sketched. How they are all tilted by the inclination of
the ground, how each stands out in delicate relief
against the rest, what manifold detail, and play of sun
and shadow, animate and accentuate the picture, is a
matter for a person on the spot, and turning swiftly on
his heels, to grasp and bind together in one
comprehensive look. It is the character of such a
prospect, to be full of change and of things moving. The
multiplicity embarrasses the eye; and the mind, among so
much, suffers itself to grow absorbed with single points.
You remark a tree in a hedgerow, or follow a cart along a
country road. You turn to the city, and see children,
dwarfed by distance into pigmies, at play about suburban
doorsteps; you have a glimpse upon a thoroughfare where
people are densely moving; you note ridge after ridge of
chimney-stacks running downhill one behind another, and
church spires rising bravely from the sea of roofs. At
one of the innumerable windows, you watch a figure
moving; on one of the multitude of roofs, you watch
clambering chimney-sweeps. The wind takes a run and
scatters the smoke; bells are heard, far and near, faint
and loud, to tell the hour; or perhaps a bird goes
dipping evenly over the housetops, like a gull across the
waves. And here you are in the meantime, on this
pastoral hillside, among nibbling sheep and looked upon
by monumental buildings.

Return thither on some clear, dark, moonless night,
with a ring of frost in the air, and only a star or two
set sparsedly in the vault of heaven; and you will find a