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be said against that； it simply is that you are not lucky with it。〃
I would that I had followed his advice always； I would have saved
myself and other people much disaster。 I see no reason why it should be；
but so it is。 If I instruct a man as to the best route between London and
Rome； he loses his luggage in Switzerland； or is nearly shipwrecked off
Dover。 If I counsel him in the purchase of a camera； he gets run in by the
German police for photographing fortresses。 I once took a deal of
trouble to explain to a man how to marry his deceased wife's sister at
Stockholm。 I found out for him the time the boat left Hull and the best
hotels to stop at。 There was not a single mistake from beginning to end in
the information with which I supplied him； no hitch occurred anywhere；
yet now he never speaks to me。
Therefore it is that I have come to restrain my passion for the giving of
information； therefore it is that nothing in the nature of practical
instruction will be found； if I can help it； within these pages。
There will be no description of towns； no historical reminiscences； no
architecture； no morals。
I once asked an intelligent foreigner what he thought of London。
He said： 〃It is a very big town。〃
I said： 〃What struck you most about it？〃
He replied： 〃The people。〃
I said： 〃Compared with other townsParis； Rome； Berlin；what did
you think of it？〃
He shrugged his shoulders。 〃It is bigger；〃 he said； 〃what more can
one say？〃
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One anthill is very much like another。 So many avenues； wide or
narrow； where the little creatures swarm in strange confusion； these
bustling by； important； these halting to pow…wow with one another。
These struggling with big burdens； those but basking in the sun。 So
many granaries stored with food； so many cells where the little things
sleep； and eat； and love； the corner where lie their little white bones。
This hive is larger； the next smaller。 This nest lies on the sand； and another
under the stones。 This was built but yesterday； while that was fashioned
ages ago； some say even before the swallows came； who knows？
Nor will there be found herein folk…lore or story。
Every valley where lie homesteads has its song。 I will tell you the
plot； you can turn it into verse and set it to music of your own。
There lived a lass； and there came a lad； who loved and rode away。
It is a monotonous song； written in many languages； for the young
man seems to have been a mighty traveller。 Here in sentimental
Germany they remember him well。 So also the dwellers of the Blue
Alsatian Mountains remember his coming among them； while； if my
memory serves me truly； he likewise visited the Banks of Allan Water。 A
veritable Wandering Jew is he； for still the foolish girls listen； so they say；
to the dying away of his hoof…beats。
In this land of many ruins； that long while ago were voice…filled homes；
linger many legends； and here again； giving you the essentials； I leave you
to cook the dish for yourself。 Take a human heart or two； assorted； a
bundle of human passionsthere are not many of them； half a dozen at the
most； season with a mixture of good and evil； flavour the whole with the
sauce of death； and serve up where and when you will。 〃The Saint's
Cell；〃 〃The Haunted Keep；〃 〃The Dungeon Grave；〃 〃The Lover's Leap〃
call it what you will； the stew's the same。
Lastly； in this book there will be no scenery。 This is not laziness on
my part； it is self…control。 Nothing is easier to write than scenery；
nothing more difficult and unnecessary to read。 When Gibbon had to trust
to travellers' tales for a description of the Hellespont； and the Rhine was
chiefly familiar to English students through the medium of Caesar's
Commentaries； it behoved every globe…trotter； for whatever distance； to
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describe to the best of his ability the things that he had seen。 Dr。 Johnson；
familiar with little else than the view down Fleet Street； could read the
description of a Yorkshire moor with pleasure and with profit。 To a
cockney who had never seen higher ground than the Hog's Back in Surrey；
an account of Snowdon must have appeared exciting。 But we； or rather
the steam…engine and the camera for us； have changed all that。 The man
who plays tennis every year at the foot of the Matterhorn； and billiards on
the summit of the Rigi； does not thank you for an elaborate and
painstaking description of the Grampian Hills。 To the average man； who
has seen a dozen oil paintings； a hundred photographs； a thousand pictures
in the illustrated journals； and a couple of panoramas of Niagara； the
word…painting of a waterfall is tedious。
An American friend of mine； a cultured gentleman； who loved poetry
well enough for its own sake； told me that he had obtained a more correct
and more satisfying idea of the Lake district from an eighteenpenny book
of photographic views than from all the works of Coleridge； Southey； and
Wordsworth put together。 I also remember his saying concerning this
subject of scenery in literature； that he would thank an author as much for
writing an eloquent description of what he had just had for dinner。 But
this was in reference to another argument； namely； the proper province of
each art。 My friend maintained that just as canvas and colour were the
wrong mediums for story telling； so word…painting was； at its best； but a
clumsy method of conveying impressions that could much better be
received through the eye。
As regards the question； there also lingers in my memory very
distinctly a hot school afternoon。 The class was for English literature；
and the proceedings commenced with the reading of a certain lengthy； but
otherwise unobjectionable； poem。 The author's name； I am ashamed to
say； I have forgotten； together with the title of the poem。 The reading
finished； we closed our books； and the Professor； a kindly； white…haired
old gentleman； suggested our giving in our own words an account of what
we had just read。
〃Tell me；〃 said the Professor； encouragingly； 〃what it is all about。〃
〃Please； sir；〃 said the first boyhe spoke with bowed head and evident
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reluctance； as though the subject were one which； left to himself； he would
never have mentioned；〃it is about a maiden。〃
〃Yes；〃 agreed the Professor； 〃but I want you to tell me in your own
words。 We do not speak of a maiden； you know； we say a girl。 Yes； it is
about a girl。 Go on。〃
〃A girl；〃 repeated the top boy； the substitution apparently increasing
his embarrassment； 〃who lived in a wood。〃
〃What sort of a wood？〃 asked the Professor。
The first boy examined his inkpot carefully； and then looked at the
ceiling。
〃Come；〃 urged the Professor； growing impatient； 〃you have been
reading about this wood for the last ten minutes。 Surely you can tell me
something concerning it。〃
〃The gnarly trees； their twisted branches〃recommenced the top boy。
〃No； no；〃 interrupted the Professor； 〃I do not want you to repeat the
poem。 I want you to tell me in your own words what sort of a wood it
was where the girl lived。〃
The Professor tapped his foot impatiently； the top boy made a dash for
it。
〃Please； sir； it was the usual sort of a wood。〃
〃Tell him what sort of a wood；〃 said he； pointing to the second lad。
The second boy said it was a 〃green