hundred miles. It is probably more. But did Aubrey ever see the full
vision? If he did, he climbed the hill on a lucky day. English weather
sends few days clear enough of mist to set a sharp outline on the
Kentish downs, the Buckinghamshire hills and the slopes of Wiltshire,
and the combination of transparent air and presence in the neighbourhood
of a great height must be rare for ordinary men. Yet Leith Hill, even on
the mistiest day, can give the true notion of height. The first day I
climbed it was after a night of July rain. A wind had sprung up and
seemed from the lower roads about the hill to have blown the distance
clear. Then came an hour of hot sunshine, and the sudden view of the
weald was of a sea of cloud. For two or three miles, perhaps, near the
hill the oaks and elms, the roofs and the roads were plain enough.
Beyond swam an infinite veil. But the sense of height, of detachment,
remained.

I have never been on Leith Hill on the day of days, nor seen the spires
of forty-one churches in London, which the Ordnance Surveyors counted in
1844, nor watched a sail on the sea through Shoreham Gap. But I was once
there on an August day of sunshine and cold rain and wind, and saw all
the southern view in a way I should like to see it again. I came to the
hill from the west by Coldharbour, and black rain brooded over all the
distance to the east. To the south-east the air was clear to the Kent
horizon; north-east the glass of the Crystal Palace winked in the sun.
Then the rain came down over the weald to the south and the west, and
the cloud rode over the fields and dotted trees like the shower of rain
in Struwelpeter, blotting out the villages and the Sussex downs one by
one. Then behind the cloud drove up blank blue air, and to the west
Hindhead and Blackdown and hills beyond them came clean cut in a cold
wind that made my eyes water; Hascombe Hill stood up dark and far, and
the Hog's Back to the north of it, edged like grey paper; I was lucky to
see the Hog's Back so plainly, the vendor of tea and melons at the tower
told me; she had seen the sea by Shoreham Gap that morning, but often
went a week without seeing the Hog's Back. Below, to the south-west,
Vachery Pond lay a gold mirror; Chanctonbury Ring faithfully marked the
south as the rain drew past, and I left Leith Hill with the rain cloud
riding down wind like night over the weald of Kent.

[Illustration: _Among the Pines._]

The unsatisfactory result of