from the wooded hill. And if I have a purpose in this book,
which is without a purpose, a message to deliver and a lesson
to teach, it is only this--the charm of the unknown, and the
infinitely greater pleasure in discovering the interesting
things for ourselves than in informing ourselves of them by
reading. It is like the difference in flavour in wild fruits
and all wild meats found and gathered by our own hands in wild
places and that of the same prepared and put on the table for
us. The ever-varying aspects of nature, of earth and sea and
cloud, are a perpetual joy to the artist, who waits and watches
for their appearance, who knows that sun and atmosphere have
for him revelations without end. They come and go and mock
his best efforts; he knows that his striving is in vain--that
his weak hands and earthy pigments cannot reproduce these
effects or express his feeling--that, as Leighton said, "every
picture is a subject thrown away." But he has his joy none
the less; it is in the pursuit and in the dream of capturing
something illusive, mysterious, and inexpressibly beautiful.




Chapter Two: On Going Back


In looking over the preceding chapter it occurred to me that I
had omitted something, or rather that it would have been well
to drop a word of warning to those who have the desire to
revisit a place where they have experienced a delightful
surprise. Alas! they cannot have that sensation a second