It has
not come from the clear edge of the plain to the south, and will not
shoulder anon the hill to the north. The rain, for this city, hardly
comes or goes; it does but begin and stop. No one looks after it on the
path of its retreat.
WINDS OF THE WORLD
Every wind is, or ought to be, a poet; but one is classic and converts
everything in his day co-unity; another is a modern man, whose words
clothe his thoughts, as the modern critics used to say prettily in the
early sixties, and therefore are separable. This wind, again, has a
style, and that wind a mere manner. Nay, there are breezes from the east-
south-east, for example, that have hardly even a manner. You can hardly
name them unless you look at the weather vane. So they do not convince
you by voice or colour of breath; you place their origin and assign them
a history according as the hesitating arrow points on the top of yonder
ill-designed London spire.
The most certain and most conquering of all is the south-west wind. You
do not look to the weather-vane to decide what shall be the style of your
greeting to his morning.
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