diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:28:46 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:28:46 -0700 |
| commit | 185d21bc43e23dd165d676111a89e1ecee973268 (patch) | |
| tree | 2592e67b3319d3cea9b1e17580d6b26a86fec360 /7032-h | |
Diffstat (limited to '7032-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 7032-h/7032-h.htm | 7940 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 7032-h/images/fpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 258474 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 7032-h/images/fps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 40948 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 7032-h/images/tpb.jpg | bin | 0 -> 224657 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 7032-h/images/tps.jpg | bin | 0 -> 38081 bytes |
5 files changed, 7940 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/7032-h/7032-h.htm b/7032-h/7032-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d599da2 --- /dev/null +++ b/7032-h/7032-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7940 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Prose Idylls, by Charles Kingsley</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Prose Idylls, by Charles Kingsley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Prose Idylls + New and Old + + +Author: Charles Kingsley + + + +Release Date: November 5, 2014 [eBook #7032] +[This file was first posted on February 25, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSE IDYLLS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1882 Macmillan and Co. edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/fpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Eversley Rectory" +title= +"Eversley Rectory" + src="images/fps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>PROSE IDYLLS,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">NEW AND OLD.</span></h1> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">CANON OF WESTMINSTER.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Drawing of bird on branch, singing" +title= +"Drawing of bird on branch, singing" + src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall"><i>NEW +EDITION</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span></p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">London:<br /> +MACMILLAN AND CO.<br /> +1882.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>The Right of Translation and +Reproduction is Reserved</i>.</p> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">Page</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">I.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>‘A Charm of Birds’</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">II.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>Chalk-Stream Studies</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">III.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>The Fens</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">IV.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>My Winter-Garden</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">V.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>From Ocean to Sea</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page175">175</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2"><p style="text-align: center">VI.</p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p>North Devon</p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page223">223</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 1</span>I.<br /> +‘<i>A CHARM OF BIRDS</i>.’ <a name="citation1"></a><a +href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Is</span> it merely a fancy that we +English, the educated people among us at least, are losing that +love for spring which among our old forefathers rose almost to +worship? That the perpetual miracle of the budding leaves +and the returning song-birds awakes no longer in us the +astonishment which it awoke yearly among the dwellers in the old +world, when the sun was a god who was sick to death each winter, +and returned in spring to life and health, and glory; when the +death of Adonis, at the autumnal equinox, was wept over by the +Syrian women, and the death of Baldur, in the colder north, by +all living things, even to the dripping trees, and the rocks +furrowed by the autumn rains; when Freya, the goddess of youth +and love, went forth over the earth each spring, while the +flowers broke forth under her tread over the brown moors, and the +birds welcomed her with song; when, according to Olaus Magnus, +the Goths and South Swedes had, on the return of spring, a mock +battle between summer and winter, and welcomed the returning +splendour of the sun with dancing and mutual feasting, rejoicing +that a better season for fishing and hunting was +approaching? To those simpler children of a simpler age, in +more direct contact with the daily and yearly facts of Nature, +and more dependent on them for their bodily food and life, winter +and spring were the two great facts of existence; the symbols, +the one of death, the other of life; and the battle between the +two—the battle of the sun with darkness, of winter with +spring, of death with life, of bereavement with love—lay at +the root of all their myths and all their creeds. Surely a +change has come over our fancies. The seasons are little to +us now. We are nearly as comfortable in winter as in +summer, or in spring. Nay, we have begun, of late, to +grumble at the two latter as much as at the former, and talk (and +not without excuse at times) of ‘the treacherous month of +May,’ and of ‘summer having set in with its usual +severity.’ We work for the most part in cities and +towns, and the seasons pass by us unheeded. May and June +are spent by most educated people anywhere rather than among +birds and flowers. They do not escape into the country till +the elm hedges are growing black, and the song-birds silent, and +the hay cut, and all the virgin bloom of the country has passed +into a sober and matronly ripeness—if not into the sere and +yellow leaf. Our very landscape painters, till Creswick +arose and recalled to their minds the fact that trees were +sometimes green, were wont to paint few but brown autumnal +scenes. As for the song of birds, of which in the middle +age no poet could say enough, our modern poets seem to be +forgetting that birds ever sing.</p> +<p>It was not so of old. The climate, perhaps, was more +severe than now; the transition from winter to spring more +sudden, like that of Scandinavia now. Clearage of forests +and drainage of land have equalized our seasons, or rather made +them more uncertain. More broken winters are followed by +more broken springs; and May-day is no longer a marked point to +be kept as a festival by all childlike hearts. The merry +month of May is merry only in stage songs. The May garlands +and dances are all but gone: the borrowed plate, and the +milkmaids who borrowed it, gone utterly. No more does Mrs. +Pepys go to ‘lie at Woolwich, in order to a little ayre and +to gather May-dew’ for her complexion, by Mrs. +Turner’s advice. The Maypole is gone likewise; and +never more shall the puritan soul of a Stubbs be aroused in +indignation at seeing ‘against Maie, every parish, towne, +and village assemble themselves together, both men, women, and +children, olde and young, all indifferently, and goe into the +woodes and groves, hilles and mountaines, where they spend the +night in pastyme, and in the morning they returne, bringing with +them birch bowes and braunches of trees to deck their assembly +withal. . . . They have twentie or fourtie yoke of oxen, every +oxe having a sweete nosegay of flowers tyed on the tippe of his +hornes, and these draw home this Maypole (this stincking idol +rather) which is covered all over with flowers and hearbes, with +two or three hundred men, women, and children following it with +great devotion. . . And then they fall to banquet and +feast, daunce and leap about it, as the heathen people did at the +dedication of their idolles, whereof this is a perfect pattern, +or the thing itself.’</p> +<p>This, and much more, says poor Stubbs, in his ‘Anatomie +of Abuses,’ and had, no doubt, good reason enough for his +virtuous indignation at May-day scandals. But people may be +made dull without being made good; and the direct and only effect +of putting down May games and such like was to cut off the +dwellers in towns from all healthy communion with Nature, and +leave them to mere sottishness and brutality.</p> +<p>Yet perhaps the May games died out, partly because the +feelings which had given rise to them died out before improved +personal comforts. Of old, men and women fared hardly, and +slept cold; and were thankful to Almighty God for every beam of +sunshine which roused them out of their long hybernation; +thankful for every flower and every bird which reminded them that +joy was stronger than sorrow, and life than death. With the +spring came not only labour, but enjoyment:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘In the spring, the young man’s fancy +lightly turned to thoughts of love,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>as lads and lasses, who had been pining for each other by +their winter firesides, met again, like Daphnis and Chloe, by +shaugh and lea; and learnt to sing from the songs of birds, and +to be faithful from their faithfulness.</p> +<p>Then went out troops of fair damsels to seek spring garlands +in the forest, as Scheffel has lately sung once more in his +‘Frau Aventiure;’ and, while the dead leaves rattled +beneath their feet, hymned ‘La Regine Avrillouse’ to +the music of some Minnesinger, whose song was as the song of +birds; to whom the birds were friends, fellow-lovers, teachers, +mirrors of all which he felt within himself of joyful and tender, +true and pure; friends to be fed hereafter (as Walther von der +Vogelweide had them fed) with crumbs upon his grave.</p> +<p>True melody, it must be remembered, is unknown, at least at +present, in the tropics, and peculiar to the races of those +temperate climes, into which the song-birds come in spring. +It is hard to say why. Exquisite songsters, and those, +strangely, of an European type, may be heard anywhere in tropical +American forests: but native races whose hearts their song can +touch, are either extinct or yet to come. Some of the old +German Minnelieder, on the other hand, seem actually copied from +the songs of birds. ‘Tanderadei’ does not +merely ask the nightingale to tell no tales; it repeats, in its +cadences, the nightingale’s song, as the old Minnesinger +heard it when he nestled beneath the lime-tree with his +love. They are often almost as inarticulate, these old +singers, as the birds from whom they copied their notes; the +thinnest chain of thought links together some bird-like refrain: +but they make up for their want of logic and reflection by the +depth of their passion, the perfectness of their harmony with +nature. The inspired Swabian, wandering in the pine-forest, +listens to the blackbird’s voice till it becomes his own +voice; and he breaks out, with the very carol of the +blackbird</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Vogele im Tannenwald pfeifet so hell.<br /> +Pfeifet de Wald aus und ein, wo wird mein Schätze sein?<br +/> +Vogele im Tannenwald pfeitet so hell.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And he has nothing more to say. That is his whole soul +for the time being; and, like a bird, he sings it over and over +again, and never tires.</p> +<p>Another, a Nieder-Rheinischer, watches the moon rise over the +Löwenburg, and thinks upon his love within the castle hall, +till he breaks out in a strange, sad, tender melody—not +without stateliness and manly confidence in himself and in his +beloved—in the true strain of the nightingale:</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Verstohlen geht der Mond auf,<br /> +Blau, blau, Blümelein,<br /> +Durch Silberwölkchen führt sein Lauf.<br /> +Rosen im Thal, Mädel im Saal, O schönste Rosa!<br /> +* * *<br /> +Und siehst du mich,<br /> +Und siehst du sie,<br /> +Blau, blau, Blümelein,<br /> +Zwei treu’re Herzen sah’st du nie;<br /> +Rosen im Thal u. s. w.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>There is little sense in the words, doubtless, according to +our modern notions of poetry; but they are like enough to the +long, plaintive notes of the nightingale to say all that the poet +has to say, again and again through all his stanzas.</p> +<p>Thus the birds were, to the mediæval singers, their +orchestra, or rather their chorus; from the birds they caught +their melodies; the sounds which the birds gave them they +rendered into words.</p> +<p>And the same bird keynote surely is to be traced in the early +English and Scotch songs and ballads, with their often +meaningless refrains, sung for the mere pleasure of singing:</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Binnorie, O +Binnorie.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Or—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan,<br /> +And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Or—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘She sat down below a thorn,<br /> + Fine flowers in the valley,<br /> +And there has she her sweet babe born,<br /> + And the green leaves they grow rarely.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Or even those ‘fal-la-las,’ and other nonsense +refrains, which, if they were not meant to imitate bird-notes, +for what were they meant?</p> +<p>In the old ballads, too, one may hear the bird keynote. +He who wrote (and a great rhymer he was)</p> +<blockquote><p>‘As I was walking all alane,<br /> +I heard twa corbies making a mane,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>had surely the ‘mane’ of the ‘corbies’ +in his ears before it shaped itself into words in his mind: and +he had listened to many a ‘woodwele’ who first +thrummed on harp, or fiddled on crowd, how—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘In summer, when the shawes be shene,<br /> + And leaves be large and long,<br /> +It is full merry in fair forest<br /> + To hear the fowlés’ song.</p> +<p>‘The wood-wele sang, and wolde not cease,<br /> + Sitting upon the spray;<br /> +So loud, it wakened Robin Hood<br /> + In the greenwood where he lay.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And Shakespeare—are not his scraps of song saturated +with these same bird-notes? ‘Where the bee +sucks,’ ‘When daisies pied,’ ‘Under the +greenwood tree,’ ‘It was a lover and his lass,’ +‘When daffodils begin to peer,’ ‘Ye spotted +snakes,’ have all a ring in them which was caught not in +the roar of London, or the babble of the Globe theatre, but in +the woods of Charlecote, and along the banks of Avon, from</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The ouzel-cock so black of hue,<br /> + With orange-tawny bill;<br /> +The throstle with his note so true:<br /> + The wren with little quill;<br /> +The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,<br /> + The plain-song cuckoo gray’—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and all the rest of the birds of the air.</p> +<p>Why is it, again, that so few of our modern songs are truly +songful, and fit to be set to music? Is it not that the +writers of them—persons often of much taste and poetic +imagination—have gone for their inspiration to the +intellect, rather than to the ear? That (as Shelley does by +the skylark, and Wordsworth by the cuckoo), instead of trying to +sing like the birds, they only think and talk about the birds, +and therefore, however beautiful and true the thoughts and words +may be, they are not song? Surely they have not, like the +mediæval songsters, studied the speech of the birds, the +primæval teachers of melody; nor even melodies already +extant, round which, as round a framework of pure music, their +thoughts and images might crystallize themselves, certain thereby +of becoming musical likewise. The best modern song writers, +Burns and Moore, were inspired by their old national airs; and +followed them, Moore at least, with a reverent fidelity, which +has had its full reward. They wrote words to music and not, +as modern poets are wont, wrote the words first, and left others +to set music to the words. They were right; and we are +wrong. As long as song is to be the expression of pure +emotion, so long it must take its key from music,—which is +already pure emotion, untranslated into the grosser medium of +thought and speech—often (as in the case of +Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words) not to be translated +into it at all.</p> +<p>And so it may be, that in some simpler age, poets may go back, +like the old Minnesingers, to the birds of the forest, and learn +of them to sing.</p> +<p>And little do most of them know how much there is to learn; +what variety of character, as well as variety of emotion, may be +distinguished by the practised ear, in a ‘charm of +birds’ (to use the old southern phrase), from the wild cry +of the missel-thrush, ringing from afar in the first bright days +of March, a passage of one or two bars repeated three or four +times, and then another and another, clear and sweet, and yet +defiant—for the great ‘stormcock’ loves to sing +when rain and wind is coming on, and faces the elements as boldly +as he faces hawk and crow—down to the delicate warble of +the wren, who slips out of his hole in the brown bank, where he +has huddled through the frost with wife and children, all folded +in each other’s arms like human beings, for the sake of +warmth,—which, alas! does not always suffice; for many a +lump of wrens may be found, frozen and shrivelled, after a severe +winter. Yet even he, sitting at his house-door in the low +sunlight, says grace for all mercies (as a little child once +worded it) in a song so rapid, so shrill, so loud, and yet so +delicately modulated, that you wonder at the amount of soul +within that tiny body; and then stops suddenly, as a child who +has said its lesson, or got to the end of the sermon, gives a +self-satisfied flirt of his tail, and goes in again to sleep.</p> +<p>Character? I know not how much variety of character +there may be between birds of the same species but between +species and species the variety is endless, and is shown—as +I fondly believe—in the difference of their notes. +Each has its own speech, inarticulate, expressing not thought but +hereditary feeling; save a few birds who, like those little dumb +darlings, the spotted flycatchers, seem to have absolutely +nothing to say, and accordingly have the wit to hold their +tongues; and devote the whole of their small intellect to sitting +on the iron rails, flitting off them a yard or two to catch a +butterfly in air, and flitting back with it to their nest.</p> +<p>But listen to the charm of birds in any sequestered woodland, +on a bright forenoon in June. As you try to disentangle the +medley of sounds, the first, perhaps, which will strike your ear +will be the loud, harsh, monotonous, flippant song of the +chaffinch; and the metallic clinking of two or three sorts of +titmice. But above the tree-tops, rising, hovering, +sinking, the woodlark is fluting, tender and low. Above the +pastures outside the skylark sings—as he alone can sing; +and close by, from the hollies rings out the blackbird’s +tenor—rollicking, audacious, humorous, all but +articulate. From the tree above him rises the treble of the +thrush, pure as the song of angels: more pure, perhaps, in tone, +though neither so varied nor so rich, as the song of the +nightingale. And there, in the next holly, is the +nightingale himself: now croaking like a frog; now talking aside +to his wife on the nest below; and now bursting out into that +song, or cycle of songs, in which if any man finds sorrow, he +himself surely finds none. All the morning he will sing; +and again at evening, till the small hours, and the chill before +the dawn: but if his voice sounds melancholy at night, heard all +alone, or only mocked by the ambitious black-cap, it sounds in +the bright morning that which it is, the fulness of joy and +love. Milton’s</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Sweet bird, that shun’st the noise of +folly,<br /> +Most musical, most melancholy,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>is untrue to fact. So far from shunning the noise of +folly, the nightingale sings as boldly as anywhere close to a +stage-coach road, or a public path, as anyone will testify who +recollects the ‘Wrangler’s Walk’ from Cambridge +to Trumpington forty years ago, when the covert, which has now +become hollow and shelterless, held, at every twenty yards, an +unabashed and jubilant nightingale.</p> +<p>Coleridge surely was not far wrong when he guessed +that—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Some night-wandering man, whose heart was +pierced<br /> +With the remembrance of a grievous wrong,<br /> +Or slow distemper, or neglected love<br /> +(And so, poor wretch, filled all things with himself,<br /> +And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale<br /> +Of his own sorrow)—he, and such as he,<br /> +First named these sounds a melancholy strain,<br /> +And many a poet echoes the conceit.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That the old Greek poets were right, and had some grounds for +the myth of Philomela, I do not dispute; though Sophocles, +speaking of the nightingales of Colonos, certainly does not +represent them as lamenting. The Elizabethan poets, +however, when they talked of Philomel, ‘her breast against +a thorn,’ were unaware that they and the Greeks were +talking of two different birds; that our English Lusciola +Luscinia is not Lusciola Philomela, one of the various birds +called Bulbul in the East. The true Philomel hardly enters +Venetia, hardly crosses the Swiss Alps, ventures not into the +Rhineland and Denmark, but penetrates (strangely enough) further +into South Sweden than our own Luscinia: ranging meanwhile over +all Central Europe, Persia, and the East, even to Egypt. +Whether his song be really sad, let those who have heard him +say. But as for our own Luscinia, who winters not in Egypt +and Arabia, but in Morocco and Algeria, the only note of his +which can be mistaken for sorrow, is rather one of too great joy; +that cry, which is his highest feat of art; which he cannot utter +when he first comes to our shores, but practises carefully, +slowly, gradually, till he has it perfect by the beginning of +June; that cry, long, repeated, loudening and sharpening in the +intensity of rising passion, till it stops suddenly, exhausted at +the point where pleasure, from very keenness, turns to pain; +and—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘In the topmost height of joy<br /> +His passion clasps a secret grief.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>How different in character from his song is that of the +gallant little black-cap in the tree above him. A gentleman +he is of a most ancient house, perhaps the oldest of European +singing birds. How perfect must have been the special +organization which has spread seemingly without need of +alteration or improvement, from Norway to the Cape of Good Hope, +from Japan to the Azores. How many ages must have passed +since his forefathers first got their black caps. And how +intense and fruitful must have been the original vitality which, +after so many generations, can still fill that little body with +so strong a soul, and make him sing as Milton’s new-created +birds sang to Milton’s Eve in Milton’s +Paradise. Sweet he is, and various, rich, and strong, +beyond all English warblers, save the nightingale: but his +speciality is his force, his rush, his overflow, not so much of +love as of happiness. The spirit carries him away. He +riots up and down the gamut till he cannot stop himself; his +notes tumble over each other; he chuckles, laughs, shrieks with +delight, throws back his head, droops his tail, sets up his back, +and sings with every fibre of his body: and yet he never forgets +his good manners. He is never coarse, never harsh, for a +single note. Always graceful, always sweet, he keeps +perfect delicacy in his most utter carelessness.</p> +<p>And why should we overlook, common though he be, yon +hedge-sparrow, who is singing so modestly, and yet so firmly and +so true? Or cock-robin himself, who is here, as everywhere, +honest, self-confident, and cheerful? Most people are not +aware, one sometimes fancies, how fine a singer is cock-robin now +in the spring-time, when his song is drowned by, or at least +confounded with, a dozen other songs. We know him and love +him best in winter, when he takes up (as he does sometimes in +cold wet summer days) that sudden wistful warble, struggling to +be happy, half in vain, which surely contradicts +Coleridge’s verse:—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘In Nature there +is nothing melancholy.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But he who will listen carefully to the robin’s breeding +song on a bright day in May, will agree, I think, that he is no +mean musician; and that for force, variety and character of +melody, he is surpassed only by black-cap, thrush, and +nightingale.</p> +<p>And what is that song, sudden, loud, sweet, yet faltering, as +if half ashamed? Is it the willow wren or the garden +warbler? The two birds, though very remotely allied to each +other, are so alike in voice, that it is often difficult to +distinguish them, unless we attend carefully to the +expression. For the garden warbler, beginning in high and +loud notes, runs down in cadence, lower and softer, till joy +seems conquered by very weariness; while the willow wren, with a +sudden outbreak of cheerfulness, though not quite sure (it is +impossible to describe bird-songs without attributing to the +birds human passions and frailties) that he is not doing a silly +thing, struggles on to the end of his story with a hesitating +hilarity, in feeble imitation of the black-cap’s +bacchanalian dactyls.</p> +<p>And now, again—is it true that</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘In Nature there +is nothing melancholy’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Mark that slender, graceful, yellow warbler, running along the +high oak boughs like a perturbed spirit, seeking restlessly, +anxiously, something which he seems never to find; and uttering +every now and then a long anxious cry, four or five times +repeated, which would be a squeal, were it not so sweet. +Suddenly he flits away, and flutters round the pendant tips of +the beech-sprays like a great yellow butterfly, picking the +insects from the leaves; then flits back to a bare bough, and +sings, with heaving breast and quivering wings, a short, shrill, +feeble, tremulous song; and then returns to his old sadness, +wandering and complaining all day long.</p> +<p>Is there no melancholy in that cry? It sounds sad: why +should it not be meant to be sad? We recognize joyful +notes, angry notes, fearful notes. They are very similar +(strangely enough) in all birds. They are very similar +(more strangely still) to the cries of human beings, especially +children, when influenced by the same passions. And when we +hear a note which to us expresses sadness, why should not the +bird be sad? Yon wood wren has had enough to make him sad, +if only he recollects it; and if he can recollect his road from +Morocco hither, he may be recollects likewise what happened on +the road—the long weary journey up the Portuguese coast, +and through the gap between the Pyrenees and the Jaysquivel, and +up the Landes of Bordeaux, and across Brittany, flitting by +night, and hiding and feeding as he could by day; and how his +mates flew against the lighthouses, and were killed by hundreds; +and how he essayed the British Channel, and was blown back, +shrivelled up by bitter blasts; and how he felt, nevertheless, +that ‘that wan water he must cross,’ he knew not why: +but something told him that his mother had done it before him, +and he was flesh of her flesh, life of her life, and had +inherited her ‘instinct’—as we call hereditary +memory, in order to avoid the trouble of finding out what it is, +and how it comes. A duty was laid on him to go back to the +place where he was bred; and he must do it: and now it is done; +and he is weary, and sad, and lonely; and, for aught we know, +thinking already that when the leaves begin to turn yellow, he +must go back again, over the Channel, over the Landes, over the +Pyrenees, to Morocco once more. Why should he not be +sad? He is a very delicate bird, as both his shape and his +note testify. He can hardly keep up his race here in +England; and is accordingly very uncommon, while his two cousins, +the willow wren and the chiffchaff, who, like him, build for some +mysterious reason domed nests upon the ground, are stout, and +busy, and numerous, and thriving everywhere. And what he +has gone through may be too much for the poor wood wren’s +nerves; and he gives way; while willow wren, black-cap, +nightingale, who have gone by the same road and suffered the same +dangers, have stoutness of heart enough to throw off the past, +and give themselves up to present pleasure. Why +not?—who knows? There is labour, danger, bereavement, +death in nature; and why should not some, at least, of the +so-called dumb things know it, and grieve at it as well as +we?</p> +<p>Why not?—Unless we yield to the assumption (for it is +nothing more) that these birds act by some unknown thing called +instinct, as it might be called <i>x</i> or <i>y</i>; and are, in +fact, just like the singing birds which spring out of +snuff-boxes, only so much better made, that they can eat, grow, +and propagate their species. The imputation of acting by +instinct cuts both ways. We, too, are creatures of +instinct. We breathe and eat by instinct: but we talk and +build houses by reason. And so may the birds. It is +more philosophical, surely, to attribute actions in them to the +same causes to which we attribute them (from experience) in +ourselves. ‘But if so,’ some will say, +‘birds must have souls.’ We must define what +our own souls are, before we can define what kind of soul or +no-soul a bird may or may not have. The truth is, that we +want to set up some ‘dignity of human nature;’ some +innate superiority to the animals, on which we may pride +ourselves as our own possession, and not return thanks with fear +and trembling for it, as the special gift of Almighty God. +So we have given the poor animals over to the mechanical +philosophy, and allowed them to be considered as only mere +cunningly devised pieces of watch-work, if philosophy would only +spare us, and our fine human souls, of which we are so proud, +though they are doing all the wrong and folly they can from one +week’s end to the other. And now our self-conceit has +brought its own Nemesis; the mechanical philosophy is turning on +us, and saying, ‘The bird’s “nature” and +your “human nature” differ only in degree, but not in +kind. If they are machines, so are you. They have no +souls, you confess. You have none either.’</p> +<p>But there are those who neither yield to the mechanical +philosophy nor desire to stifle it. While it is honest and +industrious, as it is now, it can do nought but good, because it +can do nought but discover facts. It will only help to +divide the light from the darkness, truth from dreams, health +from disease. Let it claim for itself all that it can prove +to be of the flesh, fleshly. That which is spiritual will +stand out more clearly as of the Spirit. Let it thrust +scalpel and microscope into the most sacred penetralia of brain +and nerve. It will only find everywhere beneath brain and +beneath nerve, that substance and form which is not matter nor +phenomenon, but the Divine cause thereof; and while it helps, +with ruthless but wholesome severity, to purge our minds from +idols of the cave and idols of the fane, it will leave untouched, +more clearly defined, and therefore more sacred and important +than ever—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Those +first affections,<br /> + Those shadowy recollections,<br /> + Which, be they what they may,<br /> +Are yet the fountain light of all our day,<br /> + Are yet the master light of all our seeing;<br /> +Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make<br /> + Our noisy years seem moments in the being<br /> +Of the eternal silence; truths that wake<br /> + To perish never;<br /> +Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,<br /> + Nor man nor boy,<br /> + Nor all that is at enmity with joy,<br /> + Can utterly abolish or destroy.</p> + +<p> * +* * * *</p> +<p>Then sing, ye birds, sing out with joyous sound,</p> +</blockquote> +<p>as the poet-philosopher bids you. Victorious analysis +will neither abolish you, nor the miraculous and unfathomable in +you and in your song, which has stirred the hearts of poets since +first man was man. And if anyone shall hint to us that we +and the birds may have sprung originally from the same type; that +the difference between our intellect and theirs is one of degree, +and not of kind, we may believe or doubt: but in either case we +shall not be greatly moved. ‘So much the better for +the birds,’ we will say, ‘and none the worse for +us. You raise the birds towards us: but you do not lower us +towards them. What we are, we are by the grace of +God. Our own powers and the burden of them we know full +well. It does not lessen their dignity or their beauty in +our eyes to hear that the birds of the air partake, even a +little, of the same gifts of God as we. Of old said St. +Guthlac in Crowland, as the swallows sat upon his knee, “He +who leads his life according to the will of God, to him the wild +deer and the wild birds draw more near;” and this new +theory of yours may prove St. Guthlac right. St. Francis, +too—he called the birds his brothers. Whether he was +correct, either theologically or zoologically, he was plainly +free from that fear of being mistaken for an ape, which haunts so +many in these modern times. Perfectly sure that he himself +was a spiritual being, he thought it at least possible that birds +might be spiritual beings likewise, incarnate like himself in +mortal flesh; and saw no degradation to the dignity of human +nature in claiming kindred lovingly with creatures so beautiful, +so wonderful, who (as he fancied in his old-fashioned way) +praised God in the forest, even as angels did in heaven. In +a word, the saint, though he was an ascetic, and certainly no man +of science, was yet a poet, and somewhat of a philosopher; and +would have possibly—so do extremes meet—have hailed +as orthodox, while we hail as truly scientific, +Wordsworth’s great saying—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Therefore am I still<br +/> +A lover of the meadows and the woods<br /> +And mountains; and of all that we behold<br /> +From this green earth; of all the mighty world<br /> +Of eye and ear—both what they half create,<br /> +And what perceive; well pleased to recognize<br /> +In Nature and the language of the sense,<br /> +The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,<br /> +The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul<br /> +Of all my moral being.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>II.<br +/> +<a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span><i>CHALK-STREAM STUDIES</i>. <a name="citation29"></a><a +href="#footnote29" class="citation">[29]</a></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Fishing</span> is generally associated in +men’s minds with wild mountain scenery; if not with the +alps and cataracts of Norway, still with the moors and lochs of +Scotland, or at least with the rocky rivers, the wooded crags, +the crumbling abbeys of Yorkshire, Derbyshire, Hereford, or the +Lowlands. And it cannot be denied that much of the charm +which angling exercises over cultivated minds, is due to the +beauty and novelty of the landscapes which surround him; to the +sense of freedom, the exhilarating upland air. Who would +prefer the certainty of taking trout out of some sluggish +preserve, to the chance of a brace out of Edno or Llyn +Dulyn? The pleasure lies not in the prize itself, but in +the pains which it has cost; in the upward climbs through the +dark plantations, beside the rock-walled stream; the tramp over +the upland pastures, one gay flower-bed of blue and purple +butter-wort; the steady breathless climb up the crags, which +looked but one mile from you when you started, so clear against +the sky stood out every knoll and slab; the first stars of the +white saxifrage, golden-eyed, blood-bedropt, as if a fairy had +pricked her finger in the cup, which shine upon some green +cushion of wet moss, in a dripping crack of the cliff; the first +grey tufts of the Alpine club-moss, the first shrub of crowberry, +or sea-green rose-root, with its strange fleshy stems and leaves, +which mark the two-thousand-feet-line, and the beginning of the +Alpine world; the scramble over the arid waves of the porphyry +sea aloft, as you beat round and round like a weary pointer dog +in search of the hidden lake; the last despairing crawl to the +summit of the Syenite pyramid on Moel Meirch; the hasty gaze +around, far away into the green vale of Ffestiniog, and over +wooded flats, and long silver river-reaches, and yellow sands, +and blue sea flecked with flying clouds, and isles and capes, and +wildernesses of mountain peaks, east, west, south, and north; one +glance at the purple gulf out of which Snowdon rises, thence only +seen in full majesty from base to peak: and then the joyful run, +springing over bank and boulder, to the sad tarn beneath your +feet: the loosening of the limbs, as you toss yourself, bathed in +perspiration, on the turf; the almost awed pause as you recollect +that you are alone on the mountain-tops, by the side of the +desolate pool, out of all hope of speech or help of man; and, if +you break your leg among those rocks, may lie there till the +ravens pick your bones; the anxious glance round the lake to see +if the fish are moving; the still more anxious glance through +your book to guess what they will choose to take; what +extravagant bundle of red, blue, and yellow feathers, like no +insect save perhaps some jewelled monster from Amboyna or +Brazil—may tempt those sulkiest and most capricious of +trout to cease for once their life-long business of picking +leeches from among those Syenite cubes which will twist your +ankles and break your shins for the next three hours. What +matter (to a minute philosopher, at least) if, after two hours of +such enjoyment as that, he goes down again into the world of man +with empty creel, or with a dozen pounders and two-pounders, +shorter, gamer, and redder-fleshed than ever came out of Thames +or Kennet? What matter? If he has not caught them, he +might have caught them; he has been catching them in imagination +all the way up; and if he be a minute philosopher, he holds that +there is no falser proverb than that devil’s +beatitude—‘Blessed is he who expecteth nothing, for +he shall not be disappointed.’</p> +<p>Say, rather, Blessed is he who expecteth everything, for he +enjoys everything once at least: and if it falls out true, twice +also.</p> +<p>Yes. Pleasant enough is mountain fishing. But +there is one objection against it, that it is hard work to get to +it; and that the angler, often enough half-tired before he +arrives at his stream or lake, has left for his day’s work +only the lees of his nervous energy.</p> +<p>Another objection, more important perhaps to a minute +philosopher than to the multitude, is, that there is in +mountain-fishing an element of excitement: an element which is +wholesome enough at times for every one; most wholesome at all +times for the man pent up in London air and London work; but +which takes away from the angler’s most delicate enjoyment, +that dreamy contemplative repose, broken by just enough amusement +to keep his body active, while his mind is quietly taking in +every sight and sound of nature. Let the Londoner have his +six weeks every year among crag and heather, and return with +lungs expanded and muscles braced to his nine months’ +prison. The countryman, who needs no such change of air and +scene, will prefer more homelike, though more homely, +pleasures. Dearer than wild cataracts or Alpine glens are +the still hidden streams which Bewick has immortalized in his +vignettes, and Creswick in his pictures; the long glassy shallow, +paved with yellow gravel, where he wades up between low walls of +fern-fringed rock, beneath nut, and oak, and alder, to the low +bar over which the stream comes swirling and dimpling, as the +water-ouzel flits piping before him, and the murmur of the +ringdove comes soft and sleepy through the wood. There, as +he wades, he sees a hundred sights and hears a hundred tones, +which are hidden from the traveller on the dusty highway +above. The traveller fancies that he has seen the +country. So he has; the outside of it, at least: but the +angler only sees the inside. The angler only is brought +close face to face with the flower, and bird, and insect life of +the rich river banks, the only part of the landscape where the +hand of man has never interfered, and the only part in general +which never feels the drought of summer, ‘the trees planted +by the waterside whose leaf shall not wither.’</p> +<p>Pleasant are those hidden waterways: but yet are they the more +pleasant because the hand of man has not interfered with +them?</p> +<p>It is a question, and one which the older one grows the less +one is inclined to answer in the affirmative. The older one +grows, the more there grows on one the sense of waste and +incompleteness in all scenery where man has not fulfilled the +commission of Eden, ‘to dress it and to keep it;’ and +with that, a sense of loneliness which makes one long for home, +and cultivation, and the speech of fellow men.</p> +<p>Surely the influence of mountain scenery is exaggerated +now-a-days. In spite of the reverend name of Wordsworth +(whose poetry, be it remembered, too often wants that element of +hardihood and manliness which is supposed to be the birthright of +mountaineers), one cannot help, as a lowlander, hoping that there +is a little truth in the threnodes of a certain peevish friend +who literally hates a mountain, and justifies his hatred in this +fashion:—</p> +<p>‘I do hate mountains. I would not live among them +for ten thousand a year. If they look like paradise for +three months in the summer, they are a veritable inferno for the +other nine; and I should like to condemn my mountain-worshipping +friends to pass a whole year under the shadow of Snowdon, with +that great black head of his shutting out the sunlight, staring +down into their garden, overlooking all they do in the most +impertinent way, sneezing and spitting at them with rain, hail, +snow, and bitter freezing blasts, even in the hottest +sunshine. A mountain? He is a great stupid giant, +with a perpetual cold in his head, whose highest ambition is to +give you one also. As for his beauty, no natural object has +so little of its own; he owes it to the earthquakes that reared +him up, to the rains and storms which have furrowed him, to every +gleam and cloud which pass over him. In himself he is a +mere helpless stone-heap. Our old Scandinavian forefathers +were right when they held the mountain Yotuns to be helpless +pudding-headed giants, the sport of gods and men: and their +English descendant, in spite of all his second-hand sentiment, +holds the same opinion at his heart; for his first instinct, +jolly honest fellow that he is, on seeing a snow alp, is to +scramble up it and smoke his cigar upon the top. And this +great stupid braggart, pretending to be a personage and an +entity, which, like Pope’s monument on Fish-street +hill,</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Like a tall +bully, lifts the head and lies,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I am called upon now-a-days to worship, as my better, my +teacher. Shall I, the son of Odin and Thor, worship Hrymir +the frost giant, and his cows the waterfalls? Shall I bow +down to the stock of a stone? My better? I have done +an honest thing or two in my life, but I never saw a mountain do +one yet. As for his superiority to me, in what does it +consist? His strength? If he be stronger than I, let +him cut stones out of my ribs, as I can out of his. His +size? Am I to respect a mountain the more for being 10,000 +feet high? As well ask me to respect Daniel Lambert for +weighing five-and-twenty stone. His cunning +construction? There is not a child which plays at his foot, +not an insect which basks on his crags, which is not more +fearfully and wonderfully made; while as for his grandeur of +form, any college youth who scrambles up him, peel him out of his +shooting jacket and trousers, is a hundred times more beautiful, +and more grand too, by all laws of art. But so it is. +In our prurient prudery, we have got to despise the human, and +therefore the truly divine, element in art, and look for +inspiration, not to living men and women, but to leaves and +straws, stocks and stones. It is an idolatry baser than +that of the old Canaanites; for they had the courage to go up to +the mountain tops, and thence worship the host of heaven: but we +are to stay at the bottom, and worship the mountains +themselves. Byron began the folly with his misanthropic +“Childe Harold.” Sermons in stones? I +don’t believe in them. I have seen a better sermon in +an old peasant woman’s face than in all the Alps and +Apennines of Europe. Did you ever see any one who was the +better for mountains? Have the Alps made * * * a whit +honester, or * * * a whit more good-natured, or Lady * * * a whit +cleverer? Do they alter one hair’s breadth for the +better the characters of the ten thousand male and female noodles +who travel forth to stare at them every year? Do mountains +make them lofty-minded and generous-hearted? No. +Cælum, non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt. +Don’t talk to me of the moral and physical superiority of +mountain races, for I tell you it is a dream. Civilization, +art, poetry, belong to the lowlands. Are the English +mountaineers, pray, or the French, or the Germans? Were the +Egyptians mountaineers, or the Romans, or the Assyrians, as soon +as they became a people? The Greeks lived among mountains, +but they took care to inhabit the plains; and it was the sea and +not the hills which made them the people which they were. +Does Scotland owe her life to the highlander, or to the +lowlander? If you want an experimentum crucis, there is +one. As for poetry, will you mention to me one mountain +race which has written great poetry? You will quote the +Hebrews. I answer that the life of Palestine always kept to +the comparatively low lands to the west of Jordan, while the +barbarous mountaineers of the eastern range never did +anything,—had but one Elijah to show among them. +Shakspeare never saw a hill higher than Malvern Beacon; and yet I +suppose you will call him a poet? Mountaineers look well +enough at a distance; seen close at hand you find their chief +distinctions to be starvation and ignorance, fleas and goitre, +with an utter unconsciousness—unless travellers put it into +their heads—of the “soul-elevating glories” by +which they have been surrounded all their lives.’</p> +<p>He was gently reminded of the existence of the Tyrolese.</p> +<p>‘You may just as wisely remind me of the +Circassians. What can prove my theory more completely than +the fact that in them you have the two finest races of the world, +utterly unable to do anything for humanity, utterly unable to +develop themselves, because, to their eternal misfortune, they +have got caged among those abominable stoneheaps, and have not +yet been able to escape?’</p> +<p>It was suggested that if mountain races were generally +inferior ones, it was because they were the remnants of conquered +tribes driven up into the highlands by invaders.</p> +<p>‘And what does that prove but that the stronger and +cunninger races instinctively seize the lowlands, because they +half know (and Providence knows altogether) that there alone they +can become nations, and fulfil the primæval +mission—to replenish the earth and subdue it? No, no, +my good sir. Mountains are very well when they are doing +their only duty—that of making rain and soil for the +lowlands: but as for this newfangled admiration of them, it is a +proof that our senses are dulled by luxury and books, and that we +require to excite our palled organ of marvellousness by signs and +wonders, æsthetic brandy and cayenne. No. I +have remarked often that the most unimaginative people, who can +see no beauty in a cultivated English field or in the features of +a new-born babe, are the loudest ravers about glorious sunsets +and Alpine panoramas; just as the man with no music in his soul, +to whom a fugue of Sebastian Bach, or one of Mendelssohn’s +Songs without Words, means nothing, and is nothing thinks a +monster concert of drums and trumpets uncommonly fine.’</p> +<p>This is certainly a sufficiently one-sided diatribe. +Still it is one-sided: and we have heard so much of the other +side of late, that it may be worth while to give this side also a +fair and patient hearing.</p> +<p>At least he who writes wishes that it may have a fair +hearing. He has a sort of sympathy with Lord +Macaulay’s traveller of a hundred and fifty years since, +who amid the ‘horrible desolation’ of the Scotch +highlands, sighs for ‘the true mountain scenery of +Richmond-hill.’ The most beautiful landscape he has +ever seen, or cares to see, is the vale of Thames from Taplow or +from Cliefden, looking down towards Windsor, and up toward +Reading; to him Bramshill, looking out far and wide over the rich +lowland from its eyrie of dark pines, or Littlecote nestling +between deer-spotted upland and rich water-meadow, is a finer +sight than any robber castle of the Rhine. He would not +complain, of course, were either of the views backed, like those +glorious ones of Turin or Venice, by the white saw-edge of the +distant Alps: but chiefly because the perpetual sight of that +Alp-wall would increase the sense of home, of guarded security, +which not the mountain, but the sea, or the very thought of the +sea, gives to all true Englishmen.</p> +<p>Let others therefore (to come back to angling) tell of moor +and loch. But let it be always remembered that the men who +have told of them best have not been mountaineers, but lowlanders +who carried up to the mountain the taste and knowledge which they +had gained below. Let them remember that the great +Sutherlandshire sportsman and sporting writer, the late Mr. St. +John, was once a fine gentleman about town; that Christopher +North was an Edinburgh Professor, a man of city learning and city +cultivation; and, as one more plea for our cockney chalk-streams +of the south, that Mr. Scrope (who passed many pleasant years +respected and beloved by Kennet side, with Purdy at his heels) +enjoyed, they say, the killing of a Littlecote trout as heartily +as he did that of a Tweed salmon.</p> +<p>Come, then, you who want pleasant fishing-days without the +waste of time and trouble and expense involved in two hundred +miles of railway journey, and perhaps fifty more of highland +road; and try what you can see and do among the fish not sixty +miles from town. Come to pleasant country inns, where you +can always get a good dinner; or, better still, to pleasant +country houses, where you can always get good society; to rivers +which will always fish, brimfull in the longest droughts of +summer, instead of being, as those mountain ones are, very like a +turnpike-road for three weeks, and then like bottled porter for +three days; to streams on which you have strong south-west +breezes for a week together on a clear fishing water, instead of +having, as on those mountain ones, foul rain spate as long as the +wind is south-west, and clearing water when the wind chops up to +the north, and the chill blast of ‘Clarus Aquio’ +sends all the fish shivering to the bottom; streams, in a word, +where you may kill fish (and large ones) four days out of five +from April to October, instead of having, as you will most +probably in the mountain, just one day’s sport in the whole +of your month’s holiday. Deluded friend, who suffered +in Scotland last year a month of Tantalus his torments, furnished +by art and nature with rods, flies, whisky, scenery, keepers, +salmon innumerable, and all that man can want, except water to +fish in; and who returned, having hooked accidentally by the tail +one salmon—which broke all and ween to sea—why did +you not stay at home and take your two-pounders and +three-pounders out of the quiet chalk brook which never sank an +inch through all that drought, so deep in the caverns of the +hills are hidden its mysterious wells? Truly, wise men bide +at home, with George Riddler, while ‘a fool’s eyes +are in the ends of the earth.’</p> +<p>Repent, then; and come with me, at least in fancy, at six +o’clock upon some breezy morning in June, not by roaring +railway nor by smoking steamer, but in the cosy four-wheel, along +brown heather moors, down into green clay woodlands, over white +chalk downs, past Roman camps and scattered blocks of Sarsden +stone, till we descend into the long green vale where, among +groves of poplar and abele, winds silver Whit. Come and +breakfast at the neat white inn, of yore a posting-house of +fame. The stables are now turned into cottages; and instead +of a dozen spruce ostlers and helpers, the last of the postboys +totters sadly about the yard and looks up eagerly at the rare +sight of a horse to feed. But the house keeps up enough of +its ancient virtue to give us a breakfast worthy of +Pantagruel’s self; and after it, while we are looking out +our flies, you can go and chat with the old postboy, and hear his +tales, told with a sort of chivalrous pride, of the noble lords +and fair ladies before whom he has ridden in the good old times +gone by—even, so he darkly hints, before ‘His Royal +Highness the Prince’ himself. Poor old fellow, he +recollects not, and he need not recollect, that these great +posting-houses were centres of corruption, from whence the newest +vices of the metropolis were poured into the too-willing ears of +village lads and lasses; and that not even the New Poor Law +itself has done more for the morality of the South of England +than the substitution of the rail for coaches.</p> +<p>Now we will walk down through the meadows some half mile,</p> +<blockquote><p>While all the land in flowery squares,<br /> +Beneath a broad and equal-blowing wind<br /> +Smells of the coming summer,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>to a scene which, as we may find its antitype anywhere for +miles round, we may boldly invent for ourselves.</p> +<p>A red brick mill (not new red brick, of course) shall hum for +ever below giant poplar-spires, which bend and shiver in the +steady breeze. On its lawn laburnums shall feather down +like dropping wells of gold, and from under them the stream shall +hurry leaping and laughing into the light, and spread at our feet +into a broad bright shallow, in which the kine are standing +knee-deep already: a hint, alas! that the day means heat. +And there, to the initiated eye, is another and a darker hint of +glaring skies, perspiring limbs, and empty creels. Small +fish are dimpling in the central eddies: but here, in six inches +of water, on the very edge of the ford road, great tails and +back-fins are showing above the surface, and swirling suddenly +among the tufts of grass, sure sign that the large fish are +picking up a minnow-breakfast at the same time that they warm +their backs, and do not mean to look at a fly for many an hour to +come.</p> +<p>Yet courage; for on the rail of yonder wooden bridge sits, +chatting with a sun-browned nymph, her bonnet pushed over her +face, her hayrake in her hand, a river-god in coat of velveteen, +elbow on knee and pipe in mouth, who, rising when he sees us, +lifts his wide-awake, and halloas back a roar of comfort to our +mystic adjuration,—</p> +<p>‘Keeper! Is the fly up?’</p> +<p>‘Mortial strong last night, gentlemen.’</p> +<p>Wherewith he shall lounge up to us, landing-net in hand, and +we will wander up stream and away.</p> +<p>We will wander—for though the sun be bright, here are +good fish to be picked out of sharps and stop-holes—into +the water-tables, ridged up centuries since into furrows forty +feet broad and five feet high, over which the crystal water +sparkles among the roots of the rich grass, and hurries down +innumerable drains to find its parent stream between tufts of +great blue geranium, and spires of purple loosestrife, and the +delicate white and pink comfrey-bells, and the +avens—fairest and most modest of all the waterside nymphs, +who hangs her head all day long in pretty shame, with a soft +blush upon her tawny check. But at the mouth of each of +those drains, if we can get our flies in, and keep ourselves +unseen, we will have one cast at least. For at each of +them, in some sharp-rippling spot, lies a great trout or two, +waiting for beetle, caterpillar, and whatsoever else may be +washed from among the long grass above. Thence, and from +brimming feeders, which slip along, weed-choked, under white +hawthorn hedges, and beneath the great roots of oak and elm, +shall we pick out full many a goodly trout. There, in yon +stop-hole underneath that tree, not ten feet broad or twenty +long, where just enough water trickles through the hatches to +make a ripple, are a brace of noble fish, no doubt; and one of +them you may be sure of, if you will go the proper way to work, +and fish scientifically with the brace of flies I have put on for +you—a governor and a black alder. In the first place, +you must throw up into the little pool, not down. If you +throw down, they will see you in an instant; and besides, you +will never get your fly close under the shade of the brickwork, +where alone you have a chance. What use in throwing into +the still shallow tail, shining like oil in the full glare of the +sun?</p> +<p>‘But I cannot get below the pool +without—’</p> +<p>Without crawling through that stiff stubbed hedge, well set +with trees, and leaping that ten-foot feeder afterwards. +Very well. It is this sort of thing which makes the +stay-at-home cultivated chalk-fishing as much harder work than +mountain angling, as a gallop over a stiffly enclosed country is +harder than one over an open moor. You can do it or not, as +you like: but if you wish to catch large trout on a bright day, I +should advise you to employ the only method yet discovered.</p> +<p>There—you are through; and the keeper shall hand you +your rod. You have torn your trousers, and got a couple of +thorns in your shins. The one can be mended, the other +pulled out. Now, jump the feeder. There is no run to +it, so—you have jumped in. Never mind: but keep the +point of your rod up. You are at least saved the lingering +torture of getting wet inch by inch; and as for cold water +hurting any one—Credat Judæus.</p> +<p>Now make a circuit through the meadow forty yards away. +Stoop down when you are on the ridge of each table. A trout +may be basking at the lower end of the pool, who will see you, +rush up, and tell all his neighbours. Take off that absurd +black chimney-pot, which you are wearing, I suppose, for the same +reason as Homer’s heroes wore their koruthous and +phalerous, to make yourself look taller and more terrible to your +foes. Crawl up on three legs; and when you are in position, +kneel down. So.</p> +<p>Shorten your line all you can—you cannot fish with too +short a line up-stream; and throw, not into the oil-basin near +you, but right up into the darkest corner. Make your fly +strike the brickwork and drop in.—So? No rise? +Then don’t work or draw it, or your deceit is discovered +instantly. Lift it out, and repeat the throw.</p> +<p>What? You have hooked your fly in the hatches? +Very good. Pull at it till the casting-line breaks; put on +a fresh one, and to work again. There! you have him. +Don’t rise! fight him kneeling; hold him hard, and give him +no line, but shorten up anyhow. Tear and haul him down to +you before he can make to his home, while the keeper runs round +with the net . . . There, he is on shore. Two pounds, good +weight. Creep back more cautiously than ever, and try +again. . . . There. A second fish, over a pound +weight. Now we will go and recover the flies off the +hatches; and you will agree that there is more cunning, more +science, and therefore more pleasant excitement, in +‘foxing’ a great fish out of a stop-hole, than in +whipping far and wide over an open stream, where a half-pounder +is a wonder and a triumph. As for physical exertion, you +will be able to compute for yourself how much your back, knees, +and fore-arm will ache by nine o’clock to-night, after some +ten hours of this scrambling, splashing, leaping, and kneeling +upon a hot June day. This item in the day’s work will +of course be put to the side of loss or of gain, according to +your temperament: but it will cure you of an inclination to laugh +at us Wessex chalk-fishers as Cockneys.</p> +<p>So we will wander up the streams, taking a fish here and a +fish there, till—Really it is very hot. We have the +whole day before us; the fly will not be up till five +o’clock at least; and then the real fishing will +begin. Why tire ourselves beforehand? The squire will +send us luncheon in the afternoon, and after that expect us to +fish as long as we can see, and come up to the hall to sleep, +regardless of the ceremony of dressing. For is not the +green drake on? And while he reigns, all hours, meals, +decencies, and respectabilities must yield to his caprice. +See, here he sits, or rather tens of thousands of him, one on +each stalk of grass—green drake, yellow drake, brown drake, +white drake, each with his gauzy wings folded over his back, +waiting for some unknown change of temperature, or something +else, in the afternoon, to wake him from his sleep, and send him +fluttering over the stream; while overhead the black drake, who +has changed his skin and reproduced his species, dances in the +sunshine, empty, hard, and happy, like Festus Bailey’s +Great Black Crow, who all his life sings ‘Ho, ho, +ho,’</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘For no one will +eat him,’ he well doth know.</p> +</blockquote> +<p>However, as we have insides, and he has actually none, and +what is more strange, not even a mouth wherewith to fill the said +insides, we had better copy his brothers and sisters below whose +insides are still left, and settle with them upon the grass +awhile beneath you goodly elm.</p> +<p>Comfort yourself with a glass of sherry and a biscuit, and +give the keeper one, and likewise a cigar. He will value it +at five times its worth, not merely for the pleasure of it, but +because it raises him in the social scale. ‘Any +cad,’ so he holds, ‘smokes pipes; but a good cigar is +the mark of the quality,’ and of them who ‘keep +company with the quality,’ as keepers do. He puts it +in his hat-crown, to smoke this evening in presence of his +compeers at the public-house, retires modestly ten yards, lies +down on his back in a dry feeder, under the shade of the long +grass, and instantly falls fast asleep. Poor fellow! he was +up all last night in the covers, and will be again +to-night. Let him sleep while he may, and we will chat over +chalk-fishing.</p> +<p>The first thing, probably, on which you will be inclined to +ask questions, is the size of the fish in these streams. We +have killed this morning four fish averaging a pound weight +each. All below that weight we throw in, as is our rule +here; but you may have remarked that none of them exceeded half a +pound; that they were almost all about herring size. The +smaller ones I believe to be year-old fish, hatched last spring +twelvemonth; the pound fish two-year-olds. At what rate +these last would have increased depends very much, I suspect, on +their chance of food. The limit of life and growth in +cold-blooded animals seems to depend very much on their amount of +food. The boa, alligator, shark, pike, and I suppose the +trout also, will live to a great age, and attain an enormous +size, give them but range enough; and the only cause why there +are trout of ten pounds and more in the Thames lashers, while one +of four pounds is rare here, is simply that the Thames fish has +more to eat. Here, were the fish not sufficiently thinned +out every year by anglers, they would soon become large-headed, +brown, and flabby, and cease to grow. Many a good stream +has been spoilt in this way, when a squire has unwisely preferred +quantity to quality of fish.</p> +<p>And if it be not the quantity of feed, I know no clear reason +why chalk and limestone trout should be so much larger and better +flavoured than any others. The cause is not the greater +swiftness of the streams; for (paradoxical as it may seem to +many) a trout likes swift water no more than a pike does, except +when spawning or cleaning afterwards. At those times his +blood seems to require a very rapid oxygenation, and he goes to +the ‘sharps’ to obtain it: but when he is feeding and +fattening, the water cannot be too still for him. Streams +which are rapid throughout never produce large fish; and a +hand-long trout transferred from his native torrent to a still +pond, will increase in size at a ten times faster rate. In +chalk streams the largest fish are found oftener in the +mill-heads than in the mill tails. It is a mistake, though +a common one, to fancy that the giant trout of the Thames lashers +lie in swift water. On the contrary, they lie in the very +stillest spot of the whole pool, which is just under the +hatches. There the rush of the water shoots over their +heads, and they look up through it for every eatable which may be +swept down. At night they run down to the fan of the pool, +to hunt minnow round the shallows; but their home by day is the +still deep; and their preference of the lasher pool to the quiet +water above is due merely to the greater abundance of food. +Chalk trout, then, are large not merely because the water is +swift.</p> +<p>Whether trout have not a specific fondness for lime; whether +water of some dozen degrees of hardness is not necessary for +their development? are questions which may be fairly asked. +Yet is not the true reason this; that the soil on the banks of a +chalk or limestone stream is almost always rich—red loam, +carrying an abundant vegetation, and therefore an abundant crop +of animal life, both in and out of the water? The countless +insects which haunt a rich hay meadow, all know who have eyes to +see; and if they will look into the stream they will find that +the water-world is even richer than the air-world.</p> +<p>Every still spot in a chalk stream becomes so choked with weed +as to require moving at least thrice a year, to supply the mills +with water. Grass, milfoil, water crowfoot, hornwort, +starwort, horsetail, and a dozen other delicate plants, form one +tangled forest, denser than those of the Amazon, and more densely +peopled likewise.</p> +<p>To this list will soon be added our Transatlantic curse, +<i>Babingtonia diabolica</i>, alias <i>Anacharis alsin +astrum</i>. It has already ascended the Thames as high as +Reading; and a few years more, owing to the present aqua-vivarium +mania, will see it filling every mill-head in England, to the +torment of all millers. Young ladies are assured that the +only plant for their vivariums is a sprig of anacharis, for which +they pay sixpence—the market value being that of a wasp, +flea, or other scourge of the human race; and when the vivarium +fails, its contents, Anacharis and all, are tost into the nearest +ditch; for which the said young lady ought to be fined five +pounds; and would be, if Governments governed. What an +‘if’.</p> +<p>But come; for the sun burns bright, and fishing is impossible: +lie down upon the bank, above this stop. There is a +campshutting (a boarding in English) on which you can put your +elbows. Lie down on your face, and look down through two or +three feet of water clear as air into the water forest where the +great trout feed.</p> +<p>Here; look into this opening in the milfoil and crowfoot +bed. Do you see a grey film around that sprig? +Examine it through the pocket lens. It is a forest of glass +bells, on branching stalks. They are Vorticellæ; and +every one of those bells, by the ciliary current on its rim, is +scavenging the water—till a tadpole comes by and scavenges +it. How many millions of living creatures are there on that +one sprig? Look here!—a brown polype, with long +waving arms—a gigantic monster, actually a full half-inch +long. He is <i>Hydra fusca</i>, most famous, and earliest +described (I think by Trembley). Ere we go home I may show +you perhaps <i>Hydra viridis</i>, with long pea-green arms; and +<i>rosea</i>, most beautiful in form and colour of all the +strange family. You see that lump, just where his stalk +joins his bell-head? That is a budding baby. Ignorant +of the joys and cares of wedlock, he increases by +gemmation. See! here is another, with a full-sized young +one growing on his back. You may tear it off if you +will—he cares not. You may cut him into a dozen +pieces, they say, and each one will grow, as a potato does. +I suppose, however, that he also sends out of his mouth little +free ova—medusoids—call them what you will, swimming +by ciliæ, which afterwards, unless the water beetles stop +them on the way, will settle down as stalked polypes, and in +their turn practise some mystery of Owenian parthenogenesis, or +Steenstruppian alternation of generations, in which all +traditional distinctions of plant and animal, male and female, +are laughed to scorn by the magnificent fecundity of the Divine +imaginations.</p> +<p>That dusty cloud which shakes off in the water as you move the +weed, under the microscope would be one mass of exquisite +forms—Desmidiæ and Diatomaceæ, and what +not? Instead of running over long names, take home a little +in a bottle, put it under your microscope, and if you think good +verify the species from Hassall, Ehrenberg, or other wise book; +but without doing that, one glance through the lens will show you +why the chalk trout grow fat.</p> +<p>Do they, then, eat these infusoria?</p> +<p>That is not clear. But minnows and small fry eat them by +millions; and so do tadpoles, and perhaps caddis baits and water +crickets.</p> +<p>What are they?</p> +<p>Look on the soft muddy bottom. You see numberless bits +of stick. Watch awhile, and those sticks are alive, +crawling and tumbling over each other. The weed, too, is +full of smaller ones. Those live sticks are the larva-cases +of the Caperers—Phryganeæ—of which one family +nearly two hundred species have been already found in Great +Britain. Fish up one, and you find, amid sticks and +pebbles, a comfortable silk case, tenanted by a goodly +grub. Six legs he has, like all insects, and tufts of white +horns on each ring of his abdomen, which are his gills. A +goodly pair of jaws he has too, and does good service with them: +for he is the great water scavenger. Decaying vegetable +matter is his food, and with those jaws he will bark a dead stick +as neatly as you will with a penknife. But he does not +refuse animal matter. A dead brother (his, not yours) makes +a savoury meal for him; and a party of those Vorticellæ +would stand a poor chance if he came across them. You may +count these caddis baits by hundreds of thousands; whether the +trout eat them case and all, is a question in these +streams. In some rivers the trout do so; and what is +curious, during the spring, have a regular gizzard, a temporary +thickening of the coats of the stomach, to enable them to grind +the pebbly cases of the caddises. See! here is one whose +house is closed at both ends—‘grillé,’ +as Pictet calls it, in his unrivalled monograph of the Genevese +Phryganeæ, on which he spent four years of untiring +labour. The grub has stopped the mouth of his case by an +open network of silk, defended by small pebbles, through which +the water may pass freely, while he changes into his nymph +state. Open the case; you find within not a grub, but a +strange bird-beaked creature, with long legs and horns laid flat +by its sides, and miniature wings on its back. Observe that +the sides of the tail, and one pair of legs, are fringed with +dark hairs. After a fortnight’s rest in this prison +this ‘nymph’ will gnaw her way out and swim through +the water on her back, by means of that fringed tail and paddles, +till she reaches the bank and the upper air. There, under +the genial light of day, her skin will burst, and a four-winged +fly emerge, to buzz over the water as a fawn-coloured +Caperer—deadliest of trout flies; if she be not snapped up +beforehand under water by some spotted monarch in search of +supper.</p> +<p>But look again among this tangled mass of weed. Here are +more larvæ of water-flies. Some have the sides +fringed with what look like paddles, but are gills. Of +these one part have whisks at the tail, and swim freely. +They will change into ephemeræ, cock-winged +‘duns,’ with long whisked tails. The +larvæ of the famous green drake (<i>Ephemera vulgata</i>) +are like these: but we shall not find them. They are all +changed by now into the perfect fly; and if not, they burrow +about the banks, and haunt the crayfish-holes, and are not easily +found.</p> +<p>Some, again, have the gills on their sides larger and broader, +and no whisks at the tail. These are the larvæ of +Sialis, the black alder, Lord Stowell’s fly, shorm fly, +hunch-back of the Welsh, with which we have caught our best fish +to-day.</p> +<p>And here is one of a delicate yellow-green, whose tail is +furnished with three broad paddle-blades. These, I believe, +are gills again. The larva is probably that of the Yellow +Sally—<i>Chrysoperla viridis</i>—a famous fly on hot +days in May and June. Among the pebbles there, below the +fall, we should have found, a month since, a similar but much +larger grub, with two paddles at his tail. He is the +‘creeper’ of the northern streams, and changes to the +great crawling stone fly (May-fly of Tweed), <i>Perla +bicaudata</i>, an ugly creature, which runs on stones and posts, +and kills right well on stormy days, when he is beaten into the +stream.</p> +<p>There. Now we have the larvæ of the four great +trout-fly families, Phryganeæ, Ephemeræ, +Sialidæ, Perlidæ; so you have no excuse for +telling—as not only Cockneys, but really good sportsmen who +write on fishing, have done—such fibs as that the green +drake comes out of a caddis-bait, or giving such vague +generalities as, ‘this fly comes from a +water-larva.’</p> +<p>These are, surely, in their imperfect and perfect states, food +enough to fatten many a good trout: but they are not all. +See these transparent brown snails, Limneæ and +Succinæ, climbing about the posts; and these other pretty +ones, coil laid within coil as flat as a shilling, +Planorbis. Many a million of these do the trout pick off +the weed day by day; and no food, not even the leech, which +swarms here, is more fattening. The finest trout of the +high Snowdon lakes feed almost entirely on leech and +snail—baits they have none—and fatten till they cut +as red as a salmon.</p> +<p>Look here too, once more. You see a grey moving cloud +about that pebble bed, and underneath that bank. It is a +countless swarm of ‘sug,’ or water-shrimp; a bad +food, but devoured greedily by the great trout in certain +overstocked preserves.</p> +<p>Add to these plenty of minnow, stone-loach, and miller’s +thumbs, a second course of young crayfish, and for one +gormandizing week of bliss, thousands of the great green-drake +fly: and you have food enough for a stock of trout which +surprise, by their size and number, an angler fresh from the +mountain districts of the north and west. To such a +fisherman, the tale of Mr. ** *, of Ramsbury, who is said to have +killed in one day in his own streams on Kennet, seventy-six +trout, all above a pound, sounds like a traveller’s +imagination: yet the fact is, I believe, accurately true.</p> +<p>This, however, is an extraordinary case upon an extraordinary +stream. In general, if a man shall bring home (beside small +fish) a couple of brace of from one to three pounds apiece, he +may consider himself as a happy man, and that the heavens have +not shone, but frowned, upon him very propitiously.</p> +<p>And now comes another and an important question. For +which of all these dainty eatables, if for any, do the trout take +our flies? and from that arises another. Why are the flies +with which we have been fishing this morning so large—of +the size which is usually employed on a Scotch lake? You +are a North-country fisher, and are wont, upon your clear +streams, to fish with nothing but the smallest gnats. And +yet our streams are as clear as yours: what can be clearer?</p> +<p>Whether fish really mistake our artificial flies for different +species of natural ones, as Englishmen hold; or merely for +something good to eat, the colour whereof strikes their fancy, as +Scotchmen think—a theory which has been stated in detail, +and with great semblance of truth, in Mr. Stewart’s +admirable ‘Practical Angler,’—is a matter about +which much good sense has been written on both sides.</p> +<p>Whosoever will, may find the great controversy fully discussed +in the pages of Ephemera. Perhaps (as in most cases) the +truth lies between the two extremes; at least, in a +chalk-stream.</p> +<p>Ephemera’s list of flies may be very excellent, but it +is about ten times as long as would be required for any of our +southern streams. Six or seven sort of flies ought to +suffice for any fisherman; if they will not kill, the thing which +will kill is yet to seek.</p> +<p>To name them:—</p> +<p>1. The caperer.</p> +<p>2. The March-brown.</p> +<p>3. The governor.</p> +<p>4. The black alder.</p> +<p>And two or three large palmers, red, grizzled, and +coch-a-bonddhu, each with a tuft of red floss silk at the +tail. These are enough to show sport from March to October; +and also like enough to certain natural flies to satisfy the +somewhat dull memory of a trout.</p> +<p>But beyond this list there is little use in roaming, as far as +my experience goes. A yellow dun kills sometimes +marvellously on chalk-streams, and always upon rocky ones. +A Turkey-brown ephemera, the wing made of the bright brown tail +of the cock partridge, will, even just after the May-fly is off, +show good sport in the forenoon, when he is on the water; and so +will in the evening the claret spinner, to which he turns. +Excellent patterns of these flies may be found in Ronalds: but, +after all, they are uncertain flies; and, as Harry Verney used to +say, ‘they casualty flies be all havers;’ which +sentence the reader, if he understands good Wessex, can doubtless +translate for himself.</p> +<p>And there are evenings on which the fish take greedily small +transparent ephemeræ. But, did you ever see large +fish rise at these ephemeræ? And even if you did, can +you imitate the natural fly? And after all, would it not be +waste of time? For the experience of many good fishers is, +that trout rise at these delicate duns, black gnats, and other +microscopic trash, simply <i>faute de mieux</i>. They are +hungry, as trout are six days in the week, just at sunset. +A supper they must have, and they take what comes; but if you can +give them anything better than the minute fairy, compact of equal +parts of glass and wind, which naturalists call an Ephemera or +Bætis, it will be most thankfully received, if there be +ripple enough on the water (which there seldom is on a fine +evening) to hide the line: and even though the water be still, +take boldly your caperer or your white moth (either of them ten +times as large as what the trout are rising at), hurl it boldly +into a likely place, and let it lie quiet and sink, not +attempting to draw or work it; and if you do not catch anything +by that means, comfort yourself with the thought that there are +others who can.</p> +<p>And now to go through our list, beginning with—</p> +<p>1. The caperer.</p> +<p>This perhaps is the best of all flies; it is certainly the one +which will kill earliest and latest in the year; and though I +would hardly go as far as a friend of mine, who boasts of never +fishing with anything else, I believe it will, from March to +October, take more trout, and possibly more grayling, than any +other fly. Its basis is the woodcock wing; red hackle legs, +which should be long and pale; and a thin mohair body, of +different shades of red-brown, from a dark claret to a pale +sandy. It may thus, tied of different sizes, do duty for +half-a-dozen of the commonest flies; for the early claret +(red-brown of Ronalds; a Nemoura, according to him), which is the +first spring-fly; for the red spinner, or perfect form of the +March-brown ephemera; for the soldier, the soft-winged reddish +beetle which haunts the umbelliferous flowers, and being as soft +in spirit as in flesh, perpetually falls into the water, and +comes to grief therein; and last but not least, for the true +caperers, or whole tribe of Phryganidæ, of which a sketch +was given just now. As a copy of them, the body should be +of a pale red brown, all but sandy (but never snuff-coloured, as +shop-girls often tie it), and its best hour is always in the +evening. It kills well when fish are gorged with their +morning meal of green drakes; and after the green drake is off, +it is almost the only fly at which large trout care to look; a +fact not to be wondered at when one considers that nearly two +hundred species of English Phryganidæ have been already +described, and that at least half of them are of the fawn-tint of +the caperer. Under the title of flame-brown, cinnamon, or +red-hackle and rail’s wing, a similar fly kills well in +Ireland, and in Scotland also; and is sometimes the best +sea-trout fly which can be laid on the water. Let this +suffice for the caperer.</p> +<p>2. Of the March-brown ephemera there is little to be +said, save to notice Ronalds’ and Ephemera’s +excellent description, and Ephemera’s good hint of fishing +with more than one March-brown at once, viz., with a sandy-bodied +male, and a greenish-bodied female. The fly is a worthy +fly, and being easily imitated, gives great sport, in number +rather than in size; for when the March-brown is out, the two or +three pound fish are seldom on the move, preferring leeches, +tom-toddies, and caddis-bait in the nether deeps, to slim +ephemeræ at the top; and if you should (as you may) get +hold of a big fish on the fly, ‘you’d best hit him in +again,’ as we say in Wessex; for he will be, like the +Ancient Mariner—</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Long, and lank, and +brown,<br /> +As is the ribbed sea-sand.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>3. The ‘governor.’—In most sandy +banks, and dry poor lawns, will be found numberless burrows of +ground bees who have a great trick of tumbling into the +water. Perhaps, like the honey bee, they are thirsty souls, +and must needs go down to the river and drink; perhaps, like the +honey bee, they rise into the air with some difficulty, and so in +crossing a stream are apt to strike the further bank, and fall +in. Be that as it may, an imitation of these little ground +bees is a deadly fly the whole year round; and if worked within +six inches of the shore, will sometimes fill a basket when there +is not a fly on the water or a fish rising. There are those +who never put up a cast of flies without one; and those, too, who +have killed large salmon on him in the north of Scotland, when +the streams are low.</p> +<p>His tie is simple enough. A pale partridge or woodcock +wing, short red hackle legs, a peacock-herl body, and a +tail—on which too much artistic skill can hardly be +expended—of yellow floss silk, and gold twist or +tinsel. The orange-tailed governors ‘of ye +shops,’ as the old drug-books would say, are all +‘havers;’ for the proper colour is a honey +yellow. The mystery of this all-conquering tail seems to +be, that it represents the yellow pollen, or ‘bee +bread’ in the thighs or abdomen of the bee; whereof the +bright colour, and perhaps the strong musky flavour, makes him an +attractive and savoury morsel. Be that as it may, there is +no better rule for a chalk stream than this—when you +don’t know what to fish with, try the governor.</p> +<p>4. The black alder (<i>Sialis nigra</i>, or +<i>Lutaria</i>).</p> +<p>What shall be said, or not be said, of this queen of +flies? And what of Ephemera, who never mentions her? +His alder fly is—I know not what; certainly not that black +alder, shorm fly, Lord Stowell’s fly, or hunch-back, which +kills the monsters of the deep, surpassed only by the green drake +for one fortnight; but surpassing him in this, that she will kill +on till September, from that happy day on which</p> +<blockquote><p>‘You find her out on every stalk<br /> +Whene’er you take a river walk,<br /> +When swifts at eve begin to hawk.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>O thou beloved member of the brute creation! Songs have +been written in praise of thee; statues would ere now have been +erected to thee, had that hunch back and those flabby wings of +thine been ‘susceptible of artistic treatment.’ +But ugly thou art in the eyes of the uninitiated vulgar; a little +stumpy old maid toddling about the world in a black bonnet and a +brown cloak, laughed at by naughty boys, but doing good wherever +thou comest, and leaving sweet memories behind thee; so sweet +that the trout will rise at the ghost or sham of thee, for pure +love of thy past kindnesses to them, months after thou hast +departed from this sublunary sphere. What hours of bliss do +I not owe to thee! How have I seen, in the rich meads of +Wey, after picking out wretched quarter-pounders all the morning +on March-brown and red-hackle, the great trout rush from every +hover to welcome thy first appearance among the sedges and +buttercups! How often, late in August, on Thames, on Test, +on Loddon heads, have I seen the three and four pound fish prefer +thy dead image to any live reality. Have I not seen poor +old Si. Wilder, king of Thames fishermen (now gone home to his +rest), shaking his huge sides with delight over thy mighty deeds, +as his fourteen-inch whiskers fluttered in the breeze like the +horsetail standard of some great Bashaw, while crystal Thames +murmured over the white flints on Monkey Island shallow, and the +soft breeze sighed in the colossal poplar spires, and the great +trout rose and rose, and would not cease, at thee, my +alder-fly? Have I not seen, after a day in which the earth +below was iron, and the heavens above as brass, as the +three-pounders would have thee, and thee alone, in the purple +August dusk, old Moody’s red face grow redder with +excitement, half proud at having advised me to ‘put +on’ thee, half fearful lest we should catch all my +lady’s pet trout in one evening? Beloved alder-fly! +would that I could give thee a soul (if indeed thou hast not one +already, thou, and all things which live), and make thee happy in +all æons to come! But as it is, such immortality as I +can I bestow on thee here, in small return for all the pleasant +days thou hast bestowed on me.</p> +<p>Bah! I am becoming poetical; let us think how to tie an +alder-fly.</p> +<p>The common tie is good enough. A brown mallard, or dark +hen-pheasant tail for wing, a black hackle for legs, and the +necessary peacock-herl body. A better still is that of +Jones Jones Beddgelert, the famous fishing clerk of Snowdonia, +who makes the wing of dappled peacock-hen, and puts the black +hackle on before the wings, in order to give the peculiar +hunch-backed shape of the natural fly. Many a good fish has +this tie killed. But the best pattern of all is tied from +the mottled wing-feather of an Indian bustard; generally used, +when it can be obtained, only for salmon flies. The brown +and fawn check pattern of this feather seems to be peculiarly +tempting to trout, especially to the large trout of Thames; and +in every river where I have tried the alder, I have found the +bustard wing <i>facile princeps</i> among all patterns of the +fly.</p> +<p>Of palmers (the hairy caterpillars) are many sorts. +Ephemera gives by far the best list yet published. Ronalds +has also three good ones, but whether they are really taken by +trout instead of the particular natural insects which he +mentions, is not very certain. The little coch-a-bonddhu +palmer, so killing upon moor streams, may probably be taken for +young larvæ of the fox and oak-egger moths, abundant on all +moors, upon trefoils, and other common plants; but the lowland +caterpillars are so abundant and so various in colour that trout +must be good entomologists to distinguish them. Some +distinction they certainly make; for one palmer will kill where +another does not: but this depends a good deal on the colour of +the water; the red palmer, being easily seen, will kill almost +anywhere and any when, simply because it is easily seen; and both +the grizzle and brown palmer may be made to kill by adding to the +tail a tuft of red floss silk; for red, it would seem, has the +same exciting effect on fish which it has upon many quadrupeds, +possibly because it is the colour of flesh. The mackerel +will often run greedily at a strip of scarlet cloth; and the most +killing pike-fly I ever used had a body made of remnants of the +huntsman’s new ‘pink.’ Still, there are +local palmers. On Thames, for instance, I have seldom +failed with the grizzled palmer, while the brown has seldom +succeeded, and the usually infallible red never. There is +one more palmer worth trying, which Scotsmen, I believe, call the +Royal Charlie; a coch-a-bonddhu or furnace hackle, over a body of +gold-coloured floss silk, ribbed with broad gold tinsel. +Both in Devonshire and in Hampshire this will kill great +quantities of fish, wherever furzy or otherwise wild banks or +oak-woods afford food for the oak-egger and fox moths, which +children call ‘Devil’s Gold Rings,’ and +Scotsmen ‘Hairy Oubits.’</p> +<p>Two hints more about palmers. They must not be worked on +the top of the water, but used as stretchers, and allowed to sink +as living caterpillars do; and next, they can hardly be too large +or rough, provided that you have skill enough to get them into +the water without a splash. I have killed well on Thames +with one full three inches long, armed of course with two small +hooks. With palmers—and perhaps with all +baits—the rule is, the bigger the bait the bigger the +fish. A large fish does not care to move except for a good +mouthful. The best pike-fisher I know prefers a half-pound +chub when he goes after one of his fifteen-pound jack; and the +largest pike I ever ran—and lost, alas!—who seemed of +any weight above twenty pounds, was hooked on a live white fish +of full three-quarters of a pound. Still, no good angler +will despise the minute North-country flies. In Yorkshire +they are said to kill the large chalk trout of Driffield as well +as the small limestone and grit fish of Craven; if so, the +gentlemen of the Driffield Club, who are said to think nothing of +killing three-pound fish on midge flies and cobweb tackle, must +be (as canny Yorkshiremen are likely enough to be) the best +anglers in England.</p> +<p>In one spot only in Yorkshire, as far as I know, do our large +chalk flies kill: namely, in the lofty limestone tarn of +Malham. There palmers, caperers, and rough black flies, of +the largest Thames and Kennet sizes, seem the only attractive +baits: and for this reason, that they are the flies of the +place. The cinnamon Phryganea comes up abundantly from +among the stones; and the large peat moss to the west of the tarn +abounds, as usual, in house-flies and bluebottles, and in the +caterpillars of the fox and oak-egger moths: another proof that +the most attractive flies are imitations of the real +insects. On the other hand, there are said to be times when +midges, and nothing else, will rise fish on some chalk +streams. The delicate black hackle which Mr. Stewart +praises so highly (and which should always be tied on a square +sneck-bend hook) will kill in June and July; and on the Itchen, +at Winchester, hardly any flies but small ones are used after the +green drake is off. But there is one sad objection against +these said midges—what becomes of your fish when hooked on +one in a stream full of weeds (as all chalk streams are after +June), save</p> +<blockquote><p>‘One struggle more, and I am free<br /> +From pangs which rend my heart in twain’?</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Winchester fishers have confessed to me that they lose three +good fish out of every four in such cases; and as it seems pretty +clear that chalk fish approve of no medium between very large +flies and very small ones, I advise the young angler, whose +temper is not yet schooled into perfect resignation, to spare his +own feelings by fishing with a single large fly—say the +governor in the forenoon, the caperer in the evening, regardless +of the clearness of the water. I have seen flies large +enough for April, raise fish excellently in Test and other clear +streams in July and August; and, what is more, drag them up out +of the weeds and into the landing-net, where midges would have +lost them in the first scuffle.</p> +<p>So much for our leading chalk flies; all copies of live +insects. Of the entomology of mountain streams little as +yet is known: but a few scattered hints may suffice to show that +in them, as well as in the chalk rivers, a little natural science +might help the angler.</p> +<p>The well-known fact that smaller flies are required on the +moors than in the lowlands, is easily explained by the fact that +poorer soils and swifter streams produce smaller insects. +The large Phryganeæ, or true caperers, whose caddis-baits +love still pools and stagnant ditches, are there rare; and the +office of water-scavenger is fulfilled by the Rhyacophiles +(torrent-lovers) and Hydropsyches, whose tiny pebble-houses are +fixed to the stones to resist the violence of the summer +floods. In and out of them the tiny larva runs to find +food, making in addition, in some species, galleries of earth +along the surface of the stones, in which he takes his walks +abroad in full security. In any of the brown rivulets of +Windsor forest, towards the middle of summer, the pebble-houses +of these little creatures may be seen in millions, studding every +stone. To the Hydropsyches (species <i>montana</i>? or +<i>variegata</i>? of Pictet) belongs that curious little Welsh +fly, known in Snowdon by the name of the Gwynnant, whose +tesselated wing is best imitated by brown mallard feather, and +who so swarms in the lower lakes of Snowdon, that it is often +necessary to use three of them on the line at once, all other +flies being useless. It is perhaps the abundance of these +tesselated Hydropsyches which makes the mallard wing the most +useful in mountain districts, as the abundance of the fawn and +grey Phryganidæ in the south of England makes the woodcock +wing justly the favourite. The Rhyacophiles, on the other +hand, are mostly of a shining soot-grey, or almost black. +These may be seen buzzing in hundreds over the pools on a wet +evening, and with them the sooty Mystacides, called silverhorns +in Scotland, from their antennæ, which are of preposterous +length, and ringed prettily enough with black and white. +These delicate fairies make moveable cases, or rather pipes, of +the finest sand, generally curved, and resembling in shape the +Dentalium shell. Guarded by these, they hang in myriads on +the smooth ledges of rock, where the water runs gently a few +inches deep. These are abundant everywhere: but I never saw +so many of them as in the exquisite Cother brook, near Middleham, +in Yorkshire. In that delicious glen, while wading up +beneath the ash-fringed crags of limestone, out of which the +great ring ouzel (too wild, it seemed, to be afraid of man) +hopped down fearlessly to feed upon the strand, or past +flower-banks where the golden globe-flower, and the great blue +geranium, and the giant campanula bloomed beneath the white +tassels of the bird-cherry, I could not tread upon the limestone +slabs without crushing at every step hundreds of the delicate +Mystacide tubes, which literally paved the shallow edge of the +stream, and which would have been metamorphosed in due time into +small sooty moth-like fairies, best represented, I should say, by +the soft black-hackle which Mr. Stewart recommends as the most +deadly of North-country flies. Not to these, however, but +to the Phryganeæ (who, when sticks and pebbles fail, often +make their tubes of sand, e.g. <i>P. flava</i>), should I refer +the red-cow fly, which is almost the only autumn killer in the +Dartmoor streams. A red cowhair body and a woodcock wing is +his type, and let those who want West-country trout remember +him.</p> +<p>Another fly, common on some rocky streams, but more scarce in +the chalk, is the ‘Yellow Sally,’ which +entomologists, with truer appreciation of its colour, call +<i>Chrysoperla viridis</i>. It may be bought at the shops; +at least a yellow something of that name, but bearing no more +resemblance to the delicate yellow-green natural fly, with its +warm grey wings, than a Pre-Raphaelite portrait to the human +being for whom it is meant. Copied, like most trout flies, +from some traditional copy by the hands of Cockney maidens, who +never saw a fly in their lives, the mistake of a mistake, a sham +raised to its tenth power, it stands a signal proof that anglers +will never get good flies till they learn a little entomology +themselves, and then teach it to the tackle makers. But if +it cannot be bought, it can at least be made; and I should advise +everyone who fishes rocky streams in May and June, to dye for +himself some hackles of a brilliant greenish-yellow, and in the +most burning sunshine, when fish seem inclined to rise at no fly +whatsoever, examine the boulders for the Chrysoperla, who runs +over them, her wings laid flat on her back, her yellow legs +moving as rapidly as a forest-fly’s; try to imitate her, +and use her on the stream, or on the nearest lake. Certain +it is that in Snowdon this fly and the Gwynnant Hydropsyche will +fill a creel in the most burning north-easter, when all other +flies are useless; a sufficient disproof of the Scotch +theory—that fish do not prefer the fly which is on the +water. <a name="citation74"></a><a href="#footnote74" +class="citation">[74]</a></p> +<p>Another disproof may be found in the ‘fern web,’ +‘bracken clock’ of Scotland; the tiny cockchafer, +with brown wing-cases and dark-green thorax, which abounds in +some years in the hay-meadows, on the fern, or on the heads of +umbelliferous flowers. The famous Loch-Awe fly, described +as an alder-fly with a rail’s wing, seems to be nothing but +this fat little worthy: but the best plan is to make the wings, +either buzz or hackle, of the bright neck-feather of the cock +pheasant, thus gaining the metallic lustre of the beetle +tribe. Tied thus, either in Devonshire or Snowdon, few +flies surpass him when he is out. His fatness proves an +attraction which the largest fish cannot resist.</p> +<p>The Ephemeræ, too, are far more important in rapid and +rocky streams than in the deeper, stiller waters of the +south. It is worth while for a good fish to rise at them +there; the more luxurious chalk trout will seldom waste himself +upon them, unless he be lying in shallow water, and has but to +move a few inches upward.</p> +<p>But these Ephemeræ, like all other naiads, want working +out. The species which Mr. Ronalds gives, are most of them, +by his own confession, very uncertain. Of the +Phryganidæ he seems to know little or nothing, mentioning +but two species out of the two hundred which are said to inhabit +Britain; and his land flies and beetles are in several cases +quite wrongly named. However, the professed entomologists +know but little of the mountain flies; and the angler who would +help to work them out would confer a benefit on science, as well +as on the ‘gentle craft.’ As yet the only +approach to such a good work which I know of, is a little book on +the trout flies of Ripon, with excellent engravings of the +natural fly. The author’s name is not given; but the +book may be got at Ripon, and most valuable it must be to any +North-country fisherman.</p> +<p>But come, we must not waste our time in talk, for here is a +cloud over the sun, and plenty more coming up behind, before a +ruffling south-west breeze, as Shelley has it—</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Calling white +clouds like flocks to feed in air.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Let us up and onward to that long still reach, which is now +curling up fast before the breeze; there are large fish to be +taken, one or two at least, even before the fly comes on. +You need not change your flies; the cast which you have +on—governor, and black alder—will take, if anything +will. Only do not waste your time and muscle, as you are +beginning to do, by hurling your flies wildly into the middle of +the stream, on the chance of a fish being there. Fish are +there, no doubt, but not feeding ones. They are sailing +about and enjoying the warmth; but nothing more. If you +want to find the hungry fish and to kill them, you must stand +well back from the bank—or kneel down, if you are really in +earnest about sport; and throw within a foot of the shore, above +you or below (but if possible above), with a line short enough to +manage easily; by which I mean short enough to enable you to lift +your flies out of the water at each throw without hooking them in +the docks and comfrey which grow along the brink. You must +learn to raise your hand at the end of each throw, and lift the +flies clean over the land-weeds: or you will lose time, and +frighten all the fish, by crawling to the bank to unhook +them. Believe me, one of the commonest mistakes into which +young anglers fall is that of fishing in ‘skipjack +broad;’ in plain English, in mid-stream, where few fish, +and those little ones, are to be caught. Those who wish for +large fish work close under the banks, and seldom take a +mid-stream cast, unless they see a fish rise there.</p> +<p>The reason of this is simple. Walking up the Strand in +search of a dinner, a reasonable man will keep to the trottoir, +and look in at the windows close to him, instead of parading up +the mid-street. And even so do all wise and ancient +trout. The banks are their shops; and thither they go for +their dinners, driving their poor little children tyrannously out +into the mid-river to fare as hap may hap. Over these +children the tyro wastes his time, flogging the stream across and +across for weary hours, while the big papas and mammas are +comfortably under the bank, close at his feet, grubbing about the +sides for water crickets, and not refusing at times a leech or a +young crayfish, but perfectly ready to take a fly if you offer +one large and tempting enough. They do but act on +experience. All the largest surface-food—beetles, +bees, and palmers—comes off the shore; and all the caperers +and alders, after emerging from their pupa-cases, swim to the +shore in order to change into the perfect insect in the open +air. The perfect insects haunt sunny sedges and +tree-stems—whence the one is often called the sedge, the +other the alder-fly—and from thence drop into the +trouts’ mouths; and within six inches of the bank will the +good angler work, all the more sedulously and even hopefully if +he sees no fish rising. I have known good men say that they +had rather <i>not</i> see fish on the rise, if the day be good; +that they can get surer sport, and are less troubled with small +fish, by making them rise; and certain it is, that a day when the +fish are rising all over the stream is generally one of +disappointment.</p> +<p>Another advantage of bank fishing is, that the fish sees the +fly only for a moment. He has no long gaze at it, as it +comes to him across the water. It either drops exactly over +his nose, or sweeps down the stream straight upon him. He +expects it to escape on shore the next moment, and chops at it +fiercely and hastily, instead of following and examining. +Add to this the fact that when he is under the bank there is far +less chance of his seeing you; and duly considering these things, +you will throw away no more time in drawing, at least in +chalk-streams, flies over the watery wastes, to be snapped at now +and then by herring-sized pinkeens. In rocky streams, where +the quantity of bank food is far smaller, this rule will perhaps +not hold good; though who knows not that his best fish are +generally taken under some tree from which the little +caterpillars, having determined on slow and deliberate suicide +are letting themselves down gently by a silken thread into the +mouth of the spotted monarch, who has but to sail about and +about, and pick them up one by one as they touch the +stream?—A sight which makes one think—as does a herd +of swine crunching acorns, each one of which might have become a +‘builder oak’—how Nature is never more +magnificent than in her waste.</p> +<p>The next mistake, natural enough to the laziness of fallen +man, is that of fishing down-stream, and not up. What Mr. +Stewart says on this point should be read by every tyro. By +fishing up-stream, even against the wind, he will on an average +kill twice as many trout as when fishing down. If trout are +out and feeding on the shallows, up or down will simply make the +difference of fish or no fish; and even in deeps, where the +difference in the chance of not being seen is not so great, many +more fish will be hooked by the man who fishes up-stream, simply +because when he strikes he pulls the hook into the trout’s +mouth instead of out of it. But he who would obey Mr. +Stewart in fishing up-stream must obey him also in discarding his +light London rod, which is in three cases out of four as weak and +‘floppy’ in the middle as a waggon whip, and get to +himself a stiff and powerful rod, strong enough to spin a minnow; +whereby he will obtain, after some weeks of aching muscles, two +good things—a fore-arm fit for a sculptor’s model, +and trout hooked and killed, instead of pricked and lost.</p> +<p>Killed, as well as hooked; for how large trout are to be +killed in a weedy chalk-stream without a stiff rod which will +take them down, is a question yet unsolved. Even the merest +Cockney will know, if he thinks, that weeds float with their +points down-stream; and that therefore if a fish is to be brought +through them without entangling, he must be ‘combed’ +through them in the same direction. But how is this to be +done, if a fish be hooked below you on a weak rod? With a +strong rod indeed you can, at the chance of tearing out the hook, +keep him by main force on the top of the water, till you have run +past him and below him, shortening your line anyhow in +loops—there is no time to wind it up with the +reel—and then do what you might have done comfortably at +first had you been fishing up—viz., bring him down-stream, +and let the water run through his gills, and drown him. But +with a weak rod—Alas for the tyro! He catches one +glimpse of a silver side plunging into the depths; he finds his +rod double in his hand; he finds fish and flies stop suddenly +somewhere; he rushes down to the spot, sees weeds waving around +his line, and guesses from what he feels and sees that the fish +is grubbing up-stream through them, five feet under water. +He tugs downwards and backwards, but too late; the drop-fly is +fast wrapt in Ceratophyllum and Glyceria, Callitriche and +Potamogeton, and half-a-dozen more horrid things with long names +and longer stems; and what remains but the fate of +Campbell’s Lord Ullin?—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The waters wild went o’er his +child,<br /> + And he was left lamenting.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Unless, in fact, large fish can be got rapidly down-stream, +the chance of killing them is very small; and therefore the man +who fishes a willow-fringed brook downward, is worthy of no crown +but Ophelia’s, besides being likely enough, if he attempt +to get down to his fish, to share her fate. The best +fisherman, however, will come to shame in streams bordered by +pollard willows, and among queer nooks, which can be only fished +down-stream. I saw, but the other day, a fish hooked +cleverly enough, by throwing to an inch where he ought to have +been, and indeed was, and from the only point whence the throw +could be made. Out of the water he came, head and tail, the +moment he felt the hook, and showed a fair side over two pounds +weight . . . . and then? Instead of running away, he ran +right at the fisherman, for reasons which were but too +patent. Between man and fish were ten yards of shallow, +then a deep weedy shelf, and then the hole which was his +house. And for that weedy shelf the spotted monarch made, +knowing that there he could drag himself clear of the fly, as +perhaps he had done more than once before.</p> +<p>What was to be done? Take him down-stream through the +weed? Alas, on the man’s left hand an old pollard +leant into the water, barring all downward movement. Jump +in and run round? He had rather to run back from the bank, +from fear of a loose line; the fish was coming at him so fast +that there was no time to wind up. Safe into the weeds +hurls the fish; the man, as soon as he finds the fish stop, jumps +in mid-leg deep, and staggers up to him, in hopes of clearing; +finds the dropper fast in the weeds, and the stretcher, which had +been in the fish’s mouth, wantoning somewhere in the +depths—<i>Quid plura</i>? Let us draw a veil over +that man’s return to shore.</p> +<p>No mortal skill could have killed that fish. Mortal luck +(which is sometimes, as most statesmen know, very great) might +have done it, if the fish had been irretrievably fast hooked; as, +per contra, I once saw a fish of nearly four pounds hooked just +above an alder bush, on the same bank as the angler. The +stream was swift: there was a great weed-bed above; the man had +but about ten feet square of swift water to kill the trout +in. Not a foot down-stream could he take him; in fact, he +had to pull him hard up-stream to keep him out of his hover in +the alder roots. Three times that fish leapt into the air +nearly a yard high; and yet, so merciful is luck, and so firmly +was he hooked, in five breathless minutes he was in the +landing-net; and when he was there and safe ashore, just of the +shape and colour of a silver spoon, his captor lay down panting +upon the bank, and with Sir Hugh Evans, manifested ‘a great +disposition to cry.’ But it was a beautiful +sight. A sharper round between man and fish never saw I +fought in Merry England.</p> +<p>I saw once, however, a cleverer, though not a more dashing +feat. A handy little fellow (I wonder where he is now?) +hooked a trout of nearly three pounds with his dropper, and at +the same moment a post with his stretcher. What was to be +done? To keep the fish pulling on him, and not on the +post. And that, being favoured by standing on a four-foot +bank, he did so well that he tired out the fish in some six feet +square of water, stopping him and turning him beautifully +whenever he tried to run, till I could get in to him with the +landing-net. That was five-and-thirty years since. If +the little man has progressed in his fishing as he ought, he +should be now one of the finest anglers in England.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>So. Thanks to bank fishing, we have, you see, landed +three or four more good fish in the last two +hours—And! What is here? An ugly two-pound +chub, Chevin, ‘Echevin,’ or Alderman, as the French +call him. How is this, keeper? I thought you allowed +no such vermin in this water?</p> +<p>The keeper answers, with a grunt, that ‘they allow +themselves. That there always were chub hereabouts, and +always will be; for the more he takes out with the net, the more +come next day.’</p> +<p>Probably. No nets will exterminate these spawn-eating, +fry-eating, all-eating pests, who devour the little trout, and +starve the large ones, and, at the first sign of the net, fly to +hover among the most tangled roots. There they lie, as +close as rats in a bank, and work themselves the farther in the +more they are splashed and poked by the poles of the +beaters. But the fly, well used, will—if not +exterminate them—still thin them down greatly; and very +good sport they give, in my opinion, in spite of the contempt in +which they are commonly held, as chicken-hearted fish, who show +no fight. True; but their very cowardice makes them the +more difficult to catch; for no fish must you keep more out of +sight, and further off. The very shadow of the line (not to +mention that of the rod) sends them flying to hover; and they +rise so cautiously and quietly, that they give excellent lessons +in patience and nerve to a beginner. If the fly is dragged +along the surface, or jerked suddenly from them, they flee from +it in terror; and when they do, after due deliberation, take it +in, their rise is so quiet, that you can seldom tell whether your +fish weighs half a pound or four pounds and a half—unless +you, like most beginners, attempt to show your quickness by that +most useless exertion, a violent strike. Then, the snapping +of your footlink, or—just as likely—of the top of +your rod, makes you fully aware, if not of the pluck, at least of +the brute strength, of the burly alderman of the waters. No +fish, therefore, will better teach the beginner the good old +lesson, ‘not to frighten a fish before you have tired +him.’</p> +<p>For flies—chub will rise greedily at any large palmers, +the larger and rougher the better. A red and a grizzled +hackle will always take them; but the best fly of all is an +imitation of the black beetle—the ‘undertaker’ +of the London shops. He, too, can hardly be too large, and +should be made of a fat body of black wool, with the metallic +black feather of a cock’s tail wrapped loosely over +it. A still better wing is one of the neck feathers of any +metallic-plumed bird, e.g., <i>Phlogophorus Impeyanus</i>, the +Menaul Pheasant, laid flat and whole on the back, to imitate the +wing-shells of the beetle, the legs being represented by any +loose black feathers—(not hackles, which are too +fine.) Tied thus, it will kill not only every chub in a +pool (if you give the survivors a quarter of an hour wherein to +recover from their horror at their last friend’s fate), but +also, here and there, very large trout.</p> +<p>Another slur upon the noble sport of chub fishing is the fact +of his not being worth eating—a fact which, in the true +sportsman’s eyes, will go for nothing. But though the +man who can buy fresh soles and salmon may despise chub, there +are those who do not. True, you may make a most accurate +imitation of him by taking one of Palmer’s patent candles, +wick and all, stuffing it with needles and split bristles, and +then stewing the same in ditch-water. Nevertheless, strange +to say, the agricultural stomach digests chub; and if, after +having filled your creel, or three creels (as you may too often), +with them, you will distribute them on your way home to all the +old women you meet, you will make many poor souls happy, after +having saved the lives of many trout.</p> +<p>But here we come to a strip of thick cover, part of our +Squire’s home preserves, which it is impossible to fish, so +closely do the boughs cover the water. We will walk on +through it towards the hall, and there get—what we begin +sorely to need—something to eat. It will be of little +use fishing for some time to come; for these hot hours of the +afternoon, from three till six, are generally the ‘deadest +time’ of the whole day.</p> +<p>And now, when we have struggled in imagination through the +last bit of copse, and tumbled over the palings into the lawn, we +shall see a scene quite as lovely, if you will believe it, as any +alp on earth.</p> +<p>What shall we see, as we look across the broad, still, clear +river, where the great dark trout sail to and fro lazily in the +sun? For having free-warren of our fancy and our paper, we +may see what we choose.</p> +<p>White chalk-fields above, quivering hazy in the heat. A +park full of merry haymakers; gay red and blue waggons; stalwart +horses switching off the flies; dark avenues of tall elms; groups +of abele, ‘tossing their whispering silver to the +sun;’ and amid them the house. What manner of house +shall it be? Tudor or Elizabethan, with oriels, mullioned +windows, gables, and turrets of strange shape? No: that is +commonplace. Everybody builds Tudor houses now. Our +house shall smack of Inigo Jones or Christopher Wren; a great +square red-brick mass, made light and cheerful though, by quoins +and windows of white Sarsden stone; with high-peaked French +roofs, broken by louvres and dormers, haunted by a thousand +swallows and starlings. Old walled gardens, gay with +flowers, shall stretch right and left. Clipt yew alleys +shall wander away into mysterious glooms: and out of their black +arches shall come tripping children, like white fairies, to laugh +and talk with the girl who lies dreaming and reading in the +hammock there, beneath the black velvet canopy of the great +cedar-tree, like some fair Tropic flower hanging from its +boughs. Then they shall wander down across the smooth-shorn +lawn, where the purple rhododendrons hang double, bush and image, +over the water’s edge, and call to us across the stream, +‘What sport?’ and the old Squire shall beckon the +keeper over the long stone bridge, and return with him bringing +luncheon and good ale; and we will sit down, and eat and drink +among the burdock leaves, and then watch the quiet house, and +lawn, and flowers, and fair human creatures, and shining water, +all sleeping breathless in the glorious light beneath the +glorious blue, till we doze off, lulled by the murmur of a +thousand insects, and the rich minstrelsy of nightingale and +black-cap, thrush and dove.</p> +<p>Peaceful, graceful, complete English country life and country +houses; everywhere finish and polish; Nature perfected by the +wealth and art of peaceful centuries! Why should I exchange +you, even for the sight of all the Alps, for bad roads, bad +carriages, bad inns, bad food, bad washing, bad beds, and fleas, +fleas, fleas?</p> +<p>Let that last thought be enough. There may be follies, +there may be sorrows, there may be sins—though I know there +are no very heavy ones—in that fine old house opposite: but +thanks to the genius of my native land, there are at least no +fleas.</p> +<p>Think of that, wandering friend; and of this also, that you +will find your warm bath ready when you go to bed to-night, and +your cold one when you rise to-morrow morning; and in content and +thankfulness, stay in England, and be clean.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p>Here, then, let us lounge a full two hours, too comfortable +and too tired to care for fishing, till the hall-bell rings for +that dinner which we as good anglers will despise. Then we +will make our way to the broad reaches above the house. The +evening breeze should be ruffling them gallantly; and see, the +fly is getting up. Countless thousands are rising off the +grass, and flickering to and fro above the stream. Stand +still a moment, and you will hear the air full of the soft rustle +of innumerable wings. Hundreds more, even more delicate and +gauzy, are rising through the water, and floating helplessly +along the surface, as Aphrodite may have done when she rose in +the Ægean, half frightened at the sight of the new upper +world. And, see, the great trout are moving +everywhere. Fish too large and well fed to care for the fly +at any other season, who have been lounging among the weeds all +day and snapping at passing minnows, have come to the surface; +and are feeding steadily, splashing five or six times in +succession, and then going down awhile to bolt their mouthful of +victims; while here and there a heavy silent swirl tells of a fly +taken before it has reached the surface, untimely slain before it +has seen the day.</p> +<p>Now—put your Green-drake on; and throw, regardless of +bank-fishing or any other rule, wherever you see a fish +rise. Do not work your flies in the least, but let them +float down over the fish, or sink if they will; he is more likely +to take them under water than on the top. And mind this +rule: be patient with your fish; and do not fancy that because he +does not rise to you the first or the tenth time, therefore he +will not rise at all. He may have filled his mouth and gone +down to gorge; and when he comes up again, if your fly be the +first which he meets, he will probably seize it greedily, and all +the more so if it be under water, so seeming drowned and +helpless. Besides, a fish seldom rises twice exactly in the +same place, unless he be lying between two weeds, or in the +corner of an eddy. His small wits, when he is feeding in +the open, seem to hint to him that after having found a fly in +one place he must move a foot or two on to find another; and +therefore it may be some time before your turn comes, and your +fly passes just over his nose; which if it do not do, he +certainly will not, amid such an abundance, go out of his way for +it. In the meanwhile your footlink will very probably have +hit him over the back, or run foul of his nose, in which case you +will not catch him at all. A painful fact for you; but if +you could catch every fish you saw, where would be the trout for +next season?</p> +<p>Put on a dropper of some kind, say a caperer, as a second +chance. I almost prefer the dark claret-spinner, with which +I have killed very large fish alternately with the green-drake, +even when it was quite dark; and for your stretcher, of course a +green-drake.</p> +<p>For a blustering evening like this your drake can hardly be +too large or too rough; in brighter and stiller weather the fish +often prefer a fly half the size of the natural one. Only +bear in mind that the most tempting form among these millions of +drakes is that one whose wings are very little coloured at all, +of a pale greenish yellow; whose body is straw-coloured, and his +head, thorax, and legs, spotted with dark brown—best +represented by a pheasant or coch-a-bonddhu hackle.</p> +<p>The best imitation of this, or of any drake, which I have ever +seen, is one by Mr. Macgowan, whilome of Ballyshannon, now of No. +7, Bruton-street, Berkeley-square, whose drakes, known by a waxy +body of some mysterious material, do surpass those of all other +men, and should be known and honoured far and wide. But +failing them, you may do well with a drake which is ribbed +through the whole length with red hackle over a straw-coloured +body. A North-countryman would laugh at it, and ask us how +we fancy that fish will mistake for that delicate waxy fly a +heavy rough palmer, made heavier and rougher by two thick tufts +of yellow mallard wing: but if he will fish therewith, he will +catch trout; and mighty ones they will be. I have found, +again and again, this drake, in which the hackle is ribbed all +down the body, beat a bare-bodied one in the ratio of three fish +to one. The reason is difficult to guess. Perhaps the +shining transparent hackle gives the fly more of the waxy look of +the natural insect; or perhaps the ‘buzzly’ look of +the fly causes the fish to mistake it for one half emerged from +its pupa case, fluttering, entangled, and helpless. But +whatever be the cause, I am sure of the fact. +Now—silence and sport for the next three hours.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>There! All things must end. It is so dark that I +have been fishing for the last five minutes without any end fly; +and we have lost our two last fish simply by not being able to +guide them into the net. But what an evening’s sport +we have had! Beside several over a pound which I have +thrown in (I trust you have been generous and done likewise), +there are six fish averaging two pounds apiece; and what is the +weight of that monster with whom I saw you wrestling dimly +through the dusk, your legs stuck knee-deep in a mudbank, your +head embowered in nettles, while the keeper waltzed round you, +roaring mere incoherencies?—four pounds full. Now, is +there any sherry left in the flask? No. Then we will +give the keeper five shillings; he is well worth his pay; and +then drag our weary limbs towards the hall to bath, supper, and +bed; while you confess, I trust, that you may get noble sport, +hard exercise, and lovely scenery, without going sixty miles from +London town.</p> +<h2><a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +93</span>III.<br /> +<a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 95</span><i>THE +FENS</i>.</h2> +<p>A <span class="smcap">certain</span> sadness is pardonable to +one who watches the destruction of a grand natural phenomenon, +even though its destruction bring blessings to the human +race. Reason and conscience tell us, that it is right and +good that the Great Fen should have become, instead of a waste +and howling wilderness, a garden of the Lord, where</p> +<blockquote><p>‘All the land in flowery squares,<br /> +Beneath a broad and equal-blowing wind,<br /> +Smells of the coming summer.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And yet the fancy may linger, without blame, over the shining +meres, the golden reed-beds, the countless water-fowl, the +strange and gaudy insects, the wild nature, the mystery, the +majesty—for mystery and majesty there were—which +haunted the deep fens for many a hundred years. Little +thinks the Scotsman, whirled down by the Great Northern Railway +from Peterborough to Huntingdon, what a grand place, even twenty +years ago, was that Holme and Whittlesea, which is now but a +black, unsightly, steaming flat, from which the meres and +reed-beds of the old world are gone, while the corn and roots of +the new world have not as yet taken their place.</p> +<p>But grand enough it was, that black ugly place, when backed by +Caistor Hanglands and Holme Wood, and the patches of the +primæval forest; while dark-green alders, and pale-green +reeds, stretched for miles round the broad lagoon, where the coot +clanked, and the bittern boomed, and the sedge-bird, not content +with its own sweet song, mocked the notes of all the birds +around; while high overhead hung, motionless, hawk beyond hawk, +buzzard beyond buzzard, kite beyond kite, as far as eye could +see. Far off, upon the silver mere, would rise a puff of +smoke from a punt, invisible from its flatness and its white +paint. Then down the wind came the boom of the great +stanchion-gun; and after that sound another sound, louder as it +neared; a cry as of all the bells of Cambridge, and all the +hounds of Cottesmore; and overhead rushed and whirled the skein +of terrified wild-fowl, screaming, piping, clacking, croaking, +filling the air with the hoarse rattle of their wings, while +clear above all sounded the wild whistle of the curlew, and the +trumpet note of the great wild swan.</p> +<p>They are all gone now. No longer do the ruffs trample +the sedge into a hard floor in their fighting-rings, while the +sober reeves stand round, admiring the tournament of their +lovers, gay with ears and tippets, no two of them alike. +Gone are ruffs and reeves, spoonbills, bitterns, avosets; the +very snipe, one hears, disdains to breed. Gone, too, not +only from Whittlesea but from the whole world, is that most +exquisite of English butterflies, <i>Lycæna +dispar</i>—the great copper; and many a curious insect +more. Ah, well, at least we shall have wheat and mutton +instead, and no more typhus and ague; and, it is to be hoped, no +more brandy-drinking and opium-eating; and children will live and +not die. For it was a hard place to live in, the old Fen; a +place wherein one heard of ‘unexampled instances of +longevity,’ for the same reason that one hears of them in +savage tribes—that few lived to old age at all, save those +iron constitutions which nothing could break down.</p> +<p>And now, when the bold Fen-men, who had been fighting water by +the help of wind, have given up the more capricious element for +that more manageable servant fire; have replaced their wind-mills +by steam-engines, which will work in all weathers; and have +pumped the whole fen dry—even too dry, as the last hot +summer proved; when the only bit of the primæval wilderness +left, as far as I know, is 200 acres of sweet sedge and +<i>Lastræa thelypteris</i> in Wicken Fen: there can be no +harm in lingering awhile over the past, and telling of what the +Great Fen was, and how it came to be that great flat which +reaches (roughly speaking) from Cambridge to Peterborough on the +south-west side, to Lynn and Tattershall on the north-east, some +forty miles and more each way.</p> +<p>To do that rightly, and describe how the Fen came to be, one +must go back, it seems to me, to an age before all history; an +age which cannot be measured by years or centuries; an age +shrouded in mystery, and to be spoken of only in guesses. +To assert anything positively concerning that age, or ages, would +be to show the rashness of ignorance. ‘I think that I +believe,’ ‘I have good reason to suspect,’ +‘I seem to see,’ are the strongest forms of speech +which ought to be used over a matter so vast and as yet so little +elaborated.</p> +<p>‘I seem to see,’ then, an epoch after those strata +were laid down with which geology generally deals; after the +Kimmeridge clay, Oxford clay, and Gault clay, which form the +impervious bedding of the fens, with their intermediate beds of +coral-rag and green sand, had been deposited; after the chalk had +been laid on the top of them, at the bottom of some ancient +ocean; after (and what a gulf of time is implied in that last +‘after!’) the boulder-clay (coeval probably with the +‘till’ of Scotland) had been spread out in the +‘age of ice’ on top of all; after the whole had been +upheaved out of the sea, and stood about the same level as it +stands now: but before the great valley of the Cam had been +scooped out, and the strata were still continuous, some 200 feet +above Cambridge and its colleges, from the top of the Gog-magogs +to the top of Madingley Rise.</p> +<p>In those ages—while the valleys of the Cam, the Ouse, +the Nene, the Welland, the Glen, and the Witham were sawing +themselves out by no violent convulsions, but simply, as I +believe, by the same slow action of rain and rivers by which they +are sawing backward into the land even now—I ‘seem to +see’ a time when the Straits of Dover did not exist—a +time when a great part of the German Ocean was dry land. +Through it, into a great estuary between North Britain and +Norway, flowed together all the rivers of north-eastern +Europe—Elbe, Weser, Rhine, Scheldt, Seine, Thames, and all +the rivers of east England, as far north as the Humber.</p> +<p>And if a reason be required for so daring a theory—first +started, if I recollect right, by the late lamented Edward +Forbes—a sufficient one may be found in one look over a +bridge, in any river of the East of England. There we see +various species of Cyprinidæ, ‘rough’ or +‘white’ fish—roach, dace, chub, bream, and so +forth, and with them their natural attendant and devourer, the +pike.</p> +<p>Now these fish belong almost exclusively to the same system of +rivers—those of north-east Europe. They attain their +highest development in the great lakes of Sweden. Westward +of the Straits of Dover they are not indigenous. They may +be found in the streams of south and western England; but in +every case, I believe, they have been introduced either by birds +or by men. From some now submerged ‘centre of +creation’ (to use poor Edward Forbes’s formula) they +must have spread into the rivers where they are now found; and +spread by fresh water, and not by salt, which would destroy them +in a single tide.</p> +<p>Again, there lingers in the Cam, and a few other rivers of +north-eastern Europe, that curious fish the eel-pout or +‘burbot’ (<i>Molva lota</i>). Now he is utterly +distinct from any other fresh-water fish of Europe. His +nearest ally is the ling (<i>Molva vulgaris</i>); a deep-sea +fish, even as his ancestors have been. Originally a +deep-sea form, he has found his way up the rivers, even to +Cambridge, and there remains. The rivers by which he came +up, the land through which he passed, ages and ages since, have +been all swept away; and he has never found his way back to his +native salt-water, but lives on in a strange land, degraded in +form, dwindling in numbers, and now fast dying out. The +explanation may be strange: but it is the only one which I can +offer to explain the fact—which is itself much more +strange—of the burbot being found in the Fen rivers.</p> +<p>Another proof may be found in the presence of the edible frog +of the Continent at Foulmire, on the edge of the Cambridge +Fans. It is a moot point still with some, whether he was +not put there by man. It is a still stronger argument +against his being indigenous, that he is never mentioned as an +article of food by the mediæval monks, who would have +known—Frenchmen, Italians, Germans, as many of them +were—that he is as dainty as ever was a spring +chicken. But if he be indigenous, his presence proves that +once he could either hop across the Straits of Dover, or swim +across the German Ocean.</p> +<p>But there can be no doubt of the next proof—the presence +in the Fens (where he is now probably extinct) and in certain +spots in East Anglia, which I shall take care not to mention, of +that exquisite little bird the ‘Bearded Tit’ +(<i>Calamophilus biarmicus</i>). Tit he is none; rather, it +is said, a finch, but connected with no other English bird. +His central home is in the marshes of Russia and Prussia; his +food the mollusks which swarm among the reed-beds where he +builds; and feeding on those from reed-bed to reed bed, all +across what was once the German Ocean, has come the beautiful +little bird with long tail, orange tawny plumage, and black +moustache, which might have been seen forty years ago in hundreds +on ever reed-rond of the Fen.</p> +<p>One more proof—for it is the heaping up of facts, each +minute by itself, which issues often in a sound and great +result. In draining Wretham Mere, in Norfolk, not so very +far from the Fens, in the year 1856 there were found embedded in +the peat moss (which is not the Scotch and Western <i>Sphagnum +palustre</i>, but an altogether different moss, <i>Hypnum +fluitans</i>), remains of an ancient lake-dwelling, supported on +piles. A dwelling like those which have lately attracted so +much notice in the lakes of Switzerland: like those which the +Dyaks make about the ports and rivers of Borneo; dwellings +invented, it seems to me, to enable the inhabitants to escape not +wild beasts only, but malaria and night frosts; and, perched +above the cold and poisonous fogs, to sleep, if not high and dry, +at least high and healthy.</p> +<p>In the bottom of this mere were found two shells of the +fresh-water tortoise, <i>Emys lutaria</i>, till then unknown in +England.</p> +<p>These little animals, who may be seen in hundreds in the meres +of eastern Europe, sunning their backs on fallen logs, and diving +into the water at the sound of a footstep, are eaten largely in +continental capitals (as is their cousin the terrapin, <i>Emys +picta</i>, in the Southern States). They may be bought at +Paris, at fashionable restaurants. Thither they may have +been sent from Vienna or Berlin; for in north France, Holland, +and north-west Germany they are unknown. A few specimens +have been found buried in peat in Sweden and Denmark; and there +is a tale of a live one having been found in the extreme south +part of Sweden, some twenty years ago. <a +name="citation103"></a><a href="#footnote103" +class="citation">[103]</a> Into Sweden, then, as into +England, the little fresh-water tortoise had wandered, as to an +extreme limit, beyond which the change of climate, and probably +of food, killed him off.</p> +<p>But the emys which came to the Wretham bog must have had a +long journey; and a journey by fresh water too. Down Elbe +or Weser he must have floated, ice-packed, or swept away by +flood, till somewhere off the Doggerbank, in that great network +of rivers which is now open sea, he or his descendants turned up +Ouse and Little Ouse, till they found a mere like their old +Prussian one, and there founded a tiny colony for a few +generations, till they were eaten up by the savages of the table +dwelling; or died out—as many a human family has died +out—because they found the world too hard.</p> +<p>And lastly, my friend Mr. Brady, well known to naturalists, +has found that many forms of Entomastraca are common to the +estuaries of the east of England and to those of Holland.</p> +<p>It was thus necessary, in order to account for the presence of +some of the common animals of the fen, to go back to an epoch of +immense remoteness.</p> +<p>And how was that great lowland swept away? Who can +tell? Probably by no violent convulsion. Slow +upheavals, slow depressions, there may have been—indeed +must have been—as the sunken fir-forests of Brancaster, and +the raised beach of Hunstanton, on the extreme north-east corner +of the Wash, testify to this day. But the main agent of +destruction has been, doubtless, that same ever-gnawing sea-wash +which devours still the soft strata of the whole east coast of +England, as far as Flamborough Head; and that great scavenger, +the tide-wave, which sweeps the fallen rubbish out to sea twice +in every twenty-four hours. Wave and tide by sea, rain and +river by land; these are God’s mighty mills in which He +makes the old world new. And as Longfellow says of moral +things, so may we of physical:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet +they grind exceeding small.<br /> +Though He sit, end wait with patience, with exactness grinds He +all.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The lighter and more soluble particles, during that slow but +vast destruction which is going on still to this day, have been +carried far out to sea, and deposited as ooze. The heavier +and coarser have been left along the shores, as the gravels which +fill the old estuaries of the east of England.</p> +<p>From these gravels we can judge of the larger animals which +dwelt in that old world. About these lost lowlands wandered +herds of the woolly mammoth. <i>Elephas primigenius</i>, +whose bones are common in certain Cambridge gravels, whose teeth +are brought up by dredgers, far out in the German Ocean, off +certain parts of the Norfolk coast. With them wandered the +woolly rhinoceros (<i>R. tichorhinus</i>), the hippopotamus, the +lion—not (according to some) to be distinguished from the +recent lion of Africa—the hyæna, the bear, the horse, +the reindeer, and the musk ox; the great Irish elk, whose vast +horns are so well known in every museum of northern Europe; and +that mighty ox, the <i>Bos primigenius</i>, which still lingered +on the Continent in Cæsar’s time, as the urus, in +magnitude less only than the elephant,—and not to be +confounded with the bison, a relation of, if not identical with, +the buffalo of North America,—which still lingers, +carefully preserved by the Czar, in the forests of Lithuania.</p> +<p>The remains of this gigantic ox, be it remembered, are found +throughout Britain, and even into the Shetland Isles. Would +that any gentleman who may see these pages would take notice of +the fact, that we have not (so I am informed) in these islands a +single perfect skeleton of <i>Bos primigenius</i>; while the +Museum of Copenhagen, to its honour, possesses five or six from a +much smaller field than is open to us; and be public-spirited +enough, the next time he hears of ox-bones, whether in gravel or +in peat (as he may in the draining of any northern moss), to +preserve them for the museum of his neighbourhood—or send +them to Cambridge.</p> +<p>But did all these animals exist at the same time? It is +difficult to say. The study of the different gravels is +most intricate—almost a special science in itself—in +which but two or three men are adepts. It is hard, at first +sight, to believe that the hippopotamus could have been the +neighbour of the Arctic reindeer and musk ox: but that the woolly +mammoth not only may have been such, but was such, there can be +no doubt. His remains, imbedded in ice at the mouth of the +great Siberian rivers, with the wool, skin, and flesh (in some +cases) still remaining on the bones, prove him to have been +fitted for a cold climate, and to have browsed upon the scanty +shrubs of Northern Asia. But, indeed, there is no reason, +<i>à priori</i>, why these huge mammals, now confined to +hotter countries, should not have once inhabited a colder region, +or at least have wandered northwards in whole herds in summer, to +escape insects, and find fresh food, and above all, water. +The same is the case with the lion, and other huge beasts of +prey. The tiger of Hindostan ranges, at least in summer, +across the snows of the Himalaya, and throughout China. +Even at the river Amoor, where the winters are as severe as at +St. Petersburg, the tiger is an ordinary resident at all +seasons. The lion was, undoubtedly, an inhabitant of Thrace +as late as the expedition of Xerxes, whose camels they attacked; +and the ‘Nemæan lion,’ and the other lions +which stand out in Grecian myth, as having been killed by +Hercules and the heroes, may have been the last remaining +specimens of that <i>Felis spelæa</i> (undistinguishable, +according to some, from the African lion), whose bones are found +in the gravels and the caverns of these isles.</p> +<p>And how long ago were those days of mammoths and reindeer, +lions and hyænas? We must talk not of days, but of +ages; we know nothing of days or years. As the late +lamented Professor Sedgwick has well said:—</p> +<p>‘We allow that the great European oscillation, which +ended in the production of the drift (the boulder clay, or till), +was effected during a time of vast, but unknown length. And +if we limit our inquiries, and ask what was the interval of time +between the newest bed of gravel near Cambridge, and the oldest +bed of bogland or silt in Cambridgeshire and Norfolk, we are +utterly at a loss for a definite answer. The interval of +time may have been very great. But we have no scale on +which to measure it.’</p> +<p>Let us suppose, then, the era of ‘gravels’ past; +the valleys which open into the fen sawn out by rivers to about +their present depth. What was the special cause of the fen +itself? why did not the great lowland become a fertile +‘carse’ of firm alluvial soil, like that of +Stirling?</p> +<p>One reason is, that the carse of Stirling has been upheaved +some twenty feet, and thereby more or less drained, since the +time of the Romans. A fact patent and provable from Cramond +(the old Roman port of Alaterna) up to Blair Drummond above +Stirling, where whales’ skeletons, and bone tools by them, +have been found in loam and peat, twenty feet above high-water +mark. The alluvium of the fens, on the other hand, has very +probably suffered a slight depression.</p> +<p>But the main reason is, that the silt brought down by the fen +rivers cannot, like that of the Forth and its neighbouring +streams, get safe away to sea. From Flamborough Head, in +Yorkshire, all down the Lincolnshire coast, the land is falling, +falling for ever into the waves; and swept southward by tide and +current, the debris turns into the Wash between Lincolnshire and +Norfolk, there to repose, as in a quiet haven.</p> +<p>Hence that vast labyrinth of banks between Lynn and Wisbeach, +of mud inside, brought down by the fen rivers; but outside +(contrary to the usual rule) of shifting sand, which has come +inward from the sea, and prevents the mud’s +escape—banks parted by narrow gullies, the delight of the +gunner with his punt, haunted by million wild-fowl in winter, and +in summer hazy steaming flats, beyond which the trees of +Lincolnshire loom up, raised by refraction far above the horizon, +while the masts and sails of distant vessels quiver, +fantastically distorted and lengthened, sometimes even inverted, +by a refraction like that which plays such tricks with ships and +coasts in the Arctic seas. Along the top of the mud banks +lounge the long black rows of seals, undistinguishable from their +reflection in the still water below; distorted too, and magnified +to the size of elephants. Long lines of sea-pies wing their +way along at regular tide-hours, from or to the ocean. Now +and then a skein of geese paddle hastily out of sight round a +mud-cape; or a brown robber gull (generally Richardson’s +<i>Skua</i>) raises a tumult of screams, by making a raid upon a +party of honest white gulls, to frighten them into vomiting up +their prey for his benefit; or a single cormorant flaps along, +close to the water, towards his fishing ground. Even the +fish are shy of haunting a bottom which shifts with every storm; +and innumerable shrimps are almost the only product of the +shallow barren sea: beside, all is silence and desolation, as of +a world waiting to be made.</p> +<p>So strong is the barrier which these sea-borne sands oppose to +the river-borne ooze, that as soon as a seabank is built—as +the projectors of the ‘Victoria County’ have built +them—across any part of the estuary, the mud caught by it +soon ‘warps’ the space within into firm and rich dry +land. But that same barrier, ere the fen was drained, +backed up for ages not only the silt, but the very water of the +fens; and spread it inland into a labyrinth of shifting streams, +shallow meres, and vast peat bogs, on those impervious clays +which floor the fen. Each river contributed to the +formation of those bogs and meres, instead of draining them away; +repeating on a huge scale the process which may be seen in many a +highland strath, where the ground at the edge of the stream is +firm and high; the meadows near the hillfoot, a few hundred yards +away, bogland lower than the bank of the stream. For each +flood deposits its silt upon the immediate bank of the river, +raising it year by year; till—as in the case of the +‘Levée’ of the Mississippi, and probably of +every one of the old fen rivers—the stream runs at last +between two natural dykes, at a level considerably higher than +that of the now swamped and undrainable lands right and left of +it.</p> +<p>If we add to this, a slope in the fen rivers so +extraordinarily slight, that the river at Cambridge is only +thirteen and a half feet above the mean sea level, +five-and-thirty miles away, and that if the great sea-sluice of +Denver, the key of all the eastern fen, were washed away, the +tide would back up the Cam to within ten miles of Cambridge; if +we add again the rainfall upon that vast flat area, utterly +unable to escape through rivers which have enough to do to drain +the hills around; it is easy to understand how peat, the certain +product of standing water, has slowly overwhelmed the rich +alluvium, fattened by the washing of those phosphatic greensand +beds, which (discovered by the science of the lamented Professor +Henslow) are now yielding round Cambridge supplies of manure +seemingly inexhaustible. Easy it is to understand how the +all-devouring, yet all-preserving peat-moss swallowed up +gradually the stately forests of fir and oak, ash and poplar, +hazel and yew, which once grew on that rank land; how trees, torn +down by flood or storm, floated and lodged in rafts, damming the +waters back still more; how streams, bewildered in the flats, +changed their channels, mingling silt and sand with the +peat-moss; how Nature, left to herself, ran into wild riot and +chaos more and more; till the whole fen became one ‘Dismal +Swamp,’ in which the ‘Last of the English’ +(like Dred in Mrs. Stowe’s tale) took refuge from their +tyrants, and lived, like him, a free and joyous life awhile.</p> +<p>For there were islands, and are still, in that wide fen, which +have escaped the destroying deluge of peat-moss; outcrops of firm +land, which even in the Middle Age preserved the Fauna and Flora +of the primæval forest, haunted by the descendants of some +at least of those wild beasts which roamed on the older continent +of the ‘gravel age.’ The all-preserving peat, +as well as the monkish records of the early Middle Age, enable us +to repeople, tolerably well, the primæval fen.</p> +<p>The gigantic ox, <i>Bos primigenius</i>, was still there, +though there is no record of him in monkish tales. But with +him had appeared (not unknown toward the end of the gravel age) +another ox, smaller and with shorter horns, <i>Bos +longifrons</i>; which is held to be the ancestor of our own +domestic short-horns, and of the wild cattle still preserved at +Chillingham and at Cadzow. The reindeer had disappeared, +almost or altogether. The red deer, of a size beside which +the largest Scotch stag is puny, and even the great Carpathian +stag inferior, abound; so does the roe, so does the goat, which +one is accustomed to look on as a mountain animal. In the +Woodwardian Museum there is a portion of a skull of an +ibex—probably <i>Capra sibirica</i>—which was found +in the drift gravel at Fulbourne. Wild sheep are +unknown. The horse occurs in the peat; but whether wild or +tame, who can tell? Horses enough have been mired and +drowned since the Romans set foot on this island, to account for +the presence of horses’ skulls, without the hypothesis of +wild herds, such as doubtless existed in the gravel times. +The wolf, of course, is common; wild cat, marten, badger, and +otter all would expect; but not so the beaver, which nevertheless +is abundant in the peat; and damage enough the busy fellows must +have done, cutting trees, damming streams, flooding marshes, and +like selfish speculators in all ages, sacrificing freely the +public interest to their own. Here and there are found the +skulls of bears, in one case that of a polar bear, ice-drifted; +and one of a walrus, probably washed in dead after a storm.</p> +<p>Beautiful, after their kind, were these fen-isles, in the eyes +of the monks who were the first settlers in the wilderness.</p> +<p>The author of the History of Ramsey grows enthusiastic, and, +after the manner of old monks, somewhat bombastic also, as he +describes the lonely isle which got its name from the solitary +ram who had wandered thither, either in some extreme drought or +over the winter ice, and never able to return, was found, fat +beyond the wont of rams, feeding among the wild deer. He +tells of the stately ashes—most of them cut in his time, to +furnish mighty beams for the church roof; of the rich pastures +painted with all gay flowers in spring; of the ‘green +crown’ of reed and alder which girdled round the isle; of +the fair wide mere with its ‘sandy beach’ along the +forest side: ‘a delight,’ he says, ‘to all who +look thereon.’</p> +<p>In like humour, William of Malmesbury, writing in the first +half of the twelfth century, speaks of Thorney Abbey and +isle. ‘It represents,’ he says, ‘a very +Paradise, for that in pleasure and delight it resembles heaven +itself. These marshes abound in trees, whose length without +a knot doth emulate the stars. The plain there is as level +as the sea, which with green grass allures the eye, and so smooth +that there is nought to hinder him who runs through it. +Neither is therein any waste place for in some parts are apple +trees, in other vines, which are either spread on the ground or +raised on poles. A mutual strife is there between nature +and art; so that what one produces not, the other supplies. +What shall I say of those fair buildings, which ’tis so +wonderful to see the ground among those fens upbear?’</p> +<p>But the most detailed picture of a fen-isle is that in the +second part of the Book of Ely; wherein a single knight of all +the French army forces his way into the isle of St. Etheldreda, +and, hospitably entertained there by Hereward and his English, is +sent back safe to William the Conqueror, to tell him of the +strength of Ely isle.</p> +<p>He cannot praise enough—his speech may be mythical; but +as written by Richard of Ely, only one generation after, it must +describe faithfully what the place was like—the wonders of +the isle: its soil the richest in England, its pleasant pastures, +its noble hunting-grounds, its store of sheep and cattle (though +its vines, he says, as a Frenchman had good right to say, were +not equally to be praised), its wide meres and bogs, about it +like a wall. In it was, to quote roughly, ‘abundance +of tame beasts and of wild stag, roe, and goat, in grove and +marsh; martens, and ermines, and fitchets, which in hard winter +were caught in snares or gins. But of the kind of fish and +fowl which bred therein, what can I say? In the pools +around are netted eels innumerable, great water wolves, and +pickerel, perch, roach, burbot, lampreys, which the French called +sea-serpents; smelts, too; and the royal fish, the turbot [surely +a mistake for sturgeon], are said often to be taken. But of +the birds which haunt around, if you be not tired, as of the +rest, we will expound. Innumerable geese, gulls, coots, +divers, water-crows, herons, ducks, of which, when there is most +plenty, in winter, or at moulting time, I have seen hundreds +taken at a time, by nets, springes, or birdlime,’ and so +forth till, as he assures William, the Frenchman may sit on +Haddenham field blockading Ely for seven years more, ‘ere +they will make one ploughman stop short in his furrow, one hunter +cease to set his nets, or one fowler to deceive the birds with +springe and snare.’</p> +<p>And yet there was another side to the picture. Man lived +hard in those days, under dark skies, in houses—even the +most luxurious of them—which we should think, from draughts +and darkness, unfit for felons’ cells. Hardly they +lived; and easily were they pleased, and thankful to God for the +least gleam of sunshine, the least patch of green, after the +terrible and long winters of the Middle Age. And ugly +enough those winters must have been, what with snow-storm and +darkness, flood and ice, ague and rheumatism; while through the +long drear winter nights the whistle of the wind and the wild +cries of the water-fowl were translated into the howls of witches +and demons; and (as in St. Guthlac’s case) the delirious +fancies of marsh fever made fiends take hideous shapes before the +inner eye, and act fantastic horrors round the old +fen-man’s bed of sedge.</p> +<p>The Romans seem to have done something toward the draining and +embanking of this dismal swamp. To them is attributed the +car-dyke, or catch-water drain, which runs for many miles from +Peterborough northward into Lincolnshire, cutting off the land +waters which flow down from the wolds above. To them, too, +is to be attributed the old Roman bank, or ‘vallum,’ +along the sea-face of the marshlands, marked to this day by the +names of Walsoken, Walton, and Walpoole. But the English +invaders were incapable of following out, even of preserving, any +public works. Each village was isolated by its own +‘march’ of forest; each yeoman all but isolated by +the ‘eaves-drip,’ or green lane round his farm. +Each ‘cared for his own things, and none for those of +others;’ and gradually, during the early Middle Age, the +fen—save those old Roman villages—returned to its +primæval jungle, under the neglect of a race which +caricatured local self-government into public anarchy, and looked +on every stranger as an alien enemy, who might be lawfully slain, +if he came through the forest without calling aloud or blowing a +horn. Till late years, the English feeling against the +stranger lasted harsh and strong. The farmer, strong in his +laws of settlement, tried at once to pass him into the next +parish. The labourer, not being versed in law, hove half a +brick at him, or hooted him through the town. It was in the +fens, perhaps, that the necessity of combined effort for fighting +the brute powers of nature first awakened public spirit, and +associate labour, and the sense of a common interest between men +of different countries and races.</p> +<p>But the progress was very slow; and the first civilizers of +the fen were men who had nothing less in their minds than to +conquer nature, or call together round them communities of +men. Hermits, driven by that passion for isolated +independence which is the mark of the Teutonic mind, fled into +the wilderness, where they might, if possible, be alone with God +and their own souls. Like St. Guthlac of Crowland, after +wild fighting for five-and-twenty years, they longed for peace +and solitude; and from their longing, carried out with that iron +will which marked the mediæval man for good or for evil, +sprang a civilization of which they never dreamed.</p> +<p>Those who wish to understand the old fen life, should read +Ingulf’s ‘History of Crowland’ (Mr. Bohn has +published a good and cheap translation), and initiate themselves +into a state of society, a form of thought, so utterly different +from our own, that we seem to be reading of the inhabitants of +another planet. Most amusing and most human is old Ingulf +and his continuator, ‘Peter of Blois;’ and though +their facts are not to be depended on as having actually +happened, they are still instructive, as showing what might, or +ought to have happened, in the opinion of the men of old.</p> +<p>Even more naïve is the Anglo-Saxon life of St. Guthlac, +written possibly as early as the eighth century, and literally +translated by Mr. Goodwin, of Cambridge.</p> +<p>There we may read how the young warrior-noble, Guthlac +(‘The Battle-Play,’ the ‘Sport of War’), +tired of slaying and sinning, bethought him to fulfil the +prodigies seen at his birth; how he wandered into the fen, where +one Tatwin (who after became a saint likewise) took him in his +canoe to a spot so lonely as to be almost unknown, buried in +reeds and alders; and among the trees, nought but an old +‘law,’ as the Scots still call a mound, which men of +old had broken into seeking for treasure, and a little pond; and +how he built himself a hermit’s cell thereon, and saw +visions and wrought miracles; and how men came to him, as to a +fakir or shaman of the East; notably one Beccel, who acted as his +servant; and how as Beccel was shaving the saint one day, there +fell on him a great temptation: Why should he not cut St. +Guthlac’s throat, and install himself in his cell, that he +might have the honour and glory of sainthood? But St. +Guthlac perceived the inward temptation (which is told with the +naïve honesty of those half-savage times), and rebuked the +offender into confession, and all went well to the end.</p> +<p>There we may read, too, a detailed account of a Fauna now +happily extinct in the fens: of the creatures who used to hale +St. Guthlac out of his hut, drag him through the bogs, carry him +aloft through frost and fire—‘Develen and luther +gostes’—such as tormented likewise St. Botolph (from +whom Botulfston=Boston, has its name), and who were supposed to +haunt the meres and fens, and to have an especial fondness for +old heathen barrows with their fancied treasure hoards; how they +‘filled the house with their coming, and poured in on every +side, from above, and from beneath, and everywhere. They +were in countenance horrible, and they had great heads, and a +long neck, and a lean visage; they were filthy and squalid in +their beards, and they had rough ears, and crooked nebs, and +fierce eyes, and foul mouths; and their teeth were like +horses’ tusks; and their throats were filled with flame, +and they were grating in their voice; they had crooked shanks, +and knees big and great behind, and twisted toes, and cried +hoarsely with their voices; and they came with such immoderate +noise and immense horror, that him thought all between heaven and +earth resounded with their voices. And they tugged and led +him out of the cot, and led him to the swart fen, and threw and +sunk him in the muddy waters. After that they brought him +into the wild places of the wilderness, among the thick beds of +brambles, that all his body was torn. After that they took +him and beat him with iron whips; and after that they brought him +on their creaking wings between the cold regions of the +air.’</p> +<p>But there are gentler and more human touches in that old +legend. You may read in it, how all the wild birds of the +fen came to St. Guthlac, and he fed them after their kind. +How the ravens tormented him, stealing letters, gloves, and what +not, from his visitors; and then, seized with compunction at his +reproofs, brought them back, or hanged them on the reeds; and +how, as Wilfrid, a holy visitant, was sitting with him, +discoursing of the contemplative life, two swallows came flying +in, and lifted up their song, sitting now on the saint’s +hand, now on his shoulder, now on his knee. And how, when +Wilfrid wondered thereat, Guthlac made answer, ‘Know you +not that he who hath led his life according to God’s will, +to him the wild beasts and the wild birds draw the more +near.’</p> +<p>After fifteen years of such a life, in fever, agues, and +starvation, no wonder if St. Guthlac died. They buried him +in a leaden coffin (a grand and expensive luxury in the seventh +century) which had been sent to him during his life by a Saxon +princess; and then, over his sacred and wonder-working corpse, as +over that of a Buddhist saint, there rose a chapel, with a +community of monks, companies of pilgrims who came to worship, +sick who came to be healed; till, at last, founded on great piles +driven into the bog, arose the lofty wooden Abbey of Crowland; in +its sanctuary of the four rivers, its dykes, parks, vineyards, +orchards, rich ploughlands, from which, in time of famine, the +monks of Crowland fed all people of the neighbouring fens; with +its tower with seven bells, which had not their like in England; +its twelve altars rich with the gifts of Danish Vikings and +princes, and even with twelve white bear-skins, the gift of +Canute’s self; while all around were the cottages of the +corrodiers, or folk who, for a corrody, or life pittance from the +abbey, had given away their lands, to the wrong and detriment of +their heirs.</p> +<p>But within these four rivers, at least, was neither tyranny +nor slavery. Those who took refuge in St. Guthlac’s +peace from cruel lords must keep his peace toward each other, and +earn their living like honest men, safe while they did so; for +between those four rivers St. Guthlac and his abbot were the only +lords, and neither summoner, nor sheriff of the king, nor armed +force of knight or earl, could enter ‘the inheritance of +the Lord, the soil of St. Mary and St. Bartholomew, the most holy +sanctuary of St. Guthlac and his monks; the minster free from +worldly servitude; the special almshouse of most illustrious +kings; the sole refuge of anyone in worldly tribulation; the +perpetual abode of the saints; the possession of religious men, +specially set apart by the common council of the realm; by reason +of the frequent miracles of the holy confessor St. Guthlac, an +ever-fruitful mother of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi; and +by reason of the privileges granted by the kings, a city of grace +and safety to all who repent.’</p> +<p>Does not all this sound—as I said just now—like a +voice from another planet? It is all gone; and it was good +and right that it should go when it had done its work, and that +the civilization of the fen should be taken up and carried out by +men like the good knight, Richard of Rulos, who, two generations +after the Conquest, marrying Hereward’s granddaughter, and +becoming Lord of Deeping (the deep meadow), thought that he could +do the same work from the hall of Bourne as the monks did from +their cloisters; got permission from the Crowland monks, for +twenty marks of silver, to drain as much as he could of the +common marshes; and then shut out the Welland by strong dykes, +built cottages, marked out gardens, and tilled fields, till +‘out of slough and bogs accursed, he made a garden of +pleasure.’</p> +<p>Yet one lasting work those monks of Crowland did, besides +those firm dykes and rich corn lands of the Porsand, which endure +unto this day. For within two generations of the Norman +conquest, while the old wooden abbey, destroyed by fire, was +being replaced by that noble pile of stone whose ruins are still +standing, the French abbot of Crowland sent French monks to open +a school under the new French donjon, in the little Roman town of +Grante-brigge; whereby—so does all earnest work, however +mistaken, grow and spread in this world, infinitely and for +ever—St. Guthlac, by his canoe-voyage into Crowland Island, +became the spiritual father of the University of Cambridge in the +old world; and therefore of her noble daughter, the University of +Cambridge, in the new world which fen-men, sailing from Boston +deeps, colonized and Christianized, 800 years after St. +Guthlac’s death.</p> +<p>The drainage of the fens struggled on for these same 800 years +slowly, and often disastrously. Great mistakes were made; +as when a certain bishop, some 700 years ago, bethought him to +make a cut from Littleport drain to Rebeck (or +Priests’-houses), and found, to his horror and that of the +fen-men, that he had let down upon Lynn the pent-up waters of the +whole higher bogs; that rivers were running backwards, brooks +swelling to estuaries, and the whole north-eastern fen ruinate, +to be yet more ruinate by banks confusedly thrown up in +self-defence, till some order was restored in 1332, and the fens +prospered—such little of them as could be drained at +all—for nigh two hundred years. Honour, meanwhile, to +another prelate, good Bishop Morton, who cut the great learn from +Guyhirn—the last place at which one could see a standing +gallows, and two Irish reapers hanging in chains, having murdered +the old witch of Guyhirn for the sake of hidden treasure, which +proved to be some thirty shillings and a few silver spoons.</p> +<p>The belief is more general than well-founded that the drainage +of the fens retrograded on account of the dissolution of the +monasteries. The state of decay into which those +institutions had already fallen, and which alone made their +dissolution possible, must have extended itself to these +fen-lands. No one can read the account of their debts, +neglect, malversation of funds, in the time of Henry VIII., +without seeing that the expensive works necessary to keep +fen-lands dry must have suffered, as did everything else +belonging to the convents.</p> +<p>It was not till the middle or end of Elizabeth’s reign +that the recovery of these ‘drowned lands’ was +proceeded with once more; and during the first half of the +seventeenth century there went on, more and more rapidly, that +great series of artificial works which, though often faulty in +principle, often unexpectedly disastrous in effect, have got the +work done, as all work is done in this world, not as well as it +should have been done, but at least done.</p> +<p>To comprehend those works would be impossible without maps and +plans; to take a lively interest in them impossible, likewise, +save to an engineer or a fen-man. Suffice it to say, that +in the early part of the seventeenth century we find a great +company of adventurers—more than one Cromwell among them, +and Francis, the great and good Earl of Bedford, at their +head—trying to start a great scheme for draining the +drowned ‘middle level’ east of the Isle of Ely. +How they sent for Vermuyden, the Dutchman, who had been draining +in North Lincolnshire, about Goole and Axholme Isle; how they got +into his hands, and were ruined by him; how Francis of Bedford +had to sell valuable estates to pay his share; how the fen-men +looked on Francis of Bedford as their champion; how Charles I. +persecuted him meanly, though indeed Bedford had, in the matter +of the ‘Lynn Law’ of 1630, given way, as desperate +men are tempted to do, to something like sharp practice unworthy +of him; how Charles took the work into his hands, and made a +Government job of it; how Bedford died, and the fen-men looked on +him as a martyr; how Oliver Cromwell arose to avenge the good +earl, as his family had supported him in past times; how Oliver +St. John came to the help of the fen-men, and drew up the +so-called ‘Pretended Ordinance’ of 1649, which was a +compromise between Vermuyden and the adventurers, so able and +useful that Charles II.’s Government were content to call +it ‘pretended’ and let it stand, because it was +actually draining the fens; and how Sir Cornelius Vermuyden, +after doing mighty works, and taking mighty moneys, died a +beggar, writing petitions which never got answered; how William, +Earl of Bedford, added, in 1649, to his father’s ‘old +Bedford River’ that noble parallel river, the Hundred foot, +both rising high above the land between dykes and +‘washes,’ <i>i.e.</i> waste spaces right and left, to +allow for flood water; how the Great Bedford Rivers silted up the +mouth of the Ouse, and backed the floods up the Cam; how Denver +sluice was built to keep them back; and so forth,—all is +written, or rather only half or quarter written, in the histories +of the fens.</p> +<p>Another matter equally, or even more important, is but half +written—indeed, only hinted at—the mixed population +of the fens.</p> +<p>The sturdy old ‘Girvii,’ ‘Gyrwas,’ men +of the ‘gyras’ or marshes, who in Hereward’s +time sang their three-man glees, ‘More Girviorum +tripliciter canentes,’ had been crossed with the blood of +Scandinavian Vikings in Canute’s conquest; crossed again +with English refugees from all quarters during the French +conquest under William. After the St. Bartholomew they +received a fresh cross of Huguenot, fleeing from +France—dark-haired, fiery, earnest folk, whose names and +physiognomies are said still to remain about Wisbeach, +Whittlesea, and Thorney. Then came Vermuyden’s +Dutchmen, leaving some of their blood behind them. After +the battle of Dunbar another cross came among them, of Scotch +prisoners, who, employed by Cromwell’s Government on the +dykes, settled down among the fen-men to this day. Within +the memory of man, Scotchmen used to come down into the fens +every year, not merely for harvest, but to visit their +expatriated kinsmen.</p> +<p>To these successive immigrations of strong Puritan blood, more +than even the influence of the Cromwells and other Puritan +gentlemen, we may attribute that strong Calvinist element which +has endured for now nigh three centuries in the fen; and +attribute, too, that sturdy independence and self-help which +drove them of old out of Boston town, to seek their fortunes +first in Holland, then in Massachusetts over sea. And that +sturdy independence and self-help is not gone. There still +lives in them some of the spirit of their mythic giant Hickafrid +(the Hickathrift of nursery rhymes), who, when the Marshland men +(possibly the Romanized inhabitants of the wall villages) +quarrelled with him in the field, took up the cart-axle for a +club, smote them hip and thigh, and pastured his cattle in their +despite in the green cheese-fens of the Smeeth. No one has +ever seen a fen-bank break, without honouring the stern quiet +temper which there is in these men, when the north-easter is +howling above, the spring-tide roaring outside, the brimming +tide-way lapping up to the dyke-top, or flying over in sheets of +spray; when round the one fatal thread which is trickling over +the dyke—or worse, through some forgotten rat’s hole +in its side—hundreds of men are clustered, without tumult, +without complaint, marshalled under their employers, fighting the +brute powers of nature, not for their employer’s sake +alone, but for the sake of their own year’s labour and +their own year’s bread. The sheep have been driven +off the land below; the cattle stand ranged shivering on high +dykes inland; they will be saved in punts, if the worst +befall. But a hundred spades, wielded by practised hands, +cannot stop that tiny rat-hole. The trickle becomes a +rush—the rush a roaring waterfall. The dyke-top +trembles—gives. The men make efforts, desperate, +dangerous, as of sailors in a wreck, with faggots, hurdles, +sedge, turf: but the bank will break; and slowly they draw off; +sullen, but uncomplaining; beaten, but not conquered. A new +cry rises among them. Up, to save yonder sluice; that will +save yonder lode; that again yonder farm; that again some other +lode, some other farm, far back inland, but guessed at instantly +by men who have studied from their youth, as the necessity of +their existence, the labyrinthine drainage of lands which are all +below the water level, and where the inner lands, in many cases, +are lower still than those outside.</p> +<p>So they hurry away to the nearest farms; the teams are +harnessed, the waggons filled, and drawn down and emptied; the +beer-cans go round cheerily, and the men work with a sort of +savage joy at being able to do something, if not all, and stop +the sluice on which so much depends. As for the outer land, +it is gone past hope; through the breach pours a roaring salt +cataract, digging out a hole on the inside of the bank, which +remains as a deep sullen pond for years to come. Hundreds, +thousands of pounds are lost already, past all hope. Be it +so, then. At the next neap, perhaps, they will be able to +mend the dyke, and pump the water out; and begin again, beaten +but not conquered, the same everlasting fight with wind and wave +which their forefathers have waged for now 800 years.</p> +<p>He who sees—as I have seen—a sight like that, will +repine no more that the primæval forest is cut down, the +fair mere drained. For instead of mammoth and urus, stag +and goat, that fen feeds cattle many times more numerous than all +the wild venison of the primæval jungle; and produces crops +capable of nourishing a hundred times as many human beings; and +more—it produces men a hundred times as numerous as ever it +produced before; more healthy and long-lived—and if they +will, more virtuous and more happy—than ever was Girvian in +his log-canoe, or holy hermit in his cell. So we, who knew +the deep fen, will breathe one sigh over the last scrap of +wilderness, and say no more; content to know that—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The old order changeth, yielding place to +new,<br /> +And God fulfils himself in many ways,<br /> +Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.’</p> +</blockquote> +<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +133</span>IV.<br /> +<a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>MY +WINTER GARDEN. <a name="citation135"></a><a href="#footnote135" +class="citation">[135]</a></h2> +<p><span class="smcap">So</span>, my friend: you ask me to tell +you how I contrive to support this monotonous country life; how, +fond as I am of excitement, adventure, society, scenery, art, +literature, I go cheerfully through the daily routine of a +commonplace country profession, never requiring a +six-weeks’ holiday; not caring to see the Continent, hardly +even to spend a day in London; having never yet actually got to +Paris.</p> +<p>You wonder why I do not grow dull as those round me, whose +talk is of bullocks—as indeed mine is, often enough; why I +am not by this time ‘all over blue mould;’ why I have +not been tempted to bury myself in my study, and live a life of +dreams among old books.</p> +<p>I will tell you. I am a minute philosopher: though one, +thank Heaven, of a different stamp from him whom the great Bishop +Berkeley silenced—alas! only for a while. I am possibly, +after all, a man of small mind, content with small +pleasures. So much the better for me. Meanwhile, I +can understand your surprise, though you cannot understand my +content. You have played a greater game than mine; have +lived a life, perhaps more fit for an Englishman; certainly more +in accordance with the taste of our common fathers, the Vikings, +and their patron Odin ‘the goer,’ father of all them +that go ahead. You have gone ahead, and over many lands; +and I reverence you for it, though I envy you not. You have +commanded a regiment—indeed an army, and ‘drank +delight of battle with your peers;’ you have ruled +provinces, and done justice and judgment, like a noble Englishman +as you are, old friend, among thousands who never knew before +what justice and judgment were. You have tasted (and you +have deserved to taste) the joy of old David’s psalm, when +he has hunted down the last of the robber lords of +Palestine. You have seen ‘a people whom you have not +known, serve you. As soon as they heard of you, they obeyed +you; but the strange children dissembled with you:’ yet +before you, too, ‘the strange children failed, and trembled +in their hill-forts.’</p> +<p>Noble work that was to do, and nobly you have done it; and I +do not wonder that to a man who has been set to such a task, and +given power to carry it through, all smaller work must seem +paltry; that such a man’s very amusements, in that grand +Indian land, and that free adventurous Indian life, exciting the +imagination, calling out all the self-help and daring of a man, +should have been on a par with your work; that when you go a +sporting, you ask for no meaner preserve than the primæval +forest, no lower park wall than the snow-peaks of the +Himalaya.</p> +<p>Yes; you have been a ‘burra Shikarree’ as well as +a ‘burra Sahib.’ You have played the great game +in your work, and killed the great game in your play. How +many tons of mighty monsters have you done to death, since we two +were schoolboys together, five-and-twenty years ago? How +many starving villages have you fed with the flesh of elephant or +buffalo? How many have you delivered from man-eating +tigers, or wary old alligators, their craws full of poor +girls’ bangles? Have you not been charged by +rhinoceroses, all but ript up by boars? Have you not seen +face to face Ovis Ammon himself, the giant mountain +sheep—primæval ancestor, perhaps, of all the flocks +on earth? Your memories must be like those of Theseus and +Hercules, full of slain monsters. Your brains must be one +fossiliferous deposit, in which gaur and sambur, hog and tiger, +rhinoceros and elephant, lie heaped together, as the old +ichthyosaurs and plesiosaurs are heaped in the lias rocks at +Lyme. And therefore I like to think of you. I try to +picture your feelings to myself. I spell over with my boy +Mayne Reid’s amusing books, or the ‘Old Forest +Ranger,’ or Williams’s old ‘Tiger Book,’ +with Howitt’s plates; and try to realize the glory of a +burra Shikarree: and as I read and imagine, feel, with Sir Hugh +Evans, ‘a great disposition to cry.’</p> +<p>For there were times, full many a year ago, when my brains +were full of bison and grizzly bear, mustang and big-horn, +Blackfoot and Pawnee, and hopes of wild adventure in the Far +West, which I shall never see; for ere I was three-and-twenty, I +discovered, plainly enough, that my lot was to stay at home and +earn my bread in a very quiet way; that England was to be +henceforth my prison or my palace, as I should choose to make it: +and I have made it, by Heaven’s help, the latter.</p> +<p>I will confess to you, though, that in those first heats of +youth, this little England—or rather, this little patch of +moor in which I have struck roots as firm as the wild fir-trees +do—looked at moments rather like a prison than a palace; +that my foolish young heart would sigh, ‘Oh! that I had +wings’—not as a dove, to fly home to its nest and +croodle there—but as an eagle, to swoop away over land and +sea, in a rampant and self-glorifying fashion, on which I now +look back as altogether unwholesome and undesirable. But +the thirst for adventure and excitement was strong in me, as +perhaps it ought to be in all at twenty-one. Others went +out to see the glorious new worlds of the West, the glorious old +worlds of the East—why should not I? Others rambled +over Alps and Apennines, Italian picture-galleries and palaces, +filling their minds with fair memories—why should not +I? Others discovered new wonders in botany and +zoology—why should not I? Others too, like you, +fulfilled to the utmost that strange lust after the burra shikar, +which even now makes my pulse throb as often as I see the +stags’ heads in our friend A—’s hall: why +should not I? It is not learnt in a day, the golden lesson +of the Old Collect, to ‘love the thing which is commanded, +and desire that which is promised.’ Not in a day: but +in fifteen years one can spell out a little of its worth; and +when one finds one’s self on the wrong side of forty, and +the first grey hairs begin to show on the temples, and one can no +longer jump as high as one’s third button—scarcely, +alas! to any button at all; and what with innumerable sprains, +bruises, soakings, and chillings, one’s lower limbs feel in +a cold thaw much like an old post-horse’s, why, one makes a +virtue of necessity: and if one still lusts after sights, takes +the nearest, and looks for wonders, not in the Himalayas or Lake +Ngami, but in the turf on the lawn and the brook in the park; and +with good Alphonse Karr enjoys the macro-microcosm in one +‘Tour autour de mon jardin.’</p> +<p>For there it is, friend, the whole infinite miracle of nature +in every tuft of grass, if we have only eyes to see it, and can +disabuse our minds of that tyrannous phantom of size. Only +recollect that great and small are but relative terms; that in +truth nothing is great or small, save in proportion to the +quantity of creative thought which has been exercised in making +it; that the fly who basks upon one of the trilithons of +Stonehenge, is in truth infinitely greater than all Stonehenge +together, though he may measure the tenth of an inch, and the +stone on which he sits five-and-twenty feet. You differ +from me? Be it so. Even if you prove me wrong I will +believe myself in the right: I cannot afford to do +otherwise. If you rob me of my faith in ‘minute +philosophy,’ you rob me of a continual source of content, +surprise, delight.</p> +<p>So go your way and I mine, each working with all his might, +and playing with all his might, in his own place and way. +Remember only, that though I never can come round to your sphere, +you must some day come round to me, when wounds, or weariness, or +merely, as I hope, a healthy old age, shall shut you out for once +and for all from burra shikar, whether human or +quadruped.—For you surely will not take to politics in your +old age? You will not surely live to solicit (as many a +fine fellow, alas! did but last year) the votes, not even of the +people, but merely of the snobocracy, on the ground of your +having neither policy nor principles, nor even opinions, upon any +matter in heaven or earth?—Then in that day will you be +forced, my friend, to do what I have done this many a year; to +refrain your soul, and keep it low. You will see more and +more the depth of human ignorance, the vanity of human +endeavours. You will feel more and more that the world is +going God’s way, and not yours, or mine, or any +man’s; and that if you have been allowed to do good work on +earth, that work is probably as different from what you fancy it +as the tree is from the seed whence it springs. You will +grow content, therefore, not to see the real fruit of your +labours; because if you saw it you would probably be frightened +at it, and what is very good in the eyes of God would not be very +good in yours; content, also, to receive your discharge, and work +and fight no more, sure that God is working and fighting, whether +you are in hospital or in the field. And with this growing +sense of the pettiness of human struggles will grow on you a +respect for simple labours, a thankfulness for simple pleasures, +a sympathy with simple people, and possibly, my trusty friend, +with me and my little tours about that moorland which I call my +winter-garden, and which is to me as full of glory and of +instruction as the Himalaya or the Punjab are to you, and in +which I contrive to find as much health and amusement as I have +time for—and who ought to have more?</p> +<p>I call the said garden mine, not because I own it in any legal +sense (for only in a few acres have I a life interest), but in +that higher sense in which ten thousand people can own the same +thing, and yet no man’s right interfere with +another’s. To whom does the Apollo Belvedere belong, +but to all who have eyes to see its beauty? So does my +winter-garden; and therefore to me among the rest.</p> +<p>Besides (which is a gain to a poor man) my pleasure in it is a +very cheap one. So are all those of a minute philosopher, +except his microscope. But my winter-garden, which is far +larger, at all events, than that famous one at Chatsworth, costs +me not one penny in keeping up. Poor, did I call +myself? Is it not true wealth to have all I want without +paying for it? Is it not true wealth, royal wealth, to have +some twenty gentlemen and noblemen, nay, even royal personages, +planting and improving for me? Is it not more than royal +wealth to have sun and frost, Gulf-stream and south-westers, laws +of geology, phytology, physiology, and other ologies—in a +word, the whole universe and the powers thereof, day and night, +paving, planting, roofing, lighting, colouring my winter-garden +for me, without my even having the trouble to rub a magic ring +and tell the genii to go to work?</p> +<p>Yes. I am very rich, as every man may be who will. +In the doings of our little country neighbourhood I find tragedy +and comedy, too fantastic, sometimes too sad, to be written +down. In the words of those whose talk is of bullocks, I +find the materials of all possible metaphysic, and long weekly +that I had time to work them out. In fifteen miles of +moorland I find the materials of all possible physical science, +and long that I had time to work out one smallest segment of that +great sphere. How can I be richer, if I have lying at my +feet all day a thousand times more wealth than I can use?</p> +<p>Some people—most people—in these run-about railway +days, would complain of such a life, in such a ‘narrow +sphere,’ so they call it, as monotonous. Very likely +it is so. But is it to be complained of on that +account? Is monotony in itself an evil? Which is +better, to know many places ill, or to know one place well? +Certainly—if a scientific habit of mind be a gain—it +is only by exhausting as far as possible the significance of an +individual phenomenon (is not that sentence a true scientific one +in its magniloquence?) that you can discover any glimpse of the +significance of the universal. Even men of boundless +knowledge, like Humboldt, must have had once their speciality, +their pet subject, or they would have, strictly speaking, no +knowledge at all. The volcanoes of Mexico, patiently and +laboriously investigated in his youth, were to Humboldt, +possibly, the key of the whole Cosmos. I learn more, +studying over and over again the same Bagshot sand and gravel +heaps, than I should by roaming all Europe in search of new +geologic wonders. Fifteen years have I been puzzling at the +same questions and have only guessed at a few of the +answers. What sawed out the edges of the moors into long +narrow banks of gravel? What cut them off all flat +atop? What makes <i>Erica Tetralix</i> grow in one soil, +and the bracken in another? How did three species of +Club-moss—one of them quite an Alpine one—get down +here, all the way from Wales perhaps, upon this isolated patch of +gravel? Why did that one patch of <i>Carex arenaria</i> +settle in the only square yard for miles and miles which bore +sufficient resemblance to its native sandhill by the seashore, to +make it comfortable? Why did <i>Myosurus minimus</i>, which +I had hunted for in vain for fourteen years, appear by dozens in +the fifteenth, upon a new-made bank, which had been for at least +two hundred years a farm-yard gateway? Why does it +generally rain here from the south-west, not when the barometer +falls, but when it begins to rise again? Why—why is +everything, which lies under my feet all day long? I +don’t know; and you can’t tell me. And till I +have found out, I cannot complain of monotony, with still +undiscovered puzzles waiting to be explained, and so to create +novelty at every turn.</p> +<p>Besides, monotony is pleasant in itself; morally pleasant, and +morally useful. Marriage is monotonous: but there is much, +I trust, to be said in favour of holy wedlock. Living in +the same house is monotonous: but three removes, say the wise, +are as bad as a fire. Locomotion is regarded as an evil by +our Litany. The Litany, as usual, is right. +‘Those who travel by land or sea’ are to be objects +of our pity and our prayers; and I do pity them. I delight +in that same monotony. It saves curiosity, anxiety, +excitement, disappointment, and a host of bad passions. It +gives a man the blessed, invigorating feeling that he is at home; +that he has roots, deep and wide, struck down into all he sees; +and that only The Being who will do nothing cruel or useless can +tear them up. It is pleasant to look down on the same +parish day after day, and say, I know all that lies beneath, and +all beneath know me. If I want a friend, I know where to +find him; if I want work done, I know who will do it. It is +pleasant and good to see the same trees year after year; the same +birds coming back in spring to the same shrubs; the same banks +covered with the same flowers, and broken (if they be stiff ones) +by the same gaps. Pleasant and good it is to ride the same +horse, to sit in the same chair, to wear the same old coat. +That man who offered twenty pounds’ reward for a lost +carpet-bag full of old boots was a sage, and I wish I knew +him. Why should one change one’s place, any more than +one’s wife or one’s children? Is a hermit-crab, +slipping his tail out of one strange shell into another, in the +hopes of its fitting him a little better, either a dignified, +safe, or graceful animal? No; George Riddler was a true +philosopher.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Let vules go sarching vur and nigh,<br /> +We bides at Whum, my dog and I;’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and become there, not only wiser, but more charitable; for the +oftener one sees, the better one knows; and the better one knows, +the more one loves.</p> +<p>It is an easy philosophy; especially in the case of the horse, +where a man cannot afford more than one, as I cannot. To +own a stud of horses, after all, is not to own horses at all, but +riding-machines. Your rich man who rides Crimæa in +the morning, Sir Guy in the afternoon, and Sultan to-morrow, and +something else the next day, may be a very gallant rider: but it +is a question whether he enjoys the pleasure which one horse +gives to the poor man who rides him day after day; one horse, who +is not a slave, but a friend; who has learnt all his tricks of +voice, hand, heel, and knows what his master wants, even without +being told; who will bear with his master’s infirmities, +and feels secure that his master will bear with his in turn.</p> +<p>Possibly, after all, the grapes are sour; and were one rich, +one would do even as the rich are wont to do: but still, I am a +minute philosopher. And therefore, this afternoon, after I +have done the same work, visited the same people, and said the +same words to them, which I have done for years past, and shall, +I trust, for many a year to come, I shall go wandering out into +the same winter-garden on the same old mare; and think the same +thoughts, and see the same fir-trees, and meet perhaps the same +good fellows hunting of their fox, as I have done with full +content this many a year; and rejoice, as I said before, in my +own boundless wealth, who have the whole universe to look at, +without being charged one penny for the show.</p> +<p>As I have said, the grapes may be sour, and I enjoy the want +of luxuries only because I cannot get them; but if my +self-deception be useful to me, leave it alone.</p> +<p>No one is less inclined to depreciate that magnificent +winter-garden at the Crystal Palace: yet let me, if I choose, +prefer my own; I argue that, in the first place, it is far +larger. You may drive, I hear, through the grand one at +Chatsworth for a quarter of a mile. You may ride through +mine for fifteen miles on end. I prefer, too, to any glass +roof which Sir Joseph Paxton ever planned, that dome above my +head some three miles high, of soft dappled grey and yellow +cloud, through the vast lattice-work whereof the blue sky peeps, +and sheds down tender gleams on yellow bogs, and softly rounded +heather knolls, and pale chalk ranges gleaming far away. +But, above all, I glory in my evergreens. What +winter-garden can compare for them with mine? True, I have +but four kinds—Scotch fir, holly, furze, and the heath; and +by way of relief to them, only brows of brown fern, sheets of +yellow bog-grass, and here and there a leafless birch, whose +purple tresses are even more lovely to my eye than those fragrant +green ones which she puts on in spring. Well: in painting +as in music, what effects are more grand than those produced by +the scientific combination, in endless new variety, of a few +simple elements? Enough for me is the one purple birch; the +bright hollies round its stem sparkling with scarlet beads; the +furze-patch, rich with its lacework of interwoven light and +shade, tipped here and there with a golden bud; the deep soft +heather carpet, which invites you to lie down and dream for +hours; and behind all, the wall of red fir-stems, and the dark +fir-roof with its jagged edges a mile long, against the soft grey +sky.</p> +<p>An ugly, straight-edged, monotonous fir-plantation? +Well, I like it, outside and inside. I need no saw-edge of +mountain peaks to stir up my imagination with the sense of the +sublime, while I can watch the saw-edge of those fir peaks +against the red sunset. They are my Alps; little ones it +may be: but after all, as I asked before, what is size? A +phantom of our brain; an optical delusion. Grandeur, if you +will consider wisely, consists in form, and not in size: and to +the eye of the philosopher, the curve drawn on a paper two inches +long, is just as magnificent, just as symbolic of divine +mysteries and melodies, as when embodied in the span of some +cathedral roof. Have you eyes to see? Then lie down +on the grass, and look near enough to see something more of what +is to be seen; and you will find tropic jungles in every square +foot of turf; mountain cliffs and debacles at the mouth of every +rabbit burrow: dark strids, tremendous cataracts, ‘deep +glooms and sudden glories,’ in every foot-broad rill which +wanders through the turf. All is there for you to see, if +you will but rid yourself of ‘that idol of space;’ +and Nature, as everyone will tell you who has seen dissected an +insect under the microscope, is as grand and graceful in her +smallest as in her hugest forms.</p> +<p>The March breeze is chilly: but I can be always warm if I like +in my winter-garden. I turn my horse’s head to the +red wall of fir-stems, and leap over the furze-grown bank into my +cathedral, wherein if there be no saints, there are likewise no +priestcraft and no idols; but endless vistas of smooth red +green-veined shafts holding up the warm dark roof, lessening away +into endless gloom, paved with rich brown fir-needle—a +carpet at which Nature has been at work for forty years. +Red shafts, green roof, and here and there a pane of blue +sky—neither Owen Jones nor Willement can improve upon that +ecclesiastical ornamentation,—while for incense I have the +fresh healthy turpentine fragrance, far sweeter to my nostrils +than the stifling narcotic odour which fills a Roman Catholic +cathedral. There is not a breath of air within: but the +breeze sighs over the roof above in a soft whisper. I shut +my eyes and listen. Surely that is the murmur of the summer +sea upon the summer sands in Devon far away. I hear the +innumerable wavelets spend themselves gently upon the shore, and +die away to rise again. And with the innumerable wave-sighs +come innumerable memories, and faces which I shall never see +again upon this earth. I will not tell even you of that, +old friend.</p> +<p>It has two notes, two keys rather, that Eolian-harp of +fir-needles above my head; according as the wind is east or west, +the needles dry or wet. This easterly key of to-day is +shriller, more cheerful, warmer in sound, though the day itself +be colder: but grander still, as well as softer, is the sad +soughing key in which the south-west wind roars on, rain-laden, +over the forest, and calls me forth—being a minute +philosopher—to catch trout in the nearest chalk-stream.</p> +<p>The breeze is gone a while; and I am in perfect +silence—a silence which may be heard. Not a sound; +and not a moving object; absolutely none. The absence of +animal life is solemn, startling. That ringdove, who was +cooing half a mile away, has hushed his moan; that flock of +long-tailed titmice, which were twinging and pecking about the +fir-cones a few minutes since, are gone: and now there is not +even a gnat to quiver in the slant sun-rays. Did a spider +run over these dead leaves, I almost fancy I could hear his +footfall. The creaking of the saddle, the soft step of the +mare upon the fir-needles, jar my ears. I seem alone in a +dead world. A dead world: and yet so full of life, if I had +eyes to see! Above my head every fir-needle is +breathing—breathing for ever; currents unnumbered circulate +in every bough, quickened by some undiscovered miracle; around me +every fir-stem is distilling strange juices, which no laboratory +of man can make; and where my dull eye sees only death, the eye +of God sees boundless life and motion, health and use.</p> +<p>Slowly I wander on beneath the warm roof of the winter-garden, +and meditate upon that one word—Life; and specially on all +that Mr. Lewes has written so well thereon—for +instance—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘We may consider Life itself as an +ever-increasing identification with Nature. The simple +cell, from which the plant or animal arises, must draw light and +heat from the sun, nutriment from the surrounding world, or else +it will remain quiescent, not alive, though latent with life; as +the grains in the Egyptian tombs, which after lying thousands of +years in those sepulchres, are placed in the earth, and smile +forth as golden wheat. What we call growth, is it not a +perpetual absorption of Nature, the identification of the +individual with the universal? And may we not, in +speculative moods, consider Death as the grand impatience of the +soul to free itself from the circle of individual +activity—the yearning of the creature to be united with the +Creator?</p> +<p>‘As with Life, so with knowledge, which is intellectual +life. In the early days of man’s history, Nature and +her marvellous ongoings were regarded with but a casual and +careless eye, or else with the merest wonder. It was late +before profound and reverent study of her laws could wean man +from impatient speculations; and now, what is our intellectual +activity based on, except on the more thorough mental absorption +of Nature? When that absorption is completed, the mystic +drama will be sunny clear, and all Nature’s processes be +visible to man, as a Divine Effluence and Life.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>True: yet not all the truth. But who knows all the +truth?</p> +<p>Not I. ‘We see through a glass darkly,’ said +St. Paul of old; and what is more, dazzle and weary our eyes, +like clumsy microscopists, by looking too long and earnestly +through the imperfect and by no means achromatic lens. +Enough. I will think of something else. I will think +of nothing at all—</p> +<p>Stay. There was a sound at last; a light footfall.</p> +<p>A hare races towards us through the ferns, her great bright +eyes full of terror, her ears aloft to catch some sound +behind. She sees us, turns short, and vanishes into the +gloom. The mare pricks up her ears too, listens, and looks: +but not the way the hare has gone. There is something more +coming; I can trust the finer sense of the horse, to which (and +no wonder) the Middle Age attributed the power of seeing ghosts +and fairies impalpable to man’s gross eyes. Beside, +that hare was not travelling in search of food. She was not +loping along, looking around her right and left; but galloping +steadily. She has been frightened; she has been put up: but +what has put her up? And there, far away among the +fir-stems, rings the shriek of a startled blackbird. What +has put him up?</p> +<p>That, old mare, at sight whereof your wise eyes widen till +they are ready to burst, and your ears are first shot forward +towards your nose, and then laid back with vicious intent. +Stand still, old woman! Do you think still, after fifteen +winters, that you can catch a fox?</p> +<p>A fox it is indeed; a great dog-fox, as red as the fir-stems +between which he glides. And yet his legs are black with +fresh peat-stains. He is a hunted fox: but he has not been +up long.</p> +<p>The mare stands like a statue: but I can feel her trembling +between my knees. Positively he does not see us. He +sits down in the middle of a ride, turns his great ears right and +left, and then scratches one of them with his hind foot, +seemingly to make it hear the better. Now he is up again +and on.</p> +<p>Beneath yon firs, some hundred yards away, standeth, or rather +lieth, for it is on dead flat ground, the famous castle of +Malepartus, which beheld the base murder of Lampe the hare, and +many a seely soul beside. I know it well; a patch of +sand-heaps, mingled with great holes, amid the twining fir-roots; +ancient home of the last of the wild beasts. And thither, +unto Malepartus safe and strong, trots Reinecke, where he hopes +to be snug among the labyrinthine windings, and innumerable +starting-holes, as the old apologue has it, of his ballium, +covert-way, and donjon keep. Full blown in +self-satisfaction he trots, lifting his toes delicately, and +carrying his brush aloft, as full of cunning and conceit as that +world-famous ancestor of his, whose deeds of unchivalry were the +delight, if not the model, of knight and kaiser, lady and +burgher, in the Middle Age.</p> +<p>Suddenly he halts at the great gate of Malepartus; examines it +with his nose; goes on to a postern; examines that also, and then +another, and another; while I perceive afar, projecting from +every cave’s mouth, the red and green end of a new +fir-faggot. Ah, Reinecke! fallen is thy conceit, and fallen +thy tail therewith. Thou hast worse foes to deal with than +Bruin the bear, or Isegrim the wolf, or any foolish brute whom +thy great ancestor outwitted. Man the many-counselled has +been beforehand with thee; and the earths are stopped.</p> +<p>One moment he sits down to meditate, and scratches those +trusty counsellors, his ears, as if he would tear them off, +‘revolving swift thoughts in a crafty mind.’</p> +<p>He has settled it now. He is up and off—and at +what a pace! Out of the way, Fauns and Hamadryads, if any +be left in the forest. What a pace! And with what a +grace beside!</p> +<p>Oh Reinecke, beautiful thou art, of a surety, in spite of thy +great naughtiness. Art thou some fallen spirit, doomed to +be hunted for thy sins in this life, and in some future life +rewarded for thy swiftness, and grace, and cunning, by being made +a very messenger of the immortals? Who knows? Not +I.</p> +<p>I am rising fast to Pistol’s vein. Shall I +ejaculate? Shall I notify? Shall I waken the +echoes? Shall I break the grand silence by that scream +which the vulgar view-halloo call?</p> +<p>It is needless; for louder and louder every moment swells up a +sound which makes my heart leap into my mouth, and my mare into +the air.</p> +<p>Music? Well-beloved soul of Hullah, would that thou wert +here this day, and not in St. Martin’s Hall, to hear that +chorus, as it pours round the fir-stems, rings against the roof +above, shatters up into a hundred echoes, till the air is live +with sound! You love madrigals, and whatever Weekes, or +Wilbye, or Orlando Gibbons sang of old. So do I. +Theirs is music fit for men: worthy of the age of heroes, of +Drake and Raleigh, Spenser and Shakspeare: but oh that you could +hear this madrigal! If you must have ‘four +parts,’ then there they are. Deeped-mouthed bass, +rolling along the ground; rich joyful tenor; wild wistful alto; +and leaping up here and there above the throng of sounds, +delicate treble shrieks and trills of trembling joy. I know +not whether you can fit it into your laws of music, any more than +you can the song of that Ariel sprite who dwells in the Eolian +harp, or the roar of the waves on the rock, or</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Myriads of rivulets hurrying through the +lawn,<br /> +And murmur of innumerable bees.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>But music it is. A madrigal? Rather a whole opera +of Der Freischutz—dæmoniac element and all—to +judge by those red lips, fierce eyes, wild, hungry voices; and +such as should make Reinecke, had he strong æsthetic +sympathies, well content to be hunted from his cradle to his +grave, that such sweet sounds might by him enrich the air. +Heroes of old were glad to die, if but some ‘vates +sacer’ would sing their fame in worthy strains: and shalt +not thou too be glad, Reinecke? Content thyself with thy +fate. Music soothes care; let it soothe thine, as thou +runnest for thy life; thou shalt have enough of it in the next +hour. For as the Etruscans (says Athenæus) were so +luxurious that they used to flog their slaves to the sound of the +flute, so shall luxurious Chanter and Challenger, Sweet-lips and +Melody, eat thee to the sound of rich organ-pipes, that so thou +mayest,</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Like that old +fabled swan, in music die.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And now appear, dim at first and distant, but brightening and +nearing fast, many a right good fellow and many a right good +horse. I know three out of four of them, their private +histories, the private histories of their horses: and could tell +you many a good story of them: but shall not, being an English +gentleman, and not an American littérateur. They may +not all be very clever, or very learned, or very anything except +gallant men; but they are all good enough company for me, or +anyone; and each has his own specialité, for which I like +him. That huntsman I have known for fifteen years, and sat +many an hour beside his father’s death-bed. I am +godfather to that whip’s child. I have seen the +servants of the hunt, as I have the hounds, grow up round me for +two generations, and I feel for them as old friends; and like to +look into their brave, honest, weather-beaten faces. That +red coat there, I knew him when he was a schoolboy; and now he is +a captain in the Guards, and won his Victoria Cross at Inkermann: +that bright green coat is the best farmer, as well as the hardest +rider, for many a mile round; one who plays, as he works, with +all his might, and might have been a beau sabreur and colonel of +dragoons. So might that black coat, who now brews good +beer, and stands up for the poor at the Board of Guardians, and +rides, like the green coat, as well as he works. That other +black coat is a county banker; but he knows more of the fox than +the fox knows of himself, and where the hounds are, there will he +be this day. That red coat has hunted kangaroo in +Australia: that one, as clever and good as he is brave and +simple, has stood by Napier’s side in many an Indian fight: +that one won his Victoria at Delhi, and was cut up at Lucknow, +with more than twenty wounds: that one has—but what matter +to you who each man is? Enough that each can tell one a +good story, welcome one cheerfully, and give one out here, in the +wild forest, the wholesome feeling of being at home among +friends.</p> +<p>There is music, again, if you will listen, in the soft tread +of these hundred horse-hoofs upon the spongy vegetable +soil. They are trotting now in ‘common +time.’ You may hear the whole Croats’ March +(the finest trotting march in the world) played by those iron +heels; the time, as it does in the Croats’ March, breaking +now and then, plunging, jingling, struggling through heavy +ground, bursting for a moment into a jubilant canter as it +reaches a sound spot.</p> +<p>The hounds feather a moment round Malepartus, puzzled by the +windings of Reinecke’s footsteps. You can hear the +flap and snort of the dogs’ nostrils as they canter round; +and one likes it. It is exciting: but why—who can +tell?</p> +<p>What beautiful creatures they are, too! Next to a Greek +statue (I mean a real old Greek one; for I am a thoroughly +anti-preraphaelite benighted pagan heathen in taste, and intend +some day to get up a Cinque-Cento Club, for the total abolition +of Gothic art)—next to a Greek statue, I say, I know few +such combinations of grace and strength as in a fine +foxhound. It is the beauty of the Theseus—light and +yet massive; and light not in spite of its masses, but on account +of the perfect disposition of them. I do not care for grace +in man, woman, or animal, which is obtained (as in the old German +painters) at the expense of honest flesh and blood. It may +be all very pure, and unearthly, and saintly, and what not; but +it is not healthy; and, therefore, it is not really High Art, let +it call itself such as much as it likes. The highest art +must be that in which the outward is the most perfect symbol of +the muward; and, therefore, a healthy soul can be only exprest by +a healthy body; and starved limbs and a hydrocephalous forehead +must be either taken as incorrect symbols of spiritual +excellence, or as—what they were really meant +for—symbols of certain spiritual diseases which were in the +Middle Age considered as ecclesiastical graces and virtues. +Wherefore I like pagan and naturalist art; consider Titian and +Correggio as unappreciated geniuses, whose excellences the world +will in some saner mood rediscover; hold, in direct opposition to +Rio, that Rafaelle improved steadily all his life through, and +that his noblest works are not his somewhat simpering Madonnas +and somewhat impish Bambinos (very lovely though they are), but +his great, coarse, naturalist, Protestant cartoons, which (with +Andrea Mantegna’s Heathen Triumph) Cromwell saved for the +British nation. Probably no one will agree with all this +for the next quarter of a century: but after that I have +hopes. The world will grow tired of pretending to admire +Manichæan pictures in an age of natural science; and Art +will let the dead bury their dead, and beginning again where +Michael Angelo and Rafaelle left off work forward into a nobler, +truer, freer, and more divine school than the world has yet +seen—at least, so I hope.</p> +<p>And all this has grown out of those foxhounds. Why +not? Theirs is the sort of form which expresses to me what +I want Art to express—Nature not limited, but developed, by +high civilization. The old savage ideal of beauty was the +lion, type of mere massive force. That was succeeded by an +over-civilized ideal, say the fawn, type of delicate grace. +By cunning breeding and choosing, through long centuries, man has +combined both, and has created the foxhound, lion and fawn in +one; just as he might create noble human beings; did he take half +as much trouble about politics (in the true old sense of the +word) as he does about fowls. Look at that old hound, who +stands doubtful, looking up at his master for advice. Look +at the severity, delicacy, lightness of every curve. His +head is finer than a deer’s; his hind legs tense as steel +springs; his fore-legs straight as arrows: and yet see the depth +of chest, the sweep of loin, the breadth of paw, the mass of arm +and thigh; and if you have an eye for form, look at the absolute +majesty of his attitude at this moment. Majesty is the only +word for it. If he were six feet high, instead of +twenty-three inches, with what animal on earth could you compare +him? Is it not a joy to see such a thing alive? It is +to me, at least. I should like to have one in my study all +day long, as I would have a statue or a picture; and when Mr. +Morrell gave (as they say) two hundred guineas for Hercules +alone, I believe the dog was well worth the money, only to look +at. But I am a minute philosopher.</p> +<p>I cap them on to the spot at which Reinecke disappeared. +Old Virginal’s stern flourishes; instantly her pace +quickens. One whimper, and she is away full-mouthed through +the wood, and the pack after her: but not I.</p> +<p>I am not going with them. My hunting days are +over. Let it suffice that I have, in the days of my vanity, +‘drank delight of battle with my peers, far on the ringing +plains’ of many a county, grass and forest, down and +vale. No, my gallant friends. You know that I could +ride, if I chose; and I am vain enough to be glad that you know +it. But useless are your coaxings, solicitations, wavings +of honest right hands. ‘Life,’ as my friend Tom +Brown says, ‘is not all beer and skittles;’ it is +past two now, and I have four old women to read to at three, and +an old man to bury at four; and I think, on the whole, that you +will respect me the more for going home and doing my duty. +That I should like to see this fox fairly killed, or even fairly +lost, I deny not. That I should like it as much as I can +like any earthly and outward thing, I deny not. But sugar +to one’s bread and butter is not good; and if my +winter-garden represent the bread and butter, then will +fox-hunting stand to it in the relation of superfluous and +unwholesome sugar: so farewell; and long may your noble sport +prosper—‘the image of war with only half its +danger,’ to train you and your sons after, into gallant +soldiers—full of</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The reason firm, the temperate will,<br /> +Endurance, foresight, strength and skill.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>So homeward I go through a labyrinth of fir-stems and, what is +worse, fir-stumps, which need both my eyes and my horse’s +at every moment; and woe to the ‘anchorite,’ as old +Bunbury names him, who carries his nose in the air, and his fore +feet well under him. Woe to the self-willed or hard-hided +horse who cannot take the slightest hint of the heel, and wince +hind legs or fore out of the way of those jagged points which lie +in wait for him. Woe, in fact, to all who are clumsy or +cowardly, or in anywise not ‘masters of the +situation.’</p> +<p>Pleasant riding it is, though, if you dare look anywhere but +over your horse’s nose, under the dark roof between the red +fir-pillars, in that rich subdued light. Now I plunge into +a gloomy dell, wherein is no tinkling rivulet, ever pure; but +instead a bog, hewn out into a chess-board of squares, parted by +deep narrow ditches some twenty feet apart. Blundering +among the stems I go, fetlock-deep in peat, and jumping at every +third stride one of the said uncanny gripes, half hidden in long +hassock grass. Oh <i>Aira cæspitosa</i>, most stately +and most variable of British grasses, why will you always grow +where you are not wanted? Through you the mare all but left +her hind legs in that last gripe. Through you a red-coat +ahead of me, avoiding one of your hassocks, jumped with his +horse’s nose full butt against a fir-stem, and stopped,</p> +<blockquote><p>‘As one that is struck dead<br /> +By lightning, ere he falls,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>as we shall soon, in spite of the mare’s +cleverness. Would we were out of this!</p> +<p>Out of it we shall be soon. I see daylight ahead at +last, bright between the dark stems. Up a steep slope, and +over a bank which is not very big, but being composed of loose +gravel and peat mould, gives down with me, nearly sending me head +over heels in the heather, and leaving me a sheer gap to scramble +through, and out on the open moor.</p> +<p>Grand old moor! stretching your brown flats right away toward +Windsor for many a mile.—Far to our right is the new +Wellington College, looking stately enough here all alone in the +wilderness, in spite of its two ugly towers and pinched +waist. Close over me is the long fir-fringed ride of +Easthampstead, ending suddenly in Cæsar’s camp; and +hounds and huntsmen are already far ahead, and racing up the +Roman road, which the clods of these parts, unable to give a +better account of it, call the Devil’s Highway.</p> +<p>Racing indeed; for as Reinecke gallops up the narrow +heather-fringed pathway, he brushes off his scent upon the twigs +at every stride; and the hounds race after him, showing no head +indeed, and keeping, for convenience, in one long line upon the +track: but going heads up, sterns down, at a pace which no horse +can follow.—I only hope they may not overrun the scent.</p> +<p>They have overrun it; halt, and put their heads down a +moment. But with one swift cast in fall gallop they have +hit it off again, fifty yards away in the heather, long ere the +horsemen are up to them; for those hounds can hunt a fox because +they are not hunted themselves, and so have learnt to trust +themselves, and act for themselves; as boys should learn at +school, even at the risk of a mistake or two. Now they are +showing head indeed, down a half-cleared valley, and over a few +ineffectual turnips withering in the peat, a patch of growing +civilization in the heart of the wilderness; and then over the +brook, while I turn slowly away, through a green wilderness of +self-sown firs.</p> +<p>There they stand in thousands, the sturdy Scots, colonizing +the desert in spite of frost, and gales, and barrenness; and +clustering together, too, as Scotsmen always do abroad, little +and big, every one under his neighbour’s lee, according to +the good old proverb of their native land, ‘Caw me, and +I’ll caw thee.’</p> +<p>I respect them, those Scotch firs. I delight in their +forms, from James the First’s gnarled giants up in +Bramshill Park—the only place in England where a painter +can learn what Scotch firs are—down to the little green +pyramids which stand up out of the heather, triumphant over +tyranny, and the strange woes of an untoward youth. Seven +years on an average have most of them spent in ineffectual +efforts to become a foot high. Nibbled off by hares, +trodden down by cattle, cut down by turf-parers, seeing hundreds +of their brethren cut up and carried off in the turf-fuel, they +are as gnarled and stubbed near the ground as an old thorn-bush +in a pasture. But they have conquered at last, and are +growing away, eighteen inches a year, with fair green brushes +silvertipt, reclothing the wilderness with a vegetation which it +has not seen for—how many thousand years?</p> +<p>No man can tell. For when last the Scotch fir was +indigenous to England, and, mixed with the larch, stretched in +one vast forest from Norfolk into Wales, England was not as it is +now. Snowdon was, it may be, fifteen thousand feet in +height, and from the edges of its glaciers the marmot and the +musk ox, the elk and the bear, wandered down into the Lowlands, +and the hyena and the lion dwelt in those caves where fox and +badger only now abide. And how did the Scotch fir die +out? Did the whole land sink slowly from its sub-Alpine +elevation into a warmer climate below? Or was it never +raised at all? Did some change of the Atlantic sea-floor +turn for the first time the warm Gulf Stream to these shores; and +with its soft sea-breezes melt away the ‘Age of Ice,’ +till glaciers and pines, marmots and musk oxen, perspired to +death, and vanished for an æon? Who knows? Not +I. But of the fact there can be no doubt. Whether, as +we hold traditionally here, the Scotch fir was re-introduced by +James the First when he built Bramshill for Raleigh’s +hapless pet, Henry the Prince, or whatever may have been the date +of their re-introduction, here they are, and no one can turn them +out. In countless thousands the winged seeds float down the +south-west gales from the older trees; and every seed which falls +takes root in ground which, however unable to bear broad-leaved +trees, is ready by long rest for the seeds of the needle-leaved +ones. Thousands perish yearly; but the eastward march of +the whole, up hill and down dale, is sure and steady as that of +Lynceus’ Goths in Goethe’s Helena:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Ein lang und breites Volkegewicht,<br /> +Der erate wusste vom letzen nicht.</p> +<p>Der erste fiel, der zweite stand,<br /> +Des dritten Lanze war zur Hand,<br /> +Ein jeder hundertfach gestärkt;<br /> +Erschlagene Tausend unbemerkt—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>—till, as you stand upon some eminence, you see, +stretching to the eastward of each tract of older trees, a long +cloud of younger ones, like a green comet’s tail—I +wish their substance was as yielding this day. Truly +beautiful—grand indeed to me it is—to see young live +Nature thus carrying on a great savage process in the heart of +this old and seemingly all-artificial English land; and +reproducing here, as surely as in the Australian bush, a native +forest, careless of mankind. Still, I wish it were easier +to ride through. Stiff are those Scotchmen, and close and +stout they stand by each other, and claw at you as you twist +through them, the biggest aiming at your head, or even worse, at +your knees; while the middle-sized slip their brushes between +your thigh and the saddle, and the little babies tickle your +horse’s stomach, or twine about his fore-feet. +Whish—whish; we are enveloped in what seems an atmosphere +of scrubbing-brushes. Fain would I shut my eyes: but dare +not, or I shall ride against a tree. Whish—whish; +alas for the horse which cannot wind and turn like a hare! +Plunge—stagger. What is this? A broad line of +ruts; perhaps some Celtic track-way, two thousand years old, now +matted over with firs; dangerous enough out on the open moor, +when only masked by a line of higher and darker heath: but doubly +dangerous now when masked by dark undergrowth. You must +find your own way here, mare. I will positively have +nothing to do with it. I disclaim all responsibility. +There are the reins on your neck; do what you will, only do +something—and if you can, get forward, and not back.</p> +<p>There is daylight at last, and fresh air. I trot +contemptuously through the advanced skirmishers of the Scotch +invading army; and watch my friends some mile and a half off, who +have threaded a practicable track-way through a long dreary +yellow bog, too wet for firs to root in, and are away in ‘a +streamer.’ Now a streamer is produced in this +wise. There is but one possible gap in a bank, one possible +ford in a brook; one possible path in a cover; and as each man +has to wait till the man before him gets through, and them +gallops on, each man loses twenty yards or more on the man before +him: wherefore, by all laws of known arithmetic, if ten men tail +through a gap, then will the last of the ten find himself two +hundred yards behind the foremost, which process several times +repeated, produces the phenomenon called a streamer, viz. twenty +men galloping absurdly as hard as they can, in a line half a mile +long, and in humours which are celestial in the few foremost, +contented in the central, and gradually becoming darker in the +hindmost; till in the last man they assume a hue altogether +Tartarean. Farewell, brave gentlemen! I watch, half +sadly, half self-contented, the red coats scattered like sparks +of fire over hill and dale, and turn slowly homeward, to visit my +old women.</p> +<p>I pass through a gateway, out upon a village green, planted +with rows of oaks, surrounded by trim sunny cottages, a pleasant +oasis in the middle of the wilderness. Across the village +cricket-ground—we are great cricketers in these parts, and +long may the good old game live among us; and then up another +hollow lane, which leads between damp shaughs and copses toward +the further moor.</p> +<p>Curious things to a minute philosopher are these same hollow +lanes. They set him on archæological questions, more +than he can solve; and I meditate as I go, how many centuries it +took to saw through the warm sandbanks this dyke ten feet deep, +up which he trots, with the oak boughs meeting over his +head. Was it ever worth men’s while to dig out the +soil? Surely not. The old method must have been, to +remove the softer upper spit, till they got to tolerably hard +ground; and then, Macadam’s metal being as yet unknown, the +rains and the wheels of generations sawed it gradually deeper and +deeper, till this road-ditch was formed. But it must have +taken centuries to do it. Many of these hollow lanes, +especially those on flat ground, must be as old or older than the +Conquest. In Devonshire I am sure that they are. But +there many of them, one suspects, were made not of malice, but of +cowardice prepense. Your indigenous Celt was, one fears, a +sneaking animal, and liked to keep when he could under cover of +banks and hill-sides; while your bold Roman made his raised roads +straight over hill and dale, as ‘ridge-ways’ from +which, as from an eagle’s eyrie, he could survey the +conquered lowlands far and wide. It marks strongly the +difference between the two races, that difference between the +Roman paved road with its established common way for all +passengers, its regular stations and milestones, and the Celtic +track-way winding irresolutely along in innumerable ruts, parting +to meet again, as if each savage (for they were little better) +had taken his own fresh path when he found the next line of ruts +too heavy for his cattle. Around the spurs of Dartmoor I +have seen many ancient roads, some of them long disused, which +could have been hollowed out for no other purpose but that of +concealment.</p> +<p>So I go slowly up the hill, till the valley lies beneath me +like a long green garden between its two banks of brown moor; and +on through a cheerful little green, with red brick cottages +scattered all round, each with its large neat garden, and +beehives, and pigs and geese, and turf-stack, and clipt yews and +hollies before the door, and rosy dark-eyed children, and all the +simple healthy comforts of a wild +‘heth-cropper’s’ home. When he can, the +good man of the house works at farm labour, or cuts his own turf; +and when work is scarce, he cuts copses and makes heath-brooms, +and does a little poaching. True, he seldom goes to church, +save to be christened, married, or buried: but he equally seldom +gets drunk. For church and public stand together two miles +off; so that social wants sometimes bring their own compensations +with them, and there are two sides to every question.</p> +<p>Hark! A faint, dreary hollo off the moor above. +And then another, and another. My friends may trust it; for +the clod of these parts delights in the chase like any +bare-legged Paddy, and casts away flail and fork wildly, to run, +shout, assist, and interfere in all possible ways, out of pure +love. The descendant of many generations of broom-squires +and deer-stealers, the instinct of sport is strong within him +still, though no more of the king’s deer are to be shot in +the winter turnip-fields, or worse, caught by an apple-baited +hook hung from an orchard bough. He now limits his +aspirations to hares and pheasants, and too probably once in his +life, ‘hits the keeper into the river,’ and +reconsiders himself for a while after over a crank in Winchester +gaol. Well, he has his faults; and I have mine. But +he is a thorough good fellow nevertheless; quite as good as I: +civil, contented, industrious, and often very handsome; and a far +shrewder fellow too—owing to his dash of wild forest blood, +from gipsy, highwayman; and what not—than his bullet-headed +and flaxen-polled cousin, the pure South-Saxon of the +Chalk-downs. Dark-haired he is, ruddy, and tall of bone; +swaggering in his youth; but when he grows old, a thorough +gentleman, reserved, stately, and courteous as a prince. +Sixteen years have I lived with him hail fellow well met, and +never yet had a rude word or action from him.</p> +<p>With him I have cast in my lot, to live and die, and be buried +by his side; and to him I go home contented, to look after his +petty interests, cares, sorrows—Petty, truly—seeing +that they include the whole primal mysteries of life—Food, +raiment, and work to earn them withal; love and marriage, birth +and death, right doing and wrong doing, ‘Schicksal und +eigene Schuld;’ and all those commonplaces of humanity +which in the eyes of a minute philosopher are most divine, +because they are most commonplace—catholic as the sunshine +and the rain which come down from the Heavenly Father, alike upon +the evil and the good. As for doing fine things, my friend, +with you, I have learnt to believe that I am not set to do fine +things, simply because I am not able to do them; and as for +seeing fine things, with you, I have learnt to see the +sight—as well as to try to do the duty—which lies +nearest me; and to comfort myself with the fancy that if I make +good use of my eyes and brain in this life, I shall see—if +it be of any use to me—all the fine things, or perhaps +finer still, in the life to come. But if not—what +matter? In any life, in any state, however simple or +humble, there will be always sufficient to occupy a Minute +Philosopher; and if a man be busy, and busy about his duty, what +more does he require, for time or for eternity?</p> +<h2><a name="page175"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +175</span>V.<br /> +<a name="page177"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 177</span><i>FROM +OCEAN TO SEA</i>.</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> point from which to start, in +order best to appreciate the change from ocean to sea, is perhaps +Biarritz. The point at which to stop is Cette. And +the change is important. Between the two points races are +changed, climates are changed, scenery is changed, the very +plants under your feet are changed, from a Western to an Eastern +type. You pass from the wild Atlantic into the heart of the +Roman Empire—from the influences which formed the +discoverers of the New World, to those which formed the +civilizers of the Old. Gascony, not only in its scenery, +but in its very legends, reminds you of Devon and Cornwall; +Languedoc of Greece and Palestine.</p> +<p>In the sea, as was to be expected, the change is even more +complete. From Biarritz to Cette, you pass from poor Edward +Forbes’s Atlantic to his Mediterranean centre of +creation. In plain English and fact, whether you agree with +his theory or not, you pass from the region of respectable +whales, herrings, and salmon, to that of tunnies, sciænas, +dorados, and all the gorgons, hydras, and chimæras dire, +which are said to grace the fish-markets of Barcelona or +Marseilles.</p> +<p>But to this assertion, as to most concerning nature, there are +exceptions. Mediterranean fishes slip out of the Straits of +Gibraltar, and up the coast of Portugal, and, once in the Bay of +Biscay, find the feeding good and the wind against them, and stay +there.</p> +<p>So it befalls, that at worthy M. Gardère’s hotel +at Biarritz (he has seen service in England, and knows our +English ways), you may have at dinner, day after day, salmon, +louvine, shad, sardine, dorado, tunny. The first is unknown +to the Mediterranean; for Fluellen mistook when he said that +there were salmons in Macedon, as well as Monmouth; the louvine +is none other than the nasty bass, or sea-perch of the Atlantic; +the shad (extinct in these islands, save in the Severn) is a +gigantic herring which comes up rivers to spawn; a fish common +(with slight differences) to both sides of the North Atlantic; +while the sardine, the dorado, and the tunny (whether he be the +true tunny or the Alalonga) are Mediterranean fish.</p> +<p>The whale fishery of these shores is long extinct. The +Biscayan whale was supposed to be extinct likewise. But +like the ibex, and some other animals which man has ceased to +hunt, because he fancies that he has killed them all, they seem +inclined to reappear. For in 1854 one was washed ashore +near St. Jean de Luz, at news whereof Eschricht, the great Danish +naturalist, travelled night and day from Copenhagen, and secured +the skeleton of the new-old monster.</p> +<p>But during the latter part of the Middle Ages, and on—if +I recollect aright—into the seventeenth century, Bayonne, +Biarritz, Guettary, and St. Jean de Luz, sent forth their hardy +whale-fishers, who slew all the whales of the Biscayan seas, and +then crossed the Atlantic, to attack those of the frozen +North.</p> +<p>British and American enterprise drove them from the West coast +of the Atlantic; and now their descendants are content to stay at +home and take the sardine-shoals, and send them in to Bayonne on +their daughters’ heads.</p> +<p>Pretty enough it was, at least in outward seeming, to meet a +party of those fisher-girls, bare-legged, high-kilted, lithe as +deer, trotting, at a long loping pace, up the high road toward +Bayonne, each with her basket on her head, as she laughed and +sang, and tossed her black hair, and flashed her brown eyes, full +of life and the enjoyment of life. Pretty enough. And +yet who will blame the rail, which now sends her quickly into +Bayonne—or even her fish without her; and relieves the fair +young maiden from being degraded into a beast of burden?</p> +<p>Handsome folk are these brown Basques. A mysterious +people, who dwell alone, and are not counted among the nations; +speaking an unique language, and keeping up unique customs, for +which the curious must consult M. Michel’s interesting +book. There may be a cross of English blood among them, +too, about Biarritz and Bayonne; English features there are, +plainly to be seen. And whether or not, one accepts the +story of the country, that Anglets, near by, is an old English +colony left by our Black Prince, it is certain that Bayonne +Cathedral was built in part by English architects, and carries +the royal arms of England; and every school history will tell us +how this corner of France was long in our hands, and was indeed +English long before it was properly French. Moorish blood +there may be, too, here and there, left behind by those who built +the little ‘atalaya’ or fire-beacon, over the old +harbour, to correspond, by its smoke column, with a long line of +similar beacons down the Spanish coast. The Basques +resemble in look the Southern Welsh—quick-eyed, neat in +feature, neat in dress, often, both men and women, +beautiful. The men wear a flat Scotch cap of some bright +colour, and call it ‘berretta.’ The women tie a +gaudy handkerchief round their heads, and compel one corner to +stand forward from behind the ear in a triangle, in proportion to +the size and stiffness whereof the lady seems to think herself +well dressed. But the pretty Basque handkerchief will soon +give place to the Parisian bonnet. For every cove among the +rocks is now filled with smart bathing-houses, from which, in +summer, the gay folk of Paris issue in ‘costume de +bain,’ to float about all day on calabashes—having +literally no room for the soles of their feet on land. Then +are opened casinos, theatre, shops, which lie closed all the +winter. Then do the Basque house-owners flee into the +moors, and camp out (it is said) on the hills all night, letting +their rooms for ten francs a night as mere bed-chambers—for +all eating and living is performed in public; while the +dove-coloured oxen, with brown holland pinafores over their +backs, who dawdle in pairs up and down the long street with their +light carts, have to make way for wondrous equipages from the +Bois de Boulogne.</p> +<p>Not then, for the wise man, is Biarritz a place to see and to +love: but in the winter, when a little knot of quiet pleasant +English hold the place against all comers, and wander, +undisturbed by fashion, about the quaint little rocks and caves +and natural bridges—and watch tumbling into the sea, before +the Biscayan surges, the trim walks and summer-houses, which were +erected by the municipality in honour of the Empress and her +suite. Yearly they tumble in, and yearly are renewed, as +the soft greensand strata are graven away, and what must have +been once a long promontory becomes a group of fantastic pierced +rocks, exactly like those which are immortalized upon the +willow-pattern plates.</p> +<p>Owing to this rapid destruction, the rocks of Biarritz are +very barren in sea-beasts and sea-weeds. But there is one +remarkable exception, where the pools worn in a hard limestone +are filled with what seem at first sight beds of china-asters, of +all loveliest colours—primrose, sea-green, dove, purple, +crimson, pink, ash-grey. They are all prickly sea-eggs +(presumably the <i>Echinus lividus</i>, which is found in similar +places in the west of Ireland), each buried for life in a +cup-shaped hole which he has excavated in the rock, and shut in +by an overhanging lip of living lime—seemingly a Nullipore +coralline. What they do there, what they think of, or what +food is brought into their curious grinding-mills by the Atlantic +surges which thunder over them twice a day, who can tell? +However they form, without doubt, the most beautiful object which +I have ever seen in pool or cove.</p> +<p>But the glory of Biarritz, after all, is the moors above, and +the view to be seen therefrom. Under blazing blue skies, +tempered by soft dappled cloud, for ever sliding from the +Atlantic and the Asturias mountains, in a climate soft as milk, +and exhilarating withal as wine, one sees far and wide a panorama +which, from its variety as well as its beauty, can never +weary.</p> +<p>To the north, the long sand-line of the Biscayan +shore—the bar of the Adour marked by a cloud of grey +spray. Then the dark pine-flats of the Landes, and the +towers of Bayonne rising through rich woods. To the +eastward lies a high country, furred with woods, broken with +glens; a country exactly like Devon, through the heart of which, +hidden in such a gorge as that of Dart or Taw, runs the swift +stream of the Nive, draining the western Pyrenees. And +beyond, to the south-east, in early spring, the Pyrenean snows +gleam bright, white clouds above the clouds. As one turns +southward, the mountains break down into brown heather-hills, +like Scottish grouse moors. The two nearest, and seemingly +highest, are the famous Rhune and Bayonette, where lie, to this +day, amid the heath and crags, hundreds of unburied bones. +For those great hills, skilfully fortified by Soult before the +passage of the Bidassoa, were stormed, yard by yard, by +Wellington’s army in October 1813. That mighty deed +must be read in the pages of one who saw it with his own eyes, +and fought there with his own noble body, and even nobler +spirit. It is not for me to tell of victories, of which Sir +William Napier has already told.</p> +<p>Towards that hill, and the Nivelle at its foot, the land +slopes down, still wooded and broken, bounded by a long sweep of +clayey crumbling cliff. The eye catches the fort of Secoa, +at the mouth of the Nivelle—once Wellington’s +sea-base for his great French campaign. Then Fontarabia, at +the Bidassoa mouth; and far off, the cove within which lies the +fatal citadel of St. Sebastian; all backed up by the fantastic +mountains of Spain; the four-horned “Quatre +Couronnes,” the pyramidal Jaysquivel, and beyond them +again, sloping headlong into the sea, peak after peak, each one +more blue and tender than the one before, leading the eye on and +on for seemingly countless leagues, till they die away into the +ocean horizon and the boundless west. Not a sail, often for +days together, passes between those mountains and the shore on +which we stand, to break the solitude, and peace, and vast +expanse; and we linger, looking and looking at we know not what, +and find repose in gazing purposeless into the utter void.</p> +<p>Very unlike France are these Basque uplands; very like the +seaward parts of Devon and Cornwall. Large oak-copses and +boggy meadows fill the glens; while above, the small fields, with +their five-barred gates (relics of the English occupation) and +high furze and heath-grown banks, make you fancy yourself for a +moment in England. And the illusion is strengthened, as you +see that the heath of the banks is the Goonhilly heath of the +Lizard Point, and that of the bogs the orange-belled <i>Erica +ciliaris</i>, which lingers (though rare) both in Cornwall and in +the south of Ireland. But another glance undeceives +you. The wild flowers are new, saving those cosmopolitan +seeds (like nettles and poppies) which the Romans have carried +all over Europe, and the British are now carrying over the +world. Every sandy bank near the sea is covered with the +creeping stems of a huge reed, which grows in summer tall enough +to make not only high fences, but fishing-rods. Poverty +(though there is none of what we call poverty in Britain) fills +the little walled court before its cottage with bay trees and +standard figs; while wealth (though there is nothing here of what +we call wealth in Britain) asserts itself uniformly by great +standard magnolias, and rich trailing roses, in full bloom here +in April instead of—as with us—in July. Both on +bank and in bog grow Scorzoneras (dandelions with sword-shaped +leaves) of which there are none in these isles; and every common +is ablaze with strange and lovely flowers. Each dry spot is +brilliant with the azure flowers of a prostrate Lithospermum, so +exquisite a plant, that it is a marvel why we do not see it, as +‘spring-bedding,’ in every British garden. The +heath is almost hidden, in places, by the large white flowers and +trailing stems of the sage-leaved Cistus. Delicate purple +Ixias, and yet more delicate Hoop-petticoat Narcissus, spring +from the turf. And here and there among furze and heath, +crop out great pink bunches of the <i>Daphne Cneorum</i> of our +gardens, perfuming all the air. Yes, we are indeed in +foreign parts, in the very home of that Atlantic flora, of which +only a few species have reached the south-west of these isles; +and on the limit of another flora also—of that of Italy and +Greece. For as we descend into the glen, every lane-bank +and low tree is entwined, not with ivy, but with a still more +beautiful evergreen, the Smilax of South-eastern Europe, with its +zigzag stems, and curving heart-shaped leaves, and hooked thorns; +the very oak-scrub is of species unknown to Britain. And +what are these tall lilies, which fill every glade breast-high +with their sword-like leaves, and spires of white flowers, +lilac-pencilled? They are the classic flower, the Asphodel +of Greece and Grecian song; the Asphodel through which the ghosts +of Homer’s heroes strode: as heroes’ ghosts might +stride even here.</p> +<p>For here we are on sacred ground. The vegetation is rank +with the blood of gallant invaders, and of no less gallant +patriots. In the words of Campbell’s +‘Hohenlinden’—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Every turf beneath our feet<br /> +May be a hero’s sepulchre.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>That little tarn below has ‘bubbled with crimson +foam’ when the kings of Europe arose to bring home the +Bourbons, as did the Lake Regillus of old, in the day when +‘the Thirty Cities swore to bring the Tarquins +home.’</p> +<p>Turn to the left, above the tarn, and into the great Spanish +road from Bayonne to the frontier at what was lately ‘La +Negresse,’ but is now a gay railway station. Where +that station is, was another tarn, now drained. The road +ran between the two. And that narrow space of two hundred +yards, on which we stand, was for three fearful days the gate of +France.</p> +<p>For on the 10th of December, 1813, Soult, driven into Bayonne +by Wellington’s advance, rushed out again in the early +morn, and poured a torrent of living men down this road, and +upwards again towards the British army which crested that long +ridge in front.</p> +<p>The ridge slopes rapidly away at the back, toward the lowlands +of the Bidassoa; and once thrust from it, the English army would +have been cut in two—one half driven back upon their +sea-base at St. Jean de Luz: the other half left on the further +side of the Adour.</p> +<p>And this was the gate, which had to be defended during a three +days’ battle. That long copse which overhangs the +road is the famous wood, which was taken and retaken many +times. You house above it, embowered in trees, is the +‘Mayor’s house,’ in which Sir John Hope was so +nearly captured by the French. Somewhere behind the lane +where we came down was the battery which blasted off our troops +as they ran up from the lowlands behind, to support their +fellows.</p> +<p>Of the details of the fight you must read in Napier’s +‘Peninsular War,’ and in Mr. Gleig’s +‘Subaltern.’ They are not to be described by +one who never saw a battle, great or small.</p> +<p>And now, if you choose to start upon your journey from the +ocean to the sea, you will take the railroad here, and run five +miles through the battle-fields into Bayonne, the quaint old +fortress city, girdled with a labyrinth of walls, and turf-dykes, +and outside them meadows as rich, and trees as stately, as if war +had never swept across the land. You may stop, if you will, +to look at the tall Spanish houses, with their piazzas and +jalousies, and the motley populace, French, Basques, Spaniards, +Jews; and, most worth seeing of all, the lovely ladies of +Bayonne, who swarm out when the sun goes down, for air and +military music. You may try to find (in which you will +probably fail) the arms of England in the roof of the ugly old +cathedral; you may wander the bridges over which join the three +quarters of the city (for the Adour and the Nive meet within the +walls), and probably lose your way—a slight matter among +folk who, if you will but take off your hat, call them Monsieur, +apologize for the trouble you are giving, begin the laugh at your +own stupidity, and compliment them on their city and their fair +ladies, will be delighted to walk a mile out of their own way to +show you yours. You will gaze up at the rock-rooted citadel +from whence, in the small hours of April 14, 1813, after peace +was agreed on, but unhappily not declared (for Napier has fully +exculpated the French Generals), three thousand of +Thouvenot’s men burst forth against Sir John Hope’s +unsuspecting besiegers, with a furious valour which cost the +English more than 800 men.</p> +<p>There, in the pine woods on the opposite side, is the +Boucault, where our besieging army lay. Across the reach +below stretched Sir John Hope’s famous bridge; and as you +leave Bayonne by rail, you run beneath the English cemetery, +where lie the soldiers (officers of the Coldstream Guards among +them) who fell in the Frenchman’s last struggle to defend +his native land.</p> +<p>But enough of this. I should not have recalled to mind +one of these battles, had they not, one and all, been as glorious +for the French and their great captain—wearied with long +marches, disheartened by the apathy of their own countrymen, and, +as they went on, overpowered by mere numbers—as they were +for our veterans, and Wellington himself.</p> +<p>And now, once through Bayonne, we are in the Pignadas and the +Landes.</p> +<p>To form a conception of these famous Landes, it is only +necessary to run down by the South-Western Railway, through the +moors of Woking or Ascot; spread them out flat, and multiply them +to seeming infinity. The same sea of brown heather, broken +only by the same dark pignadas, or fir plantations, extends for +nigh a hundred miles; and when the traveller northward has lost +sight, first of the Spanish mountains, and then of the Pyrenean +snows, he seems to be rushing along a brown ocean, without wave +or shore. Only, instead of the three heaths of Surrey and +Hants (the same species as those of Scotland), larger and richer +southern heaths cover the grey sands; and notably the delicate +upright spires of the bruyère, or <i>Erica scoparia</i>, +which grows full six feet high, and furnishes from its roots +those ‘bruyère’ pipes, which British +shopkeepers have rechristened ‘briar-roots.’ +Instead, again, of the Scotch firs of Ascot, the pines are all +pinasters (miscalled <i>P. maritima</i>). Each has the same +bent stem, carrying at top, long, ragged, scanty, leaf-tufts, +instead of the straight stem and dense short foliage of the +sturdier Scotchman; and down each stem runs a long, fresh scar, +and at the bottom (in spring at least), hangs a lip of tin, and a +neat earthen pipkin, into which distils turpentine as clear as +glass. The trees have mostly been planted within the last +fifty years, to keep the drifting sands from being blown +away. As timber they are about as valuable as those Jersey +cow-cabbage stalks, of which the curious will at times make +walking-sticks: but as producers of turpentine they have their +use, and give employment to the sad, stunted, ill-fed folk, +unhealthy for want of water, and barbarous from utter loneliness, +whose only employment, in old times, was the keeping ragged +flocks about the moors. Few and far between the natives may +be seen from the railway, seemingly hung high in air, till on +nearer approach you find them to be stalking along on stilts, or +standing knitting on the same, a sheepskin over their shoulders, +an umbrella strapped to their side, and, stuck into the small of +the back, a long crutch, which serves, when resting, as a third +wooden leg.</p> +<p>So run on the Landes, mile after mile, station after station, +varied only by an occasional stunted cork tree, or a starved +field of barley or maize. But the railroad is bringing to +them, as elsewhere, labour, civilization, agricultural +improvement. Pretty villages, orchards, gardens, are +springing up round the lonely ‘gares.’ The late +Emperor helped forward, it is said, new pine plantations, and +sundry schemes for reclaiming the waste. Arcachon, on a +pine-fringed lagoon of the Atlantic, has great artificial ponds +for oyster breeding, and is rising into a gay watering-place, +with a distinguished scientific society. Nay, more: it saw +a few years since an international exposition of fish, and +fish-culture, and fishing-tackle, and all things connected with +the fisheries, not only of Europe, but of America likewise. +Heaven speed the plan; and restore thereby oysters to our shores, +and shad and salmon to the rivers both of Western Europe and +Eastern North America.</p> +<p>As for the cause of the Landes, it may be easily divined, by +the help of a map and of common sense.</p> +<p>The Gironde and the Adour carry to the sea the drainage of +nearly a third of France, including almost all the rain which +falls on the north side of the Pyrenees. What has become of +all the sand and mud which has been swept in the course of ages +down their channels? What has become—a very small +part, be it recollected, of the whole amount—of all the +rock which has been removed by rain and thunder, frost and snow, +in the process of scooping out the deep valleys of the +Pyrenees? Out of that one crack, which men call the Val +d’Ossau, stone has been swept enough to form a considerable +island. Where is it all? In these Landes. +Carried down year by year to the Atlantic, it has been driven +back again, year by year, by the fierce gales of the Bay of +Biscay, and rolled up into banks and dunes of loose sand, till it +has filled up what was once a broad estuary, 140 miles across and +perhaps 70 miles in depth. Upheaved it may have been also, +slowly, from the sea, for recent sea-shells are found as far +inland as Dax; and thus the whole upper end of the Bay of Biscay +has transformed itself during the lapse of, it may be, countless +ages, into a desolate wilderness.</p> +<p>It is at Dax that we leave the main line, and instead of +running north for Bordeaux and the land of clarets, turn +south-east to Orthez and Pau, and the Gaves, and the +Pyrenees.</p> +<p>And now we pass through ragged uplands, woody and moorish, +with the long yellow maize-stalks of last year’s crop +rotting in the swampy glens. For the ‘petite +culture,’ whatever be its advantages, gives no capital or +power of combined action for draining wet lands; and the valleys +of Gascony and Bearn in the south, as well as great sheets of the +Pas de Calais in the north, are in a waterlogged state, equally +shocking to the eye of a British farmer, and injurious to the +health and to the crops of the peasants.</p> +<p>Soon we strike the Adour, here of the shape and size of a +second-class Scotch salmon-stream, with swirling brown pools +beneath grey crags, which make one long to try in them the +virtues of ‘Jock Scott,’ ‘the Butcher,’ +or the ‘Dusty Miller.’ And perhaps not without +effect; for salmon are there still; and will be more and more as +French ‘pisciculture’ develops itself under +Government supervision.</p> +<p>Here we touch again the line of that masterly retreat of +Soult’s before the superior forces of Wellington, to which +Napier has done such ample and deserved justice.</p> +<p>There is Berenz, where the Sixth and Light divisions crossed +the Gave, and clambered into the high road up steep ravines; and +there is Orthez itself, with the beautiful old Gothic bridge +which the French could not blow up, as they did every other +bridge on their retreat; and the ruins of that robber den to +which Gaston Phœbus, Count of Foix (of whom you may read in +Froissart), used to drag his victims; and there overhead, upon +the left of the rail and road, is the old Roman camp, and the +hill of Orthez, and St. Boes, and the High Church of Baights, the +scene of the terrible battle of Orthez.</p> +<p>The Roman camp, then ‘open and grassy, with a few +trees,’ says Napier, is now covered with vineyards. +Everywhere the fatal slopes are rich with cultivation, plenty, +and peace. God grant they may remain so for ever.</p> +<p>And so, along the Gave de Pau, we run on to Pau, the ancient +capital of Bearn; the birthplace of Henri Quatre, and of +Bernadotte, King of Sweden; where, in the charming old +château, restored by Louis Philippe, those who list may see +the tortoise which served as the great Henry’s cradle; and +believe, if they list also, the tale that that is the real +shell.</p> +<p>For in 1793, when the knights of the ‘bonnet +rouge’ and ‘carmagnole complete’ burst into the +castle, to destroy every memorial of hated royalty, the shell +among the rest, there chanced—miraculous +coincidence—to be in Pau, in the collection of a +naturalist, another shell, of the same shape and size. +Swiftly and deftly pious hands substituted it for the real relic, +leaving it to be battered in pieces and trampled in the mud, +while the royal cradle lay perdu for years in the roof of a +house, to reappear duly at the Restoration of the Bourbons.</p> +<p>Of Pau I shall say nothing. It would be real +impertinence in one who only spent three days in it, to describe +a city which is known to all Europe; which is a permanent English +colony, and boasts of one, and sometimes two, packs of English +foxhounds. But this I may be allowed to say. That of +all delectable spots I have yet seen, Pau is the most +delectable. Of all the landscapes which I have beheld, that +from the Place Royale is, for variety, richness, and grandeur, +the most glorious; at least as I saw it for the first time.</p> +<p>Beneath the wall of the high terrace are rich meadows, vocal +with frogs rejoicing in the rain, and expressing their joy, not +in the sober monotone of our English frogs, but each according to +his kind; one bellowing, the next barking, the next cawing, and +the next (probably the little green Hylas, who has come down out +of the trees to breed) quacking in treble like a tiny +drake. The bark (I suspect) is that of the gorgeous edible +frog; and so suspect the young recruits who lounge upon the wall, +and look down wistfully, longing, I presume, to eat him. +And quite right they are; for he (at least his thigh) is +exceeding good to eat, tenderer and sweeter than any spring +chicken.</p> +<p>Beyond the meadow, among the poplars, the broad Gave murmurs +on over shingly shallows, between aspen-fringed islets, grey with +the melting snows; and beyond her again rise broken wooded hills, +dotted with handsome houses; and beyond them a veil of mist and +rain.</p> +<p>On a sudden that veil lifts; and five-and-twenty miles away, +beneath the black edge of the cloud, against the clear blue sky, +stands out the whole snow-range of the Pyrenees; and in the +midst, exactly opposite, filling up a vast gap which is the Val +d’Ossau, the huge cone, still snowy white, of the Pic du +Midi.</p> +<p>He who is conversant with theatres will be unable to overlook +the seeming art—and even artifice—of such an +effect. The clouds lift like a drop-scene; the mountains +are so utterly unlike any natural object in the north, that for +the moment one fancies them painted and not real; the Pic du Midi +stands so exactly where it ought, and is yet so fantastic and +unexpected in its shape, that an artist seems to have put it +there.</p> +<p>But lie who knows nothing, and cares less, about theatres and +their sham glories, and sees for the first time in his life the +eternal snows of which he has read since childhood, draws his +breath deeply, and stands astounded, whispering to himself that +God is great.</p> +<p>One hint more, ere we pass on from Pau. Here, at least +in spring time, of all places in Europe, may a man feed his ears +with song of birds. The copses by the Gave, the public +walks and woods (wherein English prejudices have happily +protected what is elsewhere shot down as game, even to the poor +little cock-robins whose corpses lie by dozens in too many French +markets), are filled with all our English birds of passage, +finding their way northwards from Morocco and Algiers; and with +our English nightingales, black-caps, willow-wrens, and +whitethroats, are other songsters which never find their way to +these isles, for which you must consult the pages of Mr. Gould or +Mr. Bree—and chief among them the dark Orpheus, and the +yellow Hippolais, surpassing the black-cap, and almost equalling +the nightingale, for richness and variety of song—the +polyglot warbler which penetrates, in summer, as far north as the +shores of the British Channel, and there stops short, scared by +the twenty miles of sea, after a land journey—and by night, +too, as all the warblers journey—from Africa.</p> +<p>At Pau, the railroad ended when I was there; and who would go +eastward had to take carriage, and go by the excellent road (all +public roads in the south of France are excellent, and equal to +our best English roads) over the high Landes to Tarbes; and on +again over fresh Landes to Montrejeau; and thence by railway to +Toulouse.</p> +<p>They are very dreary, these high flat uplands, from which +innumerable streams pour down to swell the Adour and the Garonne; +and as one rolls along, listening to the eternal tinkle of the +horse-bells, only two roadside objects are particularly worthy of +notice. First, the cultivation, spreading rapidly since the +Revolution, over what was open moor; and next the great natural +parks which one traverses here and there; the remnants of those +forests which were once sacred to the seigneurs and their field +sports. The seigneurs are gone now, and the game with them; +and the forests are almost gone—so ruinate, indeed, by the +peasantry, that the Government (I believe) has interfered to stop +a destruction of timber, which involves the destruction both of +fire-wood and of the annual fall of rain. But the trees +which remain, whether in forest or in homestead, are sadly +mangled. The winters are sharp in these high uplands, and +firing scarce; and the country method of obtaining it is to send +a woman up a tree, where she hacks off, with feeble arms and +feeble tools, boughs halfway out from the stem, disfiguring, and +in time destroying by letting the wet enter, splendid southern +oaks, chestnuts, and walnuts. Painful and hideous, to an +eye accustomed to British parks, are the forms of these once +noble trees.</p> +<p>Suddenly we descend a brow into the Yale of Tarbes: a good +land and large; a labyrinth of clear streams, water-meadows, +cherry-orchards, and crops of every kind, and in the midst the +pleasant old city, with its once famous University. Of +Tarbes, you may read in the pages of Froissart—or, if you +prefer a later authority, in those of Dumas, ‘Trois +Mousquetaires;’ for this is the native land of the immortal +Ulysses of Gascony, the Chevalier d’Artagnan.</p> +<p>There you may see, to your surprise, not only gentlemen, but +ladies, taking their pleasure on horseback after the English +fashion; for there is close by a great ‘haras,’ or +Government establishment for horse-breeding. You may watch +the quaint dresses in the marketplace; you may rest, as Froissart +rested of old, in a ‘right pleasant inn;’ you may eat +of the delicious cookery which is to be found, even in remote +towns, throughout the south of France, and even—if you +dare—of ‘Coquilles aux Champignons.’ You +may sit out after dinner in that delicious climate, listening to +the rush of the clear Adour through streets, and yards, and +culverts; for the city, like Romsey, or Salisbury, is built over +many streams. You may watch the Pyrenees changing from +white to rose, from rose to lead colour, and then dying away into +the night—for twilight there is little or none, here in the +far south.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The sun’s rim dips, the stars rush +out,<br /> +At one stride comes the dark.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And soon from street to street you hear the +‘clarion’ of the garrison, that singularly wild and +sweet trumpet-call which sends French soldiers to their +beds. And at that the whole populace swarms out, rich and +poor, and listens entranced beneath the trees in the Place +Maubourguet, as if they had never heard it before; with an order +and a sobriety, and a good humour, and a bowing to each other, +and asking and giving of cigar-lights between men of every +class—and a little quiet modest love-making on the +outskirts of the crowd, which is very pleasant to behold. +And when the music is silent, and the people go off suddenly, +silently, and soberly withal (for there are no drunkards in these +parts), to their early beds, you stand and look up into the +‘purple night,’ as Homer calls it—that southern +sky, intensely dark, and yet transparent withal, through which +you seem to look beyond the stars into the infinite itself, and +recollect that beyond all that, and through all that likewise, +there is an infinite good God who cares for all these simple +kindly folk; and that by Him all their hearts are as well known, +and all their infirmities as mercifully weighed, as are, you +trust, your own.</p> +<p>And so you go to rest, content to say, with the wise American, +‘It takes all sorts to make a world.’</p> +<p>The next morn you rise, to roll on over yet more weary uplands +to Montrejeau, over long miles of sandy heath, a magnified +Aldershott, which during certain summer months is gay, here and +there, like Aldershott, with the tents of an army at play. +But in spring the desolation is utter, and the loneliest +grouse-moor, and the boggiest burn, are more cheerful and varied +than the Landes of Lannemezan, and the foul streamlets which have +sawn gorges through the sandy waste.</p> +<p>But all the while, on your right hand, league after league, +ever fading into blue sky behind you, and growing afresh out of +blue sky in front, hangs high in air the white saw of the +Pyrenees. High, I say, in air, for the land slopes, or +seems to slope, down from you to the mountain range, and all +their roots are lost in a dim sea of purple haze. But shut +out the snow line above, and you will find that the seeming haze +is none, but really a clear and richly varied distance of hills, +and woods, and towns, which have become invisible from the +contrast of their greens, and greys, and purples, with the glare +and dazzle of the spotless snows of spring.</p> +<p>There they stand, one straight continuous jagged wall, of +which no one point seems higher than another. From the Pic +d’Ossau, by the Mont Perdu and the Maladetta to the Pic de +Lart, are peaks past counting—hard clear white against the +hard clear blue, and blazing with keen light beneath the high +southern sun. Each peak carries its little pet cushion of +cloud, hanging motionless a few hundred yards above in the blue +sky, a row of them as far as eye can see. But, ever and +anon, as afternoon draws on, one of those little clouds, seeming +tired of waiting at its post ever since sunrise, loses its +temper, boils, swells, settles down on its own private peak, and +explodes in a fierce thunderstorm down its own private valley, +without discomposing in the least its neighbour cloud-cushions +right and left. Faintly the roll of the thunder reaches the +ear. Across some great blackness of cloud and cliff, a tiny +spark darts down. A long wisp of mist sweeps rapidly toward +you across the lowlands, and a momentary brush of cold rain lays +the dust. And then the pageant is played out, and the +disturbed peak is left clear again in the blue sky for the rest +of the day, to gather another cloud-cushion when +to-morrow’s sun shall rise.</p> +<p>To him who looks, day after day, on this astonishing natural +wall, stretching, without visible gap, for nearly three hundred +miles, it is easy to see why France not only is, but must be, a +different world from Spain. Even human thought cannot, to +any useful extent, fly over that great wall of homeless rock and +snow. On the other side there must needs be another folk, +with another tongue, other manners, other polities, and if not +another creed, yet surely with other, and utterly different, +conceptions of the universe, and of man’s business +therein. Railroads may do somewhat. But what of one +railroad; or even of two, one on the ocean, one on the sea, two +hundred and seventy miles apart? Before French civilization +can inform and elevate the Spanish people you must ‘plane +down the Pyrenees.’</p> +<p>At Montrejeau, a pretty town upon a hill which overhangs the +Garonne, you find, again, verdure and a railroad; and, turning +your back upon the Pyrenees, run down the rich ugly vale of the +Garonne, through crops of exceeding richness—wheat, which +is reaped in July, to be followed by buckwheat reaped in October; +then by green crops to be cut in May, and that again by maize, to +be pulled in October, and followed by wheat and the same +rotation.</p> +<p>Thus you reach Toulouse, a noble city, of which it ill befits +a passer-through to speak. Volumes have been written on its +antiquities, and volumes on its history; and all of either that +my readers need know, they will find in Murray’s +hand-book.</p> +<p>At Toulouse—or rather on leaving it to go +eastward—you become aware that you have passed into a fresh +region. The change has been, of course, gradual: but it has +been concealed from you by passing over the chilly dreary uplands +of Lannemezan. Now you find yourself at once in +Languedoc. You have passed from the Atlantic region into +the Mediterranean; from the old highlands of the wild Vascones, +into those lowlands of Gallia Narbonensis, reaching from the +head-waters of the Garonne to the mouths of the Rhone, which were +said to be more Italian than Italy itself.</p> +<p>The peculiarity of the district is its gorgeous +colouring. Everywhere, over rich plains, you look away to +low craggy banks of limestone, the grey whereof contrasts +strongly with the green of the lowland, and with the even richer +green of the mulberry orchards; and beyond them again, southward +to the now distant snows of the Pyrenees, and northward to the +orange downs and purple glens of the Cevennes, all blazing in the +blazing sun. Green, grey, orange, purple, and, in the +farthest distance, blue as of the heaven itself, make the land +one vast rainbow, and fit dwelling-place for its sunny folk, +still happy and industrious—once the most cultivated and +luxurious people in Europe.</p> +<p>As for their industry, it is hereditary. These lands +were, it may be, as richly and carefully tilled in the days of +Augustus Cæsar as they are now; or rather, as they were at +the end of the eighteenth century. For, since then, the +delver and sower—for centuries the slave of the Roman, and, +for centuries after, the slave of Teutonic or Saracenic +conquerors—has become his own master, and his own landlord; +and an impulse has been given to industry, which is shown by trim +cottages, gay gardens, and fresh olive orchards, pushed up into +glens which in a state of nature would starve a goat.</p> +<p>The special culture of the country—more and more special +as we run eastward—is that of the mulberry, the almond, and +the olive. Along every hill-side, down every glen, lie +orchard-rows of the precious pollards. The mulberries are +of richest dark velvet green; the almonds, one glory of +rose-colour in early spring, are now of a paler and colder green; +the olives (as all the world knows) of a dusty grey, which looks +all the more desolate in the pruning time of early spring, when +half the boughs of the evergreen are cut out, leaving the trees +stripped as by a tempest, and are carried home for fire-wood in +the quaint little carts, with their solid creaking wheels, drawn +by dove-coloured kine. Very ancient are some of these +olives, or rather, olive-groups. For when the tree grows +old, it splits, and falls asunder, as do often our pollard +willows; the bark heals over on the inside of each fragment, and +what was one tree becomes many, springing from a single root, and +bearing such signs of exceeding age that one can well believe the +country tale, how in the olive grounds around Nismes are still +fruiting olives which have furnished oil for the fair Roman dames +who cooled themselves in the sacred fountain of Nemausa, in the +days of the twelve Cæsars.</p> +<p>Between the pollard rows are everywhere the rows of vines, or +of what will be vines when summer comes, but are now black +knobbed and gnarled clubs, without a sign of life save here and +there one fat green shoot of leaf and tendril bursting forth from +the seemingly dead stick.</p> +<p>One who sees that sight may find a new meaning and beauty in +the mystic words, ‘I am the vine, ye are the +branches.’ It is not merely the connection between +branch and stem, common to all trees; not merely the exhilarating +and seemingly inspiring properties of the grape, which made the +very heathens look upon it as the sacred and miraculous fruit, +the special gift of God; not merely the pruning out of the +unfruitful branches, to be burned as fire-wood, or—after +the old Roman fashion, which I believe endures still in these +parts—buried as manure at the foot of the parent stem; not +merely these, but the seeming death of the vine, shorn of all its +beauty, its fruitfulness, of every branch and twig which it had +borne the year before, and left unsightly and seemingly ruined, +to its winter’s sleep; and then bursting forth again, by an +irresistible inward life, into fresh branches spreading and +trailing far and wide, and tossing their golden tendrils to the +sun.</p> +<p>This thought, surely—the emblem of the living Church +springing from the corpse of the dead Christ, who yet should rise +and be alive for evermore—enters into, it may be forms an +integral part of, the meaning of, that prophecy of all +prophecies.</p> +<p>One ought to look, with something of filial reverence, on the +agriculture of the district into which we are penetrating; for it +is the parent of our own. From hence, or strictly speaking +from the Mediterranean shore beyond us, spread northward and +westward through France, Belgium, and Britain, all the tillage +which we knew—at least till a hundred years +ago—beyond the primæval plan of clearing, or +surface-burning, the forests, growing miserable white crops as +long as they would yield, and then letting the land relapse, for +twenty years, into miserable pasture. This process (which +lingered thirty years ago in remote parts of Devon), and nothing +better, seems to have been that change of cultivated lands which +Tacitus ascribes to the ancient Germans. Rotation of crops, +in any true sense, came to us from Provence and Languedoc; and +with it, subsoiling; irrigation; all our artificial grasses, with +lucerne at the head of the list; our peas and beans; some of our +most important roots; almost all our garden flowers, vegetables, +fruits, the fig, the mulberry, the vine—(the olive and the +maize came with them from the East, but dared go no further +north)—and I know not what more; till we may say, +that—saving subsoil-draining, which their climate does not +need—the ancestors of these good folks were better farmers +fifteen hundred years ago, than too many of our countrymen are at +this day.</p> +<p>So they toil, and thrive, and bless God, under the glorious +sun; and as for rain—they have not had rain for these two +months—(I speak of April, 1864)—and, though the white +limestone dust is ankle deep on every road, say that they want +none for two months more, thanks, it is to be presumed, to their +deep tillage, which puts the plant-roots out of the reach of +drought. In spring they feed their silkworms, and wind +their silk. In summer they reap their crops, and hang the +maize-heads from their rafters for their own winter food, while +they sell the wheat to the poor creatures, objects of their pity, +who live in towns, and are forced to eat white bread. From +spring to autumn they have fruit, and to spare, for themselves +and for their customers; and with the autumn comes the vintage, +and all its classic revelries. A happy folk—under a +happy clime; which yet has its drawbacks, like all climes on +earth. Terrible thunderstorms sweep over it, hail-laden, +killing, battering, drowning, destroying in an hour the labours +of the year; and there are ugly mistral winds likewise, of which +it may be fairly said, that he who can face an eight days’ +mistral, without finding his life a burden, must be either a very +valiant man, or have neither liver nor mucous membrane.</p> +<p>For on a sudden, after still and burning weather, the +thermometer suddenly falls from thirty to forty degrees; and out +of the north-west rushes a chilly hurricane, blowing fiercer and +fiercer each day toward nightfall, and lulling in the small +hours, only to burst forth again at sunrise. Parched are +all lips and eyes; for the air is full of dust, yea, even of +gravel which cuts like hail. Aching are all right-sides; +for the sudden chill brings on all manner of liver complaints and +indigestions. All who can afford it, draw tight the +jalousies, and sulk in darkness; the leaves are parched, as by an +Atlantic gale; the air is filled with lurid haze, as in an +English north-east wind; and no man can breathe freely, or eat +his bread with joy, until the plague is past.</p> +<p>What is the cause of these mistrals; why all the cold air of +Central France should be suddenly seized with madness, and rush +into the sea between the Alps and the Pyrenees; whether the great +heat of the sun, acting on the Mediterranean basin, raises up +thence—as from the Gulf of Mexico—columns of warm +light air, whose place has to be supplied by colder and heavier +air from inland; whether the north-west mistral is, or is not, a +diverted north-easter; an arctic current which, in its right road +toward the tropics across the centre of France, has been called +to the eastward of the Pyrenees (instead of, as usual, to the +westward), by the sudden demand for cold air,—all this let +men of science decide; and having discovered what causes the +mistral, discover also what will prevent it. That would be +indeed a triumph of science, and a boon to tortured humanity.</p> +<p>But after all, man is a worse enemy to man than any of the +brute forces of nature: and a more terrible scourge than mistral +or tempest swept over this land six hundred years ago, when it +was, perhaps, the happiest and the most civilized portion of +Europe. This was the scene of the Albigense Crusade: a +tragedy of which the true history will never, perhaps, be +written. It was not merely a persecution of real or +supposed heretics; it was a national war, embittered by the +ancient jealousies of race, between the Frank aristocracy of the +north and the Gothic aristocracy of the south, who had perhaps +acquired, with their half-Roman, half-Saracen civilization, +mixtures both of Roman and of Saracen blood. As +“Aquitanians,” +“Provençaux,”—Roman Provincials, as they +proudly called themselves, speaking the Langue d’Oc, and +looking down on the northerners who spoke the Langue d’Oil +as barbarians, they were in those days guilty of the capital +crime of being foreigners; and as foreigners they were +exterminated. What their religious tenets were, we shall +never know. With the Vaudois, Waldenses, “poor men of +Lyons,” they must not be for a moment confounded. +Their creed remains to us only in the calumnies of their +enemies. The confessions in the archives of the Tolosan +Inquisition, as elicited either under torture or fear of torture, +deserve no confidence whatsoever. And as for the +licentiousness of their poetry—which has been alleged as +proof of their profligacy—I can only say, that it is no +more licentious than the <i>fabliaux</i> of their French +conquerors, while it is far more delicate and refined. +Humanity, at least, has done justice to the Troubadours of the +south; and confessed, even in the Middle Age, that to them the +races of the north owed grace of expression, delicacy of +sentiment, and that respect for women which soon was named +chivalry; which looks on woman, not with suspicion and contempt, +but with trust and adoration; and is not ashamed to obey her as +“mistress,” instead of treating her as a slave.</p> +<p>But these Albigenses must have had something in their hearts +for which it was worth while to die. At Aviguonet, that +little grey town on the crag above the railway, they burst into +the place, maddened by the cruelties of the Inquisitor (an +archdeacon, if I recollect rightly, from Toulouse), and slew him +then and there. They were shut up in the town, and +withstood heroically a long and miserable siege. At last +they were starved out. The conquerors offered them their +lives—so say the French stories—if they would +recant. But they would not. They were thrust together +into one of those stone-walled enclosures below the town, heaped +over with vine-twigs and maize-stalks, and burned alive; and +among them a young lady of the highest rank, who had passed +through all the horrors of the siege, and was offered life, +wealth, and honour, if she would turn.</p> +<p>Surely profligate infidels do not so die; and these poor +souls, whatever were their sins or their confusions, must be +numbered among the heroes of the human race.</p> +<p>But the world has mended since then, and so has the French +character. Even before the Revolution of 1793, it was +softening fast. The massacres of 1562 were not as horrible +as those of the Albigense Crusade, though committed—which +the former were not—under severe provocation. The +massacres of 1793—in spite of all that has been +said—were far less horrible than those of 1562, though they +were the outpouring of centuries of pardonable fury and +indignation. The crimes of the Terreur Blanche, at the +Restoration—though ugly things were done in the south, +especially in Nismes—were far less horrible again; though +they were, for the most part, acts of direct personal retaliation +on the republicans of 1793. And since then the French heart +has softened fast. The irritating sense of hereditary wrong +has passed away. The Frenchman conceives that justice is +done to him, according to his own notions thereof. He has +his share of the soil, without which no Celtic populace will ever +be content. He has fair play in the battle of life; and a +‘Carrière ouverte aux talens.’ He has +equal law and justice between man and man. And he is +content; and under the sunshine of contentment and self-respect, +his native good-nature expands; and he shows himself what he is, +not merely a valiant and capable, but an honest, kindly, +charitable man.</p> +<p>Yes. France has grown better, and has been growing +better, I believe, for centuries past. And the difference +between the France of the middle age and the France of the +present day, is fitly typified by the difference between the new +Carcassone below and the old Carcassone above, where every +traveller, even if he be no antiquarian, should stop and gaze +about a while.</p> +<p>The contrast is complete; and one for which a man who loves +his fellow-men should surely return devout thanks to Almighty +God. Below, on the west bank of the river, is the new town, +spreading and growing, unwalled, for its fortifications are now +replaced by boulevards and avenues; full of handsome houses; +squares where, beneath the plane-tree shade, marble fountains +pour out perpetual health and coolness; manufactories of gay +woollens; healthy, cheerful, market folk; comfortable burghers; +industry and peace. We pass outside to the great basin of +the Canal de Languedoc, and get more avenues of stately trees, +and among them the red marble statue of Riquet, whose genius +planned and carried out the mighty canal which joins the ocean to +the sea; the wonder of its day, which proved the French to be, at +least in the eighteenth century, the master-engineers of the +world; the only people who still inherited the mechanical skill +and daring of their Roman civilizers. Riquet bore the +labour of that canal—and the calumny and obstructiveness, +too, which tried to prevent its formation; France bore the +expense; Louis Quatorze, of course, the glory; and no one, it is +to be feared, the profit: for the navigation of the Garonne at +the one extremity, and of the Mediterranean shallows at the +other, were left unimproved till of late years, and the canal has +become practically useful only just in time to be superseded by +the railroads.</p> +<p>Now cross the Aude. Look down upon the willow and aspen +copses, where over the heads of busy washerwomen, the nightingale +and the hippolais crowded together away from the dusty plains and +downs, shake the copses with their song; and then toil upward to +the grey fortress tower on the grey limestone knoll; and pass, +out of nature and her pure sunshine, into the black shadow of the +unnatural Middle Age; into the region of dirt and darkness, +cruelty and fear; grim fortresses, crowded houses, narrow +streets, and pestilence. Pass through the outer circle of +walls, of the latter part of the thirteenth century, to +examine—for their architecture is a whole history engraved +in stones—the ancient walls of the inner enceinte; massive +Roman below, patched with striped Visigothic work, with mean and +hasty Moorish, with graceful, though heavy, Romanesque of the +times of the Troubadours; a whole museum of ancient +fortifications, which has been restored, stone by stone, through +the learning of M. Viollet le Duc and the public spirit of the +late Emperor. Pass in under the gateway and give yourself +up to legends. There grins down on you the broad image of +the mythic Dame Carcas, who defended the town single-handed +against Charlemagne, till this tower fell down by miracle, and +let in the Christian host. But do not believe that she gave +to the place its name of Carcassone; for the first syllable of +the word is hint enough that it was, long ere her days, a Celtic +caer, or hill-fortress. Pause at the inner gate; you need +not exactly believe that when the English Crusader, Simon de +Montfort, burst it open, and behold, the town within was empty +and desolate, he cried: ‘Did I not tell you that those +heretics were devils; and behold, being devils, they have +vanished into air.’ You must believe, I fear, that of +the great multitude who had been crowded, starving, and +fever-stricken within, he found four hundred poor wretches who +had lingered behind, and burnt them all alive. You need not +believe that that is the mouth of the underground passage which +runs all the way from the distant hills, through which the +Vicomte de Beziers, after telling Simon de Montfort and the Abbot +of Citeaux that he would sooner be flayed alive than betray the +poor folk who had taken refuge with him, got them all safe away, +men, women, and children. You need not believe that that +great vaulted chamber was the ‘Chamber of the +Inquisition.’ But you must believe that those two +ugly rings let into the roof were put there for the torture of +the cord; and that many a naked wretch has dangled from them ere +now, confessing anything and everything that he—or, alas +she—was bidden. But these and their like are the +usual furniture of every mediæval court of justice; and +torture was not altogether abolished in France till the latter +part of the eighteenth century. You need not believe, +again, that that circular tower on the opposite side of the town +was really the ‘Tower of the Inquisition;’ for many a +feudal lord, besides the Inquisitors, had their dens of cruelty +in those old times. You need not even believe—though +it is too likely to be true—that that great fireplace in +the little first-floor room served for the torture of the +scarpines. But you must believe that in that little round +den beneath it, only approached by a trap in the floor, two +skeletons were found fastened by those chains to that central +pillar, having died and rotted forgotten in that horrid +oubliette—how many centuries ago?</p> +<p>‘Plusieurs ont gemis là bas,’ said M. +Viollet le Duc’s foreman of the works, as he led us out of +that evil hole, to look, with eyes and hearts refreshed by the +change, at a curious Visigothic tower, in which the good bishop +Sidonius Apollinaris may have told of the last Burgundian +invasion of his Auvergne to the good king Theodoric of the West +Goths.</p> +<p>If anyone wishes to learn what the Middle Ages were like, let +him go to Carcassone and see.</p> +<p>And now onward to Narbonne—or rather, to what was once +Narbonne; one of the earliest colonies ever founded by the +Romans; then the capital of the Visigothic kingdom; then of an +Arab kingdom: now a dull fortified town—of a filth +unspeakable, and not to be forgotten or forgiven. Stay not +therein an hour, lest you take fever, or worse: but come out of +the gate over the drawbridge, and stroll down the canal. +Look back a moment, though, across the ditch. The whole +face of the wall is a museum of Roman gods, tombs, inscriptions, +bas-reliefs: the wreck of Martial’s ‘Pulcherrima +Narbo,’ the old Roman city, which was demolished by Louis +XIII., to build the ugly fortifications of the then new fashion, +now antiquated and useless. Take one glance, and walk on, +to look at live Nature—far more interesting than dead +Art.</p> +<p>Everything fattens in the close damp air of the canal. +The great flat, with its heavy crops, puts you in mind of the +richest English lowland—save for the total want of old +meadows. The weeds on the bank are English in type, only +larger and richer—as becomes the climate. But as you +look among them, you see forms utterly new and strange, whose +kinship you cannot fancy, but which remind you that you are +nearing Italy, and Greece, and Africa. And in the hedges +are great bay-trees; and inside them, orchards of standard fig +and white mulberry, with its long yearling shoots of glorious +green—soon to be stripped bare for the silkworms; and here +and there long lines of cypresses, black against the bright green +plain and bright blue sky. No; you are not in +Britain. Certainly not; for there is a drake (not a duck) +quacking with feeble treble in that cypress, six feet over your +head; and in Britain drakes do not live in trees. You look +for the climbing palmipede, and see nothing: nor will you see; +for the quacker is a tiny green tree-frog, who holds on by the +suckers at the ends of his toes (with which he can climb a pane +of glass, like a fly), and has learnt the squirrel’s art of +going invisible, without ‘the receipt of fern-seed,’ +by simply keeping always on the further side of the branch.</p> +<p>But come back; for the air even here is suggestive of cholera +and fever. The uncleanliness of these Narbonnois is +shameless and shocking; and ‘immondices’ of every +kind lie festering in the rainless heat. The sickened +botanist retreats, and buys a bottle of Eau +Bully—<i>alias</i> aromatic vinegar.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>There, crowding yon hill, with handsome houses and churches, +is Beziers—the blood-stained city. Beneath the +pavement of that church, it is said, lie heaped together the +remains of thousands of men, women, and children, slaughtered +around their own altars, on that fatal day, when the Legate +Amalric, asked by the knights how they should tell Catholics from +heretics, cried, “Kill them all—the Lord will know +his own.”</p> +<p>We will pass on. We have had enough of horrors. +And, beside, we are longing to hurry onward; for we are nearing +the Mediterranean now. There are small skiffs lying under +the dark tower of Agde, another place of blood, fitly built of +black lava blocks, the offspring of the nether pit. The +railway cuts through rolling banks of dark lava; and now, ahead +of us, is the conical lava-hill of Cette, and the mouth of the +Canal du Midi.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p>There it is, at last. The long line of heavenly blue; +and over it, far away, the white-peaked lateen sails, which we +have seen in pictures since our childhood; and there, close to +the rail, beyond the sand-hills, delicate wavelets are breaking +for ever on a yellow beach, each in exactly the same place as the +one which fell before. One glance shows us children of the +Atlantic, that we are on a tideless sea.</p> +<p>There it is,—the sacred sea. The sea of all +civilization, and almost all history, girdled by the fairest +countries in the world; set there that human beings from all its +shores might mingle with each other, and become humane—the +sea of Egypt, of Palestine, of Greece, of Italy, of Byzant, of +Marseilles, and this Narbonnaise, ‘more Roman than Rome +herself,’ to which we owe the greater part of our own +progress; the sea, too, Algeria and Carthage, and Cyrene, and +fair lands now desolate, surely not to be desolate for +ever;—the sea of civilization. Not only to the +Christian, nor to the classic scholar, but to every man to whom +the progress of his race from barbarism toward humanity is dear, +should the Mediterranean Sea be one of the most august and +precious objects on this globe; and the first sight of it should +inspire reverence and delight, as of coming home—home to a +rich inheritance in which he has long believed by hearsay, but +which he sees at last with his own mortal corporal eyes.</p> +<p>Exceedingly beautiful is that first view of the sea from +Cette, though altogether different in character from the views of +the Mediterranean which are common in every gallery of +pictures. There is nothing to remind one of Claude, or +Vernet, or Stanfield. No mountain-ranges far aloft, no +cliffs toppling into the water, with convents and bastides +perched on their crags; and seaports, with their land-locked +harbours, and quaint lighthouses, nestling on the brink. +That scenery begins on the other side of the Rhone mouth, and +continues, I believe, almost without interruption, to the shores +of Southern Palestine, one girdle of perpetual beauty.</p> +<p>But here, the rail runs along a narrow strip of sand, covered +with straggling vines, and tall white iris, between the sea and +the great Etang de Thau, a long narrow salt-lake, beyond which +the wide lowlands of the Herault slide gently down, There is not +a mountain, hardly a hill, visible for miles: but all around is +the great sheet of blue glassy water: while the air is as glassy +clear as the water, and through it, at seemingly immense +distances, the land shows purple and orange, blue and grey, till +the landscape is one great rainbow. White ships slide to +and from far-off towns; fishermen lounge on the marshes, drying +long lines of net. Everywhere is vastness, freedom, repose +gentle and yet not melancholy; because with all, under the +burning blue, there is that fresh wholesome heat, which in itself +is life, and youth, and joy.</p> +<p>Beyond, nearer the mouths of the Rhone, there are, so men say, +desolate marshes, tenanted by herds of half-wild horses; foul +mud-banks, haunted by the pelican and the flamingo, and waders +from the African shore; a region half land, half water, where +dwell savage folk, decimated by fever and ague. But short +of those Bouches du Rhône, the railway turns to the north, +toward Montpellier and</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Arli, dove il +Rhodano stagna.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And at Cette ends this little tour from Ocean to Sea, with the +wish that he who next travels that way may have as glorious +weather, and as agreeable a companion, as the writer of these +lines had in 1864.</p> +<h2><a name="page223"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +223</span>VI.<br /> +<a name="page225"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 225</span><i>NORTH +DEVON</i>. <a name="citation225a"></a><a href="#footnote225a" +class="citation">[225a]</a></h2> +<h3>I.—<span class="smcap">Exmoor</span>.</h3> +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> were riding up from Lynmouth, on +a pair of ragged ponies, Claude Mellot and I, along the gorge of +Watersmeet. And as we went we talked of many things; and +especially of some sporting book which we had found at the +Lyndale Hotel the night before, and which we had not by any means +admired. <a name="citation225b"></a><a href="#footnote225b" +class="citation">[225b]</a> I do not object to sporting +books in general, least of all to one on Exmoor. No place +in England is more worthy of one. There is no place whose +beauties and peculiarities are more likely to be thrown into +strong relief by being looked at with a sportsman’s +eye. It is so with all forests and moorlands. The +spirit of Robin Hood and Johnny of Breadislee is theirs. +They are remnants of the home of man’s fierce youth, still +consecrated to the genius of animal excitement and savage +freedom; after all, not the most ignoble qualities of human +nature. Besides, there is no better method of giving a +living picture of a whole country than by taking some one feature +of it as a guide, and bringing all other observations into +harmony with that original key. Even in merely scientific +books this is very possible. Look, for instance, at Hugh +Miller’s ‘Old Red Sandstone,’ ‘The Voyage +of the Beagle,’ and Professor Forbes’s work (we had +almost said epic poem) on ‘Glaciers.’ Even an +agricultural writer, if he have a real insight in him—if he +have anything of that secret of the <i>più nel’ +uno</i>, ‘the power of discovering the infinite in the +finite;’ of seeing, like a poet, trivial phenomena in their +true relation to the whole of the great universe into which they +are so cunningly fitted; if he has learned to look at all things +and men, down to the meanest, as living lessons written with the +finger of God; if, in short, he has any true dramatic power: then +he may impart to that apparently muddiest of sciences a poetic or +a humorous tone, and give the lie to Mephistopheles when he +dissuades Faust from farming as an occupation too mean and filthy +for a man of genius. The poetry of agriculture remains as +yet, no doubt, unwritten, and the comedy of it also; though its +farce-tragedy has been too often extensively enacted in +practice—unconsciously to the players. As for the old +‘pastoral’ school, it only flourished before +agriculture really existed—that is, before sound science, +hard labour, and economy were necessary—and has been for +the last two hundred years simply a dream. Nevertheless, as +signs of what may be done even now by a genial man with so +stubborn a subject as ‘turnips, barley, clover, +wheat,’ it is worth while to look at old Arthur +Young’s books, both travels and treatises; and also at +certain very spirited ‘Chronicles of a Clay Farm,’ by +Talpa, which teem with humour and wisdom.</p> +<p>In sporting literature—a tenth muse, exclusively +indigenous to England—the same observation holds good +tenfold. Some of our most perfect topographical sketches +have been the work of sportsmen. Old Izaak Walton, and his +friend Cotton, of Dovedale, whose names will last as long as +their rivers, have been followed by a long train of worthy +pupils. White’s ‘History of Selborne;’ +Sir Humphry Davy’s ‘Salmonia;’ ‘The Wild +Sports of the West;’ Mr. St. John’s charming little +works on Highland Shooting; and, above all, Christopher +North’s ‘Recreations’—delightful book! to +be read and re-read, the tenth time even as the first—an +inexhaustible fairy well, springing out of the granite rock of +the sturdy Scotch heart, through the tender green turf of a +genial boyish old age. Sporting books, when they are not +filled—as they need never be—with low slang, and ugly +sketches of ugly characters—who hang on to the skirts of +the sporting world, as they would to the skirts of any other +world, in default of the sporting one—form an integral and +significant, and, it may be, an honourable and useful part, of +the English literature of this day; and, therefore, all +shallowness, vulgarity, stupidity, or bookmaking in that class, +must be as severely attacked as in novels and poems. We +English owe too much to our field sports to allow people to talk +nonsense about them.</p> +<p>Claude smiled at some such words of mine that day. +‘You talk often of the poetry of sport. I can see +nothing in it but animal excitement, and a certain quantity, I +suppose, of that animal cunning which the Red Indian possesses in +common with the wolf and the cat, and any other beast of +prey. As a fact, the majority of sportsmen are of the most +unpoetical type of manhood.’</p> +<p>‘More unpoetical than the average man of business, or +man of law, Claude? Or even than the average +preacher? I believe, on the contrary, that for most of them +it is sport which at once keeps alive and satisfies what you +would call their æsthetic faculties, and so—smile if +you will—helps to make them purer, simpler, more genial +men.’</p> +<p>‘Little enough of æsthetic appears either in their +conversation or their writing.’</p> +<p>‘Esau is a dumb soul, especially here in England; but he +has as deep a heart in him as Jacob, nevertheless, and as +tender. Do you fancy that the gentleman over whose book we +were grumbling last night, attached no more to his own simple +words than you do? His account of a stag’s run looks +bald enough to you: but to him (unless Diana struck him blind for +intruding on her privacy) what a whole poem of memories there +must be in those few words,—“Turned down * * Water +for a mile, and crossed the forest to Watersmeet, where he was +run into after a gallant race.”’</p> +<p>‘A whole poem?’</p> +<p>‘Why not? How can there be less, if he had eyes to +see?’</p> +<p>‘Does he fancy that it is an account of a run to tell us +that “Found at * * * * cover, held away at a slapping pace +for * * * * Barn, then turned down the * * * Water for a mile, +and crossed the Forest; made for * * * Hill, but being headed, +went by ** ** woods to D * * * where he was run into after a +gallant race of * * * * hours and * * * *miles”? It +is nearly as dull as a history book!’</p> +<p>‘Nay, I never rode with those staghounds: and yet I can +fill up his outline for him, wherever the stag was roused. +Do you think that he never marked how the panting cavalcade rose +and fell on the huge mile-long waves of that vast heather sea; +how one long brown hill after another sunk down, greyer and +greyer, behind them, and one long grey hill after another swelled +up browner and browner before them; and how the sandstone rattled +and flew beneath their feet, as the great horses, like +Homer’s of old, “devoured up the plain;” and +how they struggled down the hill-side, through bushes and rocks, +and broad slipping rattling sheets of screes, and saw beneath +them stag and pack galloping down the shallow glittering +river-bed, throwing up the shingle, striking out the water in +long glistening sheets; and how they too swept after them, down +the flat valley, rounding crag and headland, which opened one +after another in interminable vista, along the narrow strip of +sand and rushes, speckled with stunted, moss-bearded, +heather-bedded hawthorns, between the great grim lifeless +mountain walls? Did he feel no pleasant creeping of the +flesh that day at the sound of his own horse-hoofs, as they swept +through the long ling with a sound as soft as the brushing of a +woman’s tresses, and then rang down on the spongy, black, +reverberating soil, chipping the honey-laden fragrant heather +blossoms, and tossing them out in a rosy shower? Or, if +that were really too slight a thing for the observation of an +average sportsman, surely he must recollect the dying away of the +hounds’ voices, as the woodland passes engulfed them, +whether it were Brendon or at Badger-worthy, or any other place; +how they brushed through the narrow forest paths, where the ashes +were already golden, while the oaks still kept their sombre +green, and the red leaves and berries of the mountain-ash showed +bright beneath the dark forest aisles; and how all of a sudden +the wild outcry before them seemed to stop and concentrate, +thrown back, louder and louder as they rode, off the same echoing +crag; till at a sudden turn of the road there stood the stag +beneath them in the stream, his back against the black rock with +its green cushions of dripping velvet, knee-deep in the clear +amber water, the hounds around him, some struggling and swimming +in the deep pool, some rolling and tossing and splashing in a +mad, half-terrified ring, as he reared into the air on his great +haunches, with the sparkling beads running off his red mane, and +dropping on his knees, plunged his antlers down among them, with +blows which would have each brought certain death with it if the +yielding water had not broken the shock. Do you think that +he does not remember the death? The huge carcass dragged +out of the stream, followed by dripping, panting dogs; the +blowing of the mort, and the last wild halloo, when the horn-note +and the voices rang through the autumn woods, and rolled up the +smooth flat mountain sides; and Brendon answered Countisbury, and +Countisbury sent it on to Lynmouth hills, till it swept out of +the gorge and died away upon the Severn sea? And then, does +he not remember the pause, and the revulsion, and the feeling of +sadness and littleness, almost of shame, as he looked up for the +first time—one can pardon his not having done so +before—and saw where he was, and the beauty of the +hill-sides, with the lazy autumn clouds crawling about their +tops, and the great sheets of screes, glaciers of stone covering +acres and acres of the smooth hill-side, eating far into the +woods below, bowing down the oak scrubs with their weight, and +the circular sweeps of down, flecked with innumerable dark spots +of gorse, each of them guarded where they open into the river +chasm by two fortresses of “giant-snouted +crags,”—delicate pink and grey sandstone, from which +blocks and crumbling boulders have been toppling slowly down for +ages, beneath the frost and the whirlwind, and now lie in long +downward streams upon the slope, as if the mountain had been +weeping tears of stone? And then, as the last notes of the +mort had died away, did not there come over him an awe at the +silence of the woods, not broken, but deepened, by the unvarying +monotone of the roaring stream beneath, which flashed and +glittered, half-hidden in the dark chasm, in clear brown pools +reflecting every leaf and twig, in boiling pits and walls of +foam, ever changing, and yet for ever the fleeting on past the +poor dead reeking stag and the silent hounds lying about on the +moss-embroidered stones, their lolling tongues showing like +bright crimson sparkles in the deep rich Venetian air of the +green sombre shades; while the startled water-ousel, with his +white breast, flitted a few yards and stopped to stare from a +rock’s point at the strange intruders; and a single +stock-dove, out of the bosom of the wood, began calling sadly and +softly, with a dreamy peaceful moan? Did he not see and +hear all this, for surely it was there to see and +hear?’</p> +<p>‘Not he. The eye only sees that which it brings +within the power of seeing; and all I shall say of him is, that a +certain apparition in white leathers was at one period of its +appearance dimly conscious of equestrian motion towards a certain +brown two-horned phenomenon, and other spotted phenomena, at +which he had been taught by habit to make the articulate noises +“stag” and “hounds,” among certain grey, +and green, and brown phenomena, at which the same habit and the +example of his fellows had taught him to say, “Rock, and +wood, and mountain,” and perhaps the further noises of +“Lovely, splendid, majestic.”’</p> +<p>‘As usual, sir! You dwellers in Babylon fancy that +you have the monopoly of all the intellect, and all the taste, +because you earn your livings by talking about pretty things, and +painting pretty things: little do you suspect, shut up together +in your little literary worlds, and your artistic worlds, how +many thousands of us outside barbarians there are who see as +clearly, and enjoy as deeply as you do: but hold their tongues +about their own feelings, simply because they have never been +driven by emptiness of pocket to look round for methods of +expressing them. And, after all—how much of nature +can you express? You confest yourself yesterday baffled by +all the magnificence around you.’</p> +<p>‘Yes! to paint it worthily one would require to be a +Turner, a Copley Fielding, and a Creswick, all in one.’</p> +<p>‘And did you ever remark how such scenes as this gorge +of the “Watersmeet” stir up a feeling of shame, +almost of peevishness, before the sense of a mysterious meaning +which we ought to understand and cannot?’</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>‘Our torments do by length of time become our elements; +and painful as that sensation is to the earnest artist, he will +feel it, I fancy, at last sublime itself into an habitually +gentle, reverent, almost melancholy tone of mind, as of a man +bearing the burden of an infinite and wonderful message which his +own frivolity and laziness hinder him from speaking +out.’</p> +<p>‘Then it should beget in him, too, something of merciful +indulgence towards the seeming stupidity of those who see, after +all, only a very little shallower than he does into the +unfathomable depths of nature.’</p> +<p>‘Well, sporting books and sportsmen seem to me, by their +very object, not to be worth troubling our heads about. Out +of nothing, comes nothing. See, my hands are as soft as any +lady’s in Belgravia. I could not, to save my life, +lift a hundredweight a foot off the ground; while you have been a +wild man of the woods, a leaper of ditches, a rower of races, and +a wanton destroyer of all animal life: and yet—’</p> +<p>‘You would hint politely that you are as open as me to +all noble, and chivalrous, and truly manly emotions?’</p> +<p>‘What think you?’</p> +<p>‘That you are far worthier in such matters than I, +friend. But do not forget that it may be your intellect, +and your profession—in one word, Heaven’s +mercy—which have steered you clear of shoals upon which you +will find the mass of our class founder. Woe to the class +or the nation which has no manly physical training! Look at +the manners, the morals, the faces of the young men of the +shopkeeping classes, if you wish to see the effects of utterly +neglecting the physical development of man; <a +name="citation235"></a><a href="#footnote235" +class="citation">[235]</a> of fancying that all the muscular +activity he requires under the sun is to be able to stand behind +a counter, or sit on a desk-stool without tumbling off. Be +sure, be sure, that ever since the days of the Persians of old, +effeminacy, if not twin-sister of cowardice and dishonesty, has +always gone hand in hand with them. To that utter neglect +of any exercises which call out fortitude, patience, +self-dependence, and daring, I attribute a great deal of the low +sensuality, the conceited vulgarity, the want of a high sense of +honour, which is increasing just now among the middle classes; +and from which the navigator, the engineer, the miner, and the +sailor are comparatively free.’</p> +<p>‘And perhaps, too, that similar want of a high sense of +honour, which seems, from the religious periodicals, to pervade a +large proportion of a certain more venerable +profession?’</p> +<p>‘Seriously, Claude, I believe you are not far +wrong. But we are getting on delicate ground there: however +I have always found, that of whatever profession he may +be—to travestie Shakspeare’s words,—</p> +<blockquote><p>“The man that hath not sporting in his +soul,<br /> +Is fit for treason’s direst stratagems”—</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and so forth.’</p> +<p>‘Civil to me!’</p> +<p>‘Oh, you have a sporting soul in you, like hundreds of +other Englishmen who never handled rod or gun; or you would not +be steering for Exmoor to-day. If a lad be a genius, you +may trust him to find some original means for developing his +manly energies, whether in art, agriculture, science, or travels, +discovery, and commerce. But if he be not, as there are a +thousand chances to one he will not be, then whatever you teach +him, let the two first things be, as they were with the old +Persians, “To speak the truth, and to draw the +bow.”’</p> +<p>By this time we had reached the stream, just clearing from the +last night’s showers. A long transparent amber +shallow, dimpled with fleeting silver rings by rising trout; a +low cascade of green-veined snow; a deep dark pool of swirling +orange-brown, walled in with heathery rocks, and paved with +sandstone slabs and boulders, distorted by the changing +refractions of the eddies,—sight delicious to the +angler.</p> +<p>I commenced my sport at once, while Claude wandered up the +glen to sketch a knoll of crags, on which a half-wild moorland +pony, the only living thing in sight, stood staring and snuffing +at the intruder, his long mane and tail streaming out wildly +against the sky.</p> +<p>I had fished on for some hour or two; Claude had long since +disappeared among the hills; I fancied myself miles from any +human being, when a voice at my elbow startled me:—</p> +<p>‘A bleak place for fishing this, sir!’</p> +<p>I turned; it was an old grey-whiskered labouring man, with +pick and spade on shoulder, who had crept on me unawares beneath +the wall of the neighbouring deer-cover. Keen honest eyes +gleamed out from his brown, scarred, weather-beaten face; and as +he settled himself against a rock with the deliberate intention +of a chat, I commenced by asking after the landlord of those +parts, well known and honoured both by sportsman and by +farmer.</p> +<p>‘He was gone to Malta—a warmer place that than +Exmoor.’</p> +<p>‘What! have you been in Malta?’</p> +<p>Yes, he had been in Malta, and in stranger places yet. +He had been a sailor: he had seen the landing in Egypt, and heard +the French cannon thundering vainly from the sand-hills on the +English boats. He had himself helped to lift Abercrombie up +the ship’s side to the death-bed of the brave. He had +seen Caraccioli hanging at his own yard-arm, and heard (so he +said, I know not how correctly) Lady Hamilton order out the barge +herself, and row round the frigate of the murdered man, to glut +her eyes with her revenge. He had seen, too, the ghastly +corpse floating upright, when Nelson and the enchantress met +their victim, returned from the sea-depths to stare at them, as +Banquo’s ghost upon Macbeth. But she was ‘a +mortal fine woman, was Lady Hamilton, though she was a queer one, +and cruel kind to the sailors; and many a man she saved from +flogging; and one from hanging, too; that was a marine that got +a-stealing; for Nelson, though he was kind enough, yet it was a +word and a blow with him; and quite right he, sir; for there be +such rascals on board ship, that if you ain’t as sharp with +them as with wild beastesses, no man’s life, nor the +ship’s neither, would be worth a day’s +purchase.’</p> +<p>So he, with his simple straightforward notions of right and +wrong worth, much maudlin unmerciful indulgence which we hear in +these days: and yet not going to the bottom of the matter either, +as we shall see in the next war. But, rambling on, he told +me how he had come home, war-worn and crippled, to marry a wife +and get tall sons, and lay his bones in his native village; till +which time (for death to the aged poor man is a Sabbath, of which +he talks freely, calmly, even joyously) ‘he just got his +bread, by the squire’s kindness, patching and mending at +the stone deer-fences.’</p> +<p>I gave him something to buy tobacco, and watched him as he +crawled away, with a sort of stunned surprise. And he had +actually seen Nelson sit by Lady Hamilton! It was so +strange, to have that gay Italian bay, with all its +memories,—the orgies of Baiæ, and the unburied wrecks +of ancient towns, with the smoking crater far above; and the +world-famous Nile-mouths and those great old wars, big with the +destinies of the world; and those great old heroes, with their +awful deeds for good and evil, all brought so suddenly and +livingly before me, up there in the desolate moorland, where the +deer, and birds, and heath, and rushes were even as they had been +from the beginning. Like Wordsworth with his Leech-Gatherer +(a poem which I, in spite of laughter, must rank among his very +highest),—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘While he was talking thus, the lonely +place,<br /> +The old man’s shape, and speech—all troubled me;<br +/> +In my mind’s eye I seemed to see him pace<br /> +About the weary moors continually,<br /> +Wandering about alone and silently.<br /> +. . . and when he ended,<br /> +I could have laughed myself to scorn to find<br /> +In that decrepit man so firm a mind.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Just then I heard a rustle, and turning, saw Claude toiling +down to me over the hill-side. He joined me, footsore and +weary, but in great excitement; for the first minute or two he +could not speak, and at last,—</p> +<p>‘Oh, I have seen such a sight!—but I will tell you +how it all was. After I left you I met a keeper. He +spoke civilly to me—you know my antipathy to game and those +who live thereby: but there was a wild, bold, self-helping look +about him and his gun alone there in the waste—and after +all he was a man and a brother. Well, we fell into talk, +and fraternized; and at last he offered to take me to a +neighbouring hill and show me “sixty head of red-deer all +together;” and as he spoke he looked quite proud of his +words. “I was lucky,” he said, “to come +just then, for the stags had all just got their heads +again.” At which speech I wondered; but was silent, +and followed him, I, Claude the Cockney, such a walk as I shall +never take again. Behold these trousers—behold these +hands! scratched to pieces by crawling on all-fours through the +heather. But I saw them.’</p> +<p>‘A sight worth many pairs of plaid trousers?’</p> +<p>‘Worth Saint Chrysostom’s seven years’ +nakedness on all-fours! And so I told the fellow, who by +some cunning calculations about wind, and sun, and so forth, +which he imparted to my uncomprehending ears, brought me suddenly +to the top of a little crag, below which, some hundred yards off, +the whole herd stood, stags, hinds—but I can’t +describe them. I have not brought away a scrap of sketch, +though we watched them full ten minutes undiscovered; and then +the stare, and the toss of those antlers, and the rush! +That broke the spell with me; for I had been staring stupidly at +them, trying in vain to take in the sight, with the strangest new +excitement heaving and boiling up in my throat; and at the sound +of their hoofs on the turf I woke, and found the keeper staring, +not at them, but at me, who, I verily believe, had something very +like a tear in these excitable eyes of mine.’</p> +<p>‘“Ain’t you well, sir?” said he. +“You needn’t be afeard; it’s only at the fall +of the year the stags is wicked.”</p> +<p>‘I don’t know what I answered at first; but the +fellow understood me when I shook his hand frantically, and told +him that I should thank him to the last day of my life, and that +I would not have missed it for a thousand pounds. In +part-proof whereof I gave him a sovereign on the spot, which +seemed to clear my character in his eyes as much as the crying at +the sight of a herd of deer had mystified it.’</p> +<p>‘Claude, well-beloved,’ said I, ‘will you +ever speak contemptuously of sportsmen any more?’</p> +<p>‘“Do manus,” I have been vilifying them, as +one does most things in the world, only for want of understanding +them. How shall I do penance? Go and take service +with Edwin Landseer, as pupil, colour-grinder, +footboy?’</p> +<p>‘You will then be very near to a very great poet,’ +quoth I, ‘and one whose works will become, as centuries +roll on, more and more valuable to art and to science, and, +possibly, to something higher than either.’</p> +<p>‘I begin to guess your meaning,’ answered +Claude.</p> +<p>‘So we lounged, and dreamt, and fished, in heathery +Highland,’ as Mr. Clough would say, while the summer snipes +flitted whistling up the shallow before us, and the soft, +south-eastern clouds slid lazily across the sun, and the little +trout snapped and dimpled at a tiny partridge hackle, with a +twist of orange silk, whose elegance for shape and colour +reconciled Claude’s heart somewhat to my everlasting +whipping of the water. When as last:—</p> +<p>‘You seem to have given up catching anything. You +have not stirred a fish in this last two pools, except that +little saucy yellow shrimp, who jumped over your fly, and gave a +spiteful slap at it with his tail.’</p> +<p>Too true; and what could be the cause? Had that impudent +sand-piper frightened all the fish on his way up? Had an +otter paralysed them with terror for the morning? Or had a +stag been down to drink? We saw the fresh slot of his broad +claws, by the bye, in the mud a few yards back.</p> +<p>‘We must have seen the stag himself, if he had been here +lately,’ said Claude.</p> +<p>‘Mr. Landseer knows too well by this time that that is a +non sequitur.’</p> +<p>‘“I am no more a non sequitur than you are,” +answered the Cornish magistrate to the barrister.’</p> +<p>‘Fish and deer, friend, see us purblind sons of men +somewhat more quickly than we see them, fear sharpening the +senses. Perhaps, after all, the fault is in your staring +white-straw hat, a garment which has spoilt many a good +day’s fishing. Ah, no! there is the cause; the hat of +a mightier than you—the thunder-spirit himself. Thor +is at hand, while the breeze, awe-stricken, falls dead calm +before his march. Behold, climbing above that eastern +ridge, his huge powdered cauliflower-wig, barred with a grey +horizontal handkerchief of mist.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, profane and uncomely simile!—which will next, +I presume, liken the coming hailstorm to hair-powder shaken from +the said wig.’</p> +<p>‘To shot rather than to powder. Flee, oh, flee to +yonder pile of crags, and thank your stars that there is one at +hand; for these mountain tornadoes are at once Tropic in their +ferocity and Siberian in their cutting cold.’</p> +<p>Down it came. The brown hills vanished in white sheets +of hail, first falling perpendicularly, then slanting and driving +furiously before the cold blast which issued from the +storm. The rock above us rang with the thunder-peals; and +the lightning, which might have fallen miles away, seemed to our +dazzled eyes to dive into the glittering river at our feet. +We sat silent some half-hour, listening to the voice of One more +mighty than ourselves; and it was long after the uproar had +rolled away among the hills, and a steady, sighing sheet of +warmer rains, from banks of low grey fog, had succeeded the +rattling of the hail upon the crisp heather, that I turned to +Claude.</p> +<p>‘And now, since your heart is softened towards these +wild, stag-hunting, trout fishing, jovial west-countrymen, +consider whether it should not be softened likewise toward those +old outlaw ballads which I have never yet been able to make you +admire. They express feelings not yet extinct in the minds +of a large portion of the lower orders, as you would know had you +lived, like me, all your life in poaching counties, and on the +edges of one forest after another,—feelings which must be +satisfied, even in the highest development of the civilization of +the future, for they are innate in every thoughtful and energetic +race,—feelings which, though they have often led to crime, +have far oftener delivered from swinish sensuality; the feelings +which drove into the merry greenwood “Robin Hood, Scarlet, +and John;” “Adam Bell, and Clym of the Cleugh, and +William of Cloudislee;” the feelings which prompted one +half of his inspiration to the nameless immortal who wrote the +“Nutbrown Maid;”—feelings which could not then, +and cannot now, be satisfied by the drudgery of a barbaric +agriculture, which, without science, economy, or enterprise, +offers no food for the highest instincts of the human mind, its +yearnings after Nature, after freedom, and the noble excitement +of self-dependent energy.’</p> +<p>Our talk ended: but the rain did not: and we were at last fain +to leave our shelter, and let ourselves be blown by the gale (the +difficulty being not to progress forward, but to keep our feet) +back to the shed where our ponies were tied, and to canter home +to Lynmouth, with the rain cutting our faces like showers of +pebbles, and our little mountain ponies staggering against the +wind, and more than once, if Londoners will believe me, blown +sheer up against the bank by some mad gust, which rushed +perpendicularly, not down, but up, the chasms of the glens +below.</p> +<h3>II.—<span class="smcap">The Coast Line</span>.</h3> +<p>It is four o’clock on a May morning, and Claude and I +are just embarking on board a Clovelly trawling skiff, which, +having disposed of her fish at various ports along the Channel, +is about to run leisurely homewards with an ebb tide, and a soft +north-easterly breeze.</p> +<p>So farewell, fair Lynmouth; and ye storm-spirits, send us a +propitious day; and dismiss those fantastic clouds which are +coquetting with your thrones, crawling down one hill-side, and +whirling and leaping up another, in wreaths of snow, and dun, and +amber, pierced every minute by some long glittering upward arrow +from the rising sun, which gilds grey crags and downs a thousand +feet above, while underneath the gorges still sleep black and +cold in shade.</p> +<p>There, they have heard us! The cap rises off the +‘Summer-house hill,’ that eight hundred feet of +upright wall, which seems ready to topple down into the nest of +be-myrtled cottages at its foot; and as we sweep out into the +deeper water the last mist-flake streams up from the Foreland, +and vanishes in white threads into the stainless blue.</p> +<p>‘Look at the colours of that Foreland!’ cried +Claude. ‘The simple monotone of pearly green, broken +only at intervals by blood-red stains, where the turf has slipped +and left the fresh rock bare, and all glimmering softly through a +delicate blue haze, like the bloom on a half-ripened +plum!’</p> +<p>‘And look, too, how the grey pebble beach is already +dancing and quivering in the mirage which steams up, like the hot +breath of a limekiln, from the drying stones. Talk of +“glazings and scumblings,” ye artists! and bungle at +them as you will, what are they to Nature’s own glazings, +deepening every instant there behind us?’</p> +<p>‘Mock me not. I have walked up and down here with +a humbled and broken spirit, and had nearly forsworn the audacity +of painting anything beyond a beech stem, or a frond of +fern.’</p> +<p>‘The little infinite in them would have baffled you as +much as the only somewhat bigger infinite of just the hills on +which they grow.’</p> +<p>‘Confest: and so farewell to unpaintable Lynmouth! +Farewell to the charming contrast of civilized English +landscape-gardening, with its villas, and its exotics, and its +evergreens, thus strangely and yet harmoniously confronted with +the chaos of the rocks and mountain-streams. Those grounds +of Sir William H—’s are a double paradise, the wild +Eden of the Past side by side with the cultivated Eden of the +Future. How its alternations of Art and Savagery at once +startle and relieve the sense, as you pass suddenly out of +wildernesses of piled boulders, and torrent-shattered trees, and +the roar of fern-fringed waterfalls, into “trim walks, and +fragrant alleys green;” and the door of a summer-house +transports you at a step from Richmond to the Alps. Happy +he who “possesses,” as the world calls it, and +happier still he whose taste could organize, that fairy +bower.’</p> +<p>So he, magniloquently, as was his wont; and yet his +declamations always flowed with such a graceful ease,—a +simple, smiling earnestness,—an unpractised melody of +voice, that what would have been rant from other lips, from his +showed only as the healthy enthusiasm of the passionate, +all-seeing, all-loving artist.</p> +<p>‘Look yonder, again,’ said he, gazing up at the +huge boulder-strewn hill-side above us. ‘One wonders +at that sight, whether the fable of the giants be not true after +all,—and that “Vale of Rocks,” hanging five +hundred feet in air, with all its crag-castles, and tottering +battlements, and colossal crumbling idols, and great blocks, +which hang sloping, caught in act to fall, be not some enormous +Cyclopean temple left half-disinterred: or is it a fragment of +old Chaos, left unorganized?—or, perhaps, the waste heap of +the world, where, after the rest of England had been made, some +angel put up a notice for his fellows, “Dry rubbish shot +here”?’</p> +<p>‘Not so, unscientific! It is the grandfather of +hills,—a fossil bone of some old continent, which stood +here ages before England was. And the great earth-angel, +who grinds up mountains into paint, as you do bits of ochre, for +his “Continental Sketches,” found in it the materials +for a whole dark ground-tone of coal-measures, and a few hundred +miles of warm high-lights, which we call New Red +Sandstone.’</p> +<p>What a sea-wall they are, those Exmoor hills! Sheer +upward from the sea a thousand feet rise the downs; and as we +slide and stagger lazily along before the dying breeze, through +the deep water which never leaves the cliff, the eye ranges, +almost dizzy, up some five hundred feet of rock, dappled with +every hue; from the intense dark of the tide-line, through the +warm green and brown rock-shadows, out of which the horizontal +cracks of the strata loom black, and the breeding gulls show like +lingering snow-flakes; up to the middle cliff, where delicate +grey fades into pink, pink into red, red into glowing purple; up +to where the purple is streaked with glossy ivy wreaths, and +black-green yews; up to where all the choir of colours vanishes +abruptly on the mid-hill, to give place to one yellowish-grey +sheet of upward down, sweeping aloft smooth and unbroken, except +by a lonely stone, or knot of clambering sheep, and stopped by +one great rounded waving line, sharp-cut against the brilliant +blue. The sheep hang like white daisies upon the steep; and +a solitary falcon rides, a speck in air, yet far below the crest +of that tall hill. Now he sinks to the cliff edge, and +hangs quivering, supported, like a kite, by the pressure of his +breast and long curved wings, against the breeze.</p> +<p>There he hangs, the peregrine—a true ‘falcon +gentle,’ ‘sharp-notched, long-taloned, +crooked-winged,’ whose uncles and cousins, ages since, have +struck at duck and pheasant, and sat upon the wrists of +kings. And now he is full proud of any mouse or cliff-lark; +like an old Chingachgook, last of the Mohicans, he lingers round +‘the hunting-field of his fathers.’ So all +things end.</p> +<blockquote><p>‘The old order changeth, giving place to the +new;<br /> +And God fulfils Himself in many ways,<br /> +Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>‘Ay, and the day may come,’ said Claude, +‘when the brows of that huge High Vere shall be crowned +with golden wheat, and every rock-ledge on Trentishoe, like those +of Petra and the Rhine, support its garden-bed of artificial +soil.’</p> +<p>‘And when,’ I answered, ‘the shingly sides +of that great chasm of Headon’s Mouth may be clothed with +the white mulberry, and the summer limestone-skiffs shall go back +freighted with fabrics which vie with the finest woof of Italy +and Lyons.’</p> +<p>‘You believe, then, in the late Mrs. Whitby of +Lymington?’</p> +<p>‘Seeing is believing, Claude: through laughter, and +failures, and the stupidity of half-barbarous clods, she +persevered in her silk-growing, and succeeded; and I should like +to put her book into the hands of every squire in Devon, +Cornwall, and the South of Ireland.’</p> +<p>‘Or require them to pass an examination in it, as one +more among the many books which I intend, in my ideal kingdom, +all landlords to read and digest, before they are allowed to take +possession of their estates. In the meantime, what is that +noble conical hill, which has increased my wonder at the infinite +variety of beauty which The Spirit can produce by combinations so +simple as a few grey stones and a sheet of turf?’</p> +<p>‘The Hangman.’</p> +<p>‘An ominous name. What is its history?’</p> +<p>‘Some sheep-stealer, they say, clambering over a wall +with his booty slung round his neck, was literally hung by the +poor brute’s struggles, and found days after on the +mountain-side, a blackened corpse on one side of the wall, with +the sheep on the other, and the ravens—You may fill up the +picture for yourself.’</p> +<p>But, see, as we round the Hangman, what a change of +scene—the square-blocked sandstone cliffs dip suddenly +under dark slate-beds, fantastically bent and broken by primeval +earthquakes. Wooded combes, and craggy ridges of rich +pasture-land, wander and slope towards a labyrinth of +bush-fringed coves, black isolated tide-rocks, and land-locked +harbours. There shines among the woods the Castle of +Watermouth, on its lovely little salt-water loch, the safest +harbour on the coast; and there is Combe-Martin, mile-long +man-stye, which seven centuries of fruitless silver-mining, and +of the right (now deservedly lost) of ‘sending a talker to +the national palaver,’ have neither cleansed nor +civilized. Turn, turn thy head away, dear Claude, lest even +at this distance some foul odour taint the summer airs, and +complete the misfortune already presaged by that pale, sad face, +sickening in the burning calm! For this great sun-roasted +fire-brick of the Exmoor range is fairly burning up the breeze, +and we have nothing but the tide to drift us slowly down to +Ilfracombe.</p> +<p>Now we open Rillage, and now Hillsborough, two of the most +picturesque of headlands; see how their round foreheads of +glistening grey shale sink down into two dark, jagged moles, +running far out to seaward, and tapering off, each into a long +black horizontal line, vanishing at last beneath its lace-fringe +of restless hissing foam. How grand the contrast of the +lightness of those sea-lines, with the solid mass which rests +upon them! Look, too, at the glaring lights and Tartarean +shadows of those chasms and caves, which the tide never leaves, +or the foot of man explores; and listen how, at every rush of the +long ground-swell, mysterious mutterings, solemn sighs, sudden +thunders, as of a pent-up earthquake, boom out of them across the +glassy swell. Look at those blasts of delicate vapour that +shoot up from hidden rifts, and hang a moment, and vanish; and +those green columns of wave which rush mast-high up the +perpendicular walls, and then fall back and outward in a +waterfall of foam, lacing the black rocks with a thousand snowy +streams. There they fall, and leap, and fall again. +And so they did yesterday, and the day before; and so they did +centuries ago, when the Danes swept past them, battleworn, and +sad of heart for the loss of the magic raven flag, from the fight +at Appledore, to sit down and starve on ‘the island of +Bradanrelice, which men call Flat Holms.’ Ay, and +even so they leapt and fell, before a sail gleamed on the Severn +sea, when the shark and the ichthyosaur paddled beneath the shade +of tropic forests—now scanty turf and golden gorse. +And so they will leap and fall on, on, through the centuries and +the ages. O dim abyss of Time, into which we peer +shuddering, what will be the end of thee, and of this ceaseless +coil and moan of waters? It is true, that when thou shalt +be no more, then, too, ‘there shall be no more sea;’ +and this ocean bed, this great grave of fertility, into which all +earth’s wasted riches stream, day and night, from hill and +town, shall rise and become fruitful soil, corn-field and +meadow-land; and earth shall teem as thick with living men as +bean-fields with the summer bees? What a +consummation! At least there is One greater than sea, or +time: and the Judge of all the earth will do right.</p> +<p>But there is Ilfracombe, with its rock-walled harbour, its +little wood of masts within, its white terraces, rambling up the +hills, and its capstone sea-walk, the finest ‘marine +parade,’ as Cockneydom terms it, in all England, except +that splendid Hoe at Plymouth, ‘Lam Goemagot,’ +Gog-magog’s leap, as the old Britains called it, over which +Corineus threw that mighty giant. And there is the little +isolated rock-chapel, where seven hundred years ago, our +west-country forefathers used to go to pray St. Nicholas for +deliverance from shipwreck,—a method lovingly regretted by +some, as a ‘pious idea of the Ages of faith.’ +We, however, shall prefer the method of lighthouses and the +worthy Trinity Board, as actually more godly and +‘faithful,’ as well as more useful; and, probably, so +do the sailors themselves.</p> +<p>But Claude is by this time nearly sick of the roasting calm, +and the rolling ground-swell, and the smell of fish, and is +somewhat sleepy also, between early rising and incoherent +sermons; wherefore, if he takes good advice, he will stay and +recruit himself at Ilfracombe, before he proceeds further with +his self-elected cicerone on the grand tour of North Devon. +Believe me, Claude, you will not stir from the place for a month +at least. For be sure, if you are sea-sick, or heart-sick, +or pocket-sick either, there is no pleasanter or cheaper place of +cure (to indulge in a puff of a species now well nigh obsolete, +the puff honest and true) than this same Ilfracombe, with its +quiet nature and its quiet luxury, its rock fairyland and its +sea-walks, its downs and combes, its kind people, and, if +possible, its still kinder climate, which combines the soft +warmth of South Devon with the bracing freshness of the Welsh +mountains; where winter has slipped out of the list of the +seasons, and mother Earth makes up for her summer’s luxury +by fasting, ‘not in sackcloth and ashes, but in new silk +and old sack;’ and instead of standing three months +chin-deep in ice, and christening great snowballs her +‘friends and family,’ as St. Francis of Assisi did of +old, knows no severer asceticism than tepid shower-baths, and a +parasol of soft grey mist.</p> +<h3>III.—<span class="smcap">Morte</span>.</h3> +<p>I had been wandering over the centre of Exmoor, killing trout +as I went, through a country which owes its civilization and +tillage to the spirit of one man, who has found stag-preserving +by no means incompatible with large agricultural improvements; +among a population who still evince an unpleasant partiality for +cutting and carrying farmers’ crops by night, without leave +or licence, and for housebreaking after the true classic method +of Athens, by fairly digging holes through the house walls; a +little nook of primeval savagery fast reorganizing itself under +the influences of these better days. I had been on +Dartmoor, too; but of that noble moorland range so much has been +said and sung of late, that I really am afraid it is becoming +somewhat cockney and trite. Far and wide I had wandered, +rod in hand, becoming a boy again in the land of my boyhood, +till, once more at Ilfracombe, opposite me sat Claude Mellot, +just beginning to bloom again into cheerfulness.</p> +<p>We were on the point of starting for Morte, and so round to +Saunton Court, and the sands beyond it; where a Clovelly trawler, +which we had chartered for the occasion, had promised to send a +boat on shore and take us off, provided the wind lay off the +land.</p> +<p>But, indeed, the sea was calm as glass, the sky cloudless +azure; and the doubt was not whether we should be able to get on +board through the surf, but whether, having got on board, we +should not lie till nightfall, as idle</p> +<blockquote><p>‘As a painted ship,<br /> +Upon a painted ocean.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And now behold us on our way up lovely combes, with their +green copses, ridges of rock, golden furze, fruit-laden orchards, +and slopes of emerald pasture, pitched as steep as house-roofs, +where the red longhorns are feeding, with their tails a yard +above their heads; and under us, seen in bird’s-eye view, +the ground-plans of the little snug farms and homesteads of the +Damnonii, ‘dwellers in the valley,’ as we +West-countrymen were called of old. Now we are leaving them +far below us; the blue hazy sea is showing far above the serrated +ridge of the Tors, and their huge bank of sunny green: and before +us is a desolate table-land of rushy pastures and mouldering +banks, festooned with the delicate network of the little +ivy-leaved campanula, loveliest of British wild-flowers, fit with +its hair-like stems and tiny bells of blue to wreathe the temples +of Titania. Alas! we have passed out of the world into +limbum patrum, and the region of ineffectuality and +incompleteness. The only cultivators here, and through +thousands of acres in the North of Devon, are the rook and mole: +and yet the land is rich enough—the fat deep crumbling of +the shale and ironstone returning year by year into the mud, from +whence it hardened ages since. There are scores of farms of +far worse land in mid-England, under ‘a four-course +shift,’ yielding their load of wheat an acre. When +will that land do as much? When will the spirit of Smith of +Deanston and Grey of Dilston descend on North Devon? When +will some true captain of industry, and Theseus of the nineteenth +century, like the late Mr. Warnes of Trimmingham, teach the +people here to annihilate poor-rates by growing flax upon some of +the finest flax land, and in the finest flax climate, that we +have in England? The shrewd Cornishmen of Launceston and +Bodmin have awakened long ago to ‘the new gospel of +fertility.’ When will North Devon awake?</p> +<p>‘When landlords and farmers,’ said Claude, +‘at last acknowledge their divine vocation, and feel it a +noble and heaven-ordained duty to produce food for the people of +England; when they learn that to grow rushes where they might +grow corn, ay, to grow four quarters of wheat where they might +grow five, is to sin against God’s blessings and against +the English nation. No wonder that sluggards like these cry +out for protection—that those who cannot take care of the +land feel that they themselves need artificial care.’</p> +<p>‘We will not talk politics, Claude. Our modern +expediency mongers have made them <i>pro tempore</i> an extinct +science. “Let the dead bury their dead.” +The social questions are now-a-days becoming far more important +than the mere House of Commons ones.’</p> +<p>‘There does seem here and there,’ he said, +‘some sign of improvement. I see the paring plough at +work on one field and another.’</p> +<p>‘Swiftly goes the age, and slowly crawls +improvement. The greater part of that land will be only +broken up to be exhausted by corn-crop after corn-crop, till it +can bear no more, and the very manure which is drawn home from it +in the shape of a few turnips will be wasted by every rain of +heaven, and the straw probably used to mend bad places in the +road with; while the land returns to twenty years of worse +sterility than ever; on the ground that—</p> +<p>‘“Veather did zo, and gramfer did zo, and why +shouldn’t Jan do the zame?”’ * * * *</p> +<p>‘But here is Morte below us. “The little +grey church on the windy shore,” which once belonged to +William de Tracy, one of your friend Thomas à +Becket’s murderers. If you wish to vent your wrath +against those who cut off your favourite Saxon hero, there is a +tomb in the church which bears De Tracy’s name; over which +rival Dryasdusts contend fiercely with paper-arrows: the one +party asserting that he became a priest, and died here in the +wilderness; the others that the tomb is of later date, that he +fled hence to Italy, under favour of a certain easy-going Bishop +of Exeter, and died penitent and duly shriven, according to the +attestations of a certain or uncertain Bishop of +Cosenza.’</p> +<p>‘Peace be with him and with the Bishop! The flight +to Italy seems a very needless precaution to a man who owned this +corner of the world. A bailiff would have had even less +chance here then than in Connemara a hundred years +ago.’</p> +<p>‘He certainly would have fed the crabs and rock-cod in +two hours after his arrival. Nevertheless, I believe the +Cosenza story is the safer one.’</p> +<p>‘What a chaos of rock-ridges!—Old starved mother +Earth’s bare-worn ribs and joints peeping out through every +field and down; and on three sides of us, the sullen thunder of +the unseen surge. What a place for some +“gloom-pampered man” to sit and +misanthropize!’</p> +<p>‘“Morte,” says the Devonshire proverb, +“is the place on earth which heaven made last, and the +devil will take first.”’</p> +<p>‘All the fitter for a misanthrope. But where are +the trees? I have not seen one for the last four +miles.’</p> +<p>‘Nor will you for a few miles more. Whatever will +grow here (and most things will) they will not, except, at least, +hereafter the sea-pine of the Biscay shore. You would know +why, if you had ever felt a south-westerly gale here, when the +foam-flakes are flying miles inland, and you are fain to cling +breathless to bank and bush, if you want to get one look at those +black fields of shark’s-tooth tide-rocks, champing and +churning the great green rollers into snow. Wild folk are +these here, gatherers of shell-fish and laver, and merciless to +wrecked vessels, which they consider as their own by immemorial +usage, or rather right divine. Significant, how an +agricultural people is generally as cruel to wrecked seamen, as a +fishing one is merciful. I could tell you twenty stories of +the baysmen down there to the westward risking themselves like +very heroes to save strangers’ lives, and beating off the +labouring folk who swarmed down for plunder from the inland +hills.’</p> +<p>‘Knowledge, you see, breeds sympathy and love. But +what a merciless coast!’</p> +<p>‘Hardly a winter passes without a wreck or two. +You see there lying about the timbers of more than one tall +ship. You see, too, that black rock a-wash far out at sea, +apparently a submarine outlier of the north horn of this wide +rock-amphitheatre below us. That is the Morte stone, the +“Death-rock,” as the Normans christened it of old; +and it does not belie its name even now. See how, even in +this calm, it hurls up its column of spray at every wave; and +then conceive being entrapped between it and the cliffs, on some +blinding, whirling winter’s night, when the land is +shrouded thick in clouds, and the roar of the breakers hardly +precedes by a minute the crash of your bows against the +rocks.’</p> +<p>‘I never think, on principle, of things so painful, and +yet so irrelievable. Yet why does not your much-admired +Trinity House erect a light there?’</p> +<p>‘So ask the sailors; for it is indeed one of the +gateway-jambs of the Channel, and the deep water and the line of +coast tempt all craft to pass as close to it as +possible.’</p> +<p>‘Look at that sheet of yellow sand below us now, banked +to the inland with sand-hills and sunny downs, and ending +abruptly at the foot of that sombre wall of slate-hill, which +runs out like a huge pier into the sea some two miles +off.’</p> +<p>‘That is Woollacombe: but here on our right is a sight +worth seeing. Every gully and creek there among the rocks +is yellow, but not with sand. Those are shells; the +sweepings of the ocean bed for miles around, piled there, +millions upon millions, yards deep, in every stage of +destruction. There they lie grinding to dust; and every +gale brings in fresh myriads from the inexhaustible sea-world, as +if Death could be never tired of devouring, or God of +making. The brain grows dizzy and tired, as one’s +feet crunch over the endless variety of their forms.’</p> +<p>‘And then one recollects that every one of them has been +a living thing—a whole history of birth, and growth, and +propagation, and death. Waste it cannot be, or cruelty on +the part of the Maker: but why this infinite development of life, +apparently only to furnish out of it now and then a cartload of +shell-sand to these lazy farmers? But after all, there is +not so much life in all those shells put together as in one +little child: and it may die the hour that it is born! What +we call life is but an appearance and a becoming; the true life +of existence belongs only to spirits. And whether or not +we, or the sea-shell there, are at any given moment helping to +make up part of some pretty little pattern in this great +kaleidoscope called the material universe, yet, in the spirit all +live to Him, and shall do so for ever.’</p> +<p>And thereon he rambled off into a long lecture on +‘species-spirits,’ and +‘individual-spirits,’ and ‘personal +spirits,’ doubtless most important. But I, what +between the sun, the luncheon, and the metaphysic, sank into soft +slumbers, from which I was only awakened by the carriage +stopping, according to our order, on the top of Saunton hill.</p> +<p>We left the fly, and wandered down towards the old gabled +court, nestling amid huge walnuts in its southward glen; while +before us spread a panorama, half sea, half land, than which, +perhaps, our England owns few lovelier.</p> +<p>At our feet was a sea of sand—for the half-mile to the +right smooth as a floor, bounded by a broad band of curling +waves, which crept slowly shorewards with the advancing +tide. Right underneath us the sand was drifted for miles +into fantastic hills, which quivered in the heat, the glaring +yellow of its lights chequered by delicate pink shadows and +sheets of grey-green bent. To the left were rich alluvial +marshes, covered with red cattle sleeping in the sun, and laced +with creeks and flowery dykes; and here and there a scarlet line, +which gladdened Claude’s eye as being a ‘bit of +positive colour in the foreground,’ and mine, because they +were draining tiles. Beyond again, two broad tide-rivers, +spotted with white and red-brown sails, gleamed like avenues of +silver, past knots of gay dwellings, and tall lighthouses, and +church-towers, and wandered each on its own road, till they +vanished among the wooded hills. On the eastern horizon the +dark range of Exmoor sank gradually into lower and more broken +ridges, which rolled away, woodland beyond woodland, till all +outlines were lost in purple haze; while, far beyond, the granite +peaks of Dartmoor hung like a delicate blue cloud, and enticed +the eye away into infinity. From hence, as our eyes swept +round the horizon, the broken hills above the river’s mouth +gradually rose into the table-land of the ‘barren +coal-measures’ some ten miles off,—a long straight +wall of cliffs which hounded the broad bay, buried in deepest +shadow, except where the opening of some glen revealed far depths +of sunlit wood. A faint perpendicular line of white houses, +midway along the range, marked our destination; and far to the +westward, the land ended sheer and suddenly at the cliffs of +Hartland, the ‘Promontory of Hercules,’ as the old +Romans called it, to reappear some ten miles out in the Atlantic, +in the blue flat-topped island of Lundy, so exactly similar in +height and form to the opposite cape, that it required no +scientific imagination to supply the vast gap which the primeval +currents had sawn out. There it all lay beneath us like a +map; its thousand hues toned down harmoniously into each other by +the summer haze, and ‘the eye was not filled with +seeing,’ nor the spirit with the intoxicating sight of +infinitely various life and form in perfectest repose.</p> +<p>I was the first to break the silence.</p> +<p>‘Claude, well-beloved, will you not sketch a +little?’</p> +<p>No answer.</p> +<p>‘Not even rhapsodize? call it “lovely, exquisite, +grand, majestic”? There are plenty of such words in +worldlings’ mouths—not a Cockney but would burst out +with some enthusiastic commonplace at such a sight—surely +one or other of them must be appropriate.’</p> +<p>‘Silence, profane! and take me away from this. Let +us go down, and hide our stupidities among those sand-hills, and +so forget the whole. What use standing here to be maddened +by this tantalizing earth-spirit, who shows us such glorious +things, and will not tell us what they mean?’</p> +<p>So down we went upon the burrows, among the sands, which hid +from us every object but their own chaotic curves and +mounds. Above, a hundred skylarks made the air ring with +carollings; strange and gaudy plants flecked the waste round us; +and insects without number whirred over our heads, or hung poised +with their wings outspread on the tall stalks of marram +grass. All at once a cloud hid the sun, and a summer +whirlwind, presage of the thunderstorm, swept past us, carrying +up with it a column of dry sand, and rattling the dry bents over +our heads.</p> +<p>‘What a chill, doleful sigh comes from those +reeds!’ said Claude. ‘I can conceive this +desert, beneath a driving winter’s sky instead of this +burning azure, one of the most desolate places on the +earth.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, desolate enough,’ I said, as we walked down +beyond the tide-mark, over the vast fields of ribbed and splashy +sands, ‘when the dead shells are rolling and crawling up +the beach in wreaths before the gale, with a ghastly rattle as of +the dry bones in the “Valley of Vision,” and when not +a flower shows on that sandcliff, which is now one broad bed of +yellow, scarlet, and azure.’</p> +<p>‘That is the first spot in England,’ said Claude, +‘except, of course, “the meads of golden +king-cups,” where I have seen wild flowers give a tone to +the colouring of the whole landscape, as they are said to do in +the prairies of Texas. And look how flowers and cliff are +both glowing in a warm green haze, like that of Cuyp’s +wonderful sandcliff picture in the Dulwich +Gallery,—wonderful, as I think, and true, let some critics +revile it as much as they will.’</p> +<p>‘Strange, that you should have quoted that picture here; +its curious resemblance to this very place first awoke in me, +years ago, a living interest in landscape-painting. But +look there; even in these grand summer days there is a sight +before us sad enough. There are the ribs of some ill-fated +ship, a man-of-war too, as the story goes, standing like black +fangs, half-buried in the sand. And off what are those two +ravens rising, stirring up with their obscene wings a sickly, +putrescent odour? A corpse?’</p> +<p>No, it was not a corpse; but the token of many corpses. +A fragment of some ship; its gay green paint and half-effaced +gilding contrasting mockingly with the long ugly feathered +barnacle-shells, which clustered on it, rotting into slime +beneath the sun, and torn and scattered by the greedy beaks of +the ravens.</p> +<p>In what tropic tornado, or on what coral-key of the Bahamas, +months ago, to judge by those barnacles, had that tall ship gone +down? How long had that scrap of wreck gone wandering down +the Gulf Stream, from Newfoundland into the Mid-Atlantic, and +hitherward on its homeless voyage toward the Spitzbergen +shore? And who were all those living men who “went +down to Hades, even many stalwart souls of heroes,” to give +no sign until the sea shall render up her dead? And every +one of them had a father and mother—a wife, perhaps, and +children, waiting for him—at least a whole human life, +childhood, boyhood, manhood, in him. All those years of +toil and education, to get him so far on his life-voyage; and +here is the end thereof!’</p> +<p>‘Say rather, the beginning thereof,’ Claude +answered, stepping into the boat. ‘This wreck is but +a torn scrap of the chrysalis-cocoon; we may meet the butterflies +themselves hereafter.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>And now we are on board; and alas! some time before the breeze +will be so. Take care of that huge boom, landsman Claude, +swaying and sweeping backwards and forwards across the deck, +unless you wish to be knocked overboard. Take care, too, of +that loose rope’s end, unless you wish to have your eyes +cut out. Take my advice, lie down here across the deck, as +others are doing. Cover yourself with great-coats, like an +Irishman, to keep yourself cool, and let us meditate little on +this strange thing, and strange place, which holds us now.</p> +<p>Look at those spars, how they creak and groan with every heave +of the long glassy swell. How those sails flap, and +thunder, and rage, with useless outcries and struggles—only +because they are idle. Let the wind take them, and they +will be steady, silent in an instant—their deafening +dissonant grumbling exchanged for the soft victorious song of the +breeze through the rigging, musical, self-contented, as of bird +on bough. So it is through life; there is no true rest but +labour. “No true misery,” as Carlyle says, +“but in that of not being able to work.” Some +may call it a pretty conceit. I call it a great worldwide +law, which reaches from earth to heaven. Whatever the +Preacher may have thought it in a moment of despondency, what is +it but a blessing that “sun, and wind, and rivers, and +ocean,” as he says, and “all things, are full of +labour—man cannot utter it.” This sea which +bears us would rot and poison, did it not sweep in and out here +twice a day in swift refreshing current; nay, more, in the very +water which laps against our bows troops of negro girls may have +hunted the purblind shark in West Indian harbours, beneath +glaring white-walled towns, with their rows of green jalousies, +and cocoa-nuts, and shaddock groves. For on those white +sands there to the left, year by year, are washed up foreign +canes, cassia beans, and tropic seeds; and sometimes, too, the +tropic ocean snails, with their fragile shells of amethystine +blue, come floating in mysteriously in fleets from the far west +out of the passing Gulf Stream, where they have been sailing out +their little life, never touching shore or ground, but buoyed +each by his cluster of air-bubbles, pumped in at will under the +skin of his tiny foot, by some cunning machinery of +valves—small creatures truly, but very wonderful to men who +have learned to reverence not merely the size of things, but the +wisdom of their idea, and raising strange longings and dreams +about that submarine ocean-world which stretches, teeming with +richer life than this terrestrial one, away, away there westward, +down the path of the sun, toward the future centre of the +world’s destiny.</p> +<p>Wonderful ocean-world! three-fifths of our planet! Can +it be true that no rational beings are denizens there? +Science is severely silent—having as yet seen no mermaids: +our captain there forward is not silent—if he has not seen +them, plenty of his friends have. The young man here has +been just telling me that it was only last month one followed a +West Indiaman right across the Atlantic. “For,” +says he, “there must be mermaids, and such like. Do +you think Heaven would have made all that water there only for +the herrings and mackerel?”</p> +<p>I do not know, Tom: but I, too, suspect not; and I do know +that honest men’s guesses are sometimes found by science to +have been prophecies, and that there is no smoke without fire, +and few universal legends without their nucleus of fact. +After all, those sea-ladies are too lovely a dream to part with +in a hurry, at the mere despotic fiat of stern old Dame Analysis, +divine and reverend as she is. Why, like Keats’s +Lamia,</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘Must +all charms flee,<br /> +At the mere touch of cold Philosophy,’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>who will not even condescend to be awe-struck at the new +wonders which she herself reveals daily? Perhaps, too, +according to the Duke of Wellington’s great dictum, that +each man must be the best judge in his own profession, sailors +may know best whether mermaids exist or not. Besides, was +it not here on Croyde Sands abreast of us, this very last summer, +that a maiden—by which beautiful old word West-country +people still call young girls—was followed up the shore by +a mermaid who issued from the breakers, green-haired, +golden-combed, and all; and, fleeing home, took to her bed and +died, poor thing, of sheer terror in the course of a few days, +persisting in her account of the monster? True, the mermaid +may have been an overgrown Lundy Island seal, carried out of his +usual haunts by spring-tides and a school of fish. Be it +so. Lundy and its seals are wonderful enough in all reason +to thinking men, as it looms up there out of the Atlantic, with +its two great square headlands, not twenty miles from us, in the +white summer haze. We will go there some day, and pick up a +wild tale or two about it.</p> +<p>But, lo! a black line creeps up the western horizon. +Tom, gesticulating, swears that he sees ‘a billow +break.’ True: there they come; the great white +horses, that ‘champ and chafe, and toss in the +spray.’ That long-becalmed trawler to seaward fills, +and heels over, and begins to tug and leap impatiently at the +weight of her heavy trawl. Five minutes more, and the +breeze will be down upon us. The young men whistle openly +to woo it; the old father thinks such a superstition somewhat +beneath both his years and his religion, but cannot help pursing +up his lips into a sly ‘whe-eugh’ when he has got +well forward out of sight.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p>Five long minutes; there is a breath of air; a soft distant +murmur; the white horses curve their necks, and dive and vanish; +and rise again like snowy porpoises, nearer, and nearer, and +nearer. Father and sons are struggling with that raving, +riotous, drunken squaresail forward; while we haul away upon the +main-sheet.</p> +<p>When will it come? It is dying back—sliding past +us. ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart +sick.’ No, louder and nearer swells ‘the voice +of many waters,’ ‘the countless laugh of +ocean,’ like the mirth of ten thousand girls, before us, +behind us, round us; and the oily swell darkens into crisp +velvet-green, till the air strikes us, and heels us over; and +leaping, plunging, thrashing our bows into the seas, we spring +away close-hauled upon the ever-freshening breeze, while Claude +is holding on by ropes and bulwarks, and some, whose sea-legs +have not yet forgot their craft, are swinging like a pendulum as +they pace the deck, enjoying, as the Norse vikings would have +called it, ‘the gallop of the flying sea-horse, and the +shiver of her tawny wings.’</p> +<p>Exquisite motion! more maddening than the smooth floating +stride of the race-horse, or the crash of the thorn-hedges before +the stalwart hunter, or the swaying of the fir-boughs in the +gale, when we used to climb as schoolboys after the lofty +hawk’s nest; but not so maddening as the new motion of our +age—the rush of the express-train, when the live iron pants +and leaps and roars through the long chalk cutting; and white +mounds gleam cold a moment against the sky and vanish; and rocks, +and grass, and bushes, fleet by in dim blended lines; and the +long hedges revolve like the spokes of a gigantic wheel; and far +below, meadows, and streams, and homesteads, with all their lazy +old-world life, open for an instant, and then flee away; while +awe-struck, silent, choked with the mingled sense of pride and +helplessness, we are swept on by that great pulse of +England’s life-blood, rushing down her iron veins; and +dimly out of the future looms the fulfilment of our +primæval mission, to conquer and subdue the earth, and +space too, and time, and all things,—even, hardest of all +tasks, yourselves, my cunning brothers ever learning some fresh +lesson, except that hardest one of all, that it is the Spirit of +God which giveth you understanding.</p> +<p>Yes, great railroads, and great railroad age, who would +exchange you, with all your sins, for any other time? For +swiftly as rushes matter, more swiftly rushes mind; more swiftly +still rushes the heavenly dawn up the eastern sky. +‘The night is far spent, the day is at hand.’ +‘Blessed is that servant whom his Lord, when He cometh, +shall find watching!’</p> +<p>But come, my poor Claude, I see you are too sick for such deep +subjects; so let us while away the time by picking the brains of +this tall handsome boy at the helm, who is humming a love-song to +himself sotto voce, lest it should be overheard by the +grey-headed father, who is forward, poring over his Wesleyan +hymn-book. He will have something to tell you; he has a +soul in him looking out of those wild dark eyes, and delicate +aquiline features of his. He is no spade-drudge or +bullet-headed Saxon clod: he has in his veins the blood of Danish +rovers and passionate southern Milesians, who came hither from +Teffrobani, the Isle of Summer, as the old Fenic myths inform +us. Come and chat with him. You dare not stir? +Perhaps you are in the right. I shall go and fraternize, +and bring you reports.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * *</p> +<p>He has been, at all events, ‘up the Straits’ as +the Mediterranean voyage is called here, and seen +‘Palermy’ and the Sicilians. But, for his +imagination, what seems to have struck it most was that it was a +‘fine place for Jack, for a man could get mools there for a +matter of three-halfpence a-day.’</p> +<p>‘And was that all you got out of him?’ asked +Claude, sickly and sulkily.</p> +<p>‘Oh, you must not forget the halo of glory and +excitement which in a sailor’s eyes surrounds the delights +of horseback. But he gave me besides a long glowing account +of the catechism which they had there, three-quarters of a mile +long.’</p> +<p>‘Pope Pius’s catechism, I suppose?’</p> +<p>So thought I, at first; but it appeared that all the dead of +the city were arranged therein, dried and dressed out in their +finest clothes, ‘every sect and age,’ as Tom said, +‘by itself; as natural as life!’ We may hence +opine that he means some catacombs or other.</p> +<p>Poor Claude could not even get up a smile: but his sorrows +were coming swiftly to an end. The rock clefts grew sharper +and sharper before us. The soft masses of the lofty bank of +wooded cliff rose higher and higher. The white houses of +Clovelly, piled stair above stair up the rocks, gleamed more and +more brightly out of the green round bosoms of the forest. +As we shut in headland after headland, one tall conical rock +after another darkened with its black pyramid the bright orb of +the setting sun. Soon we began to hear the soft murmur of +the snowy surf line; then the merry voices of the children along +the shore; and running straight for the cliff-foot, we shipped +into the little pier, from whence the red-sailed herring-boats +were swarming forth like bees out of a hive, full of gay handsome +faces, and all the busy blue-jacketed life of seaport towns, to +their night’s fishing in the bay.</p> +<h3>IV.—<span class="smcap">Clovelly</span>.</h3> +<p>A couple of days had passed, and I was crawling up the paved +stairs inaccessible to cart or carriage, which are flatteringly +denominated ‘Clovelly-street,’ a landing-net full of +shells in one hand, and a couple of mackerel lines in the other; +behind me a sheer descent, roof below roof; at an angle of +45°, to the pier and bay, 200 feet below, and in front, +another hundred feet above, a green amphitheatre of oak, and ash, +and larch, shutting out all but a narrow slip of sky, across +which the low, soft, formless mist was crawling, opening every +instant to show some gap of intense dark rainy blue, and send +down a hot vaporous gleam of sunshine upon the white cottages, +with their grey steaming roofs, and bright green railings, packed +one above another upon the ledges of the cliff; and on the tall +tree-fuchsias and gaudy dahlias in the little scraps of +court-yard, calling the rich faint odour out of the verbenas and +jessamines, and, alas! out of the herring-heads and tails also, +as they lay in the rivulet; and lighting up the wings of the +gorgeous butterflies, almost unknown in our colder eastern +climate, which fluttered from woodland down to garden, and from +garden up to woodland, and seemed to form the connecting link +between that swarming hive of human industry and the deep wild +woods in which it was embosomed. So up I was crawling, to +dine off gurnards of my own catching,—excellent fish, +despised by deluded Cockneys, who fancy that because its head is +large and prickly, therefore its flesh is not as firm, and sweet, +and white, as that of any cod who ever gobbled +shell-fish,—when down the stair front of me, greasy as ice +from the daily shower, came slipping and staggering, my friend +Claude, armed with camp-stool and portfolio.</p> +<p>‘Where have you been wandering to-day?’ I +asked. ‘Have you yet been as far as the park, which, +as I told you, would supply such endless subjects for your +pencil?’</p> +<p>‘Not I. I have been roaming up and down this same +“New Road” above us; and find there materials for a +good week’s more work, if I could afford it. Indeed, +it was only to-day, for the first time, that I got as far as the +lodge at the end of it, and then was glad enough to turn back +shuddering at the first glimpse of the flat, dreary moorland +beyond,—as Adam may have turned back into Eden after a peep +out of the gates of Paradise.’</p> +<p>He should have taken courage and gone a half-mile +further,—to the furze-grown ruins of a great Roman camp, +which gives its name to the place, +‘Clovelly,’—Vallum Clausum, or Vallis Clausa, +as antiquarians derive it; perhaps, ‘the hidden +camp,’ or glen,—perhaps something else. Who +cares? The old Romans were there, at least 10,000 strong: +and some sentimental tribune or other of them had taste enough to +perch his summer-house out on a conical point of the Hartland +Cliffs, now tumbling into the sea, tesselated pavement, baths and +all. And strange work, no doubt, went on in that lonely +nook, looking out over the Atlantic swell,—nights and days +fit for Petronius’s own pen, among a seraglio of dark +Celtic beauties. Perhaps it could not be otherwise. +An ugly state of things—as heathen conquests always must +have been; yet even in it there was a use and meaning. But +they are past like a dream, those 10,000 stalwart men, who looked +far and wide over the Damnonian moors from a station which would +be, even in these days, a first-rate military position. +Gone, too, are the old Saxon Franklins who succeeded. Old +Wrengils, or some such name, whoever he was, at last found some +one’s bill too hard for his brain-pan; and there he lies on +the hill above, in his ‘barrow’ of Wrinklebury. +And gone, too, the gay Norman squire, who, as tradition says, +kept his fair lady in the old watch-tower, on the highest point +of the White Cliff—‘Gallantry Bower,’ as they +call it to this day—now a mere ring of turf-covered stones, +and a few low stunted oaks, shorn by the Atlantic blasts into the +shape of two huge cannon, which form a favourite landmark for the +fisherman of the bay. Gone they all are, Cymry and Roman, +Saxon and Norman; and upon the ruins of their accumulated labour +we stand here. Each of them had his use,—planted a +few more trees or cleared a few more, tilled a fresh scrap of +down, organized a scrap more of chaos. Who dare wish the +tide of improvement, which has been flowing for nineteen +centuries, swifter and swifter still as it goes on, to stop, just +because it is not convenient to us just now to move on? It +will not take another nineteen hundred years, be sure, to make +even this lovely nook as superior to what it is now as it is now +to the little knot of fishing huts where naked Britons peeped +out, trembling at the iron tramp of each insolent legionary from +the camp above. It will not take another nineteen hundred +years to develope the capabilities of this place,—to make +it the finest fishery in England, next to Torbay,—the only +safe harbour of refuge for West Indiamen, along sixty miles of +ruthless coast,—and a commercial centre for a vast tract of +half-tilled land within, which only requires means of conveyance +to be as fertile and valuable as nine-tenths of England. +Meanwhile Claude ought to have seen the deer-park. The +panorama from that old ruined ‘bower’ of cliff and +woodland, down and sea, is really unique in its way.</p> +<p>‘So is the whole place, in my eyes,’ said +Claude. ‘I have seen nothing in England to be +compared to this little strip of paradise between two great waste +worlds of sea and moor. Lynmouth might be matched among the +mountains of Wales and Ireland. The first three miles of +the Rheidol, from the Devil’s Bridge towards Aberystwith, +or the gorge of the Wye, down the opposite watershed of the same +mountains, from Castle Dufferin down to Rhaiadyr, are equal to it +in magnificence of form and colour, and superior in size. +But I question whether anything ever charmed me more than did the +return to the sounds of nature which greeted me to-day, as I +turned back from the dreary, silent moorland turnpike into this +new road, terraced along the cliffs and woods—those who +first thought of cutting it must have had souls in them above the +herd—and listened to a glorious concert in four parts, +blending and supporting each other in exquisite harmony, from the +shrill treble of a thousand birds, and the soft melancholy alto +of the moaning woods, downward through the rich tenor hum of +innumerable insects, who hung like sparks of fire beneath the +glades of oak, to the bass of the unseen surge below,</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">“Whose deep and +dreadful organ-pipe,”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>far below me, contrasted strangely with the rich soft inland +character of the deep woods, luxuriant ferns, and gaudy +flowers. It is that very contrast which makes the place so +unique. One is accustomed to connect with the notion of the +sea bare cliffs, breezy downs, stunted shrubs struggling for +existence: and instead of them behold a forest wall, 500 feet +high, of almost semi-tropic luxuriance. At one turn, a deep +glen, with its sea of green woods, filled up at the mouth with +the bright azure sheet of ocean.—Then some long stretch of +the road would be banked on one side with crumbling rocks, +festooned with heath, and golden hawkweed, and London pride, like +velvet cushions covered with pink lace, and beds of white bramble +blossom alive with butterflies; while above my head, and on my +right, the cool canopy of oak and birch leaves shrouded me so +close, that I could have fancied myself miles inland, buried in +some glen unknown to any wind of heaven, but that everywhere +between green sprays and grey stems, gleamed that same boundless +ocean blue, seeming, from the height at which I was, to mount +into the very sky. It looked but a step out of the leafy +covert into blank infinity. And then, as the road wound +round some point, one’s eye could fall down, down, through +the abyss of perpendicular wood, tree below tree clinging to and +clothing the cliff, or rather no cliff; but perpendicular sheet +of deep wood sedge, and broad crown ferns, spreading their +circular fans.—But there is no describing them, or painting +them either.—And then to see how the midday sunbeams leapt +past one down the abyss, throwing out here a grey stem by one +point of burnished silver, there a hazel branch by a single leaf +of glowing golden green, shooting long bright arrows down, +through the dim, hot, hazy atmosphere of the wood, till it rested +at last upon the dappled beach of pink and grey pebbles, and the +dappled surge which wandered up and down among them, and broke up +into richer intricacy with its chequer-work of woodland shadows, +the restless net of snowy foam.’</p> +<p>‘You must be fresh from reading Mr. Ruskin’s book, +Claude, to be able to give birth to such a piece of complex +magniloquence as that last period of yours.’</p> +<p>‘Why, I saw all that, and ten thousand things more; and +yet do you complain of me for having tried to put one out of all +those thousand things into words? And what do you mean by +sneering at Mr. Ruskin? Are there not in his books more and +finer passages of descriptive +poetry—word-painting—call them what you will, than in +any other prose book in the English language?’</p> +<p>‘Not a doubt of it, my dear Claude; but it will not do +for every one to try Mr. Ruskin’s tools. Neither you +nor I possess that almost Roman severity, that stern precision of +conception and expression, which enables him to revel in the most +gorgeous language, without ever letting it pall upon the +reader’s taste by affectation or over-lusciousness. +His style is like the very hills along which you have been +travelling, whose woods enrich, without enervating, the grand +simplicity of their forms.’</p> +<p>‘The comparison is just,’ said Claude. +‘Mr. Ruskin’s style, like those very hills, and like, +too, the Norman cathedrals of which he is so fond, is rather +magnified than concealed by the innumerable multiplicity of its +ornamental chasing and colouring.’</p> +<p>‘And is not that,’ I asked, ‘the very +highest achievement of artistic style?’</p> +<p>‘Doubtless. The severe and grand simplicity, of +which folks talk so much, is great indeed; but only the greatest +as long as men are still ignorant of Nature’s art of +draping her forms with colour, chiaroscuro, ornament, not at the +expense of the original design, but in order to perfect it by +making it appeal to every faculty instead of those of form and +size alone.’</p> +<p>‘Still you will allow the beauty of a bare rock, a down, +a church spire, a sheet or line of horizontal water,—their +necessity to the completion of a landscape. I recollect +well having the value of a stern straight line in Nature brought +home to me, when, during a long ride in the New Forest, after my +eye had become quite dulled and wearied with the monotonous +softness of rolling lawns, feathery heath, and rounded oak and +beech woods, I suddenly caught sight of the sharp peaked roof of +Rhinefield Lodge, and its row of tall stiff poplar-spires, +cutting the endless sea of curves. The relief to my eye was +delicious. I really believe it heightened the pleasure with +which I reined in my mare for a chat with old Toomer the keeper, +and the noble bloodhound who eyed me from between his +master’s legs.’</p> +<p>‘I can well believe it. Simple lines in a +landscape are of the same value as the naked parts of a +richly-clothed figure. They act both as contrasts and as +indications of the original substratum of the figure; but to say +that severe simplicity is the highest ideal is mere pedantry and +Manicheism.’</p> +<p>‘Oh, everything is Manicheism with you, +Claude!’</p> +<p>‘And no wonder, while the world is as full of it now as +it was in the thirteenth century. But let that pass. +This craving after so-called classic art, whether it be +Manicheism or not, is certainly a fighting against God,—a +contempt of everything which He has taught us artists since the +introduction of Christianity. I abominate this setting up +of Sculpture above Painting, of the Greeks above the +Italians,—as if all Eastern civilization, all Christian +truth, had taught art nothing,—as if there was not more +real beauty in a French cathedral or a Venetian palazzo than in a +dozen Parthenons, and more soul in one Rafaelle, or Titian +either, than in all the Greek statues of the Tribune or +Vatican.’</p> +<p>‘You have changed your creed, I see, and, like all +converts, are somewhat fierce and fanatical. You used to +believe in Zeuxis and Parrhasius in old times.’</p> +<p>‘Yes, as long as I believed in Fuseli’s +“Lectures;” but when I saw at Pompeii the ancient +paintings which still remain to us, my faith in their powers +received its first shock; and when I re-read in the Lectures of +Fuseli and his school all their extravagant praises of the Greek +painters, and separated their few facts fairly out from among the +floods of rant on which they floated, I came to the conclusion +that the ancients knew as little of colour or chiaroscuro as they +did of perspective, and as little of spiritual expression as they +did of landscape-painting. What do I care for the birds +pecking at Zeuxis’s grapes, or Zeuxis himself trying to +draw back Parrhasius’s curtain? Imitative art is the +lowest trickery. There are twenty men in England now +capable of the same sleight of hand; and yet these are recorded +as the very highest triumphs of ancient art by the only men who +have handed down to us any record of it.’</p> +<p>‘It may be so; or again, it may not. But do not +fancy, Claude, that classic sculpture has finished its work on +earth. You know that it has taught you what Gothic art +could never teach,—the ideal of physical health and +strength. Believe that it exists, and will exist, to remind +the puny town-dweller of the existence of that ideal; to say to +the artisan, every time he looks upon a statue—such God +intended you to be; such you may be; such your class will be, in +some future healthy state of civilization, when Sanitary Reform +and Social Science shall be accepted and carried out as primary +duties of a government toward the nation.</p> +<p>‘Surely, classic sculpture remains, as a witness of the +primæval paradise; a witness that man and woman were +created at first healthy, and strong, and fair, and innocent; +just as classic literature remains for a witness that the heathen +of old were taught of God; that we have something to learn of +them, summed up in that now obsolete word +“virtue”—true and wholesome manhood, which we +are likely to forget, and are forgetting daily, under the +enervating shadow of popular superstitions. <a +name="citation287"></a><a href="#footnote287" +class="citation">[287]</a> And till we have learnt that, +may Greek books still form the basis of our liberal education, +and may Greek statues, or even English attempts to copy them, +fill public halls and private houses. This generation may +not understand their divine and eternal significance; but a +future generation, doubt it not, will spell it out right +well.’</p> +<p>Claude and I went forth along the cliffs of a park, which, +though not of the largest, is certainly of the loveliest in +England,—perhaps unique, from that abrupt contact of the +richest inland scenery with the open sea, which is its +distinctive feature. As we wandered along the edge of the +cliff, beneath us on our left lay wooded valleys, lawns spotted +with deer, stately timber trees, oak and beech, birch and alder, +growing as full and round-headed as if they had been buried in +some Shropshire valley fifty miles inland, instead of having the +Atlantic breezes all the winter long sweeping past a few hundred +feet above their still seclusion. Glens of forest wound +away into the high inner land, with silver burns sparkling here +and there under their deep shadows; while from the lawns beneath, +the ground sloped rapidly upwards towards us, to stop short in a +sheer wall of cliff, over which the deer were leaning to crop the +shoots of ivy, where the slipping of a stone would have sent them +400 feet perpendicular into the sea. On our right, from our +very feet, the sea spread out to the horizon; a single falcon was +wheeling about the ledges below; a single cormorant was fishing +in the breakers, diving and rising again like some tiny +water-beetle;</p> +<blockquote><p> ‘The murmuring surge<br /> +That on the unnumbered pebbles idly chafed<br /> +Could not be heard so high.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The only sound beside the rustle of the fern before the +startled deer was the soft mysterious treble of the wind as it +swept over the face of the cliff beneath us; but the cool air was +confined to the hill-tops round beneath, from within a short +distance of the shore, the sea was shrouded in soft summer +haze. The far Atlantic lay like an ocean of white wool, out +of which the Hartland Cliffs and the highest point of Lundy just +showed their black peaks. Here and there the western sun +caught one white bank of mist after another, and tinged them with +glowing gold; while nearer us long silvery zigzag tide-lines, +which we could have fancied the tracks of water-fairies, wandered +away under the smoky grey-brown shadows of the fog, and seemed to +vanish hundreds of miles off into the void of space, so +completely was all notion of size or distance destroyed by the +soft gradations of the mist. Suddenly, as we stood +watching, a breeze from the eastward dived into the basin of the +bay, swept the clouds out, packed them together, rolled them over +each other, and hurled them into the air miles high in one +Cordillera of snowy mountains, sailing slowly out into the +Atlantic; and behold, instead of the chaos of mist, the whole +amphitheatre of cliffs, with their gay green woods and spots of +bright red marl and cold black ironstone, and the gleaming white +sands of Braunton, and the hills of Exmoor bathed in sunshine, so +near and clear we almost fancied we could see the pink +heather-hue upon them; and the bay one vast rainbow, ten miles of +flame-colour and purple, emerald and ultramarine, flecked with a +thousand spots of flying snow. No one knows what gigantic +effects of colour even our temperate zone can show, till they +have been in Devonshire and Cornwall; and last, but not least, in +Ireland—the Emerald Isle, in truth. No stay-at-home +knows the colour of the sea till he has seen the West of England; +and no one, either stay-at-home or traveller, I suspect, knows +what the colour of a green field can be till he has seen it among +the magic smiles and tears of an Irish summer shower in county +Down.</p> +<p>Down we wandered from our height through ‘trim walks and +alleys green,’ where the arbutus and gumcistus fringed the +cliffs, and through the deep glades of the park, towards the +delicious little cove which bounds it.—A deep crack in the +wooded hills, an old mill half buried in rocks and flowers, a +stream tinkling on from one rock-basin to another towards the +beach, a sandy lawn gay with sea-side flowers over which wild +boys and bare-footed girls were driving their ponies with +panniers full of sand, and as they rattled back to the beach for +a fresh load, standing upright on the backs of their steeds, with +one foot in each pannier, at full trot over rocks and stones +where a landsman would find it difficult to walk on his own +legs.</p> +<p>Enraptured with the place and people, Claude pulled out his +sketch-book and sat down.</p> +<p>‘What extraordinary rocks!’ said he, at +length. ‘How different from those Cyclopean blocks +and walls along the Exmoor cliffs are these rich purple and olive +ironstone layers, with their sharp serrated lines and polished +slabs, set up on edge, snapped, bent double, twisted into +serpentine curves, every sheet of cliff scored with sharp +parallel lines at some fresh fantastic angle!’</p> +<p>Yes; there must have been strange work here when all these +strata were being pressed and squeezed together like a ream of +wet paper between the rival granite pincers of Dartmoor and +Lundy. They must have suffered enough then in a few years +to give them a fair right to lie quiet till Doomsday, as they +seem likely to do. But it is only old Mother Earth who has +fallen asleep hereabouts. Air and sea are just as live as +ever. Ay, lovely and calm enough spread beneath us there +the broad semicircle of the bay; but to know what it can be, it +should be seen as I have seen it, when, in the roaring December +morning, we have been galloping along the cliffs, +wreck-hunting.—One morning I can remember well, how we +watched from the Hartland Cliffs a great barque, which came +drifting and rolling in before the western gale, while we +followed her up the coast, parsons and sportsmen, farmers and +Preventive men, with the Manby’s mortar lumbering behind us +in a cart, through stone gaps and track-ways, from headland to +headland.—The maddening excitement of expectation as she +ran wildly towards the cliffs at our feet, and then sheered off +again inexplicably;—her foremast and bowsprit, I recollect, +were gone short off by the deck; a few rags of sail fluttered +from her main and mizen. But with all straining of eyes and +glasses, we could discern no sign of man on board. Well I +recollect the mingled disappointment and admiration of the +Preventive men, as a fresh set of salvors appeared in view, in +the form of a boat’s crew of Clovelly fishermen; how we +watched breathlessly the little black speck crawling and +struggling up in the teeth of the gale, under the shelter of the +land, till, when the ship had rounded a point into smoother +water, she seized on her like some tiny spider on a huge unwieldy +fly; and then how one still smaller black speck showed aloft on +the main-yard, and another—and then the desperate efforts +to get the topsail set—and how we saw it tear out of their +hands again, and again, and again, and almost fancied we could +hear the thunder of its flappings above the roar of the gale, and +the mountains of surf which made the rocks ring beneath our +feet;—and how we stood silent, shuddering, expecting every +moment to see whirled into the sea from the plunging yards one of +those same tiny black specks, in each one of which was a living +human soul, with sad women praying for him at home! And +then how they tried to get her head round to the wind, and +disappeared instantly in a cloud of white spray—and let her +head fall back again—and jammed it round again, and +disappeared again—and at last let her drive helplessly up +the bay, while we kept pace with her along the cliffs; and how at +last, when she had been mastered and fairly taken in tow, and was +within two miles of the pier, and all hearts were merry with the +hopes of a prize which would make them rich, perhaps, for years +to come—one-third, I suppose, of the whole value of her +cargo—how she broke loose from them at the last moment, and +rushed frantically in upon those huge rocks below us, leaping +great banks of slate at the blow of each breaker, tearing off +masses of ironstone which lie there to this day to tell the tale, +till she drove up high and dry against the cliff, and lay, like +an enormous stranded whale, grinding and crashing herself to +pieces against the walls of her adamantine cage. And well I +recollect the sad records of the log-book which was left on board +the deserted ship; how she had been waterlogged for weeks and +weeks, buoyed up by her timber cargo, the crew clinging in the +tops, and crawling down, when they dared, for putrid biscuit-dust +and drops of water, till the water was washed overboard and gone; +and then notice after notice, ‘On this day such an one +died,’ ‘On this day such an one was washed +away’—the log kept up to the last, even when there +was only that to tell, by the stern business-like merchant +skipper, whoever he was; and how at last, when there was neither +food nor water, the strong man’s heart seemed to have +quailed, or perhaps risen, into a prayer, jotted down in the +log—‘The Lord have mercy on us!’—and then +a blank of several pages, and, scribbled with a famine-shaken +hand, ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy +youth;’—and so the log and the ship were left to the +rats, which covered the deck when our men boarded her. And +well I remember the last act of that tragedy; for a ship has +really, as sailors feel, a personality, almost a life and soul of +her own; and as long as her timbers hold together, all is not +over. You can hardly call her a corpse, though the human +beings who inhabited her, and were her soul, may have fled into +the far eternities; and so we felt that night, as we came down +along the woodland road, with the north-west wind hurling dead +branches and showers of crisp oak-leaves about our heads; till +suddenly, as we staggered out of the wood, we came upon such a +piece of chiaroscuro as would have baffled Correggio, or +Rembrandt, himself. Under a wall was a long tent of sails +and spars, filled with Preventive men, fishermen, Lloyd’s +underwriters, lying about in every variety of strange attitude +and costume; while candles, stuck in bayonet-handles in the wall, +poured out a wild glare over shaggy faces and glittering weapons, +and piles of timber, and rusty iron cable, that glowed red-hot in +the light, and then streamed up the glen towards us through the +salt misty air in long fans of light, sending fiery bars over the +brown transparent oak foliage and the sad beds of withered autumn +flowers, and glorifying the wild flakes of foam, as they rushed +across the light-stream, into troops of tiny silver angels, that +vanished into the night and hid themselves among the woods from +the fierce spirit of the storm. And then, just where the +glare of the lights and watch-fires was most brilliant, there too +the black shadows of the cliff had placed the point of intensest +darkness, lightening gradually upwards right and left, between +the two great jaws of the glen, into a chaos of grey mist, where +the eye could discern no form of sea or cloud, but a perpetual +shifting and quivering as if the whole atmosphere was writhing +with agony in the clutches of the wind.</p> +<p>The ship was breaking up; and we sat by her like hopeless +physicians by a deathbed-side, to watch the last +struggle,—and ‘the effects of the +deceased.’ I recollect our literally warping +ourselves down to the beach, holding on by rocks and posts. +There was a saddened awe-struck silence, even upon the gentleman +from Lloyd’s with the pen behind his ear. A sudden +turn of the clouds let in a wild gleam of moonshine upon the +white leaping heads of the breakers, and on the pyramid of the +Black-church Rock, which stands in summer in such calm grandeur +gazing down on the smiling bay, with the white sand of Braunton +and the red cliffs of Portledge shining through its two vast +arches; and against a slab of rock on the right, for years +afterwards discoloured with her paint, lay the ship, rising +slowly on every surge, to drop again with a piteous crash as the +wave fell back from the cliff, and dragged the roaring pebbles +back with it under the coming wall of foam. You have heard +of ships at the last moment crying aloud like living things in +agony? I heard it then, as the stumps of her masts rocked +and reeled in her, and every plank and joint strained and +screamed with the dreadful tension.</p> +<p>A horrible image—a human being shrieking on the rack, +rose up before me at those strange semi-human cries, and would +not be put away—and I tried to turn, and yet my eyes were +riveted on the black mass, which seemed vainly to implore the +help of man against the stern ministers of the Omnipotent.</p> +<p>Still she seemed to linger in the death-struggle, and we +turned at last away; when, lo! a wave, huger than all before it, +rushed up the boulders towards us.—We had just time to save +ourselves.—A dull, thunderous groan, as if a mountain had +collapsed, rose above the roar of the tempest; and we all turned +with an instinctive knowledge of what had happened, just in time +to see the huge mass melt away into the boiling white, and vanish +for evermore. And then the very raving of the wind seemed +hushed with awe; the very breakers plunged more silently towards +the shore, with something of a sullen compunction; and as we +stood and strained our eyes into the gloom, one black plank after +another crawled up out of the darkness upon the head of the +coming surge, and threw itself at our feet like the corpse of a +drowning man, too spent to struggle more.</p> +<p>There is another subject for a picture for you, my friend +Claude: but your gayer fancy will prefer the scene just as you +are sketching it now, as still and bright as if this coast had +never seen the bay darkened with the grey columns of the +waterspouts, stalking across the waves before the northern gale; +and the tiny herring-boats fleeing from their nets right for the +breakers, hoping more mercy even from those iron walls of rock +than from the pitiless howling waste of spray behind them; and +that merry beach beside the town covered with shrieking women and +old men casting themselves on the pebbles in fruitless agonies of +prayer, as corpse after corpse swept up at the feet of wife and +child, till in one case alone a single dawn saw upwards of sixty +widows and orphans weeping over those who had gone out the night +before in the fulness of strength and courage. Hardly an +old playmate of mine, but is drowned and gone:—</p> +<blockquote><p>‘Their graves are scattered far and wide<br +/> + By mount, by stream, and sea.’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>One poor little fellow’s face starts out of the depths +of memory as fresh as ever, my especial pet and bird-nesting +companion as a boy—a little delicate, precocious, +large-brained child, who might have written books some day, if he +had been a gentleman’s son: but when his father’s +ship was wrecked, they found him, left alone of all the crew, +just as he had been lashed into the rigging by loving and dying +hands, but cold and stiff, the little soul beaten out of him by +the cruel waves before it had time to show what growth there +might have been in it. We will talk no more of such +things. It is thankless to be sad when all heaven and earth +are keeping holiday under the smile of God.</p> +<p>‘And now let us return. At four o’clock +to-morrow morning, you know, we are to start for +Lundy.’</p> +<h3>V.—<span class="smcap">Lundy</span>.</h3> +<p>It was four o’clock on an August morning. Our +little party had made the sleeping streets ring with jests and +greetings, as it collected on the pier. Some dozen young +men and women, sons and daughters of the wealthier coasting +captains and owners of fishing-smacks, chaperoned by our old +landlord, whose delicate and gentlemanlike features and figure +were strangely at variance with the history of his +life,—daring smuggler, daring man-of-war sailor, and then +most daring and successful of coastguard-men. After years +of fighting and shipwreck and creeping for kegs of brandy; after +having seen, too—sight not to be forgotten—the +Walcheren dykes and the Walcheren fever, through weary months of +pestilence, he had come back with a little fortune of prize-money +to be a village oracle, loving and beloved, as gentle and +courteous as if he had never ‘stato al inferno,’ and +looked Death in the face. Heaven bless thee, shrewd loyal +heart, a gentleman of God’s making, not unrecognized either +by many of men’s making.</p> +<p>The other chaperone was a lady of God’s making, too; one +who might have been a St. Theresa, had she been born there and +then; but as it was, had been fated to become only the Wesleyan +abbess of the town, and, like Deborah, ‘a mother in +Israel.’ With her tall, slim, queenly figure, massive +forehead, glittering eyes, features beaming with tenderness and +enthusiasm, and yet overcast with a peculiar expression of +self-consciousness and restraint, well known to those who have +studied the physiognomies of ‘saints,’ she seemed to +want only the dress of some monastic order to make her the ideal +of a mediæval abbess, watching with a half-pitying, +half-complacent smile, the gambols of a group of innocent young +worldlings. I saw Claude gazing at her full of admiration +and surprise, which latter was certainly not decreased when, as +soon as all had settled themselves comfortably on board, and the +cutter was slipping quietly away under the magnificent deer-park +cliffs, the Lady Abbess, pulling out her Wesleyan hymn-book, gave +out the Morning Hymn, apparently as a matter of course.</p> +<p>With hardly a demur one sweet voice after another arose; then +a man gained courage, and chimed in with a full harmonious bass; +then a rich sad alto made itself heard, as it wandered in and out +between the voices of the men and women; and at last a wild +mellow tenor, which we discovered after much searching to proceed +from the most unlikely-looking lips of an old dry, +weather-bleared, mummified chrysalis of a man, who stood aft, +steering with his legs, and showing no sign of life except when +he slowly and solemnly filled his nose with snuff.</p> +<p>‘What strange people have you brought me among?’ +asked Claude. ‘I have been wondering ever since I +came here at the splendid faces and figures of men, women, and +children, which popped out upon me from every door in that human +rabbit-burrow above. I have been in raptures at the +gracefulness, the courtesy, the intelligence of almost everyone I +meet; and now, to crown all, everyone among them seems to be a +musician.’</p> +<p>‘Really you are not far wrong, and you will find them as +remarkable morally as they are physically and +intellectually. The simplicity and purity of the women here +put one more in mind of the valleys of the Tyrol than of an +English village.’</p> +<p>‘And in proportion to their purity, I suppose,’ +said Claude, ‘is their freedom and +affectionateness?’</p> +<p>‘Exactly. It would do your +“naturalist” heart good, Claude, to see a young +fellow just lauded from a foreign voyage rolling up the street +which we have just descended, and availing himself of the +immemorial right belonging to such cases of kissing and being +kissed by every woman whom he meets, young and old. You +will find yourself here among those who are too simple-minded, +and too full of self-respect, to be either servile or +uncourteous.’</p> +<p>‘I have found out already that Liberty, Fraternity, and +Equality, in such company as this, are infinitely pleasanter, as +well as cheaper, than the aristocratic seclusion of a cutter +hired for our own behoof.’</p> +<p>‘True; and now you will not go home and, as most +tourists do, say that you know a place, without knowing the +people who live in it—as if the human inhabitants of a +range of scenery were not among its integral and most important +parts—’</p> +<p>‘What! are Copley Fielding’s South Down landscapes +incomplete without a half-starved seven shillings a-week labourer +in the foreground?’</p> +<p>‘Honestly, are they not a text without a sermon? a +premise without a conclusion? Is it not partly because the +land is down, and not well-tilled arable, that the labourer is +what he is? And yet, perhaps, the very absence of human +beings in his vast sheets of landscape, when one considers that +they are scraps of great, overcrowded, scientific England in the +nineteenth century, is in itself the bitterest of satires. +But, hush! there is another hymn commencing—not to be the +last by many.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>We had landed, and laughed, and scrambled, eaten and drunk, +seen all the sights of Lundy, and heard all the traditions. +Are they not written in Mr. Bamfield’s Ilfracombe +Guide? Why has not some one already written a +fire-and-brimstone romance about them? ‘Moresco +Castle; or, the Pirate Knight of the Atlantic Wave.’ +What a title! Or again—‘The Seal Fiend; or, the +Nemesis of the Scuttled West Indiaman.’—If I had +paper and lubricité enough, and that delightful +carelessness of any moral or purpose, except that of fine writing +and money-making, which possesses some modern scribblers—I +could tales unfold—But neither pirate legends, nor tales of +cheated insurance offices, nor wrecks and murders, will make us +understand Lundy—what it is ‘considered in its +idea,’ as the new argot is. It may be defined as a +lighthouse-bearing island. The whole three miles of granite +table-land, seals, sea-birds, and human beings, are mere +accidents and appendages—the pedestal and the ornaments of +that great white tower in the centre, whose sleepless fiery eye +blinks all night long over the night-mists of the Atlantic. +If, as a wise man has said, the days will come when our +degenerate posterity will fall down and worship rusty locomotives +and fossil electric-telegraphs, the relics of their +ancestors’ science, grown to them mythic and impossible, as +the Easter-islanders bow before the colossal statues left by a +nobler and extinct race, then surely there will be pilgrimages to +Lundy, and prayers to that white granite tower, with its unglazed +lantern and rusting machinery, to light itself up again, and help +poor human beings! Really, my dear brothers, I am not in +jest: you seem but too likely now-a-days to arrive at some such +catastrophe—sentimental philosophy for the +‘enlightened’ few, and fetish-worship (of which +nominally Christian forms are as possible as heathen ones) for +the masses.—At that you may only too probably +arrive—unless you repent, and ‘get back your +souls.’</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p>We had shot along the cliffs a red-legged chough or two, and +one of the real black English rat, exterminated on the mainland +by the grey Hanoverian newcomer; and weary with sight-seeing and +scrambling, we sat down to meditate on a slab of granite, which +hung three hundred feet in air above the western main.</p> +<p>‘This is even more strange and new to me,’ said +Claude, at length, ‘than anything I have yet seen in this +lovely West. I now appreciate Ruskin’s advice to +oil-painters to go and study the coasts of Devon and Cornwall, +instead of lingering about the muddy seas and tame cliffs of the +Channel and the German Ocean.’</p> +<p>‘How clear and brilliant,’ said I, +‘everything shows through this Atlantic atmosphere. +The intensity of colouring may vie with that of the shores of the +Mediterranean. The very raininess of the climate, by +condensing the moisture into an ever-changing phantasmagoria of +clouds, leaves the clear air and sunshine, when we do get a +glimpse of them, all the more pure and transparent.’</p> +<p>‘The distinctive feature of the scene is, in my eyes, +the daring juxtaposition of large simple masses of positive +colour. There are none of the misty enamelled tones of +Lynmouth, or the luscious richness of Clovelly. The forms +are so simple and severe, that they would be absolutely meagre, +were it not for the rich colouring with which Nature has so +lovingly made up for the absence of all softness, all picturesque +outline. One does not regret or even feel the want of trees +here, while the eye ranges down from that dappled cloud-world +above, over that sheet of purple heather, those dells bedded with +dark green fern, of a depth and richness of hue which I never saw +before—over those bright grey granite rocks, spangled with +black glittering mica and golden lichens, to rest at last on that +sea below, which streams past the island in a swift roaring +torrent of tide.’</p> +<p>‘Sea, Claude? say, ocean. This is real Atlantic +blue here beneath us. No more Severn mud, no more +grass-green bay-water, but real ocean sapphire—dark, deep, +intense, Homeric purple, it spreads away, away, there before us, +without a break or islet, to the shores of America. You are +sitting on one of the last points of Europe; and therefore all +things round you are stern and strange with a barbaric pomp, such +as befits the boundary of a world.’</p> +<p>‘Ay, the very form of the cliffs shows them to be the +breakwaters of a continent. No more fantastic curves and +bands of slate, such as harmonize so well with the fairyland +which we left this morning; the cliffs, with their horizontal +rows of cubical blocks, seem built up by Cyclopean +hands.’</p> +<p>‘Yet how symbolic is the difference between them and +that equally Cyclopic masonry of the Exmoor coast. There +every fracture is fresh, sharp-edged, crystalline; the worn-out +useless hills are dropping to pieces with their own weight. +Here each cube is delicately rounded off at the edges, every +crack worn out into a sinuous furrow, like the scars of an +everlasting warfare with the winds and waves.’</p> +<p>‘Does it not raise strange longings in you,’ said +Claude, ‘to gaze out yonder over the infinite calm, and +then to remember that beyond it lies America!—the new +world; the future world; the great Titan-baby, who will be +teeming with new Athens and Londons, with new Bacons and +Shakspeares, Newtons and Goethes, when this old worn-out island +will be—what? Oh! when I look out here, like a bird +from its cage, a captive from his dungeon, and remember what lies +behind me, to what I must return to-morrow—the over-peopled +Babylon of misery and misrule, puffery and covetousness—and +there before me great countries untilled, uncivilized, +unchristianized, crying aloud for man to come and be man indeed, +and replenish the earth and subdue it. “Oh that I had +wings as a dove, then would I flee away and be at +rest!” Here, lead me away; my body is growing as +dizzy as my mind. I feel coming over me that horrible +longing of which I have heard, to leap out into empty +space. How the blank air whispers, “Be +free!” How the broad sea smiles, and calls, with its +ten thousand waves, “Be free!”—As I live, if +you do not take me away I shall throw myself over the +cliff.’</p> +<p>I did take him away, for I knew the sensation and its danger +well. It has nothing to do with physical giddiness. +Those who are cliff-bred, and who never were giddy for an instant +in their lives, have often felt themselves impelled to leap from +masts, and tree-tops, and cliffs; and nothing but the most +violent effort of will could break the fascination. I +cannot but think, by the bye, that many a puzzling suicide might +be traced to this same emotion acting on a weak and morbid +brain.</p> +<p>We returned to the little landing cove. The red-sailed +cutter lay sleeping below us—‘floating double, ship +and shadow.’ Shoals of innumerable mackerel broke up, +making acres of water foam and sparkle round their silvery sides, +with a soft roar (call it ‘a bull’ if you like, it is +the only expression for that mysterious sound), while among them +the black head of a huge seal was slowly and silently appearing +and vanishing, as he got his dinner, in a quiet business-like +way, among the unhappy wanderers.</p> +<p>We put off in the boat, and just halfway from the cutter +Claude gave a start, and the women a scream, as the enormous +brute quietly raised his head and shoulders out of the water ten +yards off, with a fish kicking in his mouth, and the water +running off his nose, to take a deliberate stare at us, after the +fashion of seals, whose ruling passion is curiosity. The +sound of a musical instrument, the sight of a man +bathing—anything, in short, which their small wits cannot +explain at first sight, is enough to make them forget all their +cunning, and thrust their heads suicidally into any danger; and +even so it fared with the ‘black man,’ as the girls, +in their first terror, declared him to be. Some +fellow’s gun went off—of itself I should like to +believe—but the whole charge disappeared into his sleek +round visage, knocking the mackerel from between his teeth; and +he turned over, a seven-foot lump of lifeless blubber.</p> +<p>‘Wretch!’ cried Claude, as we dragged the seal +into the boat, where he lay with his head and arms hanging +helplessly over the bows, like a sea-sick alderman on board a +Margate steamer. ‘What excuse can he give for such a +piece of wanton cruelty?’</p> +<p>‘I assure you his skin and oil are very +valuable.’</p> +<p>‘Pish!—Was he thinking of skin and oil when he +pulled the trigger? or merely obeying the fleshly lust of +destructiveness—the puppet of two bumps on the back of his +head?’</p> +<p>‘My dear Claude, man is the microcosm; and as the +highest animal, the ideal type of the mammalia, he, like all true +types, comprises in himself the attributes of all lower +species. Therefore he must have a tiger-vein in him, my +dear Claude, as well as a beaver-vein and a spider-vein; and no +more shame to him. You are a butterfly; that good fellow a +beast of prey; both may have their own work to do in this age +just as they had in the old ones; and if you do not like that +explanation, all I can say is, I can sympathise with you and with +him too. Homo sum—humani nihil a me alienum +puto. Trim the boat, lads, or the seal will swamp us, and, +like Samson, slay more in his death than ever he slew in his +life.’</p> +<p>We slipped on homeward. The cliff-wall of Lundy stood +out blacker and blacker every moment against the gay western sky; +greens, greys, and purples, dyeing together into one deep rich +monotone, for which our narrow colour-vocabulary has no word; and +threw a long cold shadow towards us across the golden sea; +suddenly above its dark ridge a wild wreath of low rack caught +the rays of the setting sun, and flamed up like a volcano towards +the dun and purple canopy of upper clouds. Before us the +blue sea and the blue land-line were fading into mournful grey, +on which one huge West Indiaman blazed out, orange and scarlet, +her crowded canvas all a-flame from the truck to the +water’s edge.—A few moments and she, too, had +vanished into the grey twilight, and a chill night-wind crisped +the sea. It was a relief to hear the Evening Hymn rise rich +and full from one voice, and then another and another, till the +men chimed in one by one, and the whole cutter, from stem to +stern, breathed up its melody into the silent night.</p> +<p>But the hymn soon flagged—there was more mirth on board +than could vent itself in old Charles Wesley’s words; and +one began to hum a song tune, and then another, with a side +glance at the expression of the Lady Abbess’s face, till at +last, when a fair wife took courage, and burst out with full pipe +into ‘The sea, the sea,’ the ice was fairly broken; +and among jests and laughter one merry harmless song after +another rang out, many of them, to Claude’s surprise, +fashionable London ones, which sounded strangely enough out there +on the wild western sea. At last—‘Claude, +friend,’ I whispered, ‘you must sing your share +too—and mine also, for that matter.’</p> +<p>‘What shall I sing?’</p> +<p>‘Anything you will, from the sublime to the +ridiculous. They will understand and appreciate it as well +as yourself. Recollect, you are not among bullet-headed +South Saxon clods, but among wits as keen and imaginations as +rich as those of any Scotch shepherd or Manchester +operative.’</p> +<p>And up rose his exquisite tenor.</p> +<p>This was his first song, but it was not allowed to be his +last. German ballads, Italian Opera airs, were all just as +warmly, and perhaps far more sincerely appreciated, as they would +have been by any London evening-party; and the singing went on, +hour after hour, as we slipped slowly on upon the tide, till it +grew late, and the sweet voices died away one by one; and then +the Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity which had reigned so +pleasantly throughout the day took a new form, as the women +huddled together to sleep in each other’s arms; and the men +and we clustered forwards, while from every mouth fragrant +incense steamed upwards into the air. ‘Man a cooking +animal?’ my dear Doctor Johnson—pooh! man is a +smoking animal. There is his ergon, his ‘differential +energy,’ as the Aristotelians say—his true +distinction from the ourang-outang. Ponder it well.</p> +<p>The men were leaning on the trawl capstan, while our old +landlord, with half-a-dozen pipes within a foot of his face, +droned out some long sea-yarn about Ostend, and muds, and +snow-storms, and revenue-cruisers going down stern foremost, kegs +of brandy and French prisons, which I shall not repeat; for +indeed the public has been surfeited with sea-stories of late, +from many sufficiently dull ones up to the genial wisdom of +‘Peter Simple,’ and the gorgeous word-painting of +‘Tom Cringle’s Log.’ And now the subject +is stale—the old war and the wonders thereof have died away +into the past, like the men who fought in it; and Trafalgar and +the Bellerophon are replaced by Manchester and ‘Mary +Barton.’ We have solved the old sea-going problems +pretty well—thanks to wise English-hearted Captain Marryat, +now gone to his rest, just when his work was done; and we must +turn round and face a few land-going problems not quite so easy +of solution. So Claude and I thought, as we leant over the +sloop’s bows, listening neither to the Ostend story +forwards nor the forty-stanza ballad aft, which the old steersman +was moaning on, careless of listeners, to keep himself awake at +the helm. Forty stanzas or so we did count from curiosity; +the first line of each of which ended infallibly with</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Says the +commodo—ore;</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and the third with</p> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center">‘Says the female +smuggler;’</p> +</blockquote> +<p>and then gave up in despair; and watched in a dreamy, tired, +half-sad mood, the everlasting sparkle of the water as our bows +threw it gently off in sheets of flame and ‘tender curving +lines of creamy’ fire, that ran along the glassy surface, +and seemed to awaken the sea for yards round into glittering +life, as countless diamonds, and emeralds, and topazes, leaped +and ran and dived round us, while we slipped slowly by; and then +a speck of light would show far off in the blank darkness, and +another, and another, and slide slowly up to us—shoals of +medusæ, every one of them a heaving globe of flame; and +some unseen guillemot would give a startled squeak, or a +shearwater close above our heads suddenly stopped the yarn, and +raised a titter among the men, by his ridiculously articulate, +and not over-complimentary, cry; and then a fox’s bark from +the cliffs came wild and shrill, although so faint and distant; +or the lazy gaff gave a sad uneasy creak; and then a soft warm +air, laden with heather honey, and fragrant odours of sedge, and +birch, and oak, came sighing from the land; while all around us +was the dense blank of the night, except where now and then some +lonely gleam through the southern clouds showed the cliff-tops on +our right.—It was all most unearthly, dreamlike, a strange +phantasmagoria, like some scene from ‘The Ancient +Mariner’—all the world shut out, silent, invisible, +and we floating along there alone, like a fairy ship creeping +through Chaos and the unknown Limbo. Was it an evil thought +that rose within me as I said to Claude—‘Is not this +too like life? Our only light the sparkles that rise up +round us at every step, and die behind us; and all around, and +all before, the great black unfathomable eternities? A few +souls brought together as it were by chance, for a short +friendship and mutual dependence in this little ship of earth, so +soon to land her passengers and break up the company for +ever?’</p> +<p>He smiled.</p> +<p>‘There is a devil’s meaning to everything in +nature, and a God’s meaning, too. Your friends, the +zoologists, have surely taught you better than that. As I +read Nature’s parable to-night, I find nothing in it but +hope. What if there be darkness, the sun will rise +to-morrow. What if there seem a chaos: the great organic +world is still living, and growing, and feeding, unseen by us, +all the black night through; and every phosphoric atom there +below is a sign that even in the darkest night there is still the +power of light, ready to flash out, wherever and however it is +stirred. Does the age seem to you dark? Do you, too, +feel as I do at times, the awful sadness of that +text,—“The time shall come when ye shall desire to +see one of the days of the Lord, and shall not see +it”? Then remember that</p> +<blockquote><p>“The night is never so long<br /> +But at last it ringeth for matin song.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And even as it is around us here, so it is in the world of +men. The night is peopled not merely with phantoms and +wizards, superstitions and spirits of evil, but under its shadow +all sciences, methods, social energies, are taking rest, and +growing, and feeding, unknown to themselves, that they may awake +into a new life, and intermarry, and beget children nobler than +themselves, when “the day-spring from on high comes +down.” Even now, see! the dawn is gilding the highest +souls, as it is those Exmoor peaks afar; and we are in the night +only because we crawl below. What if we be unconscious of +all the living energies which are fermenting round us now? +Have you not shown me in this last week every moorland pool, +every drop of the summer sea, alive with beautiful organizations, +multiplying as fast as the thoughts of man? Is not every +leaf breathing still, every sap vein drinking still, though we +may not see them? “Even so is the kingdom of God; +like seed sown in the ground; and men rise, and lie down and +sleep; and it groweth up they know not how.”’</p> +<p>We both fell into a reverie. The story and the ballad +were finished, and not a sound broke the silence except the +screaming of the sea-fowl, which led my thoughts wandering back +to nights long past, when we dragged the seine up to our chins in +water through the short midsummer night, and scrambled and rolled +over on the beach in boyish glee, after the skate and mullet, +with those now gone; and as I thought and thought, old voices +seemed to call me, old faces looked at me, of playmates, and +those nearer than playmates, now sleeping in the deep deep sea, +amid far coral islands; and old figures seemed to glide out of +the mysterious dark along the still sea floor, as if the ocean +were indeed giving up her dead. I shook myself, turned +away, and tried to persuade myself that I was dreaming. +Perhaps I had been doing so. At least, I remember very +little more, till I was roused by the rattling of the chain-cable +through the hawse-hole, opposite the pier-head.</p> +<p>And now, gentle readers, farewell; and farewell, Clovelly, and +all the loving hearts it holds; and farewell, too, the soft still +summer weather. Claude and I are taking our last walk +together along the deer-park cliffs. Lundy is shrouded in +the great grey fan of dappled haze which streams up from the +westward, dimming the sickly sun. ‘There is not a +breath the blue wave to curl.’ Yet lo! round +Chapman’s Head creeps a huge bank of polished swell, and +bursts in thunder on the cliffs.—Another follows, and +another.—The Atlantic gales are sending in their +avant-courriers of ground-swell: six hours more, and the storm +which has been sweeping over ‘the still-vexed +Bermoöthes,’ and bending the tall palms on West Indian +isles, will be roaring through the oak woods of Devon. The +old black buck is calling his does with ominous croakings, and +leading the way slowly into the deepest coverts of the +glens. The stormy petrels, driven in from the Atlantic, are +skimming like black swallows over the bay beneath us. Long +strings of sea-fowl are flagging on steadily at railroad pace, +towards the sands and salt-marshes of Braunton. The +herring-boats are hastily hauling their nets—you may see +the fish sparkling like flakes of silver as they come up over the +gunwale; all craft, large and small, are making for the shelter +of the pier. Claude starts this afternoon to sit for six +months in Babylonic smoke, working up his sketches into certain +unspeakable pictures, with which the world will be astonished, or +otherwise, at the next Royal Academy Exhibition; while I, for +whom another fortnight of pure western air remains, am off to +well-known streams, to be in time for the autumn floods, and the +shoals of fresh-run salmon trout.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, +June 1867.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, +September 1858.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74" +class="footnote">[74]</a> The Ripon list of natural flies +contains several other species of small Nemouridæ unknown +to me, save one brown one, which is seen in the South, though +rarely, in June.</p> +<p><a name="footnote103"></a><a href="#citation103" +class="footnote">[103]</a> For these details I am indebted +to a paper in the ‘Annals of Natural History,’ for +September 1862, by my friend, Professor Alfred Newton, of +Cambridge.</p> +<p><a name="footnote135"></a><a href="#citation135" +class="footnote">[135]</a> <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, +January 1858.</p> +<p><a name="footnote225a"></a><a href="#citation225a" +class="footnote">[225a]</a> <i>Fraser’s Magazine</i>, +July 1849.</p> +<p><a name="footnote225b"></a><a href="#citation225b" +class="footnote">[225b]</a> Some years after this was +written, the very book which was needed appeared, as “The +Chase of the Red Deer,” by Mr. Palk Collyns.</p> +<p><a name="footnote235"></a><a href="#citation235" +class="footnote">[235]</a> Written before the Volunteer +movement.</p> +<p><a name="footnote287"></a><a href="#citation287" +class="footnote">[287]</a> Most wise and noble words upon +this matter, worth the attention of all thinking men, and above +all of clergymen, have been written by Mr. J. S. Mill, in his +tract on ‘Liberty.’</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PROSE IDYLLS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 7032-h.htm or 7032-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/7/0/3/7032 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre></body> +</html> diff --git a/7032-h/images/fpb.jpg b/7032-h/images/fpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..32df8a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/7032-h/images/fpb.jpg diff --git a/7032-h/images/fps.jpg b/7032-h/images/fps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1a8ea7 --- /dev/null +++ b/7032-h/images/fps.jpg diff --git a/7032-h/images/tpb.jpg b/7032-h/images/tpb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7ffc42 --- /dev/null +++ b/7032-h/images/tpb.jpg diff --git a/7032-h/images/tps.jpg b/7032-h/images/tps.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d9d430 --- /dev/null +++ b/7032-h/images/tps.jpg |
