London and Home occupied two days more. Any one who has for the first time returned from a daily pilgrimage of some months—as ours had very much been—will understand what is meant by saying that “Home, sweet Home,” means something more than mere sentiment!
This little book has already swelled far beyond my intention; but I may be allowed to add, that the journey proved altogether most pleasant, health-giving, and profitable. I was specially fortunate in my fellow-travellers, the weather throughout was fine, and my umbrella was daily unfurled, but only as a parasol. No accident nor illness ever delayed us for a single hour, and we were free even of the usual misadventures of which we read, while those trifling ones inseparable from our mode of travelling were momentary, and almost as quickly forgotten. The retrospect brings only enjoyment, which in my experience promises, like good wine, to improve year by year, refusing to be forgotten; and so I beg leave to recommend my readers to set out on the like or some similar pilgrimage. I think all would enjoy it—those of mature years doubly so.
In the reading of the Sacred Record one can—without attaching unwarranted or religious importance to what are called “holy places”—habitually recall the scene of its stories, and a vivid and lasting impression fixes its Truths upon the understanding and the heart.
Wherein the charm of Eastern travel consists,[14] it is more easy to feel than to describe. I think it largely arises from the extraordinary development of one of the senses not much exercised by us at home—I mean that of vision. In this country everything has a sombre, leaden hue, from the grey sky down to the dingy cottage, and the aspect of our streets to a southern eye must appear gloomy and cold-looking in the extreme. No doubt there are exceptions, but these are very occasional and uncertain, depending almost entirely upon sunshine or clear weather.
In the East everything is changed; the sky is for the most part mellow and shining from dawn till eventide, and in the lower latitudes of course the sun mounts higher towards the zenith. The first thing therefore that strikes a stranger is the almost uniform pre-eminent brightness of the atmosphere, and warmth of the colour tints of almost every object around, whether distant or near.
Eastward, beginning at Naples, the houses—by no means so substantial as with us, and consisting for the most part of bricks or small stones covered with concrete or cement—have generally an elegant and airy aspect, and are almost always coloured with light and cheerful tints, such as yellow, pink, and light brown. The dull bluish leaden tinge which so prevails in this country is very seldom met with, and for the first time the eye begins to enjoy the scene in a manner which it rarely does here—partly from the want of practice in looking abroad. The very mountains, which with us are usually of a cold cloudy grey or dark violet tinge, are there almost invariably of a mellow yellowish hue, usually mixed with slight tints of vermilion and even white.
The main difference certainly lies in the rare atmosphere, which entices the eye to roam as far as the prospect will permit it to do, and I think, if nothing else is learned by an Eastern tour, the use of the eyes is, and becomes a most pleasurable sensation. The prospects and the landscapes are in general more open than with us, besides being better lighted up, and I think that one drinks in health at the eyes as well as all the other senses in travelling by day in the open air, watching the sunrise as well as the sunsets, and the beautiful ever-varying tints which these give to the mountain tops around.
Here at home let us all feel more interest than we hitherto have done in the views and landscapes around us, and possibly we may discover beauties equally grand, particularly in our gorgeous sunsets—although of course such occasions may be rare—if we watch, perhaps not so very rare as we suppose! And then let us look out upon our lovely turfs, meadows, and lawns, with the grand stately trees and heather-clad hills of our old country, which remain unrivalled in the East. We need not cultivate one blue pansy the less, but yellow ones a thousandfold more. Let us discourage cold gloomy colours—grey and blue—and promote in every way warm tints—pink, gold, and white—in all our landscapes, cottage gardens, and street-fronts. Perhaps the effect would soon tell upon the health and spirits of us all. I think the practice of looking at things—especially distant objects—is one that will repay all with exquisite pleasure. Even the rich variety of curves in the landscape, and the simple outlines of distant mountain tops against the background of sky, become things of beauty, as John Ruskin points out, and may become to us “a joy for ever,” as John Keats sings. To neglect them is surely to despise some bounty of the Great Giver!
The sun, we are told, was set in the heavens to rule the day, and all inanimate nature seems to acknowledge his sway. His shining brightly or behind a cloud makes all the difference between a joyful and a gloomy day. The original idolaters accordingly, in their ignorance of the true God, bowed down to the great luminary, and erected splendid temples to this god of fire; while the sacred penmen, although largely referring to the sun and his effulgence, do so only as types and figures of higher things.