introduced, in order to provide interest, all sorts of accessories--
aunts, parsons, gamekeepers, nurses, a fire and some hairbreadth
escapes, but they were none of them essential and they were all
manufactured. The only parts not worthless were those which were
autobiographical.

One of them I remember very well, although my MS. was burnt long
ago. I believed then that Nature is not merely beautiful, but that
she can speak words which we can hear if we listen devoutly, and
that if personality has any meaning she is personal,


'The guide, the guardian of the heart and soul.'


Towards the end of an autumn afternoon I had rambled up to the
pillar which was a landmark to seven counties. It was wet during
the morning, but at five o'clock the rain ceased and a long,
irregular line of ragged cloud, dripping here and there, stretched
itself above the opposite hills from east to west. Underneath it
was a border of pale-golden, open sky, and below was the sea. The
hills hid it, but I knew it was there. I was hushed and reassured.
When I got home I transferred my emotion to my deserted heroine, and
tears blotted the paper. But it was a mere episode, without
connection and, in fact, an obstruction.

I sent my manuscript to a publisher and need hardly say that it was
returned as unsuitable. I tried two others, but with no success.
The third enclosed a copy of his reader's opinion. Here it is:-