Country Life
Not everyone is inwardly urged to spend his leisure fishing or tramping the roads in late winter and early spring. There are people resigned to sitting by the fire and waiting for the brighter season, letting the primrose bloom unseen and the bluebell begin to push through the soft earth in the wood without crushing its shoot beneath their feet. At times I am ashamed that I spend so long indoors, like the lady in gloves, missing so much and so much, but when I go out, and encounter those hardy characters who trudge into Wales for the pleasure of scaling frown- ing crags. and frozen slopes, I wonder about the strange philosophies of man. For one it is enough to day-dream and for another there must he a physical awareness of being alive, a struggling and suffering. I passed some bleak mountains the other day, trundling along beneath them, thankful that there is nothing in my make-4 that makes it necessary for me to struggle to their unfriendly peaks. Before I had gone far I met the eager ones coming along with their packs and coils of rope. I saluted them. Not for me is this
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