sionment is that the early mental picture loses
something of its original freshness. The very fact that the delightful
place or scene was discovered by us made it the shining place it is in
memory. And again, the charm we found in it may have been in a measure
due to the mood we were in, or to the peculiar aspect in which it came
before us at the first, due to the season, to atmospheric and sunlight
effects, to some human interest, or to a conjunction of several
favourable circumstances; we know we can never see it again in that
aspect and with that precise feeling.

On this account I am shy of revisiting the places where I have
experienced the keenest delight. For example, I have no desire to
revisit that small ancient town among the hills, described in the last
chapter; to go on a Sunday evening through that narrow gorge, filled
with the musical roar of the church bells; to leave that great sound
behind and stand again listening to the marvellous echo from the wooded
hill on the other side of the valley. Nor would I care to go again in
search of that small ancient lost church in the forest. It would not
be early April with the clear sunbeams shining through the old leafless
oaks on the floor of fallen yellow leaves with the cuckoo fluting before
his time; nor would that straggling procession of villagers appear,
headed by an old man in a smock frock with a big book in his hand; nor
would I hear for the first time the strange history of the church which
so enchanted me.

I will here give an account of yet another of the many well-remembered
delightful spots which I would not revisit, nor even look upon again if
I could avoid doing so by going several miles out of my way.

It was green open country in the west of England--very far west,
although on the east side of the Tamar--in a beautiful spot remote from
railroads and large towns, and the road by which I was travelling (on
this occasion on a bicycle) ran or serpentined along the foot of a range
of low round hills on my right hand, while on my left I had a green
valley with other low round green hills beyond it. The valley had a
marshy stream with sedgy margins and occasional clumps of alder and
willow trees. It was the end of a hot midsummer day; the sun went down
a vast globe of crimson fire in a crystal clear sky; and as I was going
east I was obliged to dismount and stand still to watch its setting.
When the great red disc had gone down behind the green world I