ole day……those names which bring before the mind a bit of seashore； a riverside； a glimpse of moorland or of woods。 However feeble his criticism； the journalist generally writes with appreciation of these subjects； his descriptions carry me away to all sorts of places which I shall never see again with the bodily eye； and I thank him for his unconscious magic。 Much better this； after all； than really going to London and seeing the pictures themselves。 They would not disappoint me； I love and honour even the least of English landscape painters； but I should try to see too many at once； and fall back into my old mood of tired grumbling at the conditions of modern life。 For a year or two I have grumbled little……all the better for me。
XXVI
Of late； I have been wishing for music。 An odd chance gratified my desire。
I had to go into Exeter yesterday。 I got there about sunset； transacted my business； and turned to walk home again through the warm twilight。 In Southernhay； as I was passing a house of which the ground…floor windows stood open； there sounded the notes of a piano……chords touched by a skilful hand。 I checked my step； hoping； and in a minute or two the musician began to play that nocturne of Chopin which I love best……I don't know how to name it。 My heart leapt。 There I stood in the thickening dusk； the glorious sounds floating about me； and I trembled with very ecstasy of enjoyment。 When silence came； I waited in the hope of another piece； but nothing followed； and so I went my way。
It is well for me that I cannot hear music when I will； assuredly I should not have such intense pleasure as es to me now and then by haphazard。 As I walked on； forgetting all about the distance； and reaching home before I knew I was half way there； I felt grat