through, like the tall slanting pines near the Spaniards, and the old
cedar-trees, and hedges of yew and holly, for which the Hampstead
gardens are famous.

Before us lies a sea of fern, gone a russet-brown from decay, in which
are isles of dark green gorse, and little trees with little scarlet and
orange and lemon-colored leaflets fluttering down, and running after
each other on the bright grass, under the brisk west wind which makes
the willows rustle, and turn up the whites of their leaves in pious
resignation to the coming change.

Harrow-on-the-Hill, with its pointed spire, rises blue in the distance;
and distant ridges, like receding waves, rise into blueness, one after
the other, out of the low-lying mist; the last ridge bluely melting into
space. In the midst of it all gleams the Welsh Harp Lake, like a piece
of sky that has become unstuck and tumbled into the landscape with its
shiny side up.

On the other side, all London, with nothing but the gilded cross of St.
Paul's on a level with the eye; it lies at our feet, as Paris used to do
from the heights of Passy, a sight to make true dreamers gaze and think
and dream the more; and there we sit thinking and dreaming and gazing
our fill, hand in hand, our spirits rushing together.

Once as we sat we heard the clatter of hoofs behind us, and there was a
troop of my old regiment out exercising. Invisible to all but ourselves,
and each other, we watched the wanton troopers riding by on their meek
black chargers.

First came the cornet--a sunny-haired Apollo, a gilded youth, graceful