I.

To-day, as I was reading in the garden, a waft of summer perfume--some

hidden link of association in what I read--I know not what it may have

been--took me back to school-boy holidays; I recovered with strange

intensity that lightsome mood of long release from tasks, of going away

to the seaside, which is one of childhood's blessings. I was in the

train; no rushing express, such as bears you great distances; the sober

train which goes to no place of importance, which lets you see the white

steam of the engine float and fall upon a meadow ere you pass. Thanks to

a good and wise father, we youngsters saw nothing of seaside places where

crowds assemble; I am speaking, too, of a time more than forty years ago,

when it was still possible to find on the coasts of northern England,

east or west, spots known only to those who loved the shore for its

beauty and its solitude. At every station the train stopped; little

stations, decked with beds of flowers, smelling warm in the sunshine

where country-folk got in with baskets, and talked in an unfamiliar

dialect, an English which to us sounded almost like a foreign tongue.

Then the first glimpse of the sea; the excitement of noting whether tide

was high or low--stretches of sand and weedy pools, or halcyon wavelets

frothing at their furthest reach, under the sea-banks starred with

convolvulus. Of a sudden, _our_ station!

Ah, that taste of the brine on a child's lips! Nowadays, I can take

holiday when I will, and go whithersoever it pleases me; but that salt

kiss of the sea air I shall never know again. My senses are dulled; I

cannot get so near to Nature; I have a sorry dread of her clouds, her

winds, and must walk with tedious circumspection where once I ran and

leapt exultingly. Were it possible, but for one half-hour, to plunge and

bask in the sunny surf, to roll on the silvery sand-hills, to leap from

rock to rock on shining sea-ferns, laughing if I slipped into the

shallows among starfish and anemones! I am much older in body than in

mind; I can but look at what I once enjoyed.

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