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 enhanced by cool shadows of pearly-gray cast by the undulations of the land as well as by cottage, hedge, and tree. The Wolds were very fair to look upon that perfect September day.

The sun-bright air flooded the landscape with its light; an air so clear and pure and sweet, so balmy yet so bracing, it made us exultant and our journey a joy! Sunshine and fresh air, the fresh air of the Wolds, the Downs, the moors, and the mountains, are as inspiriting as champagne, and the finest cure in the world for pessimism! Whenever I feel inclined that way I go a-driving across country and forget all about it! So we drove on in a delightful day-dream, rejoicing that fate had led us into the Lincolnshire highlands. The unassuming beauty of the Wolds gladdened our hearts, there is a soothing simplicity about it that grander scenes fail to convey; it is in no way wonderful, it is much better—it is satisfying! It too is general, it boasts no presiding peak, no special points of scenic importance that compel you to see them with an irritating pretentiousness: it is not even romantic, it is merely benign. It breathes the atmosphere of peace and homeliness, it does not cry aloud to be admired—and surely there is a virtue in repose as well as in assertiveness? And of the two, in this restless age, repose seems to me the more excellent!

What a wonder it is that the guide-book compilers have not discovered Lincolnshire—and what a blessing! As a novelist once said to me, "I grant you Lincolnshire has its charms, but there is nothing to catch hold of in it." Well, I am glad that such is