakindofsecondweaning。Inthepastallwasatthechoiceofothers；theychose，theydigested，theyreadaloudforusandsangtotheirowntunethebooksofchildhood。Inthefuturewearetoapproachthesilent，inexpressivetypealone，likepioneers；andthechoiceofwhatwearetoreadisinourownhandsthenceforward。Forinstance，inthepassagesalreadyadduced，Idetectandapplaudtheearofmyoldnurse；theywereofherchoice，andsheimposedthemonmyinfancy，readingtheworksofothersasapoetwouldscarcedaretoreadhisown；gloatingontherhythm，dwellingwithdelightonassonancesandalliterations。I
knowverywellmymothermusthavebeenallthewhiletryingtoeducatemytasteuponmoresecularauthors；butthevigourandthecontinualopportunitiesofmynursetriumphed，andafteralongsearch，Icanfindintheseearliestvolumesofmyautobiographynomentionofanythingbutnurseryrhymes，theBible，andMr。M’Cheyne。
IsupposeallchildrenagreeinlookingbackwithdelightontheirschoolReaders。Wemightnotnowfindsomuchpathosin’BingenontheRhine，’’AsoldieroftheLegionlaydyinginAlgiers，’orin’TheSoldier’sFuneral，’inthedeclamationofwhichIwasheldtohavesurpassedmyself。’Robert’svoice，’saidthemasteronthismemorableoccasion，’isnotstrong，butimpressive’：anopinionwhichIwasfoolenoughtocarryhometomyfather；whoroastedmeforyearsinconsequence。Iamsureoneshouldnotbesodeliciouslytickledbythehumorouspieces：—
’What，crusty？criesWillinataking，Whowouldnotbecrustywithhalfayear’sbaking？’
Ithinkthisquipwouldleaveuscold。The’IslesofGreece’seemrathertawdrytoo；butonthe’AddresstotheOcean，’oron’TheDyingGladiator，’’timehaswritnowrinkle。’
’Tisthemorn，butdimanddark，Whitherfliesthesilentlark？’—
doesthereaderrecallthemomentwhenhiseyefirstfellupontheselinesintheFourthReader；and’surprisedwithjoy，impatientasthewind，’heplungedintothesequel？Andtherewasanotherpiece，thistimeinprose，whichnonecanhaveforgotten；manylikememusthavesearchedDickenswithzealtofinditagain，andinitspropercontext，andhaveperhapsbeenconsciousofsomeinconsiderablemeasureofdisappointment，thatitwasonlyTomPinchwhodrove，insuchapompofpoetry，toLondon。
ButintheReaderwearestillunderguides。Whataboyturnsoutforhimself，asherummagesthebookshelves，istherealtestandpleasure。Myfather’slibrarywasaspotofsomeausterity；theproceedingsoflearnedsocieties，someLatindivinity，cyclopaedias，physicalscience，and，aboveall，optics，heldthechiefplaceupontheshelves，anditwasonlyinholesandcornersthatanythingreallylegibleexistedasbyaccident。ThePARENT’SASSISTANT，ROB
ROY，WAVERLEY，andGUYMANNERING，theVOYAGESOFCAPTAINWOODS
ROGERS，Fuller’sandBunyan’sHOLYWARS，THEREFLECTIONSOFROBINSON
CRUSOE，THEFEMALEBLUEBEARD，G。Sand’sMAREAUDIABLE—（howcameitinthatgraveassembly！），Ainsworth’sTOWEROFLONDON，andfouroldvolumesofPunch—thesewerethechiefexceptions。Intheselatter，whichmadeforyearsthechiefofmydiet，Iveryearlyfellinlove（almostassoonasIcouldspell）withtheSnobPapers。Iknewthemalmostbyheart，particularlythevisittothePontos；andIremembermysurprisewhenIfound，longafterwards，thattheywerefamous，andsignedwithafamousname；tome，asIreadandadmiredthem，theyweretheworksofMr。Punch。TimeandagainItriedtoreadROBROY，withwhomofcourseIwasacquaintedfromtheTALESOFAGRANDFATHER；
timeandagaintheearlypart，withRashleighand（thinkofit！）theadorableDiana，chokedmeoff；andIshallneverforgetthepleasureandsurprisewithwhich，lyingontheflooronesummerevening，I
struckofasuddenintothefirstscenewithAndrewFairservice。
’TheworthyDr。Lightfoot’—’mistrystedwithabogle’—’awheengreentrash’—’Jenny，lass，IthinkIha’eher’：fromthatdaytothisthephraseshavebeenunforgotten。Ireadon，Ineedscarcesay；IcametoGlasgow，IbidedtrystonGlasgowBridge，ImetRobRoyandtheBailieintheTolbooth，allwithtransportingpleasure；
andthenthecloudsgatheredoncemoreaboutmypath；andIdozedandskippeduntilIstumbledhalf—asleepintotheclachanofAberfoyle，andthevoicesofIverachandGalbraithrecalledmetomyself。WiththatsceneandthedefeatofCaptainThorntonthebookconcluded；
Helenandhersonsshockedeventhelittleschoolboyofnineortenwiththeirunreality；Ireadnomore，orIdidnotgraspwhatIwasreading；andyearselapsedbeforeIconsciouslymetDianaandherfatheramongthehills，orsawRashleighdyinginthechair。WhenI
thinkofthatnovelandthatevening，Iamimpatientwithallothers；
theyseembutshadowsandimpostors；theycannotsatisfytheappetitewhichthisawakened；andIdarebeknowntothinkitthebestofSirWalter’sbynearlyasmuchasSirWalteristhebestofnovelists。
PerhapsMr。Langisright，andourfirstfriendsinthelandoffictionarealwaysthemostreal。AndyetIhadreadbeforethisGUY
MANNERING，andsomeofWAVERLEY，withnosuchdelightedsenseoftruthandhumour，andIreadimmediatelyafterthegreaterpartoftheWaverleyNovels，andwasnevermovedagaininthesamewayortothesamedegree。Onecircumstanceissuspicious：mycriticalestimateoftheWaverleyNovelshasscarcechangedatallsinceIwasten。ROBROY，GUYMANNERING，andREDGAUNTLETfirst；then，alittlelower；THEFORTUNESOFNIGEL；then，afterahugegulf，IVANHOEandANNEOFGEIERSTEIN：therestnowhere；suchwastheverdictoftheboy。SincethenTHEANTIQUARY，ST。RONAN’SWELL，KENILWORTH，andTHE
HEARTOFMIDLOTHIANhavegoneupinthescale；perhapsIVANHOEAND
ANNEOFGEIERSTEINhavegoneatrifledown；DianaVernonhasbeenaddedtomyadmirationsinthatenchantedworldofROBROY；IthinkmoreofthelettersinREDGAUNTLET，andPeterPeebles，thatdreadfulpieceofrealism，Icannowreadaboutwithequanimity，interest，andIhadalmostsaidpleasure，whiletothechildishcriticheoftencausedunmixeddistress。Buttherestisthesame；IcouldnotfinishTHEPIRATEwhenIwasachild，Ihaveneverfinishedityet；
PEVERILOFTHEPEAKdroppedhalfwaythroughfrommyschoolboyhands，andthoughIhavesincewadedtoanendinakindofwagerwithmyself，theexercisewasquitewithoutenjoyment。Thereissomethingdisquietingintheseconsiderations。IstillthinkthevisittoPonto’sthebestpartoftheBOOKOFSNOBS：doesthatmeanthatI
wasrightwhenIwasachild，ordoesitmeanthatIhavenevergrownsincethen，thatthechildisnottheman’sfather，buttheman？andthatIcameintotheworldwithallmyfacultiescomplete，andhaveonlylearnedsinsynetobemoretolerantofboredom？……
CHAPTERVIII—THEIDEALHOUSE
Twothingsarenecessaryinanyneighbourhoodwhereweproposetospendalife：adesertandsomelivingwater。
Therearemanypartsoftheearth’sfacewhichofferthenecessarycombinationofacertainwildnesswithakindlyvariety。Agreatprospectisdesirable，butthewantmaybeotherwisesupplied；evengreatnesscanbefoundonthesmallscale；forthemindandtheeyemeasuredifferently。BoldrocksnearhandaremoreinspiritingthandistantAlps，andthethickfernuponaSurreyheathmakesafineforestfortheimagination，andthedottedyewtreesnoblemountains。
AScottishmoorwithbirchesandfirsgroupedhereandthereuponaknoll，oroneofthoserockyseasidedesertsofProvenceovergrownwithrosemaryandthymeandsmokingwitharoma，areplaceswherethemindisneverweary。Forests，beingmoreenclosed，arenotatfirstsightsoattractive，buttheyexerciseaspell；theymust，however，bediversifiedwitheitherheathorrock，andarehardlytobeconsideredperfectwithoutconifers。Evensand—hills，withtheirintricateplan，andtheirgullsandrabbits，willstandwellforthenecessarydesert。
Thehousemustbewithinhailofeitheralittleriverorthesea。A
greatriverismorefitforpoetrythantoadornaneighbourhood；itssweepofwatersincreasesthescaleofthesceneryandthedistanceofonenotableobjectfromanother；andalivelyburngivesus，inthespaceofafewyards，agreatervarietyofpromontoryandislet，ofcascade，shallowgoil，andboilingpool，withanswerablechangesbothofsongandcolour，thananavigablestreaminmanyhundredmiles。Thefish，too，makeamoreconsiderablefeatureofthebrookside，andthetroutplumpingintheshadowtakestheear。A
streamshould，besides，benarrowenoughtocross，ortheburnhardbyabridge，orweareatonceshutoutofEden。Thequantityofwaterneedbeofnoconcern，forthemindsetsthescale，andcanenjoyaNiagaraFallofthirtyinches。Letusapprovethesingerof’Shallowrivers，bywhosefallsMelodiousbirdssingmadrigals。’
Iftheseaistobeourornamentalwater，chooseanopenseaboardwithaheavybeatofsurf；onemuchbrokeninoutline，withsmallhavensanddwarfheadlands；ifpossibleafewislets；andasafirstnecessity，rocksreachingoutintodeepwater。SucharockonacalmdayisabetterstationthanthetopofTeneriffeorChimborazo。Inshort，bothforthedesertandthewater，theconjunctionofmanynearandbolddetailsisboldsceneryfortheimaginationandkeepsthemindalive。
Giventhesetwoprimeluxuries，thenatureofthecountrywherewearetoliveis，Ihadalmostsaid，indifferent；afterthatinsidethegarden，wecanconstructacountryofourown。Severaloldtrees，aconsiderablevarietyoflevel，severalwell—grownhedgestodivideourgardenintoprovinces，agoodextentofoldwell—setturf，andthicketsofshrubsandever—greenstobecutintoandclearedatthenewowner’spleasure，arethequalitiestobesoughtforinyourchosenland。Nothingismoredelightfulthanasuccessionofsmalllawns，openingoneoutoftheotherthroughtallhedges；thesehaveallthecharmoftheoldbowling—greenrepeated，donotrequirethelabourofmanytrimmers，andaffordaseriesofchanges。Youmusthavemuchlawnagainsttheearlysummer，soastohaveagreatfieldofdaisies，theyear’smorningfrost；asyoumusthaveawoodoflilacs，toenjoytothefulltheperiodoftheirblossoming。
HawthornisanotheroftheSpring’singredients；butitisevenbesttohavearoughpubliclaneatonesideofyourenclosurewhich，attherightseason，shallbecomeanavenueofbloomandodour。Theoldflowersarethebestandshouldgrowcarelesslyincorners。Indeed，theidealfortuneistofindanoldgarden，onceveryrichlycaredfor，sincesunkintoneglect，andtotend，notrepair，thatneglect；
itwillthushaveasmackofnatureandwildnesswhichskilfuldispositionscannotovertake。Thegardenershouldbeanidler，andhaveagrosspartialitytothekitchenplots：aneagerortoilfulgardenermisbecomesthegardenlandscape；atastefulgardenerwillbeevermeddling，willkeepthebordersraw，andtakethebloomoffnature。Closeadjoining，ifyouareinthesouth，anolive—yard，ifinthenorth，aswardedapple—orchardreachingtothestream，completesyourminiaturedomain；butthisisperhapsbestenteredthroughadoorinthehighfruit—wall；sothatyouclosethedoorbehindyouonyoursunnyplots，yourhedgesandevergreenjungle，whenyougodowntowatchtheapplesfallinginthepool。Itisagoldenmaximtocultivatethegardenforthenose，andtheeyeswilltakecareofthemselves。Normusttheearbeforgotten：withoutbirdsagardenisaprison—yard。ThereisagardennearMarseillesonasteephill—side，walkingbywhich，uponasunnymorning，yourearwillsuddenlyberavishedwithaburstofsmallandverycheerfulsinging：somescoreofcagesbeingsetouttheretosuntheiroccupants。Thisisaheavenlysurprisetoanypasser—by；butthepricepaid，tokeepsomanyardentandwingedcreaturesfromtheirliberty，willmaketheluxurytoodearforanythoughtfulpleasure—
lover。ThereisonlyonesortofbirdthatIcantoleratecaged，thougheventhenIthinkithard，andthatiswhatiscalledinFrancetheBec—d’Argent。Ioncehadtwoofthesepigmiesincaptivity；andinthequiet，hirehouseuponasilentstreetwhereI
wasthenliving，theirsong，whichwasnotmuchlouderthanabee’s，butairilymusical，keptmeinaperpetualgoodhumour。IputthecageuponmytablewhenIworked，carrieditwithmewhenIwentformeals，andkeptitbymyheadatnight：thefirstthinginthemorning，theseMAESTRINIwouldpipeup。Butthese，evenifyoucanpardontheirimprisonment，areforthehouse。Inthegardenthewildbirdsmustplantacolony，achorusofthelesserwarblersthatshouldbealmostdeafening，ablackbirdinthelilacs，anightingaledownthelane，sothatyoumuststrolltohearit，andyetalittlefarther，tree—topspopulouswithrooks。
Yourhouseshouldnotcommandmuchoutlook；itshouldbesetdeepandgreen，thoughuponrisingground，or，ifpossible，crowningaknoll，forthesakeofdrainage。Yetitmustbeopentotheeast，oryouwillmissthesunrise；sunsetoccurringsomuchlater，youcangoupafewstepsandlooktheotherway。Ahouseofmorethantwostoriesisamerebarrack；indeedtheidealisofonestory，raiseduponcellars。Iftheroomsarelarge，thehousemaybesmall：asingleroom，lofty，spacious，andlightsome，ismorepalatialthanacastlefulofcabinetsandcupboards。Yetsizeinahouse，andsomeextentandintricacyofcorridor，iscertainlydelightfultotheflesh。Thereceptionroomshouldbe，ifpossible，aplaceofmanyrecesses，whichare’pettyretiringplacesforconference’；butitmusthaveonelongwallwithadivan：foradayspentuponadivan，amongaworldofcushions，isasfullofdiversionastotravel。Theeating—room，intheFrenchmode，shouldbeADHOC：unfurnished，butwithabuffet，thetable，necessarychairs，oneortwoofCanaletto’setchings，andatilefire—placeforthewinter。Inneitherofthesepublicplacesshouldtherebeanythingbeyondashelfortwoofbooks；butthepassagesmaybeonelibraryfromendtoend，andthestair，iftherebeone，linedwithvolumesinoldleather，verybrightlycarpeted，andleadinghalf—wayup，andbywayoflanding，toawindowedrecesswithafire—place；thiswindow，almostaloneinthehouse，shouldcommandahandsomeprospect。Husbandandwifemusteachpossessastudio；onthewoman’ssanctuaryIhesitatetodwell，andturntotheman’s。Thewallsareshelvedwaist—highforbooks，andthetopthusformsacontinuoustablerunningroundthewall。
Aboveareprints，alargemapoftheneighbourhood，aCorotandaClaudeortwo。Theroomisveryspacious，andthefivetablesandtwochairsarebutasislands。Onetableisforactualwork，oneclosebyforreferencesinuse；one，verylarge，forMSS。orproofsthatwaittheirturn；onekeptclearforanoccasion；andthefifthisthemaptable，groaningunderacollectionoflarge—scalemapsandcharts。Ofallbooksthesearetheleastwearisometoreadandtherichestinmatter；thecourseofroadsandrivers，thecontourlinesandtheforestsinthemaps—thereefs，soundings，anchors，sailingmarksandlittlepilot—picturesinthecharts—and，inboth，thebead—rollofnames，makethemofallprintedmatterthemostfittostimulateandsatisfythefancy。Thechairinwhichyouwriteisverylowandeasy，andbackedintoacorner；atoneelbowthefiretwinkles；closeattheother，ifyouarealittleinhumane，yourcageofsilver—billsaretwitteringintosong。
Joinedalongbyapassage，youmayreachthegreat，sunny，glass—
roofed，andtiledgymnasium，atthefarendofwhich，linedwithbrightmarble，isyourplungeandswimmingbath，fittedwithacapaciousboiler。
Thewholeloftofthehousefromendtoendmakesoneundividedchamber；herearesetforthtablesonwhichtomodelimaginaryoractualcountriesinputtyorplaster，withtoolsandhardypigments；
acarpenter’sbench；andasparedcornerforphotography，whileatthefarendaspaceiskeptclearforplayingsoldiers。Twoboxescontainthetwoarmiesofsomefivehundredhorseandfoot；twootherstheammunitionofeachside，andafifththefoot—rulesandthethreecoloursofchalk，withwhichyoulaydown，or，afteraday’splay，refreshtheoutlinesofthecountry；redorwhiteforthetwokindsofroad（accordingastheyaresuitableornotforthepassageofordnance），andblueforthecourseoftheobstructingrivers。HereIforeseethatyoumaypassmuchhappytime；againstagoodadversaryagamemaywellcontinueforamonth；forwitharmiessoconsiderablethreemoveswilloccupyanhour。Itwillbefoundtosetanexcellentedgeonthisdiversionifoneoftheplayersshall，everydayorso，writeareportoftheoperationsinthecharacterofarmycorrespondent。
Ihavelefttothelastthelittleroomforwinterevenings。Thisshouldbefurnishedinwarmpositivecolours，andsofasandfloorthickwithrichfurs。Thehearth，whereyouburnwoodofaromaticqualityonsilverdogs，tiledroundaboutwithBiblepictures；theseatsdeepandeasy；asingleTitianinagoldframe；awhitebustorsouponabracket；arackforthejournalsoftheweek；atableforthebooksoftheyear；andcloseinacornerthethreeshelvesfullofeternalbooksthatneverweary：Shakespeare，Moliere，Montaigne，Lamb，Sterne，DeMusset’scomedies（theonevolumeopenatCARMOSINE
andtheotheratFANTASIO）；theARABIANNIGHTS，andkindredstories，inWeber’ssolemnvolumes；Borrow’sBIBLEINSPAIN，thePILGRIM’S
PROGRESS，GUYMANNERINGandROBROY，MONTECRISTOandtheVICOMTEDE
BRAGELONNE，immortalBoswellsoleamongbiographers，Chaucer，Herrick，andtheSTATETRIALS。
Thebedroomsarelarge，airy，withalmostnofurniture，floorsofvarnishedwood，andatthebed—head，incaseofinsomnia，oneshelfofbooksofaparticularanddippableorder，suchasPEPYS，thePASTONLETTERS，Burt’sLETTERSFROMTHEHIGHLANDS，ortheNEWGATE
CALENDAR……
CHAPTERIX—DAVOSINWINTER
AMOUNTAINvalleyhas，atthebest，acertainprison—likeeffectontheimagination，butamountainvalley，anAlpinewinter，andaninvalid’sweaknessmakeupamongthemaprisonofthemosteffectivekind。Theroadsindeedarecleared，andatleastonefootpathdodgingupthehill；buttothesethehealth—seekerisrigidlyconfined。Thereareforhimnocross—cutsoverthefield，nofollowingofstreams，nounguidedramblesinthewood。Hiswalksarecutanddry。Infiveorsixdifferentdirectionshecanpushasfar，andnofarther，thanhisstrengthpermits；neverdeviatingfromthelinelaiddownforhimandbeholdingateachrepetitionthesamefieldofwoodandsnowfromthesamecorneroftheroad。This，ofitself，wouldbealittletryingtothepatienceinthecourseofmonths；buttothisisadded，bytheheapedmantleofthesnow，analmostutterabsenceofdetailandanalmostunbrokenidentityofcolour。Snow，itistrue，isnotmerelywhite。Thesuntouchesitwithroseateandgoldenlights。Itsowncrushedinfinityofcrystals，itsownrichnessoftinysculpture，fillsit，whenregardednearathand，withwonderfuldepthsofcolouredshadow，and，thoughwintrilytransformed，itisstillwater，andhaswaterytonesofblue。But，whenallissaid，thesefieldsofwhiteandblotsofcrudeblackforestarebutatriteandstaringsubstitutefortheinfinitevarietyandpleasantnessoftheearth’sface。Evenaboulder，whosefrontistooprecipitoustohaveretainedthesnow，seems，ifyoucomeuponitinyourwalk，aperfectgemofcolour，remindsyoualmostpainfullyofotherplaces，andbringsintoyourheadthedelightsofmoreArcadiandays—thepathacrossthemeadow，thehazeldell，theliliesonthestream，andthescents，thecolours，andthewhisperofthewoods。Andscentshereareasrareascolours。Unlessyougetagustofkitcheninpassingsomehotel，youshallsmellnothingalldaylongbutthefaintandchokingodouroffrost。Sounds，too，areabsent：notabirdpipes，notaboughwaves，inthedead，windlessatmosphere。Ifasleighgoesby，thesleigh—bellsring，andthatisall；youworkallwinterthroughtonootheraccompanimentbutthecrunchingofyourstepsuponthefrozensnow。
ItisthecurseoftheAlpinevalleystobeeachonevillagefromoneendtotheother。Gowhereyouplease，houseswillstillbeinsight，beforeandbehindyou，andtotherightandleft。Climbashighasaninvalidisable，anditisonlytospynewhabitationsnestedinthewood。Noristhatall；foraboutthehealthresortthewalksarebesiegedbysinglepeoplewalkingrapidlywithplaidsabouttheirshoulders，bysuddentroopsofGermanboystryingtolearntojodel，andbyGermancouplessilentlyand，asyouventuretofancy，notquitehappily，pursuinglove’syoungdream。Youmayperhapsbeaninvalidwholikestomakebadversesashewalksabout。Alas！nomusewillsufferthisimminenceofinterruption—andatthesecondstampedeofjodellersyoufindyourmodestinspirationfled。Oryoumayonlyhaveatasteforsolitude；itmaytryyournervestohavesomeonealwaysinfrontwhomyouarevisiblyovertaking，andsomeonealwaysbehindwhoisaudiblyovertakingyou，tosaynothingofascoreorsowhobrushpastyouinanoppositedirection。Itmayannoyyoutotakeyourwalksandseatsinpublicview。Alas！thereisnohelpforitamongtheAlps。Therearenorecesses，asinGorbioValleybytheoil—mill；nosacredsolitudeofolivegardensontheRoccabruna—road；nonookuponSaintMartin’sCape，hauntedbythevoiceofbreakers，andfragrantwiththethreefoldsweetnessoftherosemaryandthesea—pinesandthesea。
Forthispublicitythereisnocure，andnoalleviation；butthestormsofwhichyouwillcomplainsobitterlywhiletheyendure，chequerandbytheircontrastbrightenthesamenessofthefair—
weatherscenes。Whensunandstormcontendtogether—whenthethickcloudsarebrokenupandpiercedbyarrowsofgoldendaylight—therewillbestartlingrearrangementsandtransfigurationsofthemountainsummits。Asun—dazzlingspireofalphangssuspendedinmid—skyamongawfulgloomsandblackness；orperhapstheedgeofsomegreatmountainshoulderwillbedesignedinlivinggold，andappearforthedurationofaglancebrightlikeaconstellation，andalone’intheunapparent。’Youmaythinkyouknowthefigureofthesehills；butwhentheyarethusrevealed，theybelongnolongertothethingsofearth—meteorsweshouldrathercallthem，appearancesofsunandairthatendurebutforamomentandreturnnomore。Othervariationsaremorelasting，aswhen，forinstance，heavyandwetsnowhasfallenthroughsomewindlesshours，andthethin，spiry，mountainpinetreesstandeachstock—stillandloadedwithashiningburthen。Youmaydrivethroughaforestsodisguised，thetongue—
tiedtorrentstrugglingsilentlyinthecleftoftheravine，andallstillexceptthejingleofthesleighbells，andyoushallfancyyourselfinsomeuntroddennorthernterritory—Lapland，Labrador，orAlaska。
Or，possibly，youariseveryearlyinthemorning；totterdownstairsinastateofsomnambulism；takethesimulacrumofamealbytheglimmerofonelampinthedesertedcoffee—room；andfindyourselfbyseveno’clockoutsideinabelatedmoonlightandafreezingchill。
Themailsleightakesyouupandcarriesyouon，andyoureachthetopoftheascentinthefirsthouroftheday。Totracethefiresofthesunriseastheypassfrompeaktopeak，toseetheunlittree—
topsstandoutsoberlyagainstthelightedsky，tobefortwentyminutesinawonderlandofclear，fadingshadows，disappearingvapours，solemnbloomsofdawn，hillshalfglorifiedalreadywiththedayandstillhalfconfoundedwiththegreynessofthewesternheaven—thesewillseemtorepayyouforthediscomfortsofthatearlystart；butasthehourproceeds，andtheseenchantmentsvanish，youwillfindyourselfuponthefarthersideinyetanotherAlpinevalley，snowwhiteandcoalblack，withsuchanotherlong—drawncongeriesofhamletsandsuchanothersenselesswatercoursebickeringalongthefoot。Youhavehadyourmoment；butyouhavenotchangedthescene。Themountainsareaboutyoulikeatrap；youcannotfootitupahillsideandbeholdtheseaasagreatplain，butliveinholesandcorners，andcanchangeonlyoneforanother。