I
hope that my philosopher may yet walk on the hills with me, if only for
the sake of the love I bear the green valleys; and when I see the great
stream passing silently from translucent pool to pool, overhung by
rowans and sun-warmed rocks, I shall be glad to think that I have
walked on the heights where it was gathered and drawn, and that I have
heard it talk hoarsely to itself, cold and uncomforted, among the bleak
and dripping stones.
XLII
I have just returned from a few days in town, feeling that it is good
to have been there, if only for the sake of the return to the cool
silence of these solitary fields. I am not ungrateful for all the
kindness which I have received, but I cannot help thinking of the
atmosphere which I have left with a kind of horror.
The friend with whom I have been staying is a man of considerable
wealth. He has no occupation but the pursuit of culture. He is married
to a charming wife, also wealthy; but they are childless, and the
result is that they have nothing to expend their energies upon except
books and art and society. At long intervals my friend produces a tiny
volume, beautifully printed and bound, which he presents to his
friends. Last year it was an account of some curious religious
ceremonies which he came across in a tour in Brittany. I dare say I am
wrong, but it seems to me that the only charm of these grotesque and
absurd rites is that country people should practise them quietly and
secretly, as a matter of old and customary tradition.
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