Let change be far from me; that irresistible change must come is bitter
indeed. Give me the old road, the same flowers--they were only
stitchwort--the old succession of days and garland, ever weaving into it
fresh wild-flowers from far and near. Fetch them from distant mountains,
discover them on decaying walls, in unsuspected corners; though never
seen before, still they are the same: there has been a place in the heart
waiting for them.
SUNNY BRIGHTON
Some of the old streets opening out of the King's Road look very pleasant
on a sunny day. They ran to the north, so that the sun over the sea
shines nearly straight up them, and at the farther end, where the houses
close in on higher ground, the deep blue sky descends to the rooftrees.
The old red tiles, the red chimneys, the green jalousies, give some
colour; and beneath there are shadowy corners and archways. They are not
too wide to whisper across, for it is curious that to be interesting a
street must be narrow, and the pavements are but two or three bricks
broad. These pavements are not for the advantage of foot passengers; they
are merely to prevent cart-wheels from grating against the houses. There
is nothing ancient or carved in these streets, they are but moderately
old, yet turning from the illuminated sea it is pleasant to glance up
them as you pass, in their stillness and shadow, lying outside the
inconsiderate throng walking to and fro, and contrasting in their
irregularity with the set facades of the front.
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