CHAPTERX—HEALTHANDMOUNTAINS
THEREhascomeachangeinmedicalopinion，andachangehasfollowedinthelivesofsickfolk。AyearortwoagoandthewoundedsoldieryofmankindwereallshutuptogetherinsomebaskingangleoftheRiviera，walkingadustypromenadeorsittingindustyolive—
yardswithinearshotoftheinterminableandunchangingsurf—idleamongspiritlessidlers；notperhapsdying，yethardlylivingeither，andaspiring，sometimesfiercely，afterlivelierweatherandsomevivifyingchange。Thesewerecertainlybeautifulplacestolivein，andtheclimatewaswooinginitssoftness。Yettherewasalatershiverinthesunshine；youwerenotcertainwhetheryouwerebeingwooed；andthesemildshoreswouldsometimesseemtoyoutobetheshoresofdeath。Therewasalackofamanlyelement；theairwasnotreactive；youmightwritebitsofpoetryandpractiseresignation，butyoudidnotfeelthatherewasagoodspottorepairyourtissueorregainyournerve。Anditappears，afterall，thattherewassomethingjustintheseappreciations。TheinvalidisnowaskedtolodgeonwintryAlps；aruderairshallmedicinehim；thedemonofcoldisnolongertobefledfrom，butbeardedinhisden。
ForevenWinterhashis’deardomesticcave，’andinthoseplaceswherehemaybesaidtodwellforevertempershisausterities。
AnyonewhohastravelledwestwardbythegreattranscontinentalrailroadofAmericamustrememberthejoywithwhichheperceived，afterthetediousprairiesofNebraskaandacrossthevastanddismalmoorlandsofWyoming，afewsnowymountainsummitsalone，thesouthernsky。ItisamongthesemountainsinthenewStateofColoradothatthesickmanmayfind，notmerelyanalleviationofhisailments，butthepossibilityofanactivelifeandanhonestlivelihood。There，nolongerasaloungerinaplaid，butasaworkingfarmer，sweatingathiswork，hemayprolongandbeginanewhislife。Insteadofthebath—chair，thespade；insteadoftheregulatedwalk，roughjourneysintheforest，andthepure，rareairoftheopenmountainsforthemiasmaofthesick—room—thesearethechangesofferedhim，withwhatpromiseofpleasureandofself—
respect，withwhatarevolutioninallhishopesandterrors，nonebutaninvalidcanknow。Resignation，thecowardicethatapesakindofcourageandthatlivesintheveryairofhealthresorts，iscastasideatabreathofsuchaprospect。Themancanopenthedoor；hecanbeupanddoing；hecanbeakindofamanafterallandnotmerelyaninvalid。
ButitisafarcrytotheRockyMountains。WecannotallofusgofarminginColorado；andthereisyetamiddleterm，whichcombinesthemedicalbenefitsofthenewsystemwiththemoraldrawbacksoftheold。Againtheinvalidhastolieasidefromlifeanditswholesomeduties；againhehastobeanidleramongidlers；butthistimeatagreataltitude，faramongthemountains，withthesnowpiledbeforehisdoorandthefrostflowerseverymorningonhiswindow。Themerefactistonictohisnerves。Hischoiceofaplaceofwinteringhassomehowtohisowneyestheairofanactofboldcontract；and，sincehehaswilfullysoughtlowtemperatures，heisnotsoapttoshudderatatouchofchill。Hecameforthat，helookedforit，andhethrowsitfromhimwiththethought。
Alongstraightreachofvalley，wall—likemountainsuponeitherhandthatrisehigherandhigherandshootupnewsummitsthehigheryouclimb；afewnoblepeaksseenevenfromthevalley；avillageofhotels；aworldofblackandwhite—blackpine—woods，clingingtothesidesofthevalley，andwhitesnowflouringit，andpaperingitbetweenthepine—woods，andcoveringallthemountainswithadazzlingcurd；addafewscoreinvalidsmarchingtoandfrouponthesnowyroad，orskatingontheice—rinks，possiblytomusic，orsittingundersunshadesbythedoorofthehotel—andyouhavethelargerfeaturesofamountainsanatorium。Acertainfuriousriverrunscurvingdownthevalley；itspacenevervaries，ithasnotapoolforasfarasyoucanfollowit；anditsunchanging，senselesshurryisstrangelytedioustowitness。Itisariverthatamancouldgrowtohate。Dayafterdaybreakswiththerarestgolduponthemountainspires，andcreeps，growingandglowing，downintothevalley。Fromendtoendthesnowreverberatesthesunshine；fromendtoendtheairtingleswiththelight，clearanddrylikecrystal。
Onlyalongthecourseoftheriver，buthighaboveit，therehangsfarintothenoon，onewavingscarfofvapour。Itwerehardtofancyamoreengagingfeatureinalandscape；perhapsitishardertobelievethatdelicate，long—lastingphantomoftheatmosphere，acreatureoftheincontinentstreamwhosecourseitfollows。Bynoontheskyisarrayedinanunrivalledpompofcolour—mildandpaleandmeltinginthenorth，buttowardsthezenith，darkwithanintensityofpurpleblue。Whatwiththisdarknessofheavenandtheintolerablelustreofthesnow，spaceisreducedagaintochaos。AnEnglishpainter，comingtoFrancelateinlife，declaredwithnaturalangerthat’thevalueswereallwrong。’HadhegotamongtheAlpsonabrightdayhemighthavelosthisreason。Andeventoanyonewhohaslookedatlandscapewithanycare，andinanywaythroughthespectaclesofrepresentativeart，thescenehasacharacterofinsanity。Thedistantshiningmountainpeakisherebesideyoureye；
theneighbouringdull—colouredhouseincomparisonismilesaway；thesummit，whichisallofsplendidsnow，iscloseathand；thenighslopes，whichareblackwithpinetrees，bearitnorelation，andmightbeinanothersphere。Heretherearenoneofthosedelicategradations，thoseintimate，mistyjoinings—onandspreadings—outintothedistance，nothingofthatartofairandlightbywhichthefaceofnatureexplainsandveilsitselfinclimeswhichwemaybeallowedtothinkmorelovely。Aglaringpieceofcrudity，whereeverythingthatisnotwhiteisasolecismanddefiesthejudgmentoftheeyesight；asceneofblindingdefinition；aparadeofdaylight，almostscenicallyvulgar，morethanscenicallytrying，andyetheartyandhealthy，makingthenervestotightenandthemouthtosmile：
suchisthewinterdaytimeintheAlps。
Withtheapproachofeveningallischanged。Amountainwillsuddenlyinterceptthesun；ashadowfalluponthevalley；intenminutesthethermometerwilldropasmanydegrees；thepeaksthatarenolongershoneupondwindleintoghosts；andmeanwhile，overhead，iftheweatherberightlycharacteristicoftheplace，theskyfadestowardsnightthroughasurprisingkeyofcolours。Thelatestgoldleapsfromthelastmountain。Soon，perhaps，themoonshallrise，andinhergentlerlightthevalleyshallbemellowedandmisted，andhereandthereawispofsilverclouduponahilltop，andhereandthereawarmlyglowingwindowinahouse，betweenfireandstarlight，kindandhomelyinthefieldsofsnow。
Butthevalleyisnotseatedsohighamongthecloudstobeeternallyexemptfromchanges。Thecloudsgather，blackasink；thewindburstsrudelyin；dayafterdaythemistsdriveoverhead，thesnow—
flakesflutterdowninblindingdisarray；dailythemailcomesinlaterfromthetopofthepass；peoplepeerthroughtheirwindowsandforeseenoendbutanentireseclusionfromEurope，anddeathbygradualdry—rot，eachinhisindifferentinn；andwhenatlastthestormgoes，andthesuncomesagain，beholdaworldofunpollutedsnow，glossylikefur，brightlikedaylight，ajoytowallowingdogsandcheerfultothesoulsofmen。OrperhapsfromacrossstoriedandmalariousItaly，awindcunninglywindsaboutthemountainsandbreaks，warmandunclean，uponourmountainvalley。Everynerveissetajar；theconsciencerecognises，atagust，aloadofsinsandnegligenceshithertounknown；andthewholeinvalidworldhuddlesintoitsprivatechambers，andsilentlyrecognisestheempireoftheFohn。
CHAPTERXI—ALPINEDIVERSIONS
THEREwillbenolackofdiversioninanAlpinesanitarium。TheplaceishalfEnglish，tobesure，thelocalsheetappearingindoublecolumn，textandtranslation；butitstillremainshalfGerman；andhencewehaveabandwhichisabletoplay，andacompanyofactorsable，asyouwillbetold，toact。Thislastyouwilltakeontrust，fortheplayers，unlikethelocalsheet，confinethemselvestoGermanandthoughatthebeginningofwintertheycomewiththeirwig—boxestoeachhotelinturn，longbeforeChristmastheywillhavegivenuptheEnglishforabadjob。Therewillfollow，perhaps，askirmishbetweenthetworaces；theGermanelementseeking，intheinterestoftheiractors，toraiseamysteriousitem，theKUR—TAXE，whichfiguresheavilyenoughalreadyintheweeklybills，theEnglishelementstoutlyresisting。MeantimeintheEnglishhotelshome—
playedfarces，TABLEAUX—VIVANTS，andevenballsenliventheevenings；
acharitybazaarshedsgenialconsternation；ChristmasandNewYeararesolemnisedwithPantagrueliandinners，andfromtimetotimetheyoungfolkscarolandrevolveuntunefullyenoughthroughthefiguresofasingingquadrille。
Amagazineclubsuppliesyouwitheverything，fromtheQUARTERLYtotheSUNDAYATHOME。Grandtournamentsareorganisedatchess，draughts，billiardsandwhist。Onceandagainwanderingartistsdropintoourmountainvalley，comingyouknownotwhence，goingyoucannotimaginewhither，andbelongingtoeverydegreeinthehierarchyofmusicalart，fromtherecognisedperformerwhoannouncesaconcertfortheevening，tothecomicGermanfamilyorsolitarylong—hairedGermanbaritone，whosurprisestheguestsatdinner—timewithsongsandacollection。Theyareallofthemgoodtosee；they，atleast，aremoving；theybringwiththemthesentimentoftheopenroad；yesterday，perhaps，theywereinTyrol，andnextweektheywillbefarinLombardy，whileallwesickfolkstillsimmerinourmountainprison。Someofthem，too，arewelcomeastheflowersinMayfortheirownsake；someofthemmayhaveahumanvoice；somemayhavethatmagicwhichtransformsawoodenboxintoasong—bird，andwhatwejeeringlycallafiddleintowhatwementionwithrespectasaviolin。Fromthatgrindinglilt，withwhichtheblindman，seekingpence，accompaniesthebeatofpaddlewheelsacrosstheferry，thereissurelyadifferenceratherofkindthanofdegreetothatunearthlyvoiceofsingingthatbewailsandpraisesthedestinyofmanatthetouchofthetruevirtuoso。Eventhatyoumayperhapsenjoy；andifyoudosoyouwillownitimpossibletoenjoyitmorekeenlythanhere，IMSCHNEEDERALPEN。Ahyacinthinapot，ahandfulofprimrosespackedinmoss，orapieceofmusicbysomeonewhoknowsthewaytotheheartofaviolin，arethingsthat，inthisinvariablesamenessofthesnowsandfrostyair，surpriseyoulikeanadventure。Itisdroll，moreover，tocomparetherespectwithwhichtheinvalidsattendaconcert，andthereadycontemptwithwhichtheygreetthedinner—timeperformers。Singingwhichtheywouldhearwithrealenthusiasm—possiblywithtears—fromacornerofadrawing—
room，islistenedtowithlaughterwhenitisofferedbyanunknownprofessionalandnomoneyhasbeentakenatthedoor。
Ofskatinglittleneedbesaid；insosnowyaclimatetherinksmustbeintelligentlymanaged；theirmismanagementwillleadtomanydaysofvexationandsomepettyquarrelling，butwhenallgoeswell，itiscertainlycurious，andperhapsratherunsafe，fortheinvalidtoskateunderaburningsun，andwalkbacktohishotelinasweat，throughlongtractsofglareandpassagesoffreezingshadow。Butthepeculiaroutdoorsportofthisdistrictistobogganing。A
Scotchmanmayrememberthelowflatboard，withthefrontwheelsonapivot，whichwascalledaHURLIE；hemayrememberthiscontrivance，ladenwithboys，as，laboriouslystarted，itranrattlingdownthebrae，andwas，nowsuccessfully，nowunsuccessfully，steeredroundthecorneratthefoot；hemayrememberscentedsummereveningspassedinthisdiversion，andmanyagrazedskin，bloodycockscomb，andneglectedlesson。Thetobogganistothehurliewhatthesledistothecarriage；itisahurlieuponrunners；andifforagratingroadyousubstitutealongdeclivityofbeatensnow，youcanimaginethegiddycareerofthetobogganist。Thecorrectpositionistosit；
butthefantasticwillsometimessithind—foremost，ordarethedescentupontheirbellyortheirback。Afewsteerwithapairofpointedsticks，butitismoreclassicaltousethefeet。Iftheweightbeheavyandthetracksmooth，thetoboggantakesthebitbetweenitsteeth；andtosteeracoupleoffull—sizedfriendsinsafetyrequiresnotonlyjudgmentbutdesperateexertion。Onaverysteeptrack，withakeeneveningfrost，youmayhavemomentsalmosttooappallingtobecalledenjoyment；theheadgoes，theworldvanishes；yourblindsteedboundsbelowyourweight；youreachthefoot，withallthebreathknockedoutofyourbody，jarredandbewilderedasthoughyouhadjustbeensubjectedtoarailwayaccident。Anotherelementofjoyfulhorrorisaddedbytheformationofatrain；onetobogganbeingtiedtoanother，perhapstothenumberofhalfadozen，onlythefirstriderbeingallowedtosteer，andalltherestpledgedtoputuptheirfeetandfollowtheirleader，withheartinmouth，downthemaddescent。This，particularlyifthetrackbeginswithaheadlongplunge，isoneofthemostexhilaratingfolliesintheworld，andthetobogganinginvalidisearlyreconciledtosomersaults。
Thereisallmannerofvarietyinthenatureofthetracks，somemilesinlength，othersbutafewyards，andyetlikesomeshortrivers，furiousintheirbrevity。Alldegreesofskillandcourageandtastemaybesuitedinyourneighbourhood。Butperhapsthetruewaytotobogganisaloneandatnight。Firstcomesthetediousclimb，draggingyourinstrumentbehindyou。Nextalongbreathing—
space，alonewithsnowandpinewoods，cold，silentandsolemntotheheart。Thenyoupushof；thetobogganfetchesway；shebeginstofeelthehill，toglide，to，swim，togallop。Inabreathyouareoutfromunderthepinetrees，andawholeheavenfulofstarsreelsandflashesoverhead。Thencomesaviciouseffort；forbythistimeyourwoodensteedisspeedinglikethewind，andyouarespinningroundacorner，andthewholeglitteringvalleyandallthelightsinallthegreathotelslieforamomentatyourfeet；andthenextyouareracingoncemoreintheshadowofthenightwithclose—shutteethandbeatingheart。Yetalittlewhileandyouwillbelandedonthehighroadbythedoorofyourownhotel。This，inanatmospheretinglingwithfortydegreesoffrost，inanightmadeluminouswithstarsandsnow，andgirtwithstrangewhitemountains，teachesthepulseanunaccustomedtuneandaddsanewexcitementtothelifeofmanuponhisplanet。
CHAPTERXII—THESTIMULATIONOFTHEALPS
ToanyonewhoshouldcomefromasouthernsanitariumtotheAlps，therowofsun—burnedfacesroundthetablewouldpresentthefirstsurprise。Hewouldbeginbylookingfortheinvalids，andhewouldlosehispains，fornotoneoutoffiveofeventhebadcasesbearsthemarkofsicknessonhisface。TheplumpsunshinefromaboveanditsstrongreverberationfrombelowcolourtheskinlikeanIndianclimate；thetreatment，whichconsistsmainlyoftheopenair，exposeseventhesickliesttotan，andatablefulofinvalidscomes，inamonthortwo，toresembleatablefulofhunters。Butalthoughhemaybethussurprisedatthefirstglance，hisastonishmentwillgrowgreater，asheexperiencestheeffectsoftheclimateonhimself。InmanywaysitisatryingbusinesstoresideupontheAlps：thestomachisexercised，theappetiteoftenlanguishes；thelivermayattimesrebel；andbecauseyouhavecomesofarfrommetropolitanadvantages，itdoesnotfollowthatyoushallrecover。
Butonethingisundeniable—thatintherareair，clear，cold，andblindinglightofAlpinewinters，amantakesacertaintroubleddelightinhisexistencewhichcannowhereelsebeparalleled。Heisperhapsnohappier，butheisstinginglyalive。Itdoesnot，perhaps，comeoutofhiminworkorexercise，yethefeelsanenthusiasmofthebloodunknowninmoretemperateclimates。Itmaynotbehealth，butitisfun。
Thereisnothingmoredifficulttocommunicateonpaperthanthisbaselessardour，thisstimulationofthebrain，thissterilejoyousnessofspirits。Youwakeeverymorning，seethegolduponthesnow—peaks，becomefilledwithcourage，andblessGodforyourprolongedexistence。Thevalleysarebutastridetoyou；youcastyourshoeoverthehilltops；yourearsandyourheartsing；inthewordsofanunverifiedquotationfromtheScotchpsalms，youfeelyourselffit’onthewingsofallthewinds’to’comeflyingallabroad。’Europeandyourmindaretoonarrowforthatfloodofenergy。Yetitisnotablethatyouarehardtorootoutofyourbed；
thatyoustartforth，singing，indeed，onyourwalk，yetareunusuallyreadytoturnhomeagain；thatthebestofyouisvolatile；
andthatalthoughtherestlessnessremainstillnight，thestrengthisearlyatanend。Withalltheseheadyjollities，youarehalfconsciousofanunderlyinglanguorinthebody；youprovenottobesowellasyouhadfancied；youwearybeforeyouhavewellbegun；andthoughyoumountatmorningwiththelark，thatisnotpreciselyasong—bird’sheartthatyoubringbackwithyouwhenyoureturnwithachinglimbsandpeevishtempertoyourinn。
Itishardtosaywhereinitlies，butthisjoyofAlpinewintersisitsownreward。Baseless，inasense，itismorethanworthmorepermanentimprovements。Thedreamofhealthisperfectwhileitlasts；andif，intryingtorealiseit，youspeedilywearoutthedearhallucination，stilleveryday，andmanytimesaday，youareconsciousofastrengthyouscarcepossess，andadelightinlivingasmerryasitprovestobetransient。
Thebrightness—heavenandearthconspiringtobebright—thelevityandquietoftheair；theoddstirringsilence—morestirringthanatumult；thesnow，thefrost，theenchantedlandscape：allhavetheirpartintheeffectandonthememory，’TOUSVOUSTAPENT
SURLATETE’；andyetwhenyouhaveenumeratedall，youhavegonenonearertoexplainoreventoqualifythedelicateexhilarationthatyoufeel—delicate，youmaysay，andyetexcessive，greaterthancanbesaidinprose，almostgreaterthananinvalidcanbear。ThereisacertainwineofFranceknowninEnglandinsomegaseousdisguise，butwhendrunkinthelandofitsnativitystillasapool，cleanasriverwater，andasheadyasverse。ItismorethanprobablethatinitsnoblenaturalconditionthiswastheverywineofAnjousobelovedbyAthosinthe’Musketeers。’Now，ifthereaderhaseverwasheddownaliberalsecondbreakfastwiththewineinquestion，andgoneforth，onthebackofthesedilutions，intoasultry，sparklingnoontide，hewillhavefeltaninfluencealmostasgenial，althoughstrangelygrosser，thanthisfairytitillationofthenervesamongthesnowandsunshineoftheAlps。Thatalsoisamode，weneednotsayofintoxication，butofinsobriety。Thusalsoamanwalksinastrongsunshineofthemind，andfollowssmiling，insubstantialmeditations。Andwhetherhebereallysocleverorsostrongashesupposes，ineithercasehewillenjoyhischimerawhileitlasts。
Theinfluenceofthisgiddyairdisplaysitselfinmanysecondaryways。Acertainsortoflabouredpleasantryhasalreadybeenrecognised，andmayperhapshavebeenremarkedinthesepapers，asasortpeculiartothatclimate。Peopleuttertheirjudgmentswithacannonadeofsyllables；abigwordisasgoodasamealtothem；andtheturnofaphrasegoesfurtherthanhumourorwisdom。Bytheprofessionalwritermanysadvicissitudeshavetobeundergone。Atfirsthecannotwriteatall。Theheart，itappears，isunequaltothepressureofbusiness，andthebrain，leftwithoutnourishment，goesintoamilddecline。Next，somepowerofworkreturnstohim，accompaniedbyjumpingheadaches。Last，thespringisopened，andtherepoursatoncefromhispenaworldofblatant，hustlingpolysyllables，andtalksohighas，intheoldjoke，tobepositivelyoffensiveinhotweather。Hewritesitingoodfaithandwithasenseofinspiration；itisonlywhenhecomestoreadwhathehaswrittenthatsurpriseanddisquietseizeuponhismind。Whatishetodo，poorman？Allhislittlefishestalklikewhales。Thisyeastyinflation，thisstiffandstruttingarchitectureofthesentencehascomeuponhimwhileheslept；anditisnothe，itistheAlps，whoaretoblame。Heisnot，perhaps，alone，whichsomewhatcomfortshim。Noristheillwithoutaremedy。Someday，whenthespringreturns，heshallgodownalittlelowerinthisworld，andrememberquieterinflectionsandmoremodestlanguage。
Buthere，inthemeantime，thereseemstoswimupsomeoutlineofanewcerebralhygieneandagoodtimecoming，whenexperiencedadvisersshallsendamantothepropermeasuredlevelfortheode，thebiography，orthereligioustract；andanookmaybefoundbetweentheseaandChimborazo，whereMr。Swinburneshallbeabletowritemorecontinently，andMr。Browningsomewhatslower。
Isitareturnofyouth，orisitacongestionofthebrain？Itisasortofcongestion，perhaps，thatleadstheinvalid，whenallgoeswell，tofacethenewdaywithsuchabubblingcheerfulness。Itiscertainlycongestionthatmakesnighthideouswithvisions，allthechambersofamany—storeyedcaravanserai，hauntedwithvociferousnightmares，andmanywakefulpeoplecomedownlateforbreakfastinthemorning。Uponthattheorythecynicmayexplainthewholeaffair—exhilaration，nightmares，pompoftongueandall。But，ontheotherhand，thepeculiarblessednessofboyhoodmayitselfbebutasymptomofthesamecomplaint，forthetwoeffectsarestrangelysimilar；andtheframeofmindoftheinvalidupontheAlpsisasortofintermittentyouth，withperiodsoflassitude。ThefountainofJuventusdoesnotplaysteadilyintheseparts；butthereitplays，andpossiblynowhereelse。
CHAPTERXIII—ROADS—1873
Noamateurwilldenythathecanfindmorepleasureinasingledrawing，overwhichhecansitawholequietforenoon，andsograduallystudyhimselfintohumourwiththeartist，thanhecaneverextractfromthedazzleandaccumulationofincongruousimpressionsthatsendhim，wearyandstupefied，outofsomefamouspicture—
gallery。Butwhatisthusadmittedwithregardtoartisnotextendedtothe（so—called）naturalbeautiesnoamountofexcessinsublimemountainoutlineorthegracesofcultivatedlowlandcandoanything，itissupposed，toweakenordegradethepalate。Wearenotatallsure，however，thatmoderation，andaregimentolerablyaustere，eveninscenery，arenothealthfulandstrengtheningtothetaste；andthatthebestschoolforaloverofnatureisnottothefoundinoneofthosecountrieswherethereisnostageeffect—
nothingsalientorsudden，—butaquietspiritoforderlyandharmoniousbeautypervadesallthedetails，sothatwecanpatientlyattendtoeachofthelittletouchesthatstrikeinus，allofthemtogether，thesubduednoteofthelandscape。Itisinscenerysuchasthisthatwefindourselvesintherighttempertoseekoutsmallsequesteredloveliness。Theconstantrecurrenceofsimilarcombinationsofcolourandoutlinegraduallyforcesuponusasenseofhowtheharmonyhasbeenbuiltup，andwebecomefamiliarwithsomethingofnature’smannerism。Thisisthetruepleasureofyour’ruralvoluptuary，’—nottoremainawe—strickenbeforeaMountChimborazo；nottositdeafenedoverthebigdrumintheorchestra，butdaybydaytoteachhimselfsomenewbeauty—toexperiencesomenewvagueandtranquilsensationthathasbeforeevadedhim。Itisnotthepeoplewho’havepinedandhungeredafternaturemanyayear，inthegreatcitypent，’asColeridgesaidinthepoemthatmadeCharlesLambsomuchashamedofhimself；itisnotthosewhomakethegreatestprogressinthisintimacywithher，orwhoaremostquicktoseeandhavethegreatestgustotoenjoy。Inthis，asineverythingelse，itisminuteknowledgeandlong—continuedlovingindustrythatmakethetruedilettante。Amanmusthavethoughtmuchoverscenerybeforehebeginsfullytoenjoyit。Itisnoyounglingenthusiasmonhilltopsthatcanpossessitselfofthelastessenceofbeauty。
Probablymostpeople’sheadsaregrowingbarebeforetheycanseeallinalandscapethattheyhavethecapabilityofseeing；and，eventhen，itwillbeonlyforonelittlemomentofconsummationbeforethefacultiesareagainonthedecline，andtheythatlookoutofthewindowsbegintobedarkenedandrestrainedinsight。Thusthestudyofnatureshouldbecarriedforwardthoroughlyandwithsystem。
Everygratificationshouldberolledlongunderthetongue，andweshouldbealwayseagertoanalyseandcompare，inorderthatwemaybeabletogivesomeplausiblereasonforouradmirations。True，itisdifficulttoputevenapproximatelyintowordsthekindoffeelingsthuscalledintoplay。Thereisadangerousviceinherentinanysuchintellectualrefininguponvaguesensation。Theanalysisofsuchsatisfactionslendsitselfveryreadilytoliteraryaffectations；andwecanallthinkofinstanceswhereithasshownitselfapttoexerciseamorbidinfluence，evenuponanauthor’schoiceoflanguageandtheturnofhissentences。Andyetthereismuchthatmakestheattemptattractive；foranyexpression，howeverimperfect，oncegiventoacherishedfeeling，seemsasortoflegitimationofthepleasurewetakeinit。Acommonsentimentisoneofthosegreatgoodsthatmakelifepalatableandevernew。Theknowledgethatanotherhasfeltaswehavefelt，andseenthings，eveniftheyarelittlethings，notmuchotherwisethanwehaveseenthem，willcontinuetotheendtobeoneoflife’schoicestpleasures。
Letthereader，then，betakehimselfinthespiritwehaverecommendedtosomeofthequieterkindsofEnglishlandscape。Inthosehomelyandplacidagriculturaldistricts，familiaritywillbringintoreliefmanythingsworthyofnotice，andurgethempleasantlyhometohimbyasortoflovingrepetition；suchasthewonderfullife—givingspeedofwindmillsailsabovethestationarycountry；theoccurrenceandrecurrenceofthesamechurchtowerattheendofonelongvistaafteranother：and，conspicuousamongthesesourcesofquietpleasure，thecharacterandvarietyoftheroaditself，alongwhichhetakeshisway。Notonlynearathand，inthelithecontortionswithwhichitadaptsitselftotheinterchangesoflevelandslope，butfarawayalso，whenheseesafewhundredfeetofitupheavedagainstahillandshiningintheafternoonsun，hewillfinditanobjectsochangefulandenliveningthathecanalwayspleasurablybusyhismindaboutit。Hemayleavetheriver—
side，orfalloutofthewayofvillages，buttheroadhehasalwayswithhim；and，inthetruehumourofobservation，willfindinthatsufficientcompany。Fromitssubtlewindingsandchangesofleveltherearisesakeenandcontinuousinterest，thatkeepstheattentioneveralertandcheerful。Everysensitiveadjustmenttothecontouroftheground，everylittledipandswerve，seemsinstinctwithlifeandanexquisitesenseofbalanceandbeauty。Theroadrollsupontheeasyslopesofthecountry，likealongshipinthehollowsofthesea。Theverymarginsofwasteground，astheytrenchalittlefartheronthebeatenway，orrecedeagaintotheshelterofthehedge，havesomethingofthesamefreedelicacyofline—ofthesameswingandwilfulness。Youmightthinkforawholesummer’sday（andnothavethoughtitanyneareranendbyevening）whatconcourseandsuccessionofcircumstanceshasproducedtheleastofthesedeflections；anditis，perhaps，justinthisthatweshouldlookforthesecretoftheirinterest。Afoot—pathacrossameadow—inallitshumanwaywardnessandunaccountability，inalltheGRATA
PROTERVITASofitsvaryingdirection—willalwaysbemoretousthanarailroadwellengineeredthroughadifficultcountry。Noreasonedsequenceisthrustuponourattention：weseemtohaveslippedforonelawlesslittlemomentoutoftheironruleofcauseandeffect；
andsowerevertatoncetosomeofthepleasantoldheresiesofpersonification，alwayspoeticallyorthodox，andattributeasortoffree—will，anactiveandspontaneouslife，tothewhiteribandofroadthatlengthensout，andbends，andcunninglyadaptsitselftotheinequalitiesofthelandbeforeoureyes。Weremember，aswewrite，somemilesoffinewidehighwaylaidoutwithconsciousaestheticartificethroughabrokenandrichlycultivatedtractofcountry。ItissaidthattheengineerhadHogarth’slineofbeautyinhismindashelaidthemdown。Andtheresultisstriking。Onesplendidsatisfyingsweeppasseswitheasytransitionintoanother，andthereisnothingtotroubleordislocatethestrongcontinuousnessofthemainlineoftheroad。Andyetthereissomethingwanting。Thereisherenosavingimperfection，noneofthosesecondarycurvesandlittletrepidationsofdirectionthatcarry，innaturalroads，ourcuriosityactivelyalongwiththem。Onefeelsatoncethatthisroadhasnothasbeenlaboriouslygrownlikeanaturalroad，butmadetopattern；andthat，whileamodelmaybeacademicallycorrectinoutline，itwillalwaysbeinanimateandcold。Thetravellerisalsoawareofasympathyofmoodbetweenhimselfandtheroadhetravels。Wehaveallseenwaysthathavewanderedintoheavysandnearthesea—coast，andtrailwearilyovertheduneslikeatroddenserpent。Herewetoomustplodforwardatadull，laboriouspace；andsoasympathyispreservedbetweenourframeofmindandtheexpressionoftherelaxed，heavycurvesoftheroadway。Suchaphenomenon，indeed，ourreasonmightperhapsresolvewithalittletrouble。Wemightreflectthatthepresentroadhadbeendevelopedoutofatractspontaneouslyfollowedbygenerationsofprimitivewayfarers；andmightseeinitsexpressionatestimonythatthosegenerationshadbeenaffectedatthesameground，oneafteranother，inthesamemannerasweareaffectedto—day。Orwemightcarrythereflectionfurther，andremindourselvesthatwheretheairisinvigoratingandthegroundfirmunderthetraveller’sfoot，hiseyeisquicktotakeadvantageofsmallundulations，andhewillturncarelesslyasidefromthedirectwaywhereverthereisanythingbeautifultoexamineorsomepromiseofawiderview；sothatevenabushofwildrosesmaypermanentlybiasanddeformthestraightpathoverthemeadow；whereas，wherethesoilisheavy，oneispreoccupiedwiththelabourofmereprogression，andgoeswithabowedheadheavilyandunobservantlyforward。Reason，however，willnotcarryusthewholeway；forthesentimentoftenrecursinsituationswhereitisveryhardtoimagineanypossibleexplanation；
andindeed，ifwedrivebrisklyalongagood，well—maderoadinanopenvehicle，weshallexperiencethissympathyalmostatitsfullest。Wefeelthesharpsettleofthespringsatsomecuriouslytwistedcorner；afterasteepascent，thefreshairdancesinourfacesaswerattleprecipitatelydowntheotherside，andwefinditdifficulttoavoidattributingsomethingheadlong，asortofABANDON，totheroaditself。
Themerewindingofthepathisenoughtoenlivenalongday’swalkinevenacommonplaceordrearycountry—side。Somethingthatwehaveseenfrommilesback，uponaneminence，issolonghidfromus，aswewanderthroughfoldedvalleysoramongwoods，thatourexpectationofseeingitagainissharpenedintoaviolentappetite，andaswedrawnearerweimpatientlyquickenourstepsandturneverycornerwithabeatingheart。Itisthroughtheseprolongationsofexpectancy，thissuccessionofonehopetoanother，thatweliveoutlongseasonsofpleasureinafewhours’walk。Itisinfollowingthesecapricioussinuositiesthatwelearn，onlybitbybitandthroughonecoquettishreticenceafteranother，muchaswelearntheheartofafriend，thewholelovelinessofthecountry。Thisdispositionalwayspreservessomethingnewtobeseen，andtakesus，likeacarefulcicerone，tomanydifferentpointsofdistantviewbeforeitallowsusfinallytoapproachthehoped—fordestination。
Initsconnectionwiththetraffic，andwholefriendlyintercoursewiththecountry，thereissomethingverypleasantinthatsuccessionofsaunterersandbriskandbusiness—likepassers—by，thatpeoplesourwaysandhelpstobuildupwhatWaltWhitmancalls’thecheerfulvoiceofthepublicroad，thegay，freshsentimentoftheroad。’Butoutofthegreatnetworkofwaysthatbindsalllifetogetherfromthehill—farmtothecity，thereissomethingindividualtomost，and，onthewhole，nearlyasmuchchoiceonthescoreofcompanyasonthescoreofbeautyoreasytravel。Onsomeweareneverlongwithoutthesoundofwheels，andfolkpassusbysothicklythatwelosethesenseoftheirnumber。Butonothers，aboutlittle—
frequenteddistricts，ameetingisanaffairofmoment；wehavethesightfaroffofsomeonecomingtowardsus，thegrowingdefinitenessoftheperson，andthenthebriefpassageandsalutation，andtheroadleftemptyinfrontofusforperhapsagreatwhiletocome。
Suchencountershaveawistfulinterestthatcanhardlybeunderstoodbythedwellerinplacesmorepopulous。Werememberstandingbesideacountrymanonce，inthemouthofaquietby—streetinacitythatwasmorethanordinarilycrowdedandbustling；heseemedstunnedandbewilderedbythecontinualpassageofdifferentfaces；andafteralongpause，duringwhichheappearedtosearchforsomesuitableexpression，hesaidtimidlythatthereseemedtobeaGREATDEALOF
MEETINGTHEREABOUTS。Thephraseissignificant。Itistheexpressionoftown—lifeinthelanguageofthelong，solitarycountryhighways。Ameetingofonewithonewaswhatthismanhadbeenusedtointhepastoraluplandsfromwhichhecame；andtheconcourseofthestreetswasinhiseyesonlyanextraordinarymultiplicationofsuch’meetings。’
Andnowwecometothatlastandmostsubtlequalityofall，tothatsenseofprospect，ofoutlook，thatisbroughtsopowerfullytoourmindsbyaroad。Inrealnature，aswellasinoldlandscapes，beneaththatimpartialdaylightinwhichawholevariegatedplainisplungedandsaturated，thelineoftheroadleadstheeyeforthwiththevaguesenseofdesireuptothegreenlimitofthehorizon。
Travelisbroughthometous，andwevisitinspiriteverygroveandhamletthattemptsusinthedistance。SEHNSUCHT—thepassionforwhatiseverbeyond—islivinglyexpressedinthatwhiteribandofpossibletravelthatseverstheunevencountry；notaploughmanfollowinghisploughuptheshiningfurrow，notthebluesmokeofanycottageinahollow，butisbroughttouswithasenseofnearnessandattainabilitybythiswaveringlineofjunction。ThereisapassionateparagraphinWERTHERthatstrikestheverykey。’WhenI
camehither，’hewrites，’howthebeautifulvalleyinvitedmeoneveryside，asIgazeddownintoitfromthehill—top！Therethewood—ah，thatImightmingleinitsshadows！therethemountainsummits—ah，thatImightlookdownfromthemoverthebroadcountry！theinterlinkedhills！thesecretvalleys！Ohtolosemyselfamongtheirmysteries！Ihurriedintothemidst，andcamebackwithoutfindingaughtIhopedfor。Alas！thedistanceislikethefuture。Avastwholeliesinthetwilightbeforeourspirit；
sightandfeelingalikeplungeandlosethemselvesintheprospect，andweyearntosurrenderourwholebeing，andletitbefilledfullwithalltheraptureofonesingleglorioussensation；andalas！whenwehastentothefruition，whenTHEREischangedtoHERE，allisafterwardsasitwasbefore，andwestandinourindigentandcrampedestate，andoursoulthirstsafterastillebbingelixir。’Itistothiswanderinganduneasyspiritofanticipationthatroadsminister。
Everylittlevista，everylittleglimpsethatwehaveofwhatliesbeforeus，givestheimpatientimaginationrein，sothatitcanoutstripthebodyandalreadyplungeintotheshadowofthewoods，andoverlookfromthehill—toptheplainbeyondit，andwanderinthewindingsofthevalleysthatarestillfarinfront。Theroadisalreadythere—weshallnotbelongbehind。Itisasifweweremarchingwiththerearofagreatarmy，and，fromfarbefore，heardtheacclamationofthepeopleasthevanguardenteredsomefriendlyandjubilantcity。Wouldnoteveryman，throughallthelongmilesofmarch，feelasifhealsowerewithinthegates？
CHAPTERXIV—ONTHEENJOYMENTOFUNPLEASANTPLACES—1874
ITisadifficultmattertomakethemostofanygivenplace，andwehavemuchinourownpower。Thingslookedatpatientlyfromonesideafteranothergenerallyendbyshowingasidethatisbeautiful。A
fewmonthsagosomewordsweresaidinthePORTFOLIOastoan’austereregimeninscenery’；andsuchadisciplinewasthenrecommendedas’healthfulandstrengtheningtothetaste。’Thatisthetext，sotospeak，ofthepresentessay。Thisdisciplineinscenery，itmustbeunderstood，issomethingmorethanamerewalkbeforebreakfasttowhettheappetite。Forwhenweareputdowninsomeunsightlyneighbourhood，andespeciallyifwehavecometobemoreorlessdependentonwhatwesee，wemustsetourselvestohuntoutbeautifulthingswithalltheardourandpatienceofabotanistafteraryeplant。Daybydayweperfectourselvesintheartofseeingnaturemorefavourably。Welearntolivewithher，aspeoplelearntolivewithfretfulorviolentspouses：todwelllovinglyonwhatisgood，andshutoureyesagainstallthatisbleakorinharmonious。Welearn，also，tocometoeachplaceintherightspirit。Thetraveller，asBrantomequaintlytellsus，’FAITDES
DISCOURSENSOIPOURSOUTENIRENCHEMIN’；andintothesediscoursesheweavessomethingoutofallthatheseesandsuffersbytheway；
theytaketheirtonegreatlyfromthevaryingcharacterofthescene；
asharpascentbringsdifferentthoughtsfromalevelroad；andtheman’sfanciesgrowlighterashecomesoutofthewoodintoaclearing。Nordoesthesceneryanymoreaffectthethoughtsthanthethoughtsaffectthescenery。Weseeplacesthroughourhumoursasthroughdifferentlycolouredglasses。Weareourselvesatermintheequation，anoteofthechord，andmakediscordorharmonyalmostatwill。Thereisnofearfortheresult，ifwecanbutsurrenderourselvessufficientlytothecountrythatsurroundsandfollowsus，sothatweareeverthinkingsuitablethoughtsortellingourselvessomesuitablesortofstoryaswego。Webecomethus，insomesense，acentreofbeauty；weareprovocativeofbeauty，muchasagentleandsincerecharacterisprovocativeofsincerityandgentlenessinothers。Andevenwherethereisnoharmonytobeelicitedbythequickestandmostobedientofspirits，wemaystillembellishaplacewithsomeattractionofromance。Wemaylearntogofarafieldforassociations，andhandlethemlightlywhenwehavefoundthem。
Sometimesanoldprintcomestoouraid；Ihaveseenmanyaspotlitupatoncewithpicturesqueimaginations，byareminiscenceofCallot，orSadeler，orPaulBrill。DickTurpinhasbeenmylayfigureformanyanEnglishlane。AndIsupposetheTrossachswouldhardlybetheTrossachsformosttouristsifamanofadmirableromanticinstincthadnotpeopleditforthemwithharmoniousfigures，andbroughtthemthitherwithmindsrightlypreparedfortheimpression。Thereishalfthebattleinthispreparation。Forinstance：Ihaverarelybeenabletovisit，intheproperspirit，thewildandinhospitableplacesofourownHighlands。Iamhappierwhereitistameandfertile，andnotreadilypleasedwithouttrees。
Iunderstandthattherearesomephasesofmentaltroublethatharmonisewellwithsuchsurroundings，andthatsomepersons，bythedispensingpoweroftheimagination，cangobackseveralcenturiesinspirit，andputthemselvesintosympathywiththehunted，houseless，unsociablewayoflifethatwasinitsplaceuponthesesavagehills。
Now，whenIamsad，Ilikenaturetocharmmeoutofmysadness，likeDavidbeforeSaul；andthethoughtofthesepastagesstrikesnothinginmebutanunpleasantpity；sothatIcanneverhitontherighthumourforthissortoflandscape，andlosemuchpleasureinconsequence。Still，evenhere，ifIwereonlyletalone，andtimeenoughweregiven，Ishouldhaveallmannerofpleasures，andtakemanyclearandbeautifulimagesawaywithmewhenIleft。Whenwecannotthinkourselvesintosympathywiththegreatfeaturesofacountry，welearntoignorethem，andputourheadamongthegrassforflowers，orpore，forlongtimestogether，overthechangefulcurrentofastream。Wecomedowntothesermoninstones，whenweareshutoutfromanypoeminthespreadlandscape。Webegintopeepandbotanise，wetakeaninterestinbirdsandinsects，wefindmanythingsbeautifulinminiature。ThereaderwillrecollectthelittlesummersceneinWUTHERINGHEIGHTS—theonewarmscene，perhaps，inallthatpowerful，miserablenovel—andthegreatfeaturethatismadethereinbygrassesandflowersandalittlesunshine：thisisinthespiritofwhichInowspeak。And，lastly，wecangoindoors；
interiorsaresometimesasbeautiful，oftenmorepicturesque，thantheshowsoftheopenair，andtheyhavethatqualityofshelterofwhichIshallpresentlyhavemoretosay。
Withallthisinmind，Ihaveoftenbeentemptedtoputforththeparadoxthatanyplaceisgoodenoughtolivealifein，whileitisonlyinafew，andthosehighlyfavoured，thatwecanpassafewhoursagreeably。For，ifweonlystaylongenoughwebecomeathomeintheneighbourhood。Reminiscencesspringup，likeflowers，aboutuninterestingcorners。Weforgettosomedegreethesuperiorlovelinessofotherplaces，andfallintoatolerantandsympatheticspiritwhichisitsownrewardandjustification。Lookingbacktheotherdayonsomerecollectionsofmyown，IwasastonishedtofindhowmuchIowedtosucharesidence；sixweeksinoneunpleasantcountry—sidehaddonemore，itseemed，toquickenandeducatemysensibilitiesthanmanyyearsinplacesthatjumpedmorenearlywithmyinclination。
ThecountrytowhichIreferwasalevelandtree—lessplateau，overwhichthewindscutlikeawhip。Formilesandmilesitwasthesame。Ariver，indeed，fellintotheseanearthetownwhereI
resided；butthevalleyoftheriverwasshallowandbald，forasfarupaseverIhadthehearttofollowit。Therewereroads，certainly，butroadsthathadnobeautyorinterest；for，astherewasnotimber，andbutlittleirregularityofsurface，yousawyourwholewalkexposedtoyoufromthebeginning：therewasnothinglefttofancy，nothingtoexpect，nothingtoseebythewayside，savehereandthereanunhomely—lookinghomestead，andhereandthereasolitary，spectacledstone—breaker；andyouwereonlyaccompanied，asyouwentdoggedlyforward，bythegaunttelegraph—postsandthehumoftheresonantwiresinthekeensea—wind。ToonewhohadlearnedtoknowtheirsonginwarmpleasantplacesbytheMediterranean，itseemedtotauntthecountry，andmakeitstillbleakerbysuggestedcontrast。Eventhewasteplacesbythesideoftheroadwerenot，asHawthornelikedtoputit，’takenbacktoNature’byanydecentcoveringofvegetation。Whereverthelandhadthechance，itseemedtoliefallow。ThereisacertaintawnynudityoftheSouth，baresunburntplains，colouredlikealion，andhillsclothedonlyinthebluetransparentair；butthiswasofanotherdescription—thiswasthenakednessoftheNorth；theearthseemedtoknowthatitwasnaked，andwasashamedandcold。
Itseemedtobealwaysblowingonthatcoast。Indeed，thishadpassedintothespeechoftheinhabitants，andtheysalutedeachotherwhentheymetwith’Breezy，breezy，’insteadofthecustomary’Fineday’offarthersouth。Thesecontinualwindswerenotliketheharvestbreeze，thatjustkeepsanequablepressureagainstyourfaceasyouwalk，andservestosetallthetreestalkingoveryourhead，orbringroundyouthesmellofthewetsurfaceofthecountryafterashower。Theywereofthebitter，hard，persistentsort，thatinterfereswithsightandrespiration，andmakestheeyessore。Evensuchwindsasthesehavetheirownmeritinpropertimeandplace。
Itispleasanttoseethembrandishgreatmassesofshadow。Andwhatapowertheyhaveoverthecolouroftheworld！Howtheyrufflethesolidwoodlandsintheirpassage，andmakethemshudderandwhitenlikeasinglewillow！Thereisnothingmorevertiginousthanawindlikethisamongthewoods，withallitssightsandnoises；andtheeffectgetsbetweensomepaintersandtheirsobereyesight，sothat，evenwhentherestoftheirpictureiscalm，thefoliageiscolouredlikefoliageinagale。Therewasnothing，however，ofthissorttobenoticedinacountrywheretherewerenotreesandhardlyanyshadows，savethepassiveshadowsofcloudsorthoseofrigidhousesandwalls。Butthewindwasneverthelessanoccasionofpleasure；
fornowherecouldyoutastemorefullythepleasureofasuddenlull，oraplaceofopportuneshelter。ThereaderknowswhatImean；hemustrememberhow，whenhehassathimselfdownbehindadykeonahillside，hedelightedtohearthewindhissvainlythroughthecranniesathisback；howhisbodytingledalloverwithwarmth，anditbegantodawnuponhim，withasortofslowsurprise，thatthecountrywasbeautiful，theheatherpurple，andthefar—awayhillsallmarbledwithsunandshadow。Wordsworth，inabeautifulpassageofthe’Prelude，’hasusedthisasafigureforthefeelingstruckinusbythequietby—streetsofLondonaftertheuproarofthegreatthoroughfares；andthecomparisonmaybeturnedtheotherwaywithasgoodeffect：—
’Meanwhiletheroarcontinues，tillatlength，Escapedasfromanenemy，weturnAbruptlyintosomesequester’dnook，Stillasashelter’dplacewhenwindsblowloud！’
Iremembermeetingamanonce，inatrain，whotoldmeofwhatmusthavebeenquitethemostperfectinstanceofthispleasureofescape。
Hehadgoneup，onesunny，windymorning，tothetopofagreatcathedralsomewhereabroad；IthinkitwasCologneCathedral，thegreatunfinishedmarvelbytheRhine；andafteralongwhileindarkstairways，heissuedatlastintothesunshine，onaplatformhighabovethetown。Atthatelevationitwasquitestillandwarm；thegalewasonlyinthelowerstrataoftheair，andhehadforgottenitinthequietinteriorofthechurchandduringhislongascent；andsoyoumayjudgeofhissurprisewhen，restinghisarmsonthesunlitbalustradeandlookingoverintothePLACEfarbelowhim，hesawthegoodpeopleholdingontheirhatsandleaninghardagainstthewindastheywalked。Thereissomething，tomyfancy，quiteperfectinthislittleexperienceofmyfellow—traveller’s。Thewaysofmenseemalwaysverytrivialtouswhenwefindourselvesaloneonachurch—top，withtheblueskyandafewtallpinnacles，andseefarbelowusthesteeproofsandforeshortenedbuttresses，andthesilentactivityofthecitystreets；buthowmuchmoremusttheynothaveseemedsotohimashestood，notonlyaboveothermen’sbusiness，butaboveothermen’sclimate，inagoldenzonelikeApollo’s！
ThiswasthesortofpleasureIfoundinthecountryofwhichI
write。Thepleasurewastobeoutofthewind，andtokeepitinmemoryallthetime，andhugoneselfupontheshelter。Anditwasonlybytheseathatanysuchshelteredplacesweretobefound。
Betweentheblackworm—eatenhead—landstherearelittlebightsandhavens，wellscreenedfromthewindandthecommotionoftheexternalsea，wherethesandandweedslookupintothegazer’sfacefromadepthoftranquilwater，andthesea—birds，screamingandflickeringfromtheruinedcrags，alonedisturbthesilenceandthesunshine。
Onesuchplacehasimpresseditselfonmymemorybeyondallothers。
Onarockbythewater’sedge，oldfightingmenoftheNorsebreedhadplantedadoublecastle；thetwostoodwalltowalllikesemi—
detachedvillas；andyetfeudhadrunsohighbetweentheirowners，thatone，fromoutofawindow，shottheotherashestoodinhisowndoorway。Thereissomethinginthejuxtapositionofthesetwoenemiesfulloftragicirony。Itisgrimtothinkofbeardedmenandbitterwomentakinghatefulcounseltogetheraboutthetwohall—firesatnight，whentheseaboomedagainstthefoundationsandthewildwinterwindwaslooseoverthebattlements。Andinthestudywemayreconstructforourselvessomepalefigureofwhatlifethenwas。
Notsowhenwearethere；whenwearetheresuchthoughtscometousonlytointensifyacontraryimpression，andassociationisturnedagainstitself。Irememberwalkingthitherthreeafternoonsinsuccession，myeyeswearywithbeingsetagainstthewind，andhow，droppingsuddenlyovertheedgeofthedown，Ifoundmyselfinanewworldofwarmthandshelter。Thewind，fromwhichIhadescaped，’asfromanenemy，’wasseeminglyquitelocal。Itcarriednocloudswithit，andcamefromsuchaquarterthatitdidnottroubletheseawithinview。Thetwocastles，blackandruinousastherocksaboutthem，werestilldistinguishablefromthesebysomethingmoreinsecureandfantasticintheoutline，somethingthatthelaststormhadleftimminentandthenextwoulddemolishentirely。Itwouldbedifficulttorenderinwordsthesenseofpeacethattookpossessionofmeonthesethreeafternoons。Itwashelpedout，asIhavesaid，bythecontrast。Theshorewasbatteredandbemauledbyprevioustempests；Ihadthememoryatheartoftheinsanestrifeofthepigmieswhohaderectedthesetwocastlesandlivedintheminmutualdistrustandenmity，andknewIhadonlytoputmyheadoutofthislittlecupofsheltertofindthehardwindblowinginmyeyes；andyettherewerethetwogreattractsofmotionlessblueairandpeacefulsealookingon，unconcernedandapart，attheturmoilofthepresentmomentandthememorialsoftheprecariouspast。Thereiseversomethingtransitoryandfretfulintheimpressionofahighwindunderacloudlesssky；itseemstohavenorootintheconstitutionofthings；itmustspeedilybegintofaintandwitherawaylikeacutflower。Andonthosedaysthethoughtofthewindandthethoughtofhumanlifecameveryneartogetherinmymind。
Ournoisyyearsdidindeedseemmomentsinthebeingoftheeternalsilence；andthewind，inthefaceofthatgreatfieldofstationaryblue，wasasthewindofabutterfly’swing。Theplacidityoftheseawasathinglikewisetoberemembered。Shelleyspeaksoftheseaas’hungeringforcalm，’andinthisplaceonelearnedtounderstandthephrase。Lookingdownintothesegreenwatersfromthebrokenedgeoftherock，orswimmingleisurelyinthesunshine，itseemedtomethattheywereenjoyingtheirowntranquillity；andwhennowandagainitwasdisturbedbyawindrippleonthesurface，orthequickblackpassageofafishfarbelow，theysettledbackagain（onecouldfancy）withrelief。
Onshoretoo，inthelittlenookofshelter，everythingwassosubduedandstillthattheleastparticularstruckinmeapleasurablesurprise。Thedesultorycracklingofthewhin—podsintheafternoonsunusurpedtheear。Thehot，sweetbreathofthebank，thathadbeensaturatedalldaylongwithsunshine，andnowexhaleditintomyface，waslikethebreathofafellow—creature。I
rememberthatIwashauntedbytwolinesofFrenchverse；insomedumbwaytheyseemedtofitmysurroundingsandgiveexpressiontothecontentmentthatwasinme，andIkeptrepeatingtomyself—
’Moncoeurestunluthsuspendu，Sitotqu’onletouche，ilresonne。’
Icangivenoreasonwhytheselinescametomeatthistime；andforthatverycauseIrepeatthemhere。ForallIknow，theymayservetocompletetheimpressioninthemindofthereader，astheywerecertainlyapartofitforme。
AndthishappenedtomeintheplaceofallotherswhereIlikedleasttostay。WhenIthinkofitIgrowashamedofmyowningratitude。’Outofthestrongcameforthsweetness。’There，inthebleakandgustyNorth，Ireceived，perhaps，mystrongestimpressionofpeace。Isawtheseatobegreatandcalm；andtheearth，inthatlittlecorner，wasallaliveandfriendlytome。So，whereveramanis，hewillfindsomethingtopleaseandpacifyhim：
inthetownhewillmeetpleasantfacesofmenandwomen，andseebeautifulflowersatawindow，orhearacage—birdsingingatthecornerofthegloomieststreet；andforthecountry，thereisnocountrywithoutsomeamenity—lethimonlylookforitintherightspirit，andhewillsurelyfind。