Wessex Twilight (November, 1923)
imaginative immersion into the quality of the land of "Wessex," finally to show how the combination and interaction of these atmospheres has affected the mental world of men.
Thus a little picture must precede our ordered chronological explanation: a picture of a mind suffusing a geographical district, recreating it and driving it out into many communities by means of the instruments of literary art.
We begin, therefore, with such a picture, by way of prologue to the proper biographical history.
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The train has rumbled past Wimborne, Poole, Wareham. A glass of heavy port at the Dorchester station takes the chill out of the dismal November journey. Now a brisk cut eastward, damp fields rolling up from below you, a dull aluminum sky pressing down from above, over fences and stiles, up the Wareham Road, and into the shadowy, rustling grove at "Max Gate." You stand under a little portico and knock. A shaggy, untidy ball bounds around the corner, knocks itself against your knees, barking unreasonably. A female voice from within:
"Wessie! Wessie! Are you misbehaving again!"
At length you are admitted, your impedimenta disposed of. Mrs. Hardy, dark, small, preoccupied: "The dog is a nuisance . . .
Still unused to callers . . . Loves attention . . . Mr. Hardy will be glad to see you. He will not write autographs. He has had some unfortunate ex-
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