shape of familiar edifices, of spires, monuments. And when at length I
sat down, somewhere on the Embankment, it was rather to gaze at leisure
than to rest, for I felt no weariness, and the sun, still pouring upon me
its noontide radiance, seemed to fill my veins with life.

That sense I shall never know again. For me Nature has comforts,
raptures, but no more invigoration. The sun keeps me alive, but cannot,
as in the old days, renew my being. I would fain learn to enjoy without
reflecting.

My walk in the golden hours leads me to a great horse-chestnut, whose
root offers a convenient seat in the shadow of its foliage. At that
resting-place I have no wide view before me, but what I see is enough--a
corner of waste land, over-flowered with poppies and charlock, on the
edge of a field of corn. The brilliant red and yellow harmonize with the
glory of the day. Near by, too, is a hedge covered with great white
blooms of the bindweed. My eyes do not soon grow weary.

A little plant of which I am very fond is the rest-harrow. When the sun
is hot upon it, the flower gives forth a strangely aromatic scent, very
delightful to me. I know the cause of this peculiar pleasure. The rest-
harrow sometimes grows in sandy ground above the seashore. In my
childhood I have many a time lain in such a spot under the glowing sky,
and, though I scarce thought of it, perceived the odour of the little
rose-pink flower when it touched my face. Now I have but to smell it,
and those hours come back again. I see the shore of Cumberland, running
north to St. Bee's Head; on the sea horizon a faint shape which is the
Isle of Man; inland, the mountains, which for me at that time guarded a
region of unknown wonder. Ah, how long ago!