I
could not gather thatthe exquisite loveliness of the place had any
particular effect upon the dwellers there, except a mild pleasure in
the fact that so many strangers should come to see the place. I do not
exactly grudge strangers the sight of it, though I should like better
to think of it all as standing in an enchanted valley hard to
penetrate. But it is difficult to see exactly for whom it all exists.
It seems to be a place that ought to have a dreamful, appreciative,
emotional life of its own, a place where a few worthy natures might
live in a serene, joyful, impassioned mood; a place where there is
nothing that need remind the dweller of ugliness or vulgarity, of
progress or statistics; a place for elect souls and fine natures.
One does not want to be fantastic or absurd in such reveries as these;
but it is sad to think that scattered about England in mean towns,
perhaps in sordid houses, are natures that could live in a place like
Wells with a perpetual delight, a constant drinking at the sources of
beauty, while most of the actual inhabitants have come there almost by
chance, and do not appear to be particularly conscious of their
blessings or particularly affected by their surroundings. It seems
indeed a curious wastefulness, that the Power who rules the world
should have heaped in this tiny place among the hills such a treasure
of delicate beauty, with such an indifference as to whether it should
he perceived or discerned by congenial spirits.
Pages:
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343