more ways and more profoundly than we know by our surroundings. The
nature of the soil we live on, the absence or presence of running
water, of hills, rocks, woods, open spaces; every feature in the
landscape, the vegetative and animal life--everything in fact that we
see, hear, smell and feel, enters not into the body only, but the soul,
and helps to shape and colour it. Equally important in its action on us
are the conditions created by man himself:--situation, size, form and
the arrangements of the houses in the village; its traditions, customs
and social life.

On that airy _mirador_ which I occupied under (not in) the clouds,
after surveying the village beneath me I turned my sight abroad and
saw, near and far, many many other villages; and there was no other
exactly like Burbage nor any two really alike.

Each had its individual character. To mention only two that were
nearest--East Grafton and Easton, or Easton Royal. The first, small
ancient rustic-looking place: a large green, park-like shaded by well-
grown oak, elm, beech, and ash trees; a small slow stream of water
winding through it: round this pleasant shaded and watered space the
low-roofed thatched cottages, each cottage in its own garden, its porch
and walls overgrown with ivy and creepers. Thus, instead of a straight
line like Burbage it formed a circle, and every cottage opened on to
the tree-shaded village green; and this green was like a great common
room where the villagers meet, where the children play, where lovers
whisper their secrets, where the aged and weary take their rest, and
all subjects of interest are daily discussed. If a blackcap or
chaffinch sung in one of the trees the strain could be heard in every
cottage in the circle. All hear and see the same things, and think and
feel the same.