"Oh, how sweet the pines smell, Marion! I declare it's quite bliss to get down here in these wilds, with the free wind blowing the London smoke out of your back hair, and no one to criticise and make remarks. I won't go to the sea-side any more: pier and band, and esplanade and promenade; in pink to-day and in blue to-morrow, and the next day in green; and then a bow here and a `de-do' there; and `how's mamma?' and `nice day;' and all the same sickening stuff over again. There! I won't hear fault found with the Fen-land ever any more. I don't wonder at that dear old Hereward the Wake loving it. Why, it's beautiful! and I feel free--as free as the air itself; and could set off and run an…
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