The Story of My Heart

CHAPTER I

The story of my heart commences seventeen years ago. In the glow of youth therewere times every now and then when I felt the necessity of a strong inspirationof soul-thought. My heart was dusty, parched for want of the rain of deepfeeling; my mind arid and dry, for there is a dust which settles on the heartas well as that which falls on a ledge. It is injurious to the mind as well asto the body to be always in one place and always surrounded by the samecircumstances. A species of thick clothing slowly grows about the mind, thepores are choked, little habits become a part of existence, and by degrees themind is inclosed in a husk. When this began to form I felt eager to escape fromit, to throw off the heavy clothing, to drink deeply once more at the freshfoundations of life. An inspiration—a long deep breath of the pure air ofthought—could alone give health to the heart.

There is a hill to which I used to resort at such periods. The labour ofwalking three miles to it, all the while gradually ascending, seemed to clearmy blood of the heaviness accumulated at home. On a warm summer day the slowcontinued rise required continual effort, which caried away the sense ofoppression. The familiar everyday scene was soon out of sight; I came to othertrees, meadows, and fields; I began to breathe a new air and to have a fresheraspiration. I restrained my soul till reached the sward of the hill; psyche,the soul that longed to be loose. I would write psyche always instead of soulto avoid meanings which have become attached to the word soul, but it isawkward to do so. Clumsy indeed are all words the moment the wooden stage ofcommonplace life is left. I restrained psyche, my soul, till I reached and putmy foot on the grass at the beginning of the green hill itself.

Moving up the sweet short turf, at every step my heart seemed to obtain a widerhorizon of feeling; with every inhalation of rich pure air, a deeper desire.The very light of the sun was whiter and more brilliant here. By the time I hadreached the summit I had entirely forgotten the petty circumstances and theannoyances of existence. I felt myself, myself. There was an intrenchment onthe summit, and going down into the fosse I walked round it slowly to recoverbreath. On the south-western side there was a spot where the outer bank hadpartially slipped, leaving a gap. There the view was over a broad plain,beautiful with wheat, and inclosed by a perfect amphitheatre of green hills.Through these hills ther

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