homes; and further, that as a matter of sound
policy they should be provided with them.

ON THE DOWNS

A trailing beam of light sweeps through the combe, broadening out
where it touches the ground, and narrowing up to the cloud with
which it travels. The hollow groove between the hills is lit up
where it falls as with a ray cast from a mirror. It is an acre wide
on the sward, and tapers up to the invisible slit in the cloud; a
mere speck of light from the sky enlightens the earth, and one
thought opens the hearts of all men. On the slope here the furze is
flecked with golden spots, and black-headed stonechats perch on
ant-hills or stray flints, taking no heed of a quiet wanderer. Afar,
blue line upon blue line of down is drawn along in slow curves, and
beneath, the distant sea appears a dim plain with five bright
streaks, where the sunshine pours through as many openings in the
clouds. The wind smells like an apple fresh plucked; suddenly the
great beam of light vanishes as the sun comes out, and at once the
single beam is merged in the many.

Light and colour, freedom and delicious air, give exquisite pleasure
to the senses; but the heart searches deeper, and draws forth food
for itself from sunshine, hills and sea. Desiring their beauty so
deeply, the desire in a measure satisfies itself. It is a thirst
which slakes itself to grow the stronger. It springs afresh from the
light, from the blue hill-line yonder, from the gorse-flower at
hand; to seize upon something that seems in them, which they
symbolize and speak of; to take it away within oneself; to absorb it
and feel conscious of it--a something that cannot be defined, but
which corresponds with all that is highest, truest, and most ideal
within the mind. It says, Hope and aspire, strive for largeness of
thought. The wind blows, and declares that the mind has capacity for
more than has ever yet been brought to it. The wind is wide, and
blows not only here, but along the whole range of hills--the hills
are not broad enough for it; nor is the sea--it crosses the ocean
and spreads itself whither it will. Though invisible, it is
material, and yet it knows no limit. As the wind to the fixed
boulder lying deep in the sward, so is the immaterial mind to the
wind. There is capacity in it for more than has ever yet been placed
before it. No system, no philosophy yet organized in logical
sequence satisfies the inmost depth--fills and fully occupies the
well of