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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"Essays of Travel"

Now, when I
am sad, I like nature to charm me out of my sadness, like David
before Saul; and the thought of these past ages strikes nothing in
me but an unpleasant pity; so that I can never hit on the right
humour for this sort of landscape, and lose much pleasure in
consequence. Still, even here, if I were only let alone, and time
enough were given, I should have all manner of pleasures, and take
many clear and beautiful images away with me when I left. When we
cannot think ourselves into sympathy with the great features of a
country, we learn to ignore them, and put our head among the grass
for flowers, or pore, for long times together, over the changeful
current of a stream. We come down to the sermon in stones, when we
are shut out from any poem in the spread landscape. We begin to
peep and botanise, we take an interest in birds and insects, we
find many things beautiful in miniature. The reader will recollect
the little summer scene in Wuthering Heights--the one warm scene,
perhaps, in all that powerful, miserable novel--and the great
feature that is made therein by grasses and flowers and a little
sunshine: this is in the spirit of which I now speak. And,
lastly, we can go indoors; interiors are sometimes as beautiful,
often more picturesque, than the shows of the open air, and they
have that quality of shelter of which I shall presently have more
to say.


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