I might here, perhaps, be allowed to insert some verses upon the new locomotion, since they bear upon this question of walking in remote places, and were composed to some extent in Sussex byways in the spring of 1903:-- [Sidenote: A SONG AGAINST SPEED] A SONG AGAINST SPEED. Of speed the savour and the sting, None but the weak deride; But ah, the joy of lingering About the country side! The swiftest wheel, the conquering run, We count no privilege Beside acquiring, in the sun, The secret of the hedge. Where is the poet fired to sing The snail's discreet degrees, A rhapsody of sauntering, A gloria of ease; Proclaiming their's the baser part Who consciously forswear The delicate and gentle art Of never getting there? _To get there first!_--'tis time to ring The knell of such an aim; _To be the swiftest!_--riches bring So easily that fame. _To shine, a highway meteor, Devourer of the map!_-- A vulgar bliss to choose before Repose in Nature's lap! Consider too how small a thing The highest speed you gain: A bee can frolic on the wing Around the fastest train. Think of the swallow in the air, The salmon in the stream, And cease to boast the records rare Of paraffin and steam. Most, most of all when comes the Spring, Again to lay (as now) Her hand benign and quickening On meadow, hill and bough, Should speed's enchantment lose its power, For "None who would exceed [The Mother speaks] a mile an hour, My heart aright can read." The turnpike from the car to fling, As from a yacht the sea, Is doubtless as inspiriting As aught on land can be; I grant the glory, the romance, But look behind the veil-- Suppose that while the motor pants You miss the nightingale! [Sidenote: ALCISTON]