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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Nature Near London + +Author: Richard Jefferies + +Release Date: June 19, 2006 [EBook #18629] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE NEAR LONDON *** + + + + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2>NATURE NEAR LONDON</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>RICHARD JEFFERIES</h2> + +<div class="center"> + +AUTHOR OF <br /> +"THE LIFE OF THE FIELDS," "THE OPEN AIR," ETC.<br /> +<br /> +FINE-PAPER EDITION <br /> +<br /> + +LONDON<br /> +CHATTO & WINDUS <br /> +1905 +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span> +</p> +<div class="center"> +Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span><br /> +At the Ballantyne Press<br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span> +</p> +<h3><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h3> + + +<p>It is usually supposed to be necessary to go far into the country to +find wild birds and animals in sufficient numbers to be pleasantly +studied. Such was certainly my own impression till circumstances led me, +for the convenience of access to London, to reside for awhile about +twelve miles from town. There my preconceived views on the subject were +quite overthrown by the presence of as much bird-life as I had been +accustomed to in distant fields and woods.</p> + +<p>First, as the spring began, came crowds of chiffchaffs and willow-wrens, +filling the furze with ceaseless flutterings. Presently a nightingale +sang in a hawthorn bush only just on the other side of the road. One +morning, on looking out of window, there was a hen pheasant in the furze +almost underneath. Rabbits often came out into the spaces of sward +between the bushes.</p> + +<p>The furze itself became a broad surface of gold, beautiful to look down +upon, with islands of tenderest birch green interspersed, and willows in +which the sedge-reedling chattered. They used to say in the country that +cuckoos were getting scarce, but here the notes of the cuckoo echoed all +day long, and the birds often flew over the house. Doves cooed, +blackbirds whistled, thrushes sang, jays called, wood-pigeons uttered +the old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> familiar notes in the little copse hard by. Even a heron went +over now and then, and in the evening from the window I could hear +partridges calling each other to roost.</p> + +<p>Along the roads and lanes the quantity and variety of life in the hedges +was really astonishing. Magpies, jays, woodpeckers—both green and +pied—kestrels hovering overhead, sparrow-hawks darting over gateways, +hares by the clover, weasels on the mounds, stoats at the edge of the +corn. I missed but two birds, the corncrake and the grasshopper lark, +and found these another season. Two squirrels one day ran along the +palings and up into a guelder-rose tree in the garden. As for the +finches and sparrows their number was past calculation. There was +material for many years' observation, and finding myself so unexpectedly +in the midst of these things, I was led to make the following sketches, +which were published in <i>The Standard</i>, and are now reprinted by +permission.</p> + +<p>The question may be asked: Why have you not indicated in every case the +precise locality where you were so pleased? Why not mention the exact +hedge, the particular meadow? Because no two persons look at the same +thing with the same eyes. To me this spot may be attractive, to you +another; a third thinks yonder gnarled oak the most artistic. Nor could +I guarantee that every one should see the same things under the same +conditions of season, time, or weather. How could I arrange for you next +autumn to see the sprays of the horse-chestnut, scarlet from frost, +reflected in the dark water of the brook? There might not be any frost +till all the leaves had dropped. How could I contrive that the cuckoos +should circle round the copse, the sunlight glint<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> upon the stream, the +warm sweet wind come breathing over the young corn just when I should +wish you to feel it? Every one must find their own locality. I find a +favourite wild-flower here, and the spot is dear to me; you find yours +yonder. Neither painter nor writer can show the spectator their +originals. It would be very easy, too, to pass any of these places and +see nothing, or but little. Birds are wayward, wild creatures uncertain. +The tree crowded with wood-pigeons one minute is empty the next. To +traverse the paths day by day, and week by week; to keep an eye ever on +the fields from year's end to year's end, is the one only method of +knowing what really is in or comes to them. That the sitting gambler +sweeps the board is true of these matters. The richest locality may be +apparently devoid of interest just at the juncture of a chance visit.</p> + +<p>Though my preconceived ideas were overthrown by the presence of so much +that was beautiful and interesting close to London, yet in course of +time I came to understand what was at first a dim sense of something +wanting. In the shadiest lane, in the still pinewoods, on the hills of +purple heath, after brief contemplation there arose a restlessness, a +feeling that it was essential to be moving. In no grassy mead was there +a nook where I could stretch myself in slumberous ease and watch the +swallows ever wheeling, wheeling in the sky. This was the unseen +influence of mighty London. The strong life of the vast city magnetised +me, and I felt it under the calm oaks. The something wanting in the +fields was the absolute quiet, peace, and rest which dwells in the +meadows and under the trees and on the hilltops in the country. Under +its power the mind gradually yields itself to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span> green earth, the wind +among the trees, the song of birds, and comes to have an understanding +with them all. For this it is still necessary to seek the far-away +glades and hollow coombes, or to sit alone beside the sea. That such a +sense of quiet might not be lacking, I have added a chapter or so on +those lovely downs that overlook the south coast.<br /> +<span style="position: absolute; left: 80%; text-align:right">R. J.</span> +<br /> +<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +</p> +<h3><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h3> + + +<div class="indexlist"> +<span class="indexpage"><span class="smcap">PAGE</span></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Woodlands</span><span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Footpaths</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Flocks of Birds</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nightingale Road</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Brook</span><span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A London Trout</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">A Barn</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_70">70</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Wheatfields</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Crows</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Heathlands</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The River</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_111">111</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Nutty Autumn</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Round a London Copse</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Magpie Fields</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Herbs</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Trees About Town</span><span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_172">172</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">To Brighton</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_181">181</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Southdown Shepherd</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_193">193</a></span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">The Breeze on Beachy Head</span> <span class="indexpage"><a href="#Page_204">204</a></span><br /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> +</p> + +<h2>NATURE NEAR LONDON</h2> + +<h3><a name="WOODLANDS" id="WOODLANDS"></a>WOODLANDS</h3> + + +<p>The tiny white petals of the barren strawberry open under the April +sunshine which, as yet unchecked by crowded foliage above, can reach the +moist banks under the trees. It is then that the first stroll of the +year should be taken in Claygate Lane. The slender runners of the +strawberries trail over the mounds among the moss, some of the flowers +but just above the black and brown leaves of last year which fill the +shallow ditch. These will presently be hidden under the grass which is +pushing up long blades, and bending over like a plume.</p> + +<p>Crimson stalks and leaves of herb Robert stretch across the little +cavities of the mound; lower, and rising almost from the water of the +ditch, the wild parsnip spreads its broad fan. Slanting among the +underwood, against which it leans, the dry white "gix" (cow-parsnip) of +last year has rotted from its root, and is only upheld by branches.</p> + +<p>Yellowish green cup-like leaves are forming upon the brown and drooping +heads of the spurge, which, sheltered by the bushes, has endured the +winter's frosts. The lads pull them off, and break the stems,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> to watch +the white "milk" well up, the whole plant being full of acrid juice. +Whorls of woodruff and grass-like leaves of stitchwort are rising; the +latter holds but feebly to the earth, and even in snatching the flower +the roots sometimes give way and the plant is lifted with it.</p> + +<p>Upon either hand the mounds are so broad that they in places resemble +covers rather than hedges, thickly grown with bramble and briar, hazel +and hawthorn, above which the straight trunks of young oaks and Spanish +chestnuts stand in crowded but careless ranks. The leaves which dropped +in the preceding autumn from these trees still lie on the ground under +the bushes, dry and brittle, and the blackbirds searching about among +them cause as much rustling as if some animal were routing about.</p> + +<p>As the month progresses these wide mounds become completely green, +hawthorn and bramble, briar and hazel put forth their leaves, and the +eye can no longer see into the recesses. But above, the oaks and edible +chestnuts are still dark and leafless, almost black by contrast with the +vivid green beneath them. Upon their bare boughs the birds are easily +seen, but the moment they descend among the bushes are difficult to +find. Chaffinches call and challenge continually—these trees are their +favourite resort—and yellowhammers flit along the underwood.</p> + +<p>Behind the broad hedge are the ploughed fields they love, alternating +with meadows down whose hedges again a stream of birds is always flowing +to the lane. Bright as are the colours of the yellowhammer, when he +alights among the brown clods of the ploughed field he is barely +visible, for brown conceals like vapour. A white butterfly comes +fluttering along the lane, and as it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> passes under a tree a chaffinch +swoops down and snaps at it, but rises again without doing apparent +injury, for the butterfly continues its flight.</p> + +<p>From an oak overhead comes the sweet slender voice of a linnet, the +sunshine falling on his rosy breast. The gateways show the thickness of +the hedge, as an embrasure shows the thickness of a wall. One gives +entrance to an arable field which has been recently rolled, and along +the gentle rise of a "land" a cock-pheasant walks, so near that the ring +about his neck is visible. Presently, becoming conscious that he is +observed, he goes down into a furrow, and is then hidden.</p> + +<p>The next gateway, equally deep-set between the bushes, opens on a +pasture, where the docks of last year still cumber the ground, and +bunches of rough grass and rushes are scattered here and there. A +partridge separated from his mate is calling across the field, and comes +running over the short sward as his companion answers. With his neck +held high and upright, stretched to see around, he looks larger than +would be supposed, as he runs swiftly, threading his way through the +tufts, the docks, and the rushes. But suddenly noticing that the gateway +is not clear, he crouches, and is concealed by the grass.</p> + +<p>Some distance farther there is a stile, sitting upon which the view +ranges over two adjacent meadows. They are bounded by a copse of ash +stoles and young oak trees, and the lesser of the meads is full of rush +bunches and dotted with green ant-hills. Among these, just beyond +gunshot, two rabbits are feeding; pausing and nibbling till they have +eaten the tenderest blades, and then leisurely hopping a yard or so to +another spot. Later on in the summer this little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> meadow which divides +the lane from the copse is alive with rabbits.</p> + +<p>Along the hedge the brake fern has then grown, in the corner by the +copse there is a beautiful mass of it, and several detached bunches away +from the hedge among the ant-hills. From out of the fern, which is a +favourite retreat with them, rabbits are continually coming, feeding +awhile, darting after each other, and back again to cover. To-day there +are but three, and they do not venture far from their buries.</p> + +<p>Watching these, a green woodpecker cries in the copse, and immediately +afterwards flies across the mead, and away to another plantation. +Occasionally the spotted woodpecker may be seen here, a little bird +which, in the height of summer, is lost among the foliage, but in spring +and winter can be observed tapping at the branches of the trees.</p> + +<p>I think I have seen more spotted woodpeckers near London than in far +distant and nominally wilder districts. This lane, for some two miles, +is lined on each side with trees, and, besides this particular copse, +there are several others close by; indeed, stretching across the country +to another road, there is a succession of copses, with meadows between. +Birds which love trees are naturally seen flitting to and fro in the +lane; the trees are at present young, but as they grow older and decay +they will be still more resorted to.</p> + +<p>Jays screech in the trees of the lane almost all the year round, though +more frequently in spring and autumn, but I rarely walked here without +seeing or hearing one. Beyond the stile, the lane descends into a +hollow, and is bordered by a small furze common, where, under shelter of +the hollow brambles and be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>neath the golden bloom of the furze, the pale +anemones flower.</p> + +<p>When the June roses open their petals on the briars, and the scent of +new-mown hay is wafted over the hedge from the meadows, the lane seems +to wind through a continuous wood. The oaks and chestnuts, though too +young to form a complete arch, cross their green branches, and cast a +delicious shadow. For it is in the shadow that we enjoy the summer, +looking forth from the gateway upon the mowing grass where the glowing +sun pours down his fiercest beams.</p> + +<p>Tall bennets and red sorrel rise above the grass, white ox-eye daisies +chequer it below; the distant hedge quivers as the air, set in motion by +the intense heat, runs along. The sweet murmuring coo of the turtle dove +comes from the copse, and the rich notes of the blackbird from the oak +into which he has mounted to deliver them.</p> + +<p>Slight movements in the hawthorn, or in the depths of the tall hedge +grasses, movements too quick for the glance to catch their cause, are +where some tiny bird is passing from spray to spray. It may be a +white-throat creeping among the nettles after his wont, or a wren. The +spot where he was but a second since may be traced by the trembling of +the leaves, but the keenest attention may fail to detect where he is +now. That slight motion in the hedge, however, conveys an impression of +something living everywhere within.</p> + +<p>There are birds in the oaks overhead whose voice is audible though they +are themselves unseen. From out of the mowing grass, finches rise and +fly to the hedge; from the hedge again others fly out, and, descending +into the grass, are concealed as in a forest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> A thrush travelling along +the hedgerow just outside goes by the gateway within a yard. Bees come +upon the light wind, gliding with it, but with their bodies aslant +across the line of current. Butterflies flutter over the mowing grass, +hardly clearing the bennets. Many-coloured insects creep up the sorrel +stems and take wing from the summit.</p> + +<p>Everything gives forth a sound of life. The twittering of swallows from +above, the song of greenfinches in the trees, the rustle of hawthorn +sprays moving under the weight of tiny creatures, the buzz upon the +breeze; the very flutter of the butterflies' wings, noiseless as it is, +and the wavy movement of the heated air across the field cause a sense +of motion and of music.</p> + +<p>The leaves are enlarging, and the sap rising, and the hard trunks of the +trees swelling with its flow; the grass blades pushing upwards; the +seeds completing their shape; the tinted petals uncurling. Dreamily +listening, leaning on the gate, all these are audible to the inner +senses, while the ear follows the midsummer hum, now sinking, now +sonorously increasing over the oaks. An effulgence fills the southern +boughs, which the eye cannot sustain, but which it knows is there.</p> + +<p>The sun at its meridian pours forth his light, forgetting, in all the +inspiration of his strength and glory, that without an altar-screen of +green his love must scorch. Joy in life; joy in life. The ears listen, +and want more: the eyes are gratified with gazing, and desire yet +further; the nostrils are filled with the sweet odours of flower and +sap. The touch, too, has its pleasures, dallying with leaf and flower. +Can you not almost grasp the odour-laden air and hold it in the hollow +of the hand?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<p>Leaving the spot at last, and turning again into the lane, the shadows +dance upon the white dust under the feet, irregularly circular spots of +light surrounded with umbra shift with the shifting branches. By the +wayside lie rings of dandelion stalks carelessly cast down by the child +who made them, and tufts of delicate grasses gathered for their beauty +but now sprinkled with dust. Wisps of hay hang from the lower boughs of +the oaks where they brushed against the passing load.</p> + +<p>After a time, when the corn is ripening, the herb betony flowers on the +mounds under the oaks. Following the lane down the hill and across the +small furze common at the bottom, the marks of traffic fade away, the +dust ceases, and is succeeded by sward. The hedgerows on either side are +here higher than ever, and are thickly fringed with bramble bushes, +which sometimes encroach on the waggon ruts in the middle, and are +covered with flowers, and red, and green, and ripe blackberries +together.</p> + +<p>Green rushes line the way, and green dragon flies dart above them. +Thistledown is pouting forth from the swollen tops of thistles crowded +with seed. In a gateway the turf has been worn away by waggon wheels and +the hoofs of cart horses, and the dry heat has pulverised the crumbling +ruts. Three hen pheasants and a covey of partridges that have been +dusting themselves here move away without much haste at the approach of +footsteps—the pheasants into the thickets, and the partridges through +the gateway. The shallow holes in which they were sitting can be traced +on the dust, and there are a few small feathers lying about.</p> + +<p>A barley field is within the gate; the mowers have just begun to cut it +on the opposite side. Next to it is a wheat field; the wheat has been +cut and stands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> in shocks. From the stubble by the nearest shock two +turtle doves rise, alarmed, and swiftly fly towards a wood which bounds +the field. This wood, indeed, upon looking again, clearly bounds not +this field only, but the second and the third, and so far as the eye can +see over the low hedges of the corn, the trees continue. The green lane +as it enters the wood, becomes wilder and rougher at every step, +widening, too, considerably.</p> + +<p>In the centre the wheels of timber carriages, heavily laden with trunks +of trees which were dragged through by straining teams in the rainy days +of spring, have left vast ruts, showing that they must have sunk to the +axle in the soft clay. These then filled with water, and on the water +duck-weed grew, and aquatic grasses at the sides. Summer heats have +evaporated the water, leaving the weeds and grasses prone upon the still +moist earth.</p> + +<p>Rushes have sprung up and mark the line of the ruts, and willow stoles, +bramble bushes, and thorns growing at the side, make, as it were, a +third hedge in the middle of the lane. The best path is by the wood +itself, but even there occasional leaps are necessary over pools of dark +water full of vegetation. These alternate with places where the ground, +being higher, yawns with wide cracks crumbling at the edge, the heat +causing the clay to split and open. In winter it must be an impassable +quagmire; now it is dry and arid.</p> + +<p>Rising out of this low-lying spot the lane again becomes green and +pleasant, and is crossed by another. At the meeting of these four ways +some boughs hang over a green bank where I have often rested. In front +the lane is barred by a gate, but beyond the gate it still continues its +straight course into the wood. To the left the track, crossing at right +angles, also proceeds into the wood, but it is so overhung with trees +and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> blocked by bushes that its course after the first hundred yards or +so cannot be traced.</p> + +<p>To the right the track—a little wider and clearer of bushes—extends +through wood, and as it is straight and rises up a gentle slope, the eye +can travel along it half a mile. There is nothing but wood around. This +track to the right appears the most used, and has some ruts in the +centre. The sward each side is concealed by endless thistles, on the +point of sending forth clouds of thistledown, and to which presently the +goldfinches will be attracted.</p> + +<p>Occasionally a movement among the thistles betrays the presence of a +rabbit; only occasionally, for though the banks are drilled with buries, +the lane is too hot for them at midday. Particles of rabbits' fur lie on +the ground, and their runs are visible in every direction. But there are +no birds. A solitary robin, indeed, perches on an ash branch opposite, +and regards me thoughtfully. It is impossible to go anywhere in the open +air without a robin; they are the very spies of the wood. But there are +no thrushes, no blackbirds, finches, nor even sparrows.</p> + +<p>In August it is true most birds cease to sing, but sitting thus +partially hidden and quiet, if there were any about something would be +heard of them. There would be a rustling, a thrush would fly across the +lane, a blackbird would appear by the gateway yonder in the shadow which +he loves, a finch would settle in the oaks. None of these incidents +occur; none of the lesser signs of life in the foliage, the tremulous +spray, the tap of a bill cleaned by striking first one side and then the +other against a bough, the rustle of a wing—nothing.</p> + +<p>There are woods, woods, woods; but no birds. Yonder a drive goes +straight into the ashpoles, it is green above and green below, but a +long watch will reveal nothing living. The dry mounds must be full<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> of +rabbits, there must be pheasants somewhere; but nothing visible. Once +only a whistling sound in the air directs the glance upwards, it is a +wood-pigeon flying at full speed. There are no bees, for there are no +flowers. There are no butterflies. The black flies are not numerous, and +rarely require a fanning from the ash spray carried to drive them off.</p> + +<p>Two large dragon-flies rush up and down, and cross the lane, and rising +suddenly almost to the tops of the oaks swoop down again in bold +sweeping curves. The broad, deep ditch between the lane and the mound of +the wood is dry, but there are no short rustling sounds of mice.</p> + +<p>The only sound is the continuous singing of the grasshoppers, and the +peculiar snapping noise they make as they spring, leaping along the +sward. The fierce sun of the ripe wheat pours down a fiery glow scarcely +to be borne except under the boughs; the hazel leaves already have lost +their green, the tips of the rushes are shrivelling, the grass becoming +brown; it is a scorched and parched desert of wood.</p> + +<p>The finches have gone forth in troops to the stubble where the wheat has +been cut, and where they can revel on the seeds of the weeds now ripe. +Thrushes and blackbirds have gone to the streams, to splash and bathe, +and to the mown meadows, where in the short aftermath they can find +their food. There they will look out on the shady side of the hedge as +the sun declines, six or eight perhaps of them along the same hedge, but +all in the shadow, where the dew forms first as the evening falls, where +the grass feels cool and moist, while still on the sunny side it is warm +and dry.</p> + +<p>The bees are busy on the heaths and along the hilltops, where there are +still flowers and honey, and the butterflies are with them. So the woods +are silent, still,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> and deserted, save by a stray rabbit among the +thistles, and the grasshoppers ceaselessly leaping in the grass.</p> + +<p>Returning presently to the gateway just outside the wood, where upon +first coming the pheasants and partridges were dusting themselves, a +waggon is now passing among the corn and is being laden with the +sheaves. But afar off, across the broad field and under the wood, it +seems somehow only a part of the silence and the solitude. The men with +it move about the stubble, calmly toiling; the horses, having drawn it a +little way, become motionless, reposing as they stand, every line of +their large limbs expressing delight in physical ease and idleness.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the heat has made the men silent, for scarcely a word is spoken; +if it were, in the stillness it must be heard, though they are at some +distance. The wheels, well greased for the heavy harvest work, do not +creak. Save an occasional monosyllable, as the horses are ordered on, or +to stop, and a faint rustling of straw, there is no sound. It may be the +flood of brilliant light, or the mirage of the heat, but in some way the +waggon and its rising load, the men and the horses, have an unreality of +appearance.</p> + +<p>The yellow wheat and stubble, the dull yellow of the waggon, toned down +by years of weather, the green woods near at hand, darkening in the +distance and slowly changing to blue, the cloudless sky, the +heat-suffused atmosphere, in which things seem to float rather than to +grow or stand, the shadowless field, all are there, and yet are not +there, but far away and vision-like. The waggon, at last laden, travels +away, and seems rather to disappear of itself than to be hidden by the +trees. It is an effort to awake and move from the spot.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +</p> +<h3><a name="FOOTPATHS" id="FOOTPATHS"></a>FOOTPATHS</h3> + + +<p>"Always get over a stile," is the one rule that should ever be borne in +mind by those who wish to see the land as it really is—that is to say, +never omit to explore a footpath, for never was there a footpath yet +which did not pass something of interest.</p> + +<p>In the meadows, everything comes pressing lovingly up to the path. The +small-leaved clover can scarce be driven back by frequent footsteps from +endeavouring to cover the bare earth of the centre. Tall buttercups, +round whose stalks the cattle have carefully grazed, stand in ranks; +strong ox-eye daisies, with broad white disks and torn leaves, form with +the grass the tricolour of the pasture—white, green, and gold.</p> + +<p>When the path enters the mowing grass, ripe for the scythe, the +simplicity of these cardinal hues is lost in the multitude of shades and +the addition of other colours. The surface of mowing grass is indeed +made up of so many tints that at the first glance it is confusing; and +hence, perhaps, it is that hardly ever has an artist succeeded in +getting the effect upon canvas. Of the million blades of grass no two +are of the same shade.</p> + +<p>Pluck a handful and spread them out side by side and this is at once +evident. Nor is any single blade the same shade all the way up. There +may be a faint yellow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> towards the root, a full green about the middle, +at the tip perhaps the hot sun has scorched it, and there is a trace of +brown. The older grass, which comes up earliest, is distinctly different +in tint from that which has but just reached its greatest height, and in +which the sap has not yet stood still.</p> + +<p>Under all there is the new grass, short, sweet, and verdant, springing +up fresh between the old, and giving a tone to the rest as you look down +into the bunches. Some blades are nearly grey, some the palest green, +and among them others, torn from the roots perhaps by rooks searching +for grubs, are quite white. The very track of a rook through the grass +leaves a different shade each side, as the blades are bent or trampled +down.</p> + +<p>The stalks of the bennets vary, some green, some yellowish, some brown, +some approaching whiteness, according to age and the condition of the +sap. Their tops, too, are never the same, whether the pollen clings to +the surface or whether it has gone. Here the green is almost lost in +red, or quite; here the grass has a soft, velvety look; yonder it is +hard and wiry, and again graceful and drooping. Here there are bunches +so rankly verdant that no flower is visible and no other tint but dark +green; here it is thin and short, and the flowers, and almost the turf +itself, can be seen; then there is an array of bennets (stalks which +bear the grass-seed) with scarcely any grass proper.</p> + +<p>Every variety of grass—and they are many—has its own colour, and every +blade of every variety has its individual variations of that colour. The +rain falls, and there is a darker tint at large upon the field, fresh +but darker; the sun shines and at first the hue is lighter, but +presently if the heat last a brown comes. The wind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> blows, and +immediately as the waves of grass roll across the meadow a paler tint +follows it.</p> + +<p>A clouded sky dulls the herbage, a cloudless heaven brightens it, so +that the grass almost reflects the firmament like water. At sunset the +rosy rays bring out every tint of red or purple. At noonday, watch as +alternate shadow and sunshine come one after the other as the clouds are +wafted over. By moonlight perhaps the white ox-eyed daisies show the +most. But never will you find the mowing grass in the same field looking +twice alike.</p> + +<p>Come again the day after to-morrow only, and there is a change; some of +the grass is riper, some is thicker, with further blades which have +pushed up, some browner. Cold northern winds cause it to wear a dry, +withered aspect; under warm showers it visibly opens itself; in a +hurricane it tosses itself wildly to and fro; it laughs under the +sunshine.</p> + +<p>There are thick bunches by the footpath, which hang over and brush the +feet. While approaching there seems nothing there except grass, but in +the act of passing, and thus looking straight down into them, there are +blue eyes at the bottom gazing up. These specks of blue sky hidden in +the grass tempt the hand to gather them, but then you cannot gather the +whole field.</p> + +<p>Behind the bunches where the grass is thinner are the heads of purple +clover; pluck one of these, and while meditating draw forth petal after +petal and imbibe the honey with the lips till nothing remains but the +green framework, like stolen jewellery from which the gems have been +taken. Torn pink ragged robins through whose petals a comb seems to have +been remorselessly dragged, blue scabious, red knapweeds, yellow +rattles, yellow vetchings by the hedge, white flowering parsley, white +campions, yellow tormentil, golden buttercups,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> white cuckoo-flowers, +dandelions, yarrow, and so on, all carelessly sown broadcast without +order or method, just as negligently as they are named here, first +remembered, first mentioned, and many forgotten.</p> + +<p>Highest and coarsest of texture, the red-tipped sorrel—a crumbling +red—so thick and plentiful that at sunset the whole mead becomes +reddened. If these were in any way set in order or design, howsoever +entangled, the eye might, as it were, get at them for reproduction. But +just where there should be flowers there are none, whilst in odd places +where there are none required there are plenty.</p> + +<p>In hollows, out of sight till stumbled on, is a mass of colour; on the +higher foreground only a dull brownish green. Walk all round the meadow, +and still no vantage point can be found where the herbage groups itself, +whence a scheme of colour is perceivable. There is no "artistic" +arrangement anywhere.</p> + +<p>So, too, with the colours—of the shades of green something has already +been said—and here are bright blues and bright greens, yellows and +pinks, positive discords and absolute antagonisms of tint side by side, +yet without jarring the eye. Green all round, the trees and hedges; blue +overhead, the sky; purple and gold westward, where the sun sinks. No +part of this grass can be represented by a blur or broad streak of +colour, for it is not made up of broad streaks. It is composed of +innumerable items of grass blade and flower, each in itself coloured and +different from its neighbour. Not one of these must be slurred over if +you wish to get the same effect.</p> + +<p>Then there are drifting specks of colour which cannot be fixed. +Butterflies, white, parti-coloured, brown, and spotted, and light blue +flutter along beside the footpath; two white ones wheel about each +other, rising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> higher at every turn till they are lost and no more to be +distinguished against a shining white cloud. Large dark humble bees roam +slowly, and honey bees with more decided flight. Glistening beetles, +green and gold, run across the bare earth of the path, coming from one +crack in the dry ground and disappearing in the (to them) mighty chasm +of another.</p> + +<p>Tiny green "hoppers"—odd creatures shaped something like the fancy +frogs of children's story-books—alight upon it after a spring, and +pausing a second, with another toss themselves as high as the highest +bennet (veritable elm-trees by comparison), to fall anywhere out of +sight in the grass. Reddish ants hurry over. Time is money; and their +business brooks no delay.</p> + +<p>Bee-like flies of many stripes and parti-coloured robes face you, +suspended in the air with wings vibrating so swiftly as to be unseen; +then suddenly jerk themselves a few yards to recommence hovering. A +greenfinch rises with a yellow gleam and a sweet note from the grass, +and is off with something for his brood, or a starling, solitary now, +for his mate is in the nest, startled from his questing, goes straight +away.</p> + +<p>Dark starlings, greenfinch, gilded fly, glistening beetle, blue +butterfly, humble bee with scarf about his thick waist, add their moving +dots of colour to the surface. There is no design, no balance, nothing +like a pattern perfect on the right-hand side, and exactly equal on the +left-hand. Even trees which have some semblance of balance in form are +not really so, and as you walk round them so their outline changes.</p> + +<p>Now the path approaches a stile set deep in thorns and brambles, and +hardly to be gained for curved hooks and prickles. But on the briars +June roses bloom, arches of flowers over nettles, burdock, and rushes in +the ditch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> beneath. Sweet roses—buds yet unrolled, white and conical; +roses half open and pink tinted; roses widespread, the petals curling +backwards on the hedge, abandoning their beauty to the sun. In the +pasture over the stile a roan cow feeds unmoved, calmly content, +gathering the grass with rough tongue. It is not only what you actually +see along the path, but what you remember to have seen, that gives it +its beauty.</p> + +<p>From hence the path skirts the hedge enclosing a copse, part of which +had been cut in the winter, so that a few weeks since in spring the +bluebells could be seen, instead of being concealed by the ash branches +and the woodbine. Among them grew one with white bells, like a lily, +solitary in the midst of the azure throng. A "drive," or green lane +passing between the ash-stoles, went into the copse, with tufts of +tussocky grass on either side and rush bunches, till farther away the +overhanging branches, where the poles were uncut, hid its course.</p> + +<p>Already the grass has hidden the ruts left by the timber carriages—the +last came by on May-day with ribbons of orange, red, and blue on the +horses' heads for honour of the day. Another, which went past in the +wintry weeks of the early year, was drawn by a team wearing the ancient +harness with bells under high hoods, or belfries, bells well attuned, +too, and not far inferior to those rung by handbell men. The beat of the +three horses' hoofs sounds like the drum that marks time to the chime +upon their backs. Seldom, even in the far away country, can that +pleasant chime be heard.</p> + +<p>But now the timber is all gone, the ruts are hidden, and the tall spruce +firs, whose graceful branches were then almost yellow with young needles +on the tip, are now clothed in fresh green. On the bank there is a +flower which is often gathered for the forget-me-not, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> is not unlike +it at the first glance; but if the two be placed side by side, this, the +scorpion grass, is but a pale imitation of the true plant; its petals +vary in colour and are often dull, and it has not the yellow central +spot. Yet it is not unfrequently sold in pots in the shops as +forget-me-not. It flowers on the bank, high above the water of the +ditch.</p> + +<p>The true forget-me-not can hardly be seen in passing, so much does it +nestle under flags and behind sedges, and it is not easy to gather +because it flowers on the very verge of the running stream. The shore is +bordered with matted vegetation, aquatic grass, and flags and weeds, and +outside these, where its leaves are washed and purified by the clear +stream, its blue petals open. Be cautious, therefore, in reaching for +the forget-me-not, lest the bank be treacherous.</p> + +<p>It was near this copse that in early spring I stayed to gather some +white sweet violets, for the true wild violet is very nearly white. I +stood close to a hedger and ditcher, who, standing on a board, was +cleaning out the mud that the water might run freely. He went on with +his work, taking not the least notice of an idler, but intent upon his +labour, as a good and true man should be. But when I spoke to him he +answered me in clear, well-chosen language, well pronounced, "in good +set terms."</p> + +<p>No slurring of consonants and broadening of vowels, no involved and +backward construction depending on the listener's previous knowledge for +comprehension, no half sentences indicating rather than explaining, but +correct sentences. With his shoes almost covered by the muddy water, his +hands black and grimy, his brown face splashed with mud, leaning on his +shovel he stood and talked from the deep ditch, not much more than head +and shoulders visible above it. It seemed a voice<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> from the very earth, +speaking of education, change, and possibilities.</p> + +<p>The copse is now filling up with undergrowth; the brambles are +spreading, the briars extending, masses of nettles, and thistles like +saplings in size and height, crowding the spaces between the ash-stoles. +By the banks great cow-parsnips or "gix" have opened their broad heads +of white flowers; teazles have lifted themselves into view, every +opening is occupied. There is a scent of elder flowers, the meadow-sweet +is pushing up, and will soon be out, and an odour of new-mown hay floats +on the breeze.</p> + +<p>From the oak green caterpillars slide down threads of their own making +to the bushes below, but they are running terrible risk. For a pair of +white-throats or "nettle-creepers" are on the watch, and seize the green +creeping things crossways in their beaks. Then they perch on a branch +three or four yards only from where I stand, silent and motionless, and +glance first at me and next at a bush of bramble which projects out to +the edge of the footpath. So long as my eyes are turned aside, or half +closed, the bird perches on the branch, gaining confidence every moment. +The instant I open my eyes, or move them, or glance towards him, without +either movement of head, hand, or foot, he is off to the oak.</p> + +<p>His tiny eyes are intent on mine; the moment he catches my glance he +retires. But in half a minute affection brings him back, still with the +caterpillar in his beak, to the same branch. Whilst I have patience to +look the other way there he stays, but again a glance sends him away. +This is repeated four or five times, till, finally, convinced that I +mean no harm and yet timorous and fearful of betrayal even in the act, +he dives down into the bramble bush.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a brief interval he reappears on the other side of it, having +travelled through and left his prey with his brood in the nest there. +Assured by his success his mate follows now, and once having done it, +they continue to bring caterpillars, apparently as fast as they can pass +between the trees and the bush. They always enter the bush, which is +scarcely two yards from me, on one side, pass through in the same +direction, and emerge on the other side, having thus regular places of +entrance and exit.</p> + +<p>As I stand watching these birds a flock of rooks goes over, they have +left the nesting trees, and fly together again. Perhaps this custom of +nesting together in adjacent trees and using the same one year after +year is not so free from cares and jealousies as the solitary plan of +the little white-throats here. Last March I was standing near a rookery, +noting the contention and quarrelling, the downright tyranny, and +brigandage which is carried on there. The very sound of the cawing, +sharp and angry, conveys the impression of hate and envy.</p> + +<p>Two rooks in succession flew to a nest the owners of which were absent, +and deliberately picked a great part of it to pieces, taking the twigs +for their own use. Unless the rook, therefore, be ever in his castle his +labour is torn down, and, as with men in the fierce struggle for wealth, +the meanest advantages are seized on. So strong is the rook's bill that +he tears living twigs of some size with it from the bough. The +white-throats were without such envy and contention.</p> + +<p>From hence the footpath, leaving the copse, descends into a hollow, with +a streamlet flowing through a little meadow, barely an acre, with a +pollard oak in the centre, the rising ground on two sides shutting out +all but the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> sky, and on the third another wood. Such a dreamy hollow +might be painted for a glade in the Forest of Arden, and there on the +sward and leaning against the ancient oak one might read the play +through without being disturbed by a single passer-by. A few steps +farther and the stile opens on a road.</p> + +<p>There the teams travel with rows of brazen spangles down their necks, +some with a wheatsheaf for design, some with a swan. The road itself, if +you follow it, dips into a valley where the horses must splash through +the water of a brook spread out some fifteen or twenty yards wide; for, +after the primitive Surrey fashion, there is no bridge for waggons. A +narrow wooden structure bears foot-passengers; you cannot but linger +half across and look down into its clear stream. Up the current where it +issues from the fields and falls over a slight obstacle the sunlight +plays and glances.</p> + +<p>A great hawthorn bush grows on the bank; in spring, white with May; in +autumn, red with haws or peggles. To the shallow shore of the brook, +where it washes the flints and moistens the dust, the house-martins come +for mortar. A constant succession of birds arrive all day long to drink +at the clear stream, often alighting on the fragments of chalk and flint +which stand in the water, and are to them as rocks.</p> + +<p>Another footpath leads from the road across the meadows to where the +brook is spanned by the strangest bridge, built of brick, with one arch, +but only just wide enough for a single person to walk, and with parapets +only four or five inches high. It is thrown aslant the stream, and not +straight across it, and has a long brick approach. It is not unlike—on +a small scale—the bridges seen in views of Eastern travel. Another path +leads to a hamlet, consisting of a church, a farmhouse,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> and three or +four cottages—a veritable hamlet in every sense of the word.</p> + +<p>In a village a few miles distant, as you walk between cherry and pear +orchards, you pass a little shop—the sweets, and twine, and trifles are +such as may be seen in similar windows a hundred miles distant. There is +the very wooden measure for nuts, which has been used time out of mind, +in the distant country. Out again into the road as the sun sinks, and +westwards the wind lifts a cloud of dust, which is lit up and made rosy +by the rays passing through it. For such is the beauty of the sunlight +that it can impart a glory even to dust.</p> + +<p>Once more, never go by a stile (that does not look private) without +getting over it and following the path. But they all end in one place. +After rambling across furze and heath, or through dark fir woods; after +lingering in the meadows among the buttercups, or by the copses where +the pheasants crow; after gathering June roses, or, in later days, +staining the lips with blackberries or cracking nuts, by-and-by the path +brings you in sight of a railway station. And the railway station, +through some process of mind, presently compels you to go up on the +platform, and after a little puffing and revolution of wheels you emerge +at Charing Cross, or London Bridge, or Waterloo, or Ludgate Hill, and, +with the freshness of the meadows still clinging to your coat, mingle +with the crowd.</p> + +<p>The inevitable end of every footpath round about London is London. All +paths go thither.</p> + +<p>If it were far away in the distant country you might sit down in the +shadow upon the hay and fall asleep, or dream awake hour after hour. +There would be no inclination to move. But if you sat down on the sward<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +under the ancient pollard oak in the little mead with the brook, and the +wood of which I spoke just now as like a glade in the enchanted Forest +of Arden, this would not be possible. It is the proximity of the immense +City which induces a mental, a nerve-restlessness. As you sit and would +dream a something plucks at the mind with constant reminder; you cannot +dream for long, you must up and away, and, turn in which direction you +please, ultimately it will lead you to London.</p> + +<p>There is a fascination in it; there is a magnetism stronger than that of +the rock which drew the nails from Sindbad's ship. You are like a bird +let out with a string tied to the foot to flutter a little way and +return again. It is not business, for you may have none, in the ordinary +sense; it is not "society," it is not pleasure. It is the presence of +man in his myriads. There is something in the heart which cannot be +satisfied away from it.</p> + +<p>It is a curious thing that your next-door neighbour may be a stranger, +but there are no strangers in a vast crowd. They all seem to have some +relationship, or rather, perhaps, they do not rouse the sense of reserve +which a single unknown person might. Still, the impulse is not to be +analysed; these are mere notes acknowledging its power. The hills and +vales, and meads and woods are like the ocean upon which Sindbad sailed; +but coming too near the loadstone of London, the ship wends thither, +whether or no.</p> + +<p>At least it is so with me, and I often go to London without any object +whatever, but just because I must, and, arriving there, wander +whithersoever the hurrying throng carries me.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="FLOCKS_OF_BIRDS" id="FLOCKS_OF_BIRDS"></a>FLOCKS OF BIRDS</h3> + + +<p>A certain road leading outwards from a suburb, enters at once among +fields. It soon passes a thick hedge dividing a meadow from a cornfield, +in which hedge is a spot where some bluebells may be found in spring. +Wild flowers are best seen when in masses, a few scattered along a bank +much concealed by grass and foliage are lost, except indeed, upon those +who love them for their own sake.</p> + +<p>This meadow in June, for instance, when the buttercups are high, is one +broad expanse of burnished gold. The most careless passer-by can hardly +fail to cast a glance over acres of rich yellow. The furze, again, +especially after a shower has refreshed its tint, must be seen by all. +Where broom grows thickly, lifting its colour well into view, or where +the bird's-foot lotus in full summer overruns the thin grass of some +upland pasture, the eye cannot choose but acknowledge it. So, too, with +charlock, and with hill sides purple with heath, or where the woodlands +are azure with bluebells for a hundred yards together. Learning from +this, those who would transplant wild flowers to their garden should +arrange to have as many as possible of the same species close together.</p> + +<p>The bluebells in this hedge are unseen, except by the rabbits. The +latter have a large burrow, and until the grass is too tall, or after it +is cut or grazed, can be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> watched from the highway. In this hedge the +first nightingale of the year sings, beginning some two or three days +before the bird which comes to the bushes in the gorse, which will +presently be mentioned.</p> + +<p>It is, or rather was, a favourite meadow with the partridges; one summer +there was, I think, a nest in or near it, for I saw the birds there +daily. But the next year they were absent. One afternoon a brace of +partridges came over the hedge within a few inches of my head; they had +been flushed and frightened at some distance, and came with the wind at +a tremendous pace. It is a habit with partridges to fly low, but just +skimming the tops of the hedges, and certainly, had they been three +inches lower, they must have taken my hat off. The knowledge that +partridges were often about there, made me always glance into this field +on passing it, long after the nesting season was over.</p> + +<p>In October, as I looked as usual, a hawk flew between the elms, and out +into the centre of the meadow, with a large object in his talons. He +alighted in the middle, so as to be as far as possible from either +hedge, and no doubt prepared to enjoy his quarry, when something +startled him, and he rose again. Then, as I got a better view, I saw it +was a rat he was carrying. The long body of the animal was distinctly +visible, and the tail depending, the hawk had it by the shoulders or +head. Flying without the least apparent effort, the bird cleared the +elms, and I lost sight of him beyond them. Now, the kestrel is but a +small bird, and taking into consideration the size of the bird, and the +weight of a rat, it seems as great a feat in proportion as for an eagle +to snatch up a lamb.</p> + +<p>Some distance up the road, and in the corner of an arable field, there +was a wheat rick which was threshed and most of the straw carted away. +But there still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> remained the litter, and among it probably a quantity +of stray corn. There was always a flock of sparrows on this litter—a +flock that might often be counted by the hundred. As I came near the +spot one day a sparrow-hawk, whose approach I had not observed, and +which had therefore been flying low, suddenly came over the hedge just +by the loose straw.</p> + +<p>With shrill cries the sparrows instantly rushed for the hedge, not two +yards distant; but the hawk, dashing through the crowd of them as they +rose, carried away a victim. It was done in the tenth of a second. He +came, singled his bird, and was gone like the wind, before the whirr of +wings had ceased on the hawthorn where the flock cowered.</p> + +<p>Another time, but in a different direction, I saw a hawk descend and +either enter, or appear to enter, a short much-cropped hedge, but twenty +yards distant. I ran to the spot; the hawk of course made off, but there +was nothing in the bush save a hedge sparrow, which had probably +attracted him, but which he had not succeeded in getting.</p> + +<p>Kestrels are almost common; I have constantly seen them while strolling +along the road, generally two together, and once three. In the latter +part of the summer and autumn they seem to be most numerous, hovering +over the recently reaped fields. Certainly there is no scarcity of hawks +here. Upon one occasion, on Surbiton Hill, I saw a large bird of the +same kind, but not sufficiently near to identify. From the gliding +flight, the long forked tail, and large size I supposed it to be a kite. +The same bird was going about next day, but still farther off. I cannot +say that it was a kite, for unless it is a usual haunt, it is not in my +opinion wise to positively identify a bird seen for so short a time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>The thick hedge mentioned is a favourite resort of blackbirds, and on a +warm May morning, after a shower—they are extremely fond of a +shower—half-a-dozen may be heard at once whistling in the elms. They +use the elms here because there are not many oaks; the oak is the +blackbird's favourite song-tree. There was one one day whistling with +all his might on the lower branch of an elm, at the very roadside, and +just above him a wood-pigeon was perched. A pair of turtle-doves built +in the same hedge one spring, and while resting on the gate by the +roadside their "coo-coo" mingled with the song of the nightingale and +thrush, the blackbird's whistle, the chiff-chaff's "chip-chip," the +willow-wren's pleading voice, and the rustle of green corn as the wind +came rushing (as it always does to a gateway).</p> + +<p>Goldfinches come by occasionally, not often, but still they do come. The +rarest bird seems to be the bullfinch. I have only seen bullfinches +three or four times in three seasons, and then only a pair. Now, this is +worthy a note, as illustrating what I have often ventured to say about +the habitat of birds being so often local, for if judged by observation +here the bullfinch would be said to be a scarce bird by London. But it +has been stated upon the best authority that only a few miles distant, +and still nearer town, they are common.</p> + +<p>The road now becomes bordered by elms on either side, forming an +irregular avenue. Almost every elm in spring has its chaffinch loudly +challenging. The birdcatchers are aware that it is a frequented resort, +and on Sunday mornings four or five of them used to be seen in the +course of a mile, each with a call bird in a partly darkened cage, a +stuffed dummy, and limed twigs. In the cornfields on either hand +wood-pigeons are numerous in spring and autumn. Up to April they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> come +in flocks, feeding on the newly sown grain when they can get at it, and +varying it with ivy berries, from the ivy growing up the elms. By +degrees the flocks break up as the nesting begins in earnest.</p> + +<p>Some pair and build much earlier than others; in fact, the first egg +recorded is very little to be depended on as an indication. Particular +pairs (of many kinds of birds) may have nests, and yet the species as a +species may be still flying in large packs. The flocks which settle in +these fields number from one to two hundred. Rooks, wood-pigeons, and +tame white pigeons often feed amicably mixed up together; the white tame +birds are conspicuous at a long distance before the crops have risen, or +after the stubble is ploughed.</p> + +<p>I should think that the corn farmers of Surrey lose more grain from the +birds than the agriculturists whose tenancies are a hundred miles from +London. In the comparatively wild or open districts to which I had been +accustomed before I made these observations I cannot recollect ever +seeing such vast numbers of birds. There were places, of course, where +they were numerous, and there were several kinds more represented than +is the case here, and some that are scarcely represented at all. I have +seen flocks of wood-pigeons immensely larger than any here; but then it +was only occasionally. They came, passed over, and were gone. Here the +flocks, though not very numerous, seem always to be about.</p> + +<p>Sparrows crowd every hedge and field, their numbers are incredible; +chaffinches are not to be counted; of greenfinches there must be +thousands. From the railway even you can see them. I caught glimpses of +a ploughed field recently sown one spring from the window of a railway +carriage, every little clod of which seemed alive with small birds, +principally sparrows, chaffinches, and green<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>finches. There must have +been thousands in that field alone. In autumn the numbers are even +greater, or rather more apparent.</p> + +<p>One autumn some correspondence appeared lamenting the scarcity of small +birds (and again in the spring the same cry was raised); people said +that they had walked along the roads or footpaths and there were none in +the hedges. They were quite correct—the birds were not in the hedges, +they were in the corn and stubble. After the nesting is well over and +the wheat is ripe the birds leave the hedges and go out into the +wheatfields; at the same time the sparrows quit the house-tops and +gardens and do the same. At the very time this complaint was raised, the +stubbles in Surrey, as I can vouch, were crowded with small birds.</p> + +<p>If you walked across the stubble flocks of hundreds rose out of your +way; if you leant on a gate and watched a few minutes you could see +small flocks in every quarter of the field rising and settling again. +These movements indicated a larger number in the stubble there, for +where a great flock is feeding some few every now and then fly up +restlessly. Earlier than that in the summer there was not a wheatfield +where you could not find numerous wheatears picked as clean as if +threshed where they stood. In some places, the wheat was quite thinned.</p> + +<p>Later in the year there seems a movement of small birds from the lower +to the higher lands. One December day I remember particularly visiting +the neighbourhood of Ewell, where the lands begin to rise up towards the +Downs. Certainly, I have seldom seen such vast numbers of small birds. +Up from the stubble flew sparrows, chaffinches, greenfinches, +yellow-hammers, in such flocks that the low-cropped hedge was covered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +with them. A second correspondence appeared in the spring upon the same +subject, and again the scarcity of small birds was deplored.</p> + +<p>So far as the neighbourhood of London was concerned, this was the exact +reverse of the truth.</p> + +<p>Small birds swarmed, as I have already stated, in every ploughed field. +All the birdcatchers in London with traps and nets and limed twigs could +never make the slightest appreciable difference to such flocks. I have +always expressed my detestation of the birdcatcher; but it is founded on +other grounds, and not from any fear of the diminution of numbers only. +Where the birdcatcher does inflict irretrievable injury is in this +way—a bird, say a nightingale, say a goldfinch, has had a nest for +years in the corner of a garden, or an apple-tree in an orchard. The +birdcatcher presently decoys one or other of these, and thenceforward +the spot is deserted. The song is heard no more; the nest never again +rebuilt.</p> + +<p>The first spring I resided in Surrey I was fairly astonished and +delighted at the bird life which proclaimed itself everywhere. The +bevies of chiffchaffs and willow wrens which came to the thickets in the +furze, the chorus of thrushes and blackbirds, the chaffinches in the +elms, the greenfinches in the hedges, wood-pigeons and turtle-doves in +the copses, tree-pipits about the oaks in the cornfields; every bush, +every tree, almost every clod, for the larks were so many, seemed to +have its songster. As for nightingales, I never knew so many in the most +secluded country.</p> + +<p>There are more round about London than in all the woodlands I used to +ramble through. When people go into the country they really leave the +birds behind them. It was the same, I found, after longer observa<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>tion, +with birds perhaps less widely known as with those universally +recognised—such, for instance, as shrikes. The winter when the cry was +raised that there were no birds, that the blackbirds and thrushes had +left the lawns and must be dead, and how wicked it would be to take a +nest next year, I had not the least, difficulty in finding plenty of +them.</p> + +<p>They had simply gone to the water meadows, the brooks, and moist places +generally. Every locality where running water kept the ground moist and +permitted of movement among the creeping things which form these birds' +food, was naturally resorted to. Thrushes and blackbirds, although they +do not pack—that is, regularly fly in flocks—undoubtedly migrate when +pressed by weather.</p> + +<p>They are well known to arrive on the east coast from Norway in numbers +as the cold increases. I see no reason why we may not suppose that in +very severe and continued frost the thrushes and blackbirds round London +fly westwards towards the milder side of the island. It seems to me that +when, some years since, I used to stroll round the water meadows in a +western county for snipes in frosty weather, the hedges were full of +thrushes and blackbirds—quite full of them.</p> + +<p>Now, though there were thrushes and blackbirds about the brooks by +London last winter, there were few in the hedges generally. Had they, +then, flown westwards? It is my belief that they had. They had left the +hard-bound ground about London for the softer and moister lands farther +west. They had crossed the rain-line. When frost prevents access to food +in the east, thrushes and blackbirds move westwards, just as the +fieldfares and redwings do.</p> + +<p>That the fieldfares and redwings do so I can say with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> confidence, +because, as they move in large flocks, there is no difficulty in tracing +the direction in which they are going. They all went west when the +severe weather began. On the southern side of London, at least in the +districts I am best acquainted with, there was hardly a fieldfare or +redwing to be seen for weeks and even months. Towards spring they came +back, flying east for Norway. As thrushes and blackbirds move singly, +and not with concerted action, their motions cannot be determined with +such precision, but all the facts are in favour of the belief that they +also went west.</p> + +<p>That they were killed by the frost and snow I utterly refuse to credit. +Some few, no doubt, were—I saw some greatly enfeebled by +starvation—but not the mass. If so many had been destroyed their bodies +must have been seen when there was no foliage to hide them, and no +insects to quickly play the scavenger as in summer. Some were killed by +cats; a few perhaps by rats, for in sharp winters they go down into the +ditches, and I saw a dead redwing, torn and disfigured, at the mouth of +a drain during the snow, where it might have been fastened on by a rat. +But it is quite improbable that thousands died as was supposed.</p> + +<p>Thrushes and blackbirds are not like rooks. Rooks are so bound by +tradition and habit that they very rarely quit the locality where they +were reared. Their whole lives are spent in the neighbourhood of the +nest, trees, and the woods where they sleep. They may travel miles +during the day, but they always come back to roost. These are the birds +that suffer the most during long frosts and snows. Unable to break the +chain that binds them to one spot, they die rather than desert it. A +miserable time, indeed, they had of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> it that winter, but I never heard +that any one proposed feeding the rooks, the very birds that wanted it +most.</p> + +<p>Swallows, again, were declared by many to be fewer. It is not at all +unlikely that they were fewer. The wet season was unfavourable to them; +still a good deal of the supposed absence of swallows may be through the +observer not looking for them in the right place. If not wheeling in the +sky, look for them over the water, the river, or great ponds; if not +there, look along the moist fields or shady woodland meadows. They vary +their haunts with the state of the atmosphere, which causes insects to +be more numerous in one place at one time, and presently in another.</p> + +<p>A very wet season is more fatal than the sharpest frost; it acts by +practically reducing the births, leaving the ordinary death-rate to +continue. Consequently, as the old birds die, there are none (or fewer) +to supply their places. Once more let me express the opinion that there +are as many small birds round London as in the country, and no measure +is needed to protect the species at large. Protection, if needed, is +required for the individual. Sweep the roads and lanes clear of the +birdcatchers, but do not prevent a boy from taking a nest in the open +fields or commons. If it were made illegal to sell full-grown birds, +half the evil would be stopped at once if the law were enforced. The +question is full of difficulties. To prevent or attempt to prevent the +owner of a garden from shooting the bullfinches or blackbirds and so on +that steal his fruit, or destroy his buds, is absurd. It is equally +absurd to fine—what twaddle!—a lad for taking a bird's egg. The only +point upon which I am fully clear is that the birdcatcher who takes +birds on land not his own or in his occupation, on public property,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> as +roads, wastes, commons, and so forth, ought to be rigidly put down. But +as for the small birds as a mass, I am convinced that they will never +cease out of the land.</p> + +<p>It is not easy to progress far along this road, because every bird +suggests so many reflections and recollections. Upon approaching the +rising ground at Ewell green plovers or peewits become plentiful in the +cornfields. In spring and early summer the flocks break up to some +extent, and the scattered parties conduct their nesting operations in +the pastures or on the downs. In autumn they collect together again, and +flocks of fifty or more are commonly seen. Now and then a much larger +flock comes down into the plain, wheeling to and fro, and presently +descending upon an arable field, where they cover the ground.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="NIGHTINGALE_ROAD" id="NIGHTINGALE_ROAD"></a>NIGHTINGALE ROAD</h3> + + +<p>The wayside is open to all, and that which it affords may be enjoyed +without fee; therefore it is that I return to it so often. It is a fact +that common hedgerows often yield more of general interest than the +innermost recesses of carefully guarded preserves, which by day are +frequently still, silent, and denuded of everything, even of game; nor +can flowers flourish in such thick shade, nor where fir-needles cover +the ground.</p> + +<p>By the same wayside of which I have already spoken there is a birch +copse, through which runs a road open to foot passengers, but not to +wheel traffic, and also a second footpath. From these a little +observation will show that almost all the life and interest of the copse +is at, or near, the edge, and can be readily seen without trespassing a +single yard. Sometimes, when it is quiet in the evening and the main +highway is comparatively deserted, a hare comes stealing down the track +through the copse, and after lingering there awhile crosses the highway +into the stubble on the other side.</p> + +<p>In one of these fields, just opposite the copse, a covey of partridges +had their rendezvous, and I watched them from the road, evening after +evening, issue one by one, calling as they appeared from a breadth of +mangolds. Their sleeping-place seemed to be about a hundred yards from +the wayside. Another arable field just opposite is bounded by the road +with iron wire or railing, instead of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> a hedge, and the low mound in +which the stakes are fixed swarmed one summer with ant-hills full of +eggs, and a slight rustle in the corn as I approached told where the +parent bird had just led her chicks from the feast to shelter.</p> + +<p>Passing into the copse by the road, which is metalled but weed-grown +from lack of use, the grasshoppers sing from the sward at the sides, but +the birds are silent as the summer ends. Pink striped bells of +convolvulus flower over the flints and gravel, the stones nearly hidden +by their runners and leaves; yellow toadflax or eggs and bacon grew here +till a weeding took place, since which it has not reappeared, but in its +place viper's bugloss sprang up, a plant which was not previously to be +found there. Hawkweeds, some wild vetches, white yarrow, thistles, and +burdocks conceal the flints yet further, so that the track has the +appearance of a green drive.</p> + +<p>The slender birch and ash poles are hung with woodbine and wild hops, +both growing in profusion. A cream-coloured wall of woodbine in flower +extends in one spot, in another festoons of hops hang gracefully, and so +thick as to hide everything beyond them. There is scarce a stole without +its woodbine or hops; many of the poles, though larger than the arm, are +scored with spiral grooves left by the bines. Under these bushes of +woodbine the nightingales when they first arrive in spring are fond of +searching for food, and dart on a grub with a low satisfied "kurr."</p> + +<p>The place is so favourite a resort with these birds that it might well +be called Nightingale Copse. Four or five may be heard singing at once +on a warm May morning, and at least two may often be seen as well as +heard at the same time. They sometimes sing from the trees, as well as +from the bushes; one was singing one morning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> on an elm branch which +projected over the road, and under which the van drivers jogged +indifferently along. Sometimes they sing from the dark foliage of the +Scotch firs.</p> + +<p>As the summer wanes they haunt the hawthorn hedge by the roadside, +leaving the interior of the copse, and may often be seen on the dry and +dusty sward. When chiffchaff and willow-wren first come they remain in +the treetops, but in the summer descend into the lower bushes, and, like +the nightingales, come out upon the sward by the wayside. Nightingale +Copse is also a great favourite with cuckoos. There are a few oaks in +it, and in the meadows in the rear many detached hawthorn bushes, and +two or three small groups of trees, chestnuts, lime, and elm. From the +hawthorns to the elms, and from the elms to the oaks, the cuckoos +continually circulate, calling as they fly.</p> + +<p>One morning in May, while resting on a rail in the copse, I heard four +calling close by, the furthest not a hundred yards distant, and as they +continually changed their positions flying round there was always one in +sight. They circled round, singing; the instant one ceased another took +it up, a perfect madrigal. In the evening, at eight o'clock, I found +them there again, still singing. The same detached groups of trees are +much frequented by wood-pigeons, especially towards autumn.</p> + +<p>Rooks prefer to perch on the highest branches, wood-pigeons more in the +body of the tree, and when the boughs are bare of leaves a flock of the +latter may be recognised in this way as far as the eye can see, and when +the difference of colour is rendered imperceptible by distance. The +wood-pigeon when perched has a rounded appearance; the rook a longer and +sharper outline.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>By one corner of the copse there is an oak, hollow within, but still +green and flourishing. The hollow is black and charred; some mischievous +boys must have lighted a fire inside it, just as the ploughboys do in +the far away country. A little pond in the meadow close by is so +overhung by another oak, and so surrounded with bramble and hawthorn, +that the water lies in perpetual shade. It is just the spot where, if +rabbits were about, one might be found sitting out on the bank under the +brambles. This overhanging oak was broken by the famous October snow, +1880, further splintered by the gales of the next year, and its trunk is +now split from top to bottom as if with wedges.</p> + +<p>These meadows in spring are full of cowslips, and in one part the +meadow-orchis flourishes. The method of making cowslip balls is +universally known to children, from the most remote hamlet to the very +verge of London, and the little children who dance along the green sward +by the road here, if they chance to touch a nettle, at once search for a +dock leaf to lay on it and assuage the smart. Country children, and +indeed older folk, call the foliage of the knotted figwort cutfinger +leaves, as they are believed to assist the cure of a cut or sore.</p> + +<p>Raspberry suckers shoot up in one part of the copse; the fruit is +doubtless eaten by the birds. Troops of them come here, travelling along +the great hedge by the wayside, and all seem to prefer the outside trees +and bushes to the interior of the copse. This great hedge is as wide as +a country double mound, though it has but one ditch; the thick hawthorn, +blackthorn, elder, and bramble—the oaks, elms, ashes, and firs form, in +fact, almost a cover of themselves.</p> + +<p>In the early spring, when the east wind rushes with bitter energy across +the plains, this immense hedge, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> far as it extends, shelters the +wayfarer, the road being on the southern side, so that he can enjoy such +gleams of sunshine as appear. In summer the place is, of course for the +same reason, extremely warm, unless the breeze chances to come up strong +from the west, when it sweeps over the open cornfields fresh and sweet. +Stoats and weasels are common on the mound, or crossing the road to the +corn; they seem more numerous in autumn, and I fear leveret and +partridge are thinned by them.</p> + +<p>Mice abound; in spring they are sometimes up in the blackthorn bushes, +perhaps for the young buds. In summer they may often be heard rushing +along the furrows across the wayside sward, scarce concealed by the wiry +grass. Flowers are very local in habit; the spurge, for instance, which +is common in a road parallel to this, is not to be seen, and not very +much cow-parsnip, or "gix," one of the most freely-growing hedge plants, +which almost chokes the mounds near by. Willowherbs, however, fill every +place in the ditch here where they can find room between the bushes, and +the arum is equally common, but the lesser celandine absent.</p> + +<p>Towards evening, as the clover and vetches closed their leaves under the +dew, giving the fields a different aspect and another green, I used +occasionally to watch from here a pair of herons, sailing over in their +calm serene way. Their flight was in the direction of the Thames, and +they then passed evening after evening, but the following summer they +did not come. One evening, later on in autumn, two birds appeared +descending across the cornfields towards a secluded hollow where there +was water, and, although at a considerable distance, from their manner +of flight I could have no doubt they were teal.</p> + +<p>The spotted leaves of the arum appeared in the ditches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> in this locality +very nearly simultaneously with the first whistling of the blackbirds in +February; last spring the chiffchaff sang soon after the flowering of +the lesser celandine (not in this hedge, but near by), and the first +swift was noticed within a day or two of the opening of the May bloom. +Although not exactly, yet in a measure, the movements of plant and bird +life correspond.</p> + +<p>In a closely cropped hedge opposite this great mound (cropped because +enclosing a cornfield) there grows a solitary shrub of the wayfaring +tree. Though well known elsewhere, there is not, so far as I am aware, +another bush of it for miles, and I should not have noticed this had not +this part of the highway been so pleasant a place to stroll to and fro +in almost all the year. The twigs of the wayfaring tree are covered with +a mealy substance which comes off on the fingers when touched. A stray +shrub or plant like this sometimes seems of more interest than a whole +group.</p> + +<p>For instance, most of the cottage gardens have foxgloves in them, but I +had not observed any wild, till one afternoon near some woods I found a +tall and beautiful foxglove, richer in colour than the garden specimens, +and with bells more thickly crowded, lifting its spike of purple above +the low cropped hawthorn. In districts where the soil is favourable to +the foxglove it would not have been noticed, but here, alone and +unexpected, it was welcomed. The bees in spring come to the broad +wayside sward by the great mound to the bright dandelions; presently to +the white clover, and later to the heaths.</p> + +<p>There are about sixty wild flowers which grow freely along this road, +namely, yellow agrimony, amphibious persicaria, arum, avens, bindweed, +bird's foot lotus, bittersweet, blackberry, black and white bryony, +brooklime, burdock, buttercups, wild camomile, wild carrot,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> celandine +(the great and lesser), cinquefoil, cleavers, corn buttercup, corn mint, +corn sowthistle, and spurrey, cowslip, cow-parsnip, wild parsley, daisy, +dandelion, dead nettle, and white dog rose, and trailing rose, violets +(the sweet and the scentless), figwort, veronica, ground ivy, willowherb +(two sorts), herb Robert, honeysuckle, lady's smock, purple loosestrife, +mallow, meadow-orchis, meadow-sweet, yarrow, moon daisy, St. John's +wort, pimpernel, water plantain, poppy, rattles, scabious, self-heal, +silverweed, sowthistle, stitchwort, teazles, tormentil, vetches, and +yellow vetch.</p> + +<p>To these may be added an occasional bacon and eggs, a few harebells +(plenty on higher ground), the yellow iris, by the adjoining brook, and +flowering shrubs and trees, as dogwood, gorse, privet, blackthorn, +hawthorn, horse chestnut, besides wild hops, the horsetails on the +mounds, and such plants as grow everywhere, as chickweed, groundsel, and +so forth. A solitary shrub of mugwort grows at some distance, but in the +same district, and in one hedgerow the wild guelder rose flourishes. +Anemones and primroses are not found along or near this road, nor +woodruff. At the first glance a list like this reads as if flowers +abounded, but the reverse is the impression to those who frequent the +place.</p> + +<p>It is really a very short list, and as of course all of these do not +appear at once there really is rather a scarcity of wild flowers, so far +at least as variety goes. Just in the spring there is a burst of colour, +and again in the autumn; but for the rest, if we set aside the roses in +June, there seems quite an absence of flowers during the summer. The +wayside is green, the ditches are green, the mounds green; if you enter +and stroll round the meadows, they are green too, or white in places +with umbelliferous plants, principally parsley and cow-parsnip.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> But +these become monotonous. Therefore, I am constrained to describe it as a +district somewhat lacking flowers, meaning, of course, in point of +variety.</p> + +<p>Compared with the hedges and fields of Wiltshire, Gloucestershire, +Berkshire, and similar south-western localities, it seems flowerless. On +the other hand, southern London can boast stretches of heath, which, +when in full bloom, rival Scotch hillsides. These remarks are written +entirely from a non-scientific point of view. Professional botanists may +produce lists of thrice the length, and prove that all the flowers of +England are to be found near London. But it will not alter the fact that +to the ordinary eye the roads and lanes just south of London are in the +middle of the summer comparatively bare of colour. They should be +visited in spring and autumn.</p> + +<p>Nor do the meadows seem to produce so many varieties of grass as farther +to the south-west. But beetles of every kind and size, from the great +stag beetle, helplessly floundering through the evening air and clinging +to your coat, down to the green, bronze, and gilded species that hasten +across the path, appear extremely numerous. Warm, dry sands, light +soils, and furze and heath are probably favourable to them.</p> + +<p>From this roadside I have seldom heard the corncrake, and never once the +grasshopper lark. These two birds are so characteristic of the meadows +in southwestern counties that a summer evening seems silent to me +without the "crake, crake!" of the one and the singular sibilous rattle +of the other. But they come to other places not far distant from the +road, and one summer a grasshopper-lark could be heard in some meadows +where I had not heard it the two preceding seasons. On the mounds field +crickets cry persistently.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the end of the hedge which is near a brook, a sedge-reedling takes up +his residence in the spring. The sedge-reedlings here begin to call very +early; the first date I have down is the 16th of April, which is, I +think, some weeks before they begin in other localities. In one ditch +beside the road (not in this particular hedge) there grows a fine bunch +of reeds. Though watery, on account of the artificial drains from the +arable fields, the spot is on much higher ground than the brook, and it +is a little singular that while reeds flourish in this place they are +not to be found by the brook.</p> + +<p>The elms of the neighbourhood, wherever they can be utilised as posts, +are unmercifully wired, wires twisted round, holes bored and the ends of +wire driven in or staples inserted, and the same with the young oaks. +Many trees are much disfigured from this cause, the bark is worn off on +many; and others, which have recovered, have bulging rings, where it +swelled up over the iron. The heads of large nails and staples are +easily discovered where the wire has disappeared, sometimes three or +four, one above the other, in the same tree. A fine avenue of elms which +shades part of a suburb appears to be dying by degrees—the too common +fate of elms in such places.</p> + +<p>How many beautiful trees have thus perished near London?—witness the +large elms that once stood in Jews' Walk, at Sydenham. Barking the +trunks for sheer wanton mischief is undoubtedly the cause in some cases, +and it has been suggested that quicksilver has occasionally been +inserted in gimlet holes. The mercury is supposed to work up the +channels of the sap, and to prevent its flow.</p> + +<p>But may not the ordinary conditions of suburban<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> improvement often +account for the decay of such trees without occult causes? Sewers carry +away the water that used to moisten the roots, and being at some depth, +they not only take the surface water of a storm before it has had time +to penetrate, but drain the lower stratum completely. Then, gas-pipes +frequently leak, so much so that the soil for yards is saturated and +emits a smell of gas. Roots passing through such a soil can scarcely be +healthy, and very probably, in making excavations for laying pipes the +roots are cut through. The young trees that have been planted in some +places are, I notice, often bored by grubs to an extraordinary extent, +and will never make sound timber.</p> + +<p>One July day, while walking on this road, I happened to look over a +gateway and saw that a large and prominent mansion on the summit of some +elevated ground had apparently disappeared. The day was very clear and +bright, sunny and hot, and there was no natural vapour. But on the light +north-east wind there came slowly towards me a bluish-yellow mist, the +edge of which was clearly defined, and which blotted out distant objects +and blurred those nearer at hand. The appearance of the open arable +field over which I was looking changed as it approached.</p> + +<p>In front of the wall of mist the sunshine lit the field up brightly, +behind the ground was dull, and yet not in shadow. It came so slowly +that its movement could be easily watched. When it went over me there +was a perceptible coolness and a faint smell of damp smoke, and +immediately the road, which had been white under the sunshine, took a +dim, yellowish hue. The sun was not shut out nor even obscured, but the +rays had to pass through a thicker medium. This haze was not thick +enough to be called fog, nor was it the summer haze<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> that in the country +adds to the beauty of distant hills and woods.</p> + +<p>It was clearly the atmosphere—not the fog—but simply the atmosphere of +London brought out over the fields by a change in the wind, and +prevented from diffusing itself by conditions of which nothing seems +known. For at ordinary times the atmosphere of London diffuses itself in +aerial space and is lost, but on this hot July day it came bodily and +undiluted out into the cornfields. From its appearance I should say it +would travel many miles in the same condition. In November fog seems +seasonable: in hot and dry July this phenomenon was striking.</p> + +<p>Along the road flocks of sheep continue to travel, some weary enough, +and these, gravitating to the rear of the flock by reason of infirmity, +lie down in the dust to rest, while their companions feed on the wayside +sward. But the shepherds are careful of them, and do not hasten. +Shepherds here often carry the pastoral crook. In districts far from the +metropolis you may wander about for days, and with sheep all round you, +never see a shepherd with a crook; but near town the pastoral staff is +common.</p> + +<p>These flocks appear to be on their way to the southern down farms, and, +as I said before, the shepherds are tender over their sheep and careful +not to press them. I regret that I cannot say the same about the +bullocks, droves of which continually go by, often black cattle, and +occasionally even the little Highland animals. The appearance of some of +these droves is quite sufficient to indicate the treatment they have +undergone. Staring eyes, heads continually turned from side to side, +starting at everything, sometimes bare places on the shoulders, all tell +the same tale of blows and brutal treatment.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suburban streets which a minute before were crowded with ladies and +children (most gentlemen are in town at midday) are suddenly vacated +when the word passes that cattle are coming. People rush everywhere, +into gardens, shops, back lanes, anywhere, as if the ringing scabbards +of charging cavalry were heard, or the peculiar thumping rattle of +rifles as they come to the "present" before a storm of bullets. It is no +wonder that townsfolk exhibit a fear of cattle which makes their friends +laugh when they visit the country after such experiences as these. This +should be put down with a firm hand.</p> + +<p>By the roadside here the hay tyers, who cut up the hayricks into +trusses, use balances—a trifling matter, but sufficient to mark a +difference, for in the west such men use a steelyard slung on a prong, +the handle of the prong on the shoulder and the points stuck in the +rick, with which to weigh the trusses. Wooden cottages, wooden barns, +wooden mills are also characteristic.</p> + +<p>Mouchers come along the road at all times and seasons, gathering +sacksful of dandelions in spring, digging up fern roots and cowslip mars +for sale, cutting briars for standard roses, gathering water-cresses and +mushrooms, and in the winter cutting rushes.</p> + +<p>There is a rook with white feathers in the wing which belongs to an +adjacent rookery, and I have observed a blackbird also streaked with +white. One January day, when the snow was on the ground and the frost +was sharp, when the pale sun seemed to shine brightest round the rim of +the disk, as if there were a band of stronger light there, I saw a white +animal under a heap of poles by the wayside, near the great hedge I have +mentioned. It immediately concealed itself, but, thinking that it was a +ferret gone astray, I waited,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> and presently the head and neck were +cautiously protruded.</p> + +<p>I made the usual call with the lips, but the creature instantly returned +to cover. I waited again, hiding this time, and after an interval the +creature moved and hastened away from the poles, where it was, in a +measure, exposed, to the more secure shelter of some bushes. Then I saw +that it was of a clear white, while so-called white ferrets are usually +a dingy yellow, and the white tail was tipped with black. From these +circumstances, and from the timidity and anxious desire to escape +observation, I could only conclude that it was a white stoat.</p> + +<p>Stoats, as remarked previously, are numerous in these hedges, and it was +quite possible for a white one to be among them. The white stoat may be +said to exactly resemble the ermine. The interest of the circumstance +arises not from its rarity, but from its occurring so near the +metropolis.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="A_BROOK" id="A_BROOK"></a>A BROOK</h3> + + +<p>Some low wooden rails guarding the approach to a bridge over a brook one +day induced me to rest under an aspen, with my back against the tree. +Some horse-chestnuts, beeches, and alders grew there, fringing the end +of a long plantation of willow stoles which extended in the rear +following the stream. In front, southwards, there were open meadows and +cornfields, over which shadow and sunshine glided in succession as the +sweet westerly wind carried the white clouds before it.</p> + +<p>The brimming brook, as it wound towards me through the meads, seemed to +tremble on the verge of overflowing, as the crown of wine in a glass +rises yet does not spill. Level with the green grass, the water gleamed +as though polished where it flowed smoothly, crossed with the dark +shadows of willows which leaned over it. By the bridge, where the breeze +rushed through the arches, a ripple flashed back the golden rays. The +surface by the shore slipped towards a side hatch and passed over in a +liquid curve, clear and unvarying, as if of solid crystal, till +shattered on the stones, where the air caught up and played with the +sound of the bubbles as they broke.</p> + +<p>Beyond the green slope of corn, a thin, soft vapour hung on the distant +woods, and hid the hills. The pale young leaves of the aspen rustled +faintly, not yet with their full sound; the sprays of the +horse-chestnut, droop<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>ing with the late frosts, could not yet keep out +the sunshine with their broad green. A white spot on the footpath yonder +was where the bloom had fallen from a blackthorn bush.</p> + +<p>The note of the tree-pipit came from over the corn—there were some +detached oaks away in the midst of the field, and the birds were +doubtless flying continually up and down between the wheat and the +branches. A willow-wren sang plaintively in the plantation behind, and +once a cuckoo called at a distance. How beautiful is the sunshine! The +very dust of the road at my feet seemed to glow with whiteness, to be +lit up by it, and to become another thing. This spot henceforward was a +place of pilgrimage.</p> + +<p>Looking that morning over the parapet of the bridge, down stream, there +was a dead branch at the mouth of the arch, it had caught and got fixed +while it floated along. A quantity of aquatic weeds coming down the +stream had drifted against the branch and remained entangled in it. +Fresh weeds were still coming and adding to the mass, which had +attracted a water-rat.</p> + +<p>Perched on the branch the little brown creature bent forward over the +surface, and with its two forepaws drew towards it the slender thread of +a weed, exactly as with hands. Holding the thread in the paws, it +nibbled it, eating the sweet and tender portion, feeding without fear +though but a few feet away, and precisely beneath me.</p> + +<p>In a minute the surface of the current was disturbed by larger ripples. +There had been a ripple caused by the draught through the arch, but this +was now increased. Directly afterwards a moorhen swam out, and began to +search among the edge of the tangled weeds. So long as I was perfectly +still the bird took no heed, but at a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> slight movement instantly +scuttled back under the arch. The water-rat, less timorous, paused, +looked round, and returned to feeding.</p> + +<p>Crossing to the other side of the bridge, up stream, and looking over, +the current had scooped away the sand of the bottom by the central pier, +exposing the brickwork to some depth—the same undermining process that +goes on by the piers of bridges over great rivers. Nearer the shore the +sand has silted up, leaving it shallow, where water-parsnip and other +weeds joined, as it were, the verge of the grass and the stream. The +sunshine reflected from the ripples on this, the southern side, +continually ran with a swift, trembling motion up the arch.</p> + +<p>Penetrating the clear water, the light revealed the tiniest stone at the +bottom: but there was no fish, no water-rat, or moorhen on this side. +Neither on that nor many succeeding mornings could anything be seen +there; the tail of the arch was evidently the favourite spot. Carefully +looking over that side again, the moorhen who had been out rushed back; +the water-rat was gone. Were there any fish? In the shadow the water was +difficult to see through, and the brown scum of spring that lined the +bottom rendered everything uncertain.</p> + +<p>By gazing steadily at a stone my eyes presently became accustomed to the +peculiar light, the pupils adjusted themselves to it, and the brown +tints became more distinctly defined. Then sweeping by degrees from a +stone to another, and from thence to a rotting stick embedded in the +sand, I searched the bottom inch by inch. If you look, as it were at +large—at everything at once—you see nothing. If you take some object +as a fixed point, gaze all around it, and then move to another, nothing +can escape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>Even the deepest, darkest water (not, of course, muddy) yields after a +while to the eye. Half close the eyelids, and while gazing into it let +your intelligence rather wait upon the corners of the eye than on the +glance you cast straight forward. For some reason when thus gazing the +edge of the eye becomes exceedingly sensitive, and you are conscious of +slight motions or of a thickness—not a defined object, but a thickness +which indicates an object—which is otherwise quite invisible.</p> + +<p>The slow feeling sway of a fish's tail, the edges of which curl over and +grasp the water, may in this manner be identified without being +positively seen, and the dark outline of its body known to exist against +the equally dark water or bank. Shift, too, your position according to +the fall of the light, just as in looking at a painting. From one point +of view the canvas shows little but the presence of paint and blurred +colour, from another at the side the picture stands out.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the water can be seen into best from above, sometimes by lying +on the sward, now by standing back a little way, or crossing to the +opposite shore. A spot where the sunshine sparkles with dazzling gleam +is perhaps perfectly inpenetrable till you get the other side of the +ripple, when the same rays that just now baffled the glance light up the +bottom as if thrown from a mirror for the purpose. I convinced myself +that there was nothing here, nothing visible at present—not so much as +a stickleback.</p> + +<p>Yet the stream ran clear and sweet, and deep in places. It was too broad +for leaping over. Down the current sedges grew thickly at a curve: up +the stream the young flags were rising; it had an inhabited look, if +such a term may be used, and moorhens and water-rats were about but no +fish. A wide furrow came along the meadow and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> joined the stream from +the side. Into this furrow, at flood time, the stream overflowed farther +up, and irrigated the level sward.</p> + +<p>At present it was dry, its course, traced by the yellowish and white hue +of the grasses in it only recently under water, contrasting with the +brilliant green of the sweet turf around. There was a marsh marigold in +it, with stems a quarter of an inch thick; and in the grass on the +verge, but just beyond where the flood reached, grew the lilac-tinted +cuckoo flowers, or cardamine.</p> + +<p>The side hatch supplied a pond, which was only divided from the brook by +a strip of sward not more than twenty yards across. The surface of the +pond was dotted with patches of scum that had risen from the bottom. +Part at least of it was shallow, for a dead branch blown from an elm +projected above the water, and to it came a sedge-reedling for a moment. +The sedge-reedling is so fond of sedges, and reeds, and thick +undergrowth, that though you hear it perpetually within a few yards it +is not easy to see one. On this bare branch the bird was well displayed, +and the streak by the eye was visible; but he stayed there for a second +or two only, and then back again to the sedges and willows.</p> + +<p>There were fish I felt sure as I left the spot and returned along the +dusty road, but where were they?</p> + +<p>On the sward by the wayside, among the nettles and under the bushes, and +on the mound the dark green arum leaves grew everywhere, sometimes in +bunches close together. These bunches varied—in one place the leaves +were all spotted with black irregular blotches; in another the leaves +were without such markings. When the root leaves of the arum first push +up they are closely rolled together in a pointed spike.</p> + +<p>This, rising among the dead and matted leaves of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> autumn, +occasionally passes through holes in them. As the spike grows it lifts +the dead leaves with it, which hold it like a ring and prevent it from +unfolding. The force of growth is not sufficiently strong to burst the +bond asunder till the green leaves have attained considerable size.</p> + +<p>A little earlier in the year the chattering of magpies would have been +heard while looking for the signs of spring, but they were now occupied +with their nests. There are several within a short distance, easily +distinguished in winter, but somewhat hidden now by the young leaves. +Just before they settled down to housekeeping there was a great +chattering and fluttering and excitement, as they chased each other from +elm to elm.</p> + +<p>Four or five were then often in the same field, some in the trees, some +on the ground, their white and black showing distinctly on the level +brown earth recently harrowed or rolled. On such a surface birds are +visible at a distance; but when the blades of the corn begin to reach +any height such as alight are concealed. In many districts of the +country that might be called wild and lonely, the magpie is almost +extinct. Once now and then a pair may be observed, and those who know +their haunts can, of course, find them, but to a visitor passing +through, there seems none. But here, so near the metropolis, the magpies +are common, and during an hour's walk their cry is almost sure to be +heard. They have, however, their favourite locality, where they are much +more frequently seen.</p> + +<p>Coming to my seat under the aspen by the bridge week after week, the +burdocks by the wayside gradually spread their leaves, and the +procession of the flowers went on. The dandelion, the lesser celandine, +the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> marsh marigold, the coltsfoot, all yellow, had already led the van, +closely accompanied by the purple ground-ivy, the red dead-nettle, and +the daisy; this last a late comer in the neighbourhood. The blackthorn, +the horse-chestnut, and the hawthorn came, and the meadows were golden +with the buttercups.</p> + +<p>Once only had I noticed any indication of fish in the brook; it was on a +warm Saturday afternoon, when there was a labourer a long way up the +stream, stooping in a peculiar manner near the edge of the water with a +stick in his hand. He was, I felt sure, trying to wire a spawning jack, +but did not succeed. Many weeks had passed, and now there came (as the +close time for coarse fish expired) a concourse of anglers to the almost +stagnant pond fed by the side hatch.</p> + +<p>Well-dressed lads with elegant and finished tackle rode up on their +bicycles, with their rods slung at their backs. Hoisting the bicycles +over the gate into the meadow, they left them leaning against the elms, +fitted their rods and fished in the pond. Poorer boys, with long wands +cut from the hedge and ruder lines, trudged up on foot, sat down on the +sward and watched their corks by the hour together. Grown men of the +artisan class, covered with the dust of many miles' tramping, came with +their luncheons in a handkerchief, and set about their sport with a +quiet earnestness which argued long if desultory practice.</p> + +<p>In fine weather there were often a dozen youths and four or five men +standing, sitting, or kneeling on the turf along the shore of the pond, +all intent on their floats, and very nearly silent. People driving along +the highway stopped their traps, and carts, and vans a minute or two to +watch them: passengers on foot leaned over the gate, or sat down and +waited expectantly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sometimes one of the more venturesome anglers would tuck up his trousers +and walk into the shallow water, so as to be able to cast his bait under +the opposite bank, where it was deep. Then an ancient and much battered +punt was discovered aground in a field at some distance, and dragged to +the pond. One end of the punt had quite rotted away, but by standing at +the other, so as to depress it there and lift the open end above the +surface, two, or even three, could make a shift to fish from it.</p> + +<p>The silent and motionless eagerness with which these anglers dwelt upon +their floats, grave as herons, could not have been exceeded. There they +were day after day, always patient and always hopeful. Occasionally a +small catch—a mere "bait "—was handed round for inspection; and once a +cunning fisherman, acquainted with all the secrets of his craft, +succeeded in drawing forth three perch, perhaps a quarter of a pound +each, and one slender eel. These made quite a show, and were greatly +admired; but I never saw the same man there again. He was satisfied.</p> + +<p>As I sat on the white rail under the aspen, and inhaled the scent of the +beans flowering hard by, there was a question which suggested itself to +me, and the answer to which I never could supply. The crowd about the +pond all stood with their backs to the beautiful flowing brook. They had +before them the muddy banks of the stagnant pool, on whose surface +patches of scum floated.</p> + +<p>Behind them was the delicious stream, clear and limpid, bordered with +sedge and willow and flags, and overhung with branches. The strip of +sward between the two waters was certainly not more than twenty yards; +there was no division hedge, or railing, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> evidently no preservation, +for the mouchers came and washed their water-cress which they had +gathered in the ditches by the side hatch, and no one interfered with +them.</p> + +<p>There was no keeper or water bailiff, not even a notice board. +Policemen, on foot and mounted, passed several times daily, and, like +everybody else, paused to see the sport, but said not a word. Clearly, +there was nothing whatever to prevent any of those present from angling +in the stream; yet they one and all, without exception, fished in the +pond. This seemed to me a very remarkable fact.</p> + +<p>After a while I noticed another circumstance; nobody ever even looked +into the stream or under the arches of the bridge. No one spared a +moment from his float amid the scum of the pond, just to stroll twenty +paces and glance at the swift current. It appeared from this that the +pond had a reputation for fish, and the brook had not. Everybody who had +angled in the pond recommended his friends to go and do likewise. There +were fish in the pond.</p> + +<p>So every fresh comer went and angled there, and accepted the fact that +there were fish. Thus the pond obtained a traditionary reputation, which +circulated from lip to lip round about. I need not enlarge on the +analogy that exists in this respect between the pond and various other +things.</p> + +<p>By implication it was evidently as much understood and accepted on the +other hand that there was nothing in the stream. Thus I reasoned it out, +sitting under the aspen, and yet somehow the general opinion did not +satisfy me. There must be something in so sweet a stream. The sedges by +the shore, the flags in the shallow, slowly swaying from side to side +with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> current, the sedge-reedlings calling, the moorhens and +water-rats, all gave an air of habitation.</p> + +<p>One morning, looking very gently over the parapet of the bridge (down +stream) into the shadowy depth beneath, just as my eyes began to see the +bottom, something like a short thick dark stick drifted out from the +arch, somewhat sideways. Instead of proceeding with the current, it had +hardly cleared the arch when it took a position parallel to the flowing +water and brought up. It was thickest at the end that faced the stream; +at the other there was a slight motion as if caused by the current +against a flexible membrane, as it sways a flag. Gazing down intently +into the shadow the colour of the sides of the fish appeared at first +not exactly uniform, and presently these indistinct differences resolved +themselves into spots. It was a trout, perhaps a pound and a half in +weight.</p> + +<p>His position was at the side of the arch, out of the rush of the +current, and almost behind the pier, but where he could see anything +that came floating along under the culvert. Immediately above him but +not over was the mass of weeds tangled in the dead branch. Thus in the +shadow of the bridge and in the darkness under the weeds he might easily +have escaped notice. He was, too, extremely wary. The slightest motion +was enough to send him instantly under the arch; his cover was but a +foot distant, and a trout shoots twelve inches in a fraction of time.</p> + +<p>The summer advanced, the hay was carted, and the wheat ripened. Already +here and there the reapers had cut portions of the more forward corn. As +I sat from time to time under the aspen, within hearing of the murmuring +water, the thought did rise<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> occasionally that it was a pity to leave +the trout there till some one blundered into the knowledge of his +existence.</p> + +<p>There were ways and means by which he could be withdrawn without any +noise or publicity. But, then, what would be the pleasure of securing +him, the fleeting pleasure of an hour, compared to the delight of seeing +him almost day by day? I watched him for many weeks, taking great +precautions that no one should observe how continually I looked over +into the water there. Sometimes after a glance I stood with my back to +the wall as if regarding an object on the other side. If any one was +following me, or appeared likely to peer over the parapet, I carelessly +struck the top of the wall with my stick in such a manner that it should +project, an action sufficient to send the fish under the arch. Or I +raised my hat as if heated, and swung it so that it should alarm him.</p> + +<p>If the coast was clear when I had looked at him still I never left +without sending him under the arch in order to increase his alertness. +It was a relief to know that so many persons who went by wore tall hats, +a safeguard against their seeing anything, for if they approached the +shadow of the tall hat reached out beyond the shadow of the parapet, and +was enough to alarm him before they could look over. So the summer +passed, and, though never free from apprehensions, to my great pleasure +without discovery.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="A_LONDON_TROUT" id="A_LONDON_TROUT"></a>A LONDON TROUT</h3> + + +<p>The sword-flags are rusting at their edges, and their sharp points are +turned. On the matted and entangled sedges lie the scattered leaves +which every rush of the October wind hurries from the boughs. Some fall +on the water and float slowly with the current, brown and yellow spots +on the dark surface. The grey willows bend to the breeze; soon the osier +beds will look reddish as the wands are stripped by the gusts. Alone the +thick polled alders remain green, and in their shadow the brook is still +darker. Through a poplar's thin branches the wind sounds as in the +rigging of a ship; for the rest, it is silence.</p> + +<p>The thrushes have not forgotten the frost of the morning, and will not +sing at noon; the summer visitors have flown and the moorhens feed +quietly. The plantation by the brook is silent, for the sedges, though +they have drooped and become entangled, are not dry and sapless yet to +rustle loudly. They will rustle dry enough next spring, when the +sedge-birds come. A long withey-bed borders the brook and is more +resorted to by sedge-reedlings, or sedge-birds, as they are variously +called, than any place I know, even in the remotest country.</p> + +<p>Generally it has been difficult to see them, because the withey is in +leaf when they come, and the leaves and sheaves of innumerable rods hide +them, while the ground beneath is covered by a thick growth of sedges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +and flags, to which the birds descend. It happened once, however, that +the withey stoles had been polled, and in the spring the boughs were +short and small. At the same time, the easterly winds checked the +sedges, so that they were hardly half their height, and the flags were +thin, and not much taller, when the sedge-birds came, so that they for +once found but little cover, and could be seen to advantage.</p> + +<p>There could not have been less than fifteen in the plantation, two +frequented some bushes beside a pond near by, some stayed in scattered +willows farther down the stream. They sang so much they scarcely seemed +to have time to feed. While approaching one that was singing by gently +walking on the sward by the roadside, or where thick dust deadened the +footsteps, suddenly another would commence in the low thorn hedge on a +branch, so near that it could be touched with a walking-stick. Yet +though so near the bird was not wholly visible—he was partly concealed +behind a fork of the bough. This is a habit of the sedge-birds. Not in +the least timid, they chatter at your elbow, and yet always partially +hidden.</p> + +<p>If in the withey, they choose a spot where the rods cross or bunch +together. If in the sedges, though so close it seems as if you could +reach forward and catch him, he is behind the stalks. To place some +obstruction between themselves and any one passing is their custom: but +that spring, as the foliage was so thin, it only needed a little +dexterity in peering to get a view. The sedge-bird perches aside, on a +sloping willow rod, and, slightly raising his head, chatters, turning +his bill from side to side. He is a very tiny bird, and his little eye +looks out from under a yellowish streak. His song at first sounds +nothing but chatter.</p> + +<p>After listening a while the ear finds a scale in it—an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> arrangement and +composition—so that, though still a chatter, it is a tasteful one. At +intervals he intersperses a chirp, exactly the same as that of the +sparrow, a chirp with a tang in it. Strike a piece of metal, and besides +the noise of the blow, there is a second note, or tang. The sparrow's +chirp has such a note sometimes, and the sedge-bird brings it in—tang, +tang, tang. This sound has given him his country name of brook-sparrow, +and it rather spoils his song. Often the moment he has concluded he +starts for another willow stole, and as he flies begins to chatter when +halfway across, and finishes on a fresh branch.</p> + +<p>But long before this another bird has commenced to sing in a bush +adjacent; a third takes it up in the thorn hedge; a fourth in the bushes +across the pond; and from farther down the stream comes a faint and +distant chatter. Ceaselessly the competing gossip goes on the entire day +and most of the night; indeed, sometimes all night through. On a warm +spring morning, when the sunshine pours upon the willows, and even the +white dust of the road is brighter, bringing out the shadows in clear +definition, their lively notes and quick motions make a pleasant +commentary on the low sound of the stream rolling round the curve.</p> + +<p>A moorhen's call comes from the hatch. Broad yellow petals of +marsh-marigold stand up high among the sedges rising from the +greyish-green ground, which is covered with a film of sun-dried aquatic +grass left dry by the retiring waters. Here and there are lilac-tinted +cuckoo-flowers, drawn up on taller stalks than those that grow in the +meadows. The black flowers of the sedges are powdered with yellow +pollen; and dark green sword-flags are beginning to spread their fans. +But just across the road, on the topmost twigs of birch poles, swallows +twitter in the tenderest tones to their loves. From the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> oaks in the +meadows on that side titlarks mount above the highest bough and then +descend, sing, sing, singing, to the grass.</p> + +<p>A jay calls in a circular copse in the midst of the meadow; solitary +rooks go over to their nests in the elms on the hill; cuckoos call, now +this way and now that, as they travel round. While leaning on the grey +and lichen-hung rails by the brook, the current glides by, and it is the +motion of the water and its low murmur which renders the place so idle; +the sunbeams brood, the air is still but full of song. Let us, too, stay +and watch the petals fall one by one from a wild apple and float down on +the stream.</p> + +<p>But now in autumn the haws are red on the thorn, the swallows are few as +they were in the earliest spring; the sedge-birds have flown, and the +redwings will soon be here. The sharp points of the sword-flags are +turned, their edges rusty, the forget-me-nots are gone. October's winds +are too searching for us to linger beside the brook, but still it is +pleasant to pass by and remember the summer days. For the year is never +gone by; in a moment we can recall the sunshine we enjoyed in May, the +roses we gathered in June, the first wheatear we plucked as the green +corn filled. Other events go by and are forgotten, and even the details +of our own lives, so immensely important to us at the moment, in time +fade from the memory till the date we fancied we should never forget has +to be sought in a diary. But the year is always with us; the months are +familiar always; they have never gone by.</p> + +<p>So with the red haws around and the rustling leaves it is easy to recall +the flowers. The withey plantation here is full of flowers in summer; +yellow iris flowers in June when midsummer comes, for the iris loves a +thunder-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>shower. The flowering flag spreads like a fan from the root, +the edges overlap near the ground, and the leaves are broad as +sword-blades, indeed the plant is one of the largest that grows wild. It +is quite different from the common flag with three grooves—bayonet +shape—which appears in every brook. The yellow iris is much more local, +and in many country streams may be sought for in vain, so that so fine a +display as may be seen here seemed almost a discovery to me.</p> + +<p>They were finest in the year of rain, 1879, that terrible year which is +fresh in the memory of all who have any interest in out-of-door matters. +At midsummer the plantation was aglow with iris bloom. The large yellow +petals were everywhere high above the sedge; in one place a dozen, then +two or three, then one by itself, then another bunch. The marsh was a +foot deep in water, which could only be seen by parting the stalks of +the sedges, for it was quite hidden under them. Sedges and flags grew so +thick that everything was concealed except the yellow bloom above.</p> + +<p>One bunch grew on a bank raised a few inches above the flood which the +swollen brook had poured in, and there I walked among them; the leaves +came nearly up to the shoulder, the golden flowers on the stalks stood +equally high. It was a thicket of iris. Never before had they risen to +such a height; it was like the vegetation of tropical swamps, so much +was everything drawn up by the continual moisture. Who could have +supposed that such a downpour as occurred that summer would have had the +effect it had upon flowers? Most would have imagined that the excessive +rain would have destroyed them; yet never was there such floral beauty +as that year. Meadow-orchis, buttercups, the yellow iris, all the spring +flowers came forth in extraordinary profusion. The hay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> was spoiled, the +farmers ruined, but their fields were one broad expanse of flower.</p> + +<p>As that spring was one of the wettest, so that of the year in present +view was one of the driest, and hence the plantation between the lane +and the brook was accessible, the sedges and flags short, and the +sedge-birds visible. There is a beech in the plantation standing so near +the verge of the stream that its boughs droop over. It has a number of +twigs around the stem—as a rule the beech-bole is clear of boughs, but +some which are of rather stunted growth are fringed with them. The +leaves on the longer boughs above fall off and voyage down the brook, +but those on the lesser twigs beneath, and only a little way from the +ground, remain on, and rustle, dry and brown, all through the winter.</p> + +<p>Under the shelter of these leaves, and close to the trunk, there grew a +plant of flag—the tops of the flags almost reached to the leaves—and +all the winter through, despite the frosts for which it was remarkable, +despite the snow and the bitter winds which followed, this plant +remained green and fresh. From this beech in the morning a shadow +stretches to a bridge across the brook, and in that shadow my trout used +to lie. The bank under the drooping boughs forms a tiny cliff a foot +high, covered with moss, and here I once observed shrew mice diving and +racing about. But only once, though I frequently passed the spot; it is +curious that I did not see them afterwards.</p> + +<p>Just below the shadow of the beech there is a sandy, oozy shore, where +the footprints of moorhens are often traceable. Many of the trees of the +plantation stand in water after heavy rain; their leaves drop into it in +autumn, and, being away from the influence of the current, stay and +soak, and lie several layers thick. Their edges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> overlap, red, brown, +and pale yellow, with the clear water above and shadows athwart it, and +dry white grass at the verge. A horse-chestnut drops its fruit in the +dusty road; high above its leaves are tinted with scarlet.</p> + +<p>It was at the tail of one of the arches of the bridge over the brook +that my favourite trout used to lie. Sometimes the shadow of the beech +came as far as his haunts, that was early in the morning, and for the +rest of the day the bridge itself cast a shadow. The other parapet faces +the south, and looking down from it the bottom of the brook is generally +visible, because the light is so strong. At the bottom a green plant may +be seen waving to and fro in summer as the current sways it. It is not a +weed or flag, but a plant with pale green leaves, and looks as if it had +come there by some chance; this is the water-parsnip.</p> + +<p>By the shore on this, the sunny side of the bridge, a few forget-me-nots +grow in their season, water crow's-foot flowers, flags lie along the +surface and slowly swing from side to side like a boat at anchor. The +breeze brings a ripple, and the sunlight sparkles on it; the light +reflected dances up the piers of the bridge. Those that pass along the +road are naturally drawn to this bright parapet where the brook winds +brimming full through green meadows. You can see right to the bottom; +you can see where the rush of the water has scooped out a deeper channel +under the arches, but look as long as you like there are no fish.</p> + +<p>The trout I watched so long, and with such pleasure, was always on the +other side, at the tail of the arch, waiting for whatever might come +through to him. There in perpetual shadow he lay in wait, a little at +the side of the arch, scarcely ever varying his position except to dart +a yard up under the bridge to seize any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>thing he fancied, and drifting +out again to bring up at his anchorage. If people looked over the +parapet that side they did not see him; they could not see the bottom +there for the shadow, or if the summer noonday cast a strong beam even +then it seemed to cover the surface of the water with a film of light +which could not be seen through. There are some aspects from which even +a picture hung on the wall close at hand cannot be seen. So no one saw +the trout; if any one more curious leant over the parapet he was gone in +a moment under the arch.</p> + +<p>Folk fished in the pond about the verge of which the sedge-birds +chattered, and but a few yards distant; but they never looked under the +arch on the northern and shadowy side, where the water flowed beside the +beech. For three seasons this continued. For three summers I had the +pleasure to see the trout day after day whenever I walked that way, and +all that time, with fishermen close at hand, he escaped notice, though +the place was not preserved. It is wonderful to think how difficult it +is to see anything under one's very eyes, and thousands of people walked +actually and physically right over the fish.</p> + +<p>However, one morning in the third summer, I found a fisherman standing +in the road and fishing over the parapet in the shadowy water. But he +was fishing at the wrong arch, and only with paste for roach. While the +man stood there fishing, along came two navvies; naturally enough they +went quietly up to see what the fisherman was doing, and one instantly +uttered an exclamation. He had seen the trout. The man who was fishing +with paste had stood so still and patient that the trout, re-assured, +had come out, and the navvy—trust a navvy to see anything of the +kind—caught sight of him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<p>The navvy knew how to see through water. He told the fisherman, and +there was a stir of excitement, a changing of hooks and bait. I could +not stay to see the result, but went on, fearing the worst. But he did +not succeed; next day the wary trout was there still, and the next, and +the next. Either this particular fisherman was not able to come again, +or was discouraged; at any rate, he did not try again. The fish escaped, +doubtless more wary than ever.</p> + +<p>In the spring of the next year the trout was still there, and up to the +summer I used to go and glance at him. This was the fourth season, and +still he was there; I took friends to look at this wonderful fish, which +defied all the loafers and poachers, and above all, surrounded himself +not only with the shadow of the bridge, but threw a mental shadow over +the minds of passers-by, so that they never thought of the possibility +of such a thing as trout. But one morning something happened. The brook +was dammed up on the sunny side of the bridge, and the water let off by +a side-hatch, that some accursed main or pipe or other horror might be +laid across the bed of the stream somewhere far down.</p> + +<p>Above the bridge there was a brimming broad brook, below it the flags +lay on the mud, the weeds drooped, and the channel was dry. It was dry +up to the beech tree. There, under the drooping boughs of the beech, was +a small pool of muddy water, perhaps two yards long, and very narrow—a +stagnant muddy pool, not more than three or four inches deep. In this I +saw the trout. In the shallow water, his back came up to the surface +(for his fins must have touched the mud sometimes)—once it came above +the surface, and his spots showed as plain as if you had held him in +your hand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> He was swimming round to try and find out the reason of this +sudden stinting of room.</p> + +<p>Twice he heaved himself somewhat on his side over a dead branch that was +at the bottom, and exhibited all his beauty to the air and sunshine. +Then he went away into another part of the shallow and was hidden by the +muddy water. Now under the arch of the bridge, his favourite arch, close +by there was a deep pool, for, as already mentioned, the scour of the +current scooped away the sand and made a hole there. When the stream was +shut off by the dam above this hole remained partly full. Between this +pool and the shallow under the beech there was sufficient connection for +the fish to move into it.</p> + +<p>My only hope was that he would do so, and as some showers fell, +temporarily increasing the depth of the narrow canal between the two +pools, there seemed every reason to believe that he had got to that +under the arch. If now only that accursed pipe or main, or whatever +repair it was, could only be finished quickly, even now the trout might +escape! Every day my anxiety increased, for the intelligence would soon +get about that the brook was dammed up, and any pools left in it would +be sure to attract attention.</p> + +<p>Sunday came, and directly the bells had done ringing four men attacked +the pool under the arch. They took off shoes and stockings and waded in, +two at each end of the arch. Stuck in the mud close by was an eel-spear. +They churned up the mud, wading in, and thickened and darkened it as +they groped under. No one could watch these barbarians longer.</p> + +<p>Is it possible that he could have escaped? He was a wonderful fish, wary +and quick. Is it just possible that they may not even have known that a +trout was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> there at all; but have merely hoped for perch, or tench, or +eels? The pool was deep and the fish quick—they did not bale it, might +he have escaped? Might they even, if they did find him, have mercifully +taken him and placed him alive in some other water nearer their homes? +Is it possible that he may have almost miraculously made his way down +the stream into other pools?</p> + +<p>There was very heavy rain one night, which might have given him such a +chance. These "mights," and "ifs," and "is it possible" even now keep +alive some little hope that some day I may yet see him again. But that +was in the early summer. It is now winter, and the beech has brown +spots. Among the limes the sedges are matted and entangled, the +sword-flags rusty; the rooks are at the acorns, and the plough is at +work in the stubble. I have never seen him since. I never failed to +glance over the parapet into the shadowy water. Somehow it seemed to +look colder, darker, less pleasant than it used to do. The spot was +empty, and the shrill winds whistled through the poplars.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="A_BARN" id="A_BARN"></a>A BARN</h3> + + +<p>A broad red roof of tile is a conspicuous object on the same road which +winds and turns in true crooked country fashion, with hedgerows, trees, +and fields on both sides, and scarcely a dwelling visible. It is not, +indeed, so crooked as a lane in Gloucestershire, which I verily believe +passes the same tree thrice, but the curves are frequent enough to vary +the view pleasantly.</p> + +<p>Approaching from either direction, on turning a certain corner a great +red roof rises high above the hedges, and the line of its ridge is seen +every way through the trees. With this old barn, as with so much of the +architecture of former times, the roof is the most important part. The +gables, for instance, of Elizabethan houses occupy the eye far more than +the walls; and so, too, with the antique halls that still exist. The +roof of this old barn is itself the building; the roof and the doors, +for the sweeping slope of the tiles comes down within reach of the hand, +while the great doors extend half-way to the ridge.</p> + +<p>By the low black wooden walls a little chaff has been spilt, and has +blown out and mingles with the dust of the road. Loose straws lie across +the footpath, trodden flat by passing feet; straws have wandered across +the road and lodged on the mound, and others have roamed still farther +round the corner. Between the gatepost and the wall that encloses the +rickyard more straws are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> jammed, and yet more are borne up by the +nettles beneath it.</p> + +<p>Mosses have grown over the old red brick wall, both on the top and +following the lines of the mortar, and bunches of wall grasses flourish +along the top. The wheat, and barley, and hay carted home to the +rickyard contain the seeds of innumerable plants, many of which, +dropping to the ground, come up next year. The trodden earth round where +the ricks stood seems favourable to their early appearance; the first +poppy blooms here, though its colour is paler than those which come +afterwards in the fields.</p> + +<p>In spring most of the ricks are gone, threshed and sold, but there +remains the vast pile of straw—always straw—and the three-cornered +stump of a hay-rick which displays bands of different hues, one above +the other, like the strata of a geological map. Some of the hay was put +up damp, some in good condition, and some had been browned by bad +weather before being carted.</p> + +<p>About the straw-rick, and over the chaff that everywhere strews the +earth, numerous fowls search, and by the gateway Chanticleer proudly +stands, tall and upright, the king of the rickyard still, as he and his +ancestors have been these hundreds of years. Under the granary, which is +built on stone staddles, to exclude the mice, some turkeys are huddled +together calling occasionally for a "halter," and beyond them the green, +glossy neck of a drake glistens in the sunshine.</p> + +<p>When the corn is high, and sometimes before it is well up, the doors of +the barn are daily open, and shock-headed children peer over the hatch. +There are others within playing and tumbling on a heap of straw—always +straw—which is their bed at night. The sacks which form their +counterpane are rolled aside, and they have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> half the barn for their +nursery. If it is wet, at least one great girl and the mother will be +there too, gravely sewing, and sitting where they can see all that goes +along the road.</p> + +<p>A hundred yards away, in a corner of an arable field, the very windiest +and most draughty that could be chosen, where the hedge is cut down so +that it can barely be called a hedge, and where the elms draw the wind, +the men of the family crowd over a smoky fire. In the wind and rain the +fire could not burn at all had they not by means of a stick propped up a +hurdle to windward, and thus sheltered it. As it is there seems no +flame, only white embers and a flow of smoke, into which the men from +time to time cast the dead wood they have gathered. Here the pot is +boiled and the cooking accomplished at a safe distance from the litter +and straw of the rickyard.</p> + +<p>These people are Irish, who come year after year to the same barn for +the hoeing and the harvest, travelling from the distant West to gather +agricultural wages on the verge of the metropolis.</p> + +<p>In fine summer weather, beside the usual business traffic, there goes +past this windy bare corner a constant stream of pleasure-seekers, +heavily laden four-in-hands, tandems, dog-carts, equestrians, and open +carriages, filled with well-dressed ladies. They represent the abundant +gold of trade and commerce. In their careless luxury they do not +notice—how should they?—the smoky fire in the barren corner, or the +shock-headed children staring at the equipages over the hatch at the +barn.</p> + +<p>Within a mile there is a similar fire, which by day is not noticeable, +because the spot is under a hedge two meadows back from the road. At +night it shows brightly, and even as late as eleven o'clock dusky +figures<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> may be seen about it, as if the family slept in the open air. A +third fire is kept up in the same neighbourhood, but in a different +direction, in a meadow bordering on a lonely lane. There is a thatched +shed behind the hedge, which is the sleeping-place—the fire burns some +forty yards away. Still another shines at night in an open arable field, +where is a barn.</p> + +<p>One day I observed a farmer's courtyard completely filled with groups of +men, women, and children, who had come travelling round to do the +harvesting. They had with them a small cart or van—not of the kind +which the show folk use as movable dwellings, but for the purpose of +carrying their pots, pans, and the like. The greater number carry their +burdens on their backs, trudging afoot.</p> + +<p>A gang of ten or twelve once gathered round me to inquire the direction +of some spot they desired to reach. A powerful-looking woman, with +reaping-hook in her hand and cooking implements over her shoulder, was +the speaker. The rest did not appear to know a word of English, and her +pronunciation was so peculiar that it was impossible to understand what +she meant except by her gestures. I suppose she wanted to find a farm, +the name of which I could not get at, and then perceiving she was not +understood her broad face flushed red and she poured out a flood of +Irish in her excitement. The others chimed in, and the din redoubled. At +last I caught the name of a town and was thus able to point the way.</p> + +<p>About harvest time it is common to meet an Irish labourer dressed in the +national costume: a tall, upright fellow with a long-tailed coat, +breeches, and worsted stockings. He walks as upright as if drilled, with +a quick easy gait and springy step, quite distinct from the Saxon stump. +When the corn is cut these bivouac fires go out,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> and the camp +disappears, but the white ashes remain, and next season the smoke will +rise again.</p> + +<p>The barn here with its broad red roof, and the rickyard with the stone +staddles, and the litter of chaff and straw, is the central rendezvous +all the year of the resident labourers. Day by day, and at all hours, +there is sure to be some of them about the place. The stamp of the land +is on them. They border on the city, but are as distinctly agricultural +and as immediately recognisable as in the heart of the country. This +sturdy carter, as he comes round the corner of the straw-rick, cannot be +mistaken.</p> + +<p>He is short and thickly set, a man of some fifty years, but hard and +firm of make. His face is broad and red, his shiny fat cheeks almost as +prominent as his stumpy nose, likewise red and shiny. A fringe of +reddish whiskers surrounds his chin like a cropped hedge. The eyes are +small and set deeply, a habit of half-closing the lids when walking in +the teeth of the wind and rain has caused them to appear still smaller. +The wrinkles at the corners and the bushy eyebrows are more visible and +pronounced than the eyes themselves, which are mere bright grey points +twinkling with complacent good humour.</p> + +<p>These red cheeks want but the least motion to break into a smile; the +action of opening the lips to speak is sufficient to give that +expression. The fur cap he wears allows the round shape of his head to +be seen, and the thick neck which is the colour of a brick. He trudges +deliberately round the straw-rick: there is something in the style of +the man which exactly corresponds to the barn, and the straw, and the +stone staddles, and the waggons. Could we look back three hundred years, +just such a man would be seen in the midst of the same surroundings, +deliberately trudging round the straw-ricks<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> of Elizabethan days, calm +and complacent though the Armada be at hand. There are the ricks just +the same, here is the barn, and the horses are in good case; the wheat +is coming on well. Armies may march, but these are the same.</p> + +<p>When his waggon creaks along the road towards the town his eldest lad +walks proudly by the leader's head, and two younger boys ride in the +vehicle. They pass under the great elms; now the sunshine and now the +shadow falls upon them; the horses move with measured step and without +haste, and both horses and human folks are content in themselves.</p> + +<p>As you sit in summer on the beach and gaze afar over the blue waters +scarcely flecked with foam, how slowly the distant ship moves along the +horizon. It is almost, but not quite, still. You go to lunch and return, +and the vessel is still there; what patience the man at the wheel must +have. So, now, resting here on the stile, see the plough yonder, +travelling as it were with all sails set.</p> + +<p>Three shapely horses in line draw the share. The traces are taut, the +swing-tree like a yard braced square, the helmsman at the tiller bears +hard upon the stilts. But does it move? The leading horse, seen distinct +against the sky, lifts a hoof and places it down again, stepping in the +last furrow made. But then there is a perceptible pause before the next +hoof rises, and yet again a perceptible delay in the pull of the +muscles. The stooping ploughman walking in the new furrow, with one foot +often on the level and the other in the hollow, sways a little with the +lurch of his implement, but barely drifts ahead.</p> + +<p>While watched they scarcely move; but now look away for a time and on +returning the plough itself and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> the lower limbs of the ploughman and +the horses are out of sight. They have gone over a slope, and are "hull +down"; a few minutes more, and they disappear behind the ridge. Look +away again and read or dream, as you would on the beach, and then, see, +the head and shoulders of the leading horse are up, and by-and-by the +plough rises, as they come back on the opposite tack. Thus the long +hours slowly pass.</p> + +<p>Intent day after day upon the earth beneath his feet or upon the tree in +the hedge yonder, by which, as by a lighthouse, he strikes out a +straight furrow, his mind absorbs the spirit of the land. When the +plough pauses, as he takes out his bread and cheese in the corner of the +field for luncheon, he looks over the low cropped hedge and sees far off +the glitter of the sunshine on the glass roof of the Crystal Palace. The +light plays and dances on it, flickering as on rippling water. But, +though hard by, he is not of London. The horses go on again, and his +gaze is bent down upon the furrow.</p> + +<p>A mile or so up the road there is a place where it widens, and broad +strips of sward run parallel on both sides. Beside the path, but just +off it, so as to be no obstruction, an aged man stands watching his +sheep. He has stood there so long that at last the restless sheep dog +has settled down on the grass. He wears a white smock-frock, and leans +heavily on his long staff, which he holds with both hands, propping his +chest upon it. His face is set in a frame of white—white hair, white +whiskers, short white beard. It is much wrinkled with years; but still +has a hale and hearty hue.</p> + +<p>The sheep are only on their way from one part of the farm to another, +perhaps half a mile; but they have already been an hour, and will +probably occupy another in getting there. Some are feeding steadily; +some are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> in a gateway, doing nothing, like their pastor; if they were +on the loneliest slope of the Downs he and they could not be more +unconcerned. Carriages go past, and neither the sheep nor the shepherd +turn to look.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there comes a hollow booming sound—a roar, mellowed and +subdued by distance, with a peculiar beat upon the ear, as if a wave +struck the nerve and rebounded and struck again in an infinitesimal +fraction of time—such a sound as can only bellow from the mouth of +cannon. Another and another. The big guns at Woolwich are at work. The +shepherd takes no heed—neither he nor his sheep.</p> + +<p>His ears must acknowledge the sound, but his mind pays no attention. He +knows of nothing but his sheep. You may brush by him along the footpath +and it is doubtful if he sees you. But stay and speak about the sheep, +and instantly he looks you in the face and answers with interest.</p> + +<p>Round the corner of the straw-rick by the red-roofed barn there comes +another man, this time with smoke-blackened face, and bringing with him +an odour of cotton waste and oil. He is the driver of a steam ploughing +engine, whose broad wheels in summer leave their impression in the deep +white dust of the roads, and in moist weather sink into the soil at the +gateways and leave their mark as perfect as in wax. But though familiar +with valves, and tubes, and gauges, spending his hours polishing brass +and steel, and sometimes busy with spanner and hammer, his talk, too, is +of the fields.</p> + +<p>He looks at the clouds, and hopes it will continue fine enough to work. +Like many others of the men who are employed on the farms about town he +came originally from a little village a hundred miles away, in the heart +of the country. The stamp of the land is on him, too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>Besides the Irish, who pass in gangs and generally have a settled +destination, many agricultural folk drift along the roads and lanes +searching for work. They are sometimes alone, or in couples, or they are +a man and his wife, and carry hoes. You can tell them as far as you can +see them, for they stop and look over every gateway to note how the crop +is progressing, and whether any labour is required.</p> + +<p>On Saturday afternoons, among the crowd of customers at the shops in the +towns, under the very shadow of the almost palatial villas of wealthy +"City" men, there may be seen women whose dress and talk at once mark +them out as agricultural. They have come in on foot from distant farms +for a supply of goods, and will return heavily laden. No town-bred +woman, however poor, would dress so plainly as these cottage matrons. +Their daughters who go with them have caught the finery of the town, and +they do not mean to stay in the cottage.</p> + +<p>There is a bleak arable field, on somewhat elevated ground, not very far +from the same old barn. In the corner of this field for the last two or +three years a great pit of roots has been made: that is, the roots are +piled together and covered with straw and earth. When this mound is +opened in the early spring a stout, elderly woman takes her seat beside +it, billhook in hand, and there she sits the day through trimming the +roots one by one, and casting those that she has prepared aside ready to +be carted away to the cattle.</p> + +<p>A hurdle or two propped up with stakes, and against which some of the +straw from a mound has been thrown, keeps off some of the wind. But the +easterly breezes sweeping over the bare upland must rush round and over +that slight bulwark with force but little broken. Holding the root in +the left hand, she turns it round<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> and slashes off the projections with +quick blows, which seem to only just miss her fingers, laughing and +talking the while with two children who have brought her some +refreshment, and who roll and tumble and play about her. The scene might +be bodily removed and set down a hundred miles away, in the midst of a +western county, and would there be perfectly at one with the +surroundings.</p> + +<p>Here, as she sits and chops, the east wind brings the boom of trains +continually rolling over an iron bridge to and from the metropolis. She +was there two successive seasons to my knowledge; she, too, had the +stamp of the land upon her.</p> + +<p>The broad sward where the white-haired shepherd so often stands watching +his sheep feeding along to this field, is decked in summer with many +flowers. By the hedge the agrimony frequently lifts its long stem, +surrounded with small yellow petals. One day towards autumn I noticed a +man looking along a hedge, and found that he was gathering this plant. +He had a small armful of the straggling stalks, from which the flowers +were then fading. The herb had once a medicinal reputation, and, curious +to know if it was still remembered, I asked him the name of the herb and +what it was for. He replied that it was agrimony. "We makes tea of it, +and it is good for the flesh," or, as he pronounced it, "fleysh."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="WHEATFIELDS" id="WHEATFIELDS"></a>WHEATFIELDS</h3> + + +<p>The cornfields immediately without London on the southern side are among +the first to be reaped. Regular as if clipped to a certain height, the +level wheat shows the slope of the ground, corresponding to it, so that +the glance travels swiftly and unchecked across the fields. They scarce +seemed divided, for the yellow ears on either side rise as high as the +cropped hedge between.</p> + +<p>Red spots, like larger poppies, now appear above and now dive down again +beneath the golden surface. These are the red caps worn by some of the +reapers; some of the girls, too, have a red scarf across the shoulder or +round the waist. By instinctive sympathy the heat of summer requires the +contrast of brilliant hues, of scarlet and gold, of poppy and wheat.</p> + +<p>A girl, as she rises from her stooping position, turns a face, brown, as +if stained with walnut juice, towards me, the plain gold ring in her +brown ear gleams, so, too, the rings on her finger, nearly black from +the sun, but her dark eyes scarcely pause a second on a stranger. She is +too busy, her tanned fingers are at work again gathering up the cut +wheat. This is no gentle labour, but "hard hand-play," like that in the +battle of the olden time sung by the Saxon poet.</p> + +<p>The ceaseless stroke of the reaping-hook falls on the ranks of the corn: +the corn yields, but only inch by inch. If the burning sun, or thirst, +or weariness forces<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> the reaper to rest, the fight too stays, the ranks +do not retreat, and victory is only won by countless blows. The boom of +a bridge as a train rolls over the iron girders resounds, and the brazen +dome on the locomotive is visible for a moment as it passes across the +valley. But no one heeds it—the train goes on its way to the great +city, the reapers abide by their labour. Men and women, lads and girls, +some mere children, judged by their stature, are plunged as it were in +the wheat.</p> + +<p>The few that wear bright colours are seen: the many who do not are +unnoticed. Perhaps the dusky girl here with the red scarf may have some +strain of the gipsy, some far-off reminiscence of the sunlit East which +caused her to wind it about her. The sheaf grows under her fingers, it +is bound about with a girdle of twisted stalks, in which mingle the +green bine of convolvulus and the pink-streaked bells that must fade.</p> + +<p>Heat comes down from above; heat comes up from beneath, from the dry, +white earth, from the rows of stubble, as if emitted by the endless +tubes of cut stalks pointing upwards. Wheat is a plant of the sun: it +loves the heat, and heat crackles in the rustle of the straw. The +pimpernels above which the hook passed are wide open: the larger white +convolvulus trumpets droop languidly on the low hedge: the distant hills +are dim with the vapour of heat; the very clouds which stay motionless +in the sky reflect a yet more brilliant light from their white edges. Is +there no shadow?</p> + +<p>There is no tree in the field, and the low hedge can shelter nothing; +but bordering the next, on rather higher ground, is an ash copse, with +some few spruce firs. Resting on a rail in the shadow of these firs, a +light air now and again draws along beside the nut-tree bushes of the +hedge, the cooler atmosphere of the shadow, perhaps<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> causes it. Faint as +it is, it sways the heavy laden brome grass, but is not strong enough to +lift a ball of thistledown from the bennets among which it is entangled.</p> + +<p>How swiftly the much-desired summer comes upon us! Even with the reapers +at work before one it is difficult to realise that it has not only come, +but will soon be passing away. Sweet summer is but just long enough for +the happy loves of the larks. It seems but yesterday, it is really more +than five months since, that, leaning against the gate there, I watched +a lark and his affianced on the ground among the grey stubble of last +year still standing.</p> + +<p>His crest was high and his form upright, he ran a little way and then +sang, went on again and sang again to his love, moving parallel with +him. Then passing from the old dead stubble to fresh-turned furrows, +still they went side by side, now down in the valley between the clods, +now mounting the ridges, but always together, always with song and joy, +till I lost them across the brown earth. But even then from time to time +came the sweet voice, full of hope in coming summer.</p> + +<p>The day declined, and from the clear, cold sky of March the moon looked +down, gleaming on the smooth planed furrow which the plough had passed. +Scarce had she faded in the dawn ere the lark sang again, high in the +morning sky. The evenings became dark; still he rose above the shadows +and the dusky earth, and his song fell from the bosom of the night. With +full untiring choir the joyous host heralded the birth of the corn; the +slender forceless seed-leaves which came gently up till they had risen +above the proud crests of the lovers.</p> + +<p>Time advanced and the bare mounds about the field, carefully cleaned by +the husbandman, were covered again with wild herbs and plants, like a +fringe to a garment of pure green. Parsley and "gix," and clogweed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> and +sauce-alone, whose white flowers smell of garlic if crushed in the +fingers, came up along the hedge; by the gateway from the bare trodden +earth appeared the shepherd's purse; small must be the coin to go in its +seed capsule, and therefore it was so called with grim and truthful +humour, for the shepherd, hard as is his work, facing wind and weather, +carries home but little money.</p> + +<p>Yellow charlock shot up faster and shone bright above the corn; the oaks +showered down their green flowers like moss upon the ground; the +tree-pipits sang on the branches and descending to the wheat. The rusty +chain-harrow, lying inside the gate, all tangled together, was concealed +with grasses. Yonder the magpies fluttered over the beans among which +they are always searching in spring; blackbirds, too, are fond of a +beanfield.</p> + +<p>Time advanced again, and afar on the slope bright yellow mustard +flowered, a hill of yellow behind the elms. The luxuriant purple of +trifolium, acres of rich colour, glowed in the sunlight. There was a +scent of flowering beans, the vetches were in flower, and the peas which +clung together for support—the stalk of the pea goes through the leaf +as a painter thrusts his thumb through his palette. Under the edge of +the footpath through the wheat a wild pansy blooms.</p> + +<p>Standing in the gateway beneath the shelter of the elms as the clouds +come over, it is pleasant to hear the cool refreshing rain come softly +down; the green wheat drinks it as it falls, so that hardly a drop +reaches the ground, and to-morrow it will be as dry as ever. +Wood-pigeons call from the hedges, and blackbirds whistle in the trees; +the sweet delicious rain refreshes them as it does the corn.</p> + +<p>Thunder mutters in the distance, and the electric atmosphere rapidly +draws the wheat up higher. A few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> days' sunshine and the first wheatear +appears. Very likely there are others near, but standing with their hood +of green leaf towards you, and therefore hidden. As the wheat comes into +ear it is garlanded about with hedges in full flower.</p> + +<p>It is midsummer, and midsummer, like a bride, is decked in white. On the +high-reaching briars white June roses; white flowers on the lowly +brambles; broad white umbels of elder in the corner, and white cornels +blooming under the elm; honeysuckle hanging creamy white coronals round +the ash boughs; white meadow-sweet flowering on the shore of the ditch; +white clover, too, beside the gateway. As spring is azure and purple, so +midsummer is white, and autumn golden. Thus the coming out of the wheat +into ear is marked and welcomed with the purest colour.</p> + +<p>But these, though the most prominent along the hedge, are not the only +flowers; the prevalent white is embroidered with other hues. The brown +feathers of a few reeds growing where the furrows empty the showers into +the ditch, wave above the corn. Among the leaves of mallow its mauve +petals are sheltered from the sun. On slender stalks the yellow +vetchling blooms, reaching ambitiously as tall as the lowest of the +brambles. Bird's-foot lotus, with red claws, is overtopped by the +grasses.</p> + +<p>The elm has a fresh green—it has put forth its second or midsummer +shoot; the young leaves of the aspen are white, and the tree as the wind +touches it seems to turn grey. The furrows run to the ditch under the +reeds, the ditch declines to a little streamlet which winds all hidden +by willowherb and rush and flag, a mere trickle of water under +brooklime, away at the feet of the corn. In the shadow, deep down +beneath the crumbling bank which is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> only held up by the roots of the +grasses, is a forget-me-not with a tiny circlet of yellow in the centre +of its petals.</p> + +<p>The coming of the ears of wheat forms an era and a date, a fixed point +in the story of the summer. It is then that, soon after dawn, the clear +sky assumes the delicate and yet luscious purple which seems to shine +through the usual atmosphere, as if its former blue became translucent +and an inner and ethereal light of colour was shown. As the sun rises +higher the brilliance of his rays overpowers it, and even at midsummer +it is but rarely seen.</p> + +<p>The morning sky is often, too, charged with saffron, or the blue is +clear, but pale, and the sunrise might be watched for many mornings +without the appearance of this exquisite hue. Once seen, it will ever be +remembered. Upon the Downs in early autumn, as the vapours clear away, +the same colour occasionally gleams from the narrow openings of blue +sky. But at midsummer, above the opening wheatears, the heaven from the +east to the zenith is flushed with it.</p> + +<p>At noonday, as the light breeze comes over, the wheat rustles the more +because the stalks are stiffening and swing from side to side from the +root instead of yielding up the stem. Stay now at every gateway and lean +over while the midsummer hum sounds above. It is a peculiar sound, not +like the querulous buzz of the honey, nor the drone of the humble bee, +but a sharp ringing resonance like that of a tuning-fork. Sometimes, in +the far-away country where it is often much louder, the folk think it +has a threatening note.</p> + +<p>Here the barley has taken a different tint now the beard is out; here +the oats are straggling forth from their sheath; here a pungent odour of +mustard in flower comes on the air; there a poppy faints with broad +petals flung<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> back and drooping, unable to uphold its gorgeous robes. +The flower of the field pea, here again, would make a model for a lady's +hat; so would a butterfly with closed wings on the verge of a leaf; so +would the broom blossom, or the pink flower of the restharrow. This +hairy caterpillar, creeping along the hawthorn, which if touched, +immediately coils itself in a ring, very recently was thought a charm in +distant country places for some diseases of childhood, if hung about the +neck. Hedge mustard, yellow and ragged and dusty, stands by the gateway.</p> + +<p>In the evening, as the dew gathers on the grass, which feels cooler to +the hand some time before an actual deposit, the clover and vetches +close their leaves—the signal the hares have been waiting for to +venture from the sides of the fields where they have been cautiously +roaming, and take bolder strolls across the open and along the lanes. +The aspens rustle louder in the stillness of the evening; their leaves +not only sway to and fro, but semi-rotate upon the stalks, which causes +their scintillating appearance. The stars presently shine from the pale +blue sky, and the wheat shimmers dimly white beneath them.</p> + +<p>So time advances till to-day, watching the reapers from the shadow of +the copse, it seems as if within that golden expanse there must be +something hidden, could you but rush in quickly and seize it—some +treasure of the sunshine; and there <i>is</i> a treasure, the treasure of +life stored in those little grains, the slow product of the sun. But it +cannot be grasped in an impatient moment—it must be gathered with +labour. I have threshed out in my hand three ears of the ripe wheat: how +many foot-pounds of human energy do these few light grains represent?</p> + +<p>The roof of the Crystal Palace yonder gleams and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> sparkles this +afternoon as if it really were crystal under the bright rays. But it was +concealed by mist when the ploughs in the months gone by were guided in +these furrows by men, hard of feature and of hand, stooping to their +toil. The piercing east wind scattered the dust in clouds, looking at a +distance like small rain across the field, when grey-coated men, grey +too of beard, followed the red drill to and fro.</p> + +<p>How many times the horses stayed in this sheltered corner while the +ploughmen and their lads ate their crusts! How many times the farmer and +the bailiff, with hands behind their backs, considering, walked along +the hedge taking counsel of the earth if they had done right! How many +times hard gold and silver was paid over at the farmer's door for labour +while yet the plant was green; how many considering cups of ale were +emptied in planning out the future harvest!</p> + +<p>Now it is come, and still more labour—look at the reapers yonder—and +after that more time and more labour before the sacks go to the market. +Hard toil and hard fare: the bread which the reapers have brought with +them for their luncheon is hard and dry, the heat has dried it like a +chip. In the corner of the field the women have gathered some sticks and +lit a fire—the flame is scarce seen in the sunlight, and the sticks +seem eaten away as they burn by some invisible power. They are boiling a +kettle, and their bread, too, which they will soak in the tea, is dry +and chip-like. Aside, on the ground by the hedge, is a handkerchief tied +at the corners, with a few mushrooms in it.</p> + +<p>The scented clover field—the white campions dot it here and +there—yields a rich, nectareous food for ten thousand bees, whose hum +comes together with its odour on the air. But these men and women and +children<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> ceaselessly toiling know no such sweets; their food is as hard +as their labour. How many foot-pounds, then, of human energy do these +grains in my hand represent? Do they not in their little compass contain +the potentialities, the past and the future, of human life itself?</p> + +<p>Another train booms across the iron bridge in the hollow. In a few hours +now the carriages will be crowded with men hastening home from their +toil in the City. The narrow streak of sunshine which day by day falls +for a little while upon the office floor, yellowed by the dingy pane, is +all, perhaps, to remind them of the sun and sky, of the forces of +nature; and that little is unnoticed. The pressure of business is so +severe in these later days that in the hurry and excitement it is not +wonderful many should forget that the world is not comprised in the +court of a City thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>Rapt and absorbed in discount and dollars, in bills and merchandise, the +over-strung mind deems itself all—the body is forgotten, the physical +body, which is subject to growth and change, just as the plants and the +very grass of the field. But there is a subtle connection between the +physical man and the great nature which comes pressing up so closely to +the metropolis. He still depends in the nineteenth century, as in the +dim ages before the Pyramids, upon this tiny yellow grain here, rubbed +out from the ear of wheat. The clever mechanism of the locomotive which +bears him to and fro, week after week and month after month, from home +to office and from office home, has not rendered him in the least degree +independent of this.</p> + +<p>But it is no wonder that these things are forgotten in the daily +struggle of London. And if the merchant spares an abstracted glance from +the morning or evening newspaper out upon the fields from the carriage +window,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> the furrows of the field can have but little meaning. Each +looks to him exactly alike. To the farmers and the labourer such and +such a furrow marks an acre and has its bearing, but to the passing +glance it is not so. The work in the field is so slow; the passenger by +rail sees, as it seems to him, nothing going on; the corn may sow itself +almost for all that is noteworthy in apparent labour.</p> + +<p>Thus it happens that, although the cornfields and the meadows come so +closely up to the offices and warehouses of mighty London, there is a +line and mark in the minds of men between them; the man of merchandise +does not see what the man of the fields sees, though both may pass the +same acres every morning. It is inevitable that it should be so. It is +easy in London to forget that it is midsummer, till, going some day into +Covent Garden Market, you see baskets of the cornflower, or blue-bottle +as it is called in the country, ticketed "Corinne," and offered for +sale. The lovely azure of the flower recalls the scene where it was +first gathered long since at the edge of the wheat.</p> + +<p>By the copse here now the teazles lift their spiny heads high in the +hedge, the young nuts are browning, the wild mints flowering on the +shores of the ditch, and the reapers are cutting ceaselessly at the ripe +corn. The larks have brought their loves to a happy conclusion. Besides +them the wheat in its day has sheltered many other creatures—both +animals and birds.</p> + +<p>Hares raced about it in the spring, and even in the May sunshine might +be seen rambling over the slopes. As it grew higher it hid the leverets +and the partridge chicks. Toll has been taken by rook, and sparrow, and +pigeon. Enemies, too, have assailed it; the daring couch invaded it, the +bindweed climbed up the stalk, the storm rushed along and beat it down. +Yet it triumphed, and to-day the full sheaves lean against each other.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="THE_CROWS" id="THE_CROWS"></a>THE CROWS</h3> + + +<p>On one side of the road immediately after quitting the suburb there is a +small cover of furze. The spines are now somewhat browned by the summer +heats, and the fern which grows about every bush trembles on the balance +of colour between green and yellow. Soon, too, the tall wiry grass will +take a warm brown tint, which gradually pales as the autumn passes into +winter, and finally bleaches to greyish white.</p> + +<p>Looking into the furze from the footpath, there are purple traces here +and there at the edge of the fern where the heath-bells hang. On a furze +branch, which projects above the rest, a furze chat perches, with yellow +blossom above and beneath him. Rushes mark the margin of small pools and +marshy spots, so overhung with brambles and birch branches, and so +closely surrounded by gorse, that they would not otherwise be noticed.</p> + +<p>But the thick growth of rushes intimates that water is near, and upon +parting the bushes a little may be seen, all that has escaped +evaporation in the shade. From one of these marshy spots I once—and +once only—observed a snipe rise, and after wheeling round return and +settle by another. As the wiry grass becomes paler with the fall of the +year, the rushes, on the contrary, from green become faintly yellow, and +presently brownish. Grey grass and brown rushes, dark furze, and fern, +almost copper in hue from frost, when lit up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> by a gleam of winter +sunshine form a pleasant breadth of warm colour in the midst of bare +fields.</p> + +<p>After continuous showers in spring, lizards are often found in the +adjacent gardens, their dark backs as they crawl over the patches being +almost exactly the tint of the moist earth. If touched, the tail is +immediately coiled, the body stiffens, and the creature appears dead. +They are popularly supposed to come from the furze, which is also +believed to shelter adders.</p> + +<p>There is, indeed, scarcely a cover in Surrey and Kent which is not said +to have its adders; the gardeners employed at villas close to the +metropolis occasionally raise an alarm, and profess to have seen a viper +in the shrubberies, or the ivy, or under an old piece of bast. Since so +few can distinguish at a glance between the common snake and the adder +it is as well not to press too closely upon any reptile that may chance +to be heard rustling in the grass, and to strike tussocks with the +walking-stick before sitting down to rest, for the adder is only +dangerous when unexpectedly encountered.</p> + +<p>In the roadside ditch by the furze the figwort grows, easily known by +its coarse square stem; and the woody bines, if so they may be called, +or stalks of bitter-sweet, remain all the winter standing in the +hawthorn hedge. The first frosts, on the other hand, shrivel the bines +of white bryony, which part and hang separated, and in the spring a +fresh bine pushes up with greyish green leaves and tendrils feeling for +support. It is often observed that the tendrils of this bryony coil both +ways, with and against the sun.</p> + +<p>But it must be remembered in looking for this that it is the same +tendril which should be examined, and not two different ones. It will +then be seen that the tendril, after forming a spiral one way, lengthens +out like a tiny<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> green wax taper, and afterwards turns the other. +Sometimes it resumes the original turn before reaching a branch to cling +to, and may thus be said to have revolved in three directions. The dusty +celandine grows under the bushes; and its light green leaves seem to +retain the white dust from the road. Ground ivy creeps everywhere over +the banks, and covers the barest spot. In April its flowers, though much +concealed by leaves, dot the sides of the ditches with colour, like the +purple tint that lurks in the amethyst.</p> + +<p>A small black patch marks the site of one of those gorse fires which are +so common in Surrey. This was extinguished before it could spread beyond +a few bushes. The crooked stems remain black as charcoal, too much burnt +to recover, and in the centre a young birch scorched by the flames +stands leafless. This barren birch, bare of foliage and apparently +unattractive, is the favourite resort of yellow-hammers. Perching on a +branch towards evening a yellow-hammer will often sit and sing by the +hour together, as if preferring to be clear of leafy sprays.</p> + +<p>The somewhat dingy hue of many trees as the summer begins to wane is +caused not only by the fading of the green, but by the appearance of +spots upon the leaves, as may be seen on those birches which grow among +the furze. But in spring and early summer their fresh light green +contrasts with masses of bright yellow gorse bloom. Just before +then—just as the first leaves are opening—the chiffchaffs come.</p> + +<p>The first spring I had any knowledge of this spot was mild, and had been +preceded by mild seasons. The chiffchaffs arrived all at once, as it +seemed, in a bevy, and took possession of every birch about the furze, +calling incessantly with might and main. The willow-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>wrens were nearly +as numerous. All the gorse seemed full of them for a few days. Then by +degrees they gradually spread abroad, and dispersed among the hedges.</p> + +<p>But in the following springs nothing of the kind occurred. Chiffchaff +and willow-wren came as usual, but they did not arrive in a crowd at +once. This may have been owing to the flight going elsewhere, or +possibly the flock were diminished by failure to rear the young broods +in so drenching a season as 1879, which would explain the difference +observed next spring. There was no scarcity, but there was a lack of the +bustle and excitement and flood of song that accompanied their advent +two years before.</p> + +<p>Upon a piece of waste land at the corner of the furze a very large +cinder and dust heap was made by carting refuse there from the +neighbouring suburb. During the sharp and continued frosts of the winter +this dust-heap was the resort of almost every species of bird—sparrows, +starlings, greenfinches, and rooks searching for any stray morsels of +food. Some birdcatchers soon noticed this concourse, and spread their +nets among the adjacent rushes, but fortunately with little success.</p> + +<p>I say fortunately, not because I fear the extinction of small birds, but +because of the miserable fate that awaits the captive. Far better for +the frightened little creature to have its neck at once twisted and to +die than to languish in cages hardly large enough for it to turn in +behind the dirty panes of the windows in the Seven Dials.</p> + +<p>The happy greenfinch—I use the term of forethought, for the greenfinch +seems one of the very happiest of birds in the hedges—accustomed during +all its brief existence to wander in company with friends from bush to +bush, and tree to tree, must literally pine its heart out. Or it may be +streaked with bright paint and passed on some unwary person for a Java +sparrow or a "blood-heart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little boy who dares to take a bird's nest is occasionally fined and +severely reproved. The ruffian-like crew who go forth into the pastures +and lanes about London, snaring and netting full-grown birds by the +score, are permitted to ply their trade unchecked. I mean to say that +there is no comparison between the two things. An egg has not yet +advanced to consciousness or feeling: the old birds, if their nest is +taken, frequently build another. The lad has to hunt for the nest, to +climb for it or push through thorns, and may be pricked by brambles and +stung by nettles. In a degree there is something to him approaching to +sport in nesting.</p> + +<p>But these birdcatchers simply stand by the ditch with their hands in +their pockets sucking a stale pipe. They would rather lounge there in +the bitterest north-east wind that ever blew than do a single hour's +honest work. Blackguard is written in their faces. The poacher needs +some courage, at least; he knows a penalty awaits detection. These +fellows have no idea of sport, no courage, and no skill, for their +tricks are simplicity itself, nor have they the pretence of utility, for +they do not catch birds for the good of the farmers or the market +gardeners, but merely that they may booze without working for the means.</p> + +<p>Pity it is that any one can be found to purchase the product of their +brutality. No one would do so could they but realise the difference to +the captive upon which they are lavishing their mistaken love, between +the cage, the alternately hot and cold room (as the fire goes out at +night), the close atmosphere and fumes that lurk near the ceiling, and +the open air and freedom to which it was born.</p> + +<p>The rooks only came to the dust-heap in hard weather, and ceased to +visit it so soon as the ground relaxed and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> the ploughs began to move. +But a couple of crows looked over the refuse once during the day for +months till men came to sift the cinders. These crows are permanent +residents. Their rendezvous is a copse, only separate from the furze by +the highway.</p> + +<p>They are always somewhere near, now in the ploughed fields, now in the +furze, and during the severe frost of last winter in the road itself, so +sharply driven by hunger as to rise very unwillingly on the approach of +passengers. A meadow opposite the copse is one of their favourite +resorts. There are anthills, rushes, and other indications of not too +rich a soil in this meadow, and in places the prickly restharrow grows +among the grass, bearing its pink flower in summer. Perhaps the coarse +grass and poor soil are productive of grubs and insects, for not only +the crows, but the rooks, continually visit it.</p> + +<p>One spring, hearing a loud chattering in the copse, and recognising the +alarm notes of the missel-thrush, I cautiously crept up the hedge, and +presently found three crows up in a birch tree, just above where the +thrushes were calling. The third crow—probably a descendant of the +other two—had joined in a raid upon the missel-thrushes' brood. Both +defenders and assailants were in a high state of excitement; the +thrushes screeching, and the crows in a row one above the other on a +branch, moving up and down it in a restless manner. I fear they had +succeeded in their purpose, for no trace of the young birds was visible.</p> + +<p>The nest of the missel-thrush is so frequently singled out for attack by +crows that it would seem the young birds must possess a peculiar and +attractive flavour; or is it because they are large? There are more +crows round London than in a whole county, where the absence of +manufactures and the rural quiet would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> seem favourable to bird life. +The reason, of course, is that in the country the crows frequenting +woods are shot and kept down as much as possible by gamekeepers.</p> + +<p>In the immediate environs of London keepers are not about, and even a +little farther away the land is held by many small owners, and game +preservation is not thought of. The numerous pieces of waste ground, "to +let on building lease," the excavated ground, where rubbish can be +thrown, the refuse and ash heaps—these are the haunts of the London +crow. Suburban railway stations are often haunted by crows, which perch +on the telegraph wires close to the back windows of the houses that abut +upon the metals. There they sit, grave and undisturbed by the noisy +engines which pass beneath them.</p> + +<p>In the shrubberies around villa gardens, or in the hedges of the small +paddocks attached, thrushes and other birds sometimes build their nests. +The children of the household watch the progress of the nest, and note +the appearance of the eggs with delight. Their friends of larger growth +visit the spot occasionally, and orders are given that the birds shall +be protected, the gardeners become gamekeepers, and the lawn or +shrubbery is guarded like a preserve. Everything goes well till the +young birds are almost ready to quit the nest, when one morning they are +missing.</p> + +<p>The theft is, perhaps, attributed to the boys of the neighbourhood, but +unjustly, unless plain traces of entry are visible. It is either cats or +crows. The cats cannot be kept out, not even by a dog, for they watch +till his attention is otherwise engaged. Food is not so much the object +as the pleasure of destruction, for cats will kill and yet not eat their +victim. The crow may not have been seen in the garden, and it may be +said that he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> could not have known of the nest without looking round the +place. But the crow is a keen observer, and has not the least necessity +to search for the nest.</p> + +<p>He merely keeps a watch on the motions of the old birds of the place, +and knows at once by their flight being so continually directed to one +spot that there their treasure lies. He and his companion may come very +early in the morning—summer mornings are bright as noonday long before +the earliest gardener is abroad—or they may come in the dusk of the +evening. Crows are not so particular in retiring regularly to roost as +the rook.</p> + +<p>The furze and copse frequented by the pair which I found attacking the +missel-thrushes are situate at the edge of extensive arable fields. In +these, though not overlooked by the gamekeepers, there is a good deal of +game which is preserved by the tenants of the farm. After the bitter +winter and wet summer of 1879, there was a complaint, too well founded, +that the partridges were diminished in numbers. But the crows were not. +There were as many of them as ever. When there were many partridges the +loss of a few eggs or chicks was not so important. But when there are +but few, every egg or chick destroyed retards the re-stocking of the +fields.</p> + +<p>The existence of so many crows all round London is, in short, a constant +check upon the game. The belt of land immediately outside the houses, +and lying between them and the plantations which are preserved, is the +crow's reserve, where he hunts in security. He is so safe that he has +almost lost all dread of man, and his motions can be observed without +trouble. The ash-heap at the corner of the furze, besides the crows, +became the resort of rats, whose holes were so thick in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> the bank as to +form quite a bury. After the rats came the weasels.</p> + +<p>When the rats were most numerous, before the ash-heap was sifted, there +was a weasel there nearly every day, slipping in and out of their holes. +In the depth of the country an observer might walk some considerable +distance and wait about for hours without seeing a weasel; but here by +the side of a busy suburban road there were plenty. Professional +ratcatchers ferreted the bank once or twice, and filled their iron +cages. With these the dogs kept by dog-fanciers in the adjacent suburb +were practised in destroying vermin at so much a rat. Though ferreted +and hunted down by the weasels the rats were not rooted out, but +remained till the ash-heap was sifted and no fresh refuse deposited.</p> + +<p>In one place among the gorse, the willows, birches, and thorn bushes +make a thick covert, which is adjacent to several of the hidden pools +previously mentioned. Here a brook-sparrow or sedge-reedling takes up +his quarters in the spring, and chatters on, day and night, through the +summer. Visitors to the opera and playgoers returning in the first hours +of the morning from Covent Garden or Drury Lane can scarcely fail to +hear him if they pause but one moment to listen to the nightingale.</p> + +<p>The latter sings in one bush and the sedge-reedling in another close +together. The moment the nightingale ceases the sedge-reedling lifts his +voice, which is a very penetrating one, and in the silence of the night +may be heard some distance. This bird is credited with imitating the +notes of several others, and has been called the English mocking-bird, +but I strongly doubt the imitation. Nor, indeed, could I ever trace<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> the +supposed resemblance of its song to that of other birds.</p> + +<p>It is a song of a particularly monotonous character. It is +distinguishable immediately, and if the bird happens to nest near a +house, is often disliked on account of the loud iteration. Perhaps those +who first gave it the name of the mocking-bird were not well acquainted +with the notes of the birds which they fancied it to mock. To mistake it +for the nightingale, some of whose tones it is said to imitate, would be +like confounding the clash of cymbals with the soft sound of a flute.</p> + +<p>Linnets come to the furze, and occasionally magpies, but these latter +only in winter. Then, too, golden-crested wrens may be seen searching in +the furze bushes, and creeping round and about the thorns and brambles. +There is a roadside pond close to the furze, the delight of horses and +cattle driven along the dusty way in summer. Along the shelving sandy +shore the wagtails run, both the pied and the yellow, but few birds come +here to wash; for that purpose they prefer a running stream if it be +accessible.</p> + +<p>Upon the willow trees which border it, a reed-sparrow or blackheaded +bunting may often be observed. One bright March morning, as I came up +the road, just as the surface of the pond became visible it presented a +scene of dazzling beauty. At that distance only the tops of the ripples +were seen, reflecting the light at a very low angle. The result was that +the eye saw nothing of the water or the wavelet, but caught only the +brilliant glow. Instead of a succession of sparkles there seemed to be a +golden liquid floating on the surface as oil floats—a golden liquid two +or three inches thick, which flowed before the wind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>Besides this surface of molten gold there was a sheen and flicker above +it, as if a spray or vapour, carried along, or the crests of the +wavelets blown over, was also of gold. But the metal conveys no idea of +the glowing, lustrous light which filled the hollow by the dusty road. +It was visible from one spot only, a few steps altering the angle +lessened the glory, and as the pond itself came into view there was +nothing but a ripple on water somewhat thick with suspended sand. Thus +things change their appearance as they are looked at in different ways.</p> + +<p>A patch of water crowsfoot grows on the farthest side of the pond, and +in early summer sends up lovely white flowers.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="HEATHLANDS" id="HEATHLANDS"></a>HEATHLANDS</h3> + + +<p>Sandown has become one of the most familiar places near the metropolis, +but the fir woods at the back of it are perhaps scarcely known to exist +by many who visit the fashionable knoll. Though near at hand, they are +shut off by the village of Esher; but a mile or two westwards, down the +Portsmouth highway, there is a cart road on the left hand which enters +at once into the woods.</p> + +<p>The fine white sand of the soil is only covered by a thin coating of +earth formed from the falling leaves and decayed branches, so thin that +it may sometimes be rubbed away by the foot or even the fingers. Grass +and moss grow sparingly in the track, but wherever wheels or footsteps +have passed at all frequently the sand is exposed in white streaks under +the shadowy firs. In grass small objects often escape observation, but +on such a bare surface everything becomes visible. Coming to one of +these places on a summer day, I saw a stream of insects crossing and +recrossing, from the fern upon one side to the fern upon the other.</p> + +<p>They were ants, but of a very much larger species than the little +red-and-black "emmets" which exist in the meadows. These horse ants were +not much less than half an inch in length, with a round spot at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> each +end like beads, or the black top of long pins. The length of their legs +enabled them to move much quicker, and they raced to and fro over the +path with great rapidity. The space covered by the stream was a foot or +more broad, all of which was crowded and darkened by them, and as there +was no cessation in the flow of this multitude, their numbers must have +been immense.</p> + +<p>Standing a short way back, so as not to interfere with their +proceedings, I saw two of these insects seize hold of a twig, one at +each end. The twig, which was dead and dry, and had dropped from a fir, +was not quite so long as a match, but rather thicker. They lifted this +stick with ease, and carried it along, exactly as labourers carry a +plank. A few short blades of grass being in the way they ran up against +them, but stepped aside, and so got by. A cart which had passed a long +while since had forced down the sand by the weight of its load, leaving +a ridge about three inches high, the side being perpendicular.</p> + +<p>Till they came to this cliff the two ants moved parallel, but here one +of them went first, and climbed up the bank with its end of the stick, +after which the second followed and brought up the other. An inch or two +farther, on the level ground, the second ant left hold and went away, +and the first laboured on with the twig and dragged it unaided across +the rest of the path. Though many other ants stayed and looked at the +twig a moment, none of them now offered assistance, as if the chief +obstacle had been surmounted.</p> + +<p>Several other ants passed, each carrying the slender needles which fall +from firs, and which seemed nothing in their powerful grasp. These +burdens of wood all went in one direction, to the right of the path.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> + +<p>I took a step there, but stayed to watch two more ants, who had got a +long scarlet fly between them, one holding it by the head and the other +by the tail. They were hurrying their prey over the dead leaves and +decayed sticks which strewed the ground, and dragging it mercilessly +through moss and grass. I put the tip of my stick on the victim, but +instead of abandoning it they tugged and pulled desperately, as if they +would have torn it to pieces rather than have yielded. So soon as I +released it away they went through the fragments of branches, rushing +the quicker for the delay.</p> + +<p>A little farther there was a spot where the ground for a yard or two was +covered with small dead brown leaves, last year's, apparently of birch, +for some young birch saplings grew close by. One of these leaves +suddenly rose up and began to move of itself, as it seemed; an ant had +seized it, and holding it by the edge travelled on, so that as the +insect was partly hidden under it, the leaf appeared to move alone, now +over sticks and now under them. It reminded me of the sight which seemed +so wonderful to the early navigators when they came to a country where, +as they first thought, the leaves were alive and walked about.</p> + +<p>The ant with the leaf went towards a large heap of rubbish under the +sapling birches. While watching the innumerable multitude of these +insects, whose road here crossed these dead dry leaves, I became +conscious of a rustling sound, which at first I attributed to the wind, +but seeing that the fern was still, and that the green leaves of a +Spanish chestnut opposite did not move, I began to realise that this +creeping, rustling noise, distinctly audible, was not caused by any +wind, but by the thousands upon thousands of insects passing over the +dead leaves and among the grass. Stooping down to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> listen better, there +could be no doubt of it: it was the tramp of this immense army.</p> + +<p>The majority still moved in one direction, and I found it led to the +heap of rubbish over which they swarmed. This heap was exactly what +might have been swept together by half-a-dozen men using long gardeners' +brooms, and industriously clearing the ground under the firs of the +fragments which had fallen from them. It appeared to be entirely +composed of small twigs, fir-needles, dead leaves, and similar things. +The highest part rose about level with my chest—say, between four and +five feet—the heap was irregularly circular, and not less than three or +four yards across, with sides gradually sloping. In the midst stood the +sapling birches, their stumps buried in it, the rubbish having been +piled up around them.</p> + +<p>This heap was, in fact, the enormous nest or hill of a colony of horse +ants. The whole of it had been gathered together, leaf by leaf, and twig +by twig, just as I had seen the two insects carrying the little stick, +and the third the brown leaf above itself. It really seemed some way +round the outer circumference of the nest, and while walking round it +was necessary to keep brushing off the ants which dropped on the +shoulder from the branches of the birches. For they were everywhere; +every inch of ground, every bough was covered with them. Even standing +near it was needful to kick the feet continually against the black stump +of a fir which had been felled to jar them off, and this again brought +still more, attracted by the vibration of the ground.</p> + +<p>The highest part of the mound was in the shape of a dome, a dome +whitened by layers of fir-needles, which was apparently the most recent +part and the centre of this year's operations. The mass of the heap, +though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> closely compacted, was fibrous, and a stick could be easily +thrust into it, exposing the eggs. No sooner was such an opening made, +and the stick withdrawn from the gap, than the ants swarmed into it, +falling headlong over upon each other, and filling the bottom with their +struggling bodies. Upon leaving the spot, to follow the footpath, I +stamped my feet to shake down any stray insects, and then took off my +coat and gave it a thorough shaking.</p> + +<p>Immense ant-hills are often depicted in the illustrations to tropical +travels, but this great pile, which certainly contained more than a +cartload, was within a few miles of Hyde Park Corner. From nests like +this large quantities of eggs are obtained for feeding the partridges +hatched from the eggs collected by mowers and purchased by keepers. Part +of the nest being laid bare with any tool, the eggs are hastily taken +out in masses and thrown into a sack. Some think that ant's eggs, +although so favourite a food, are not always the most advantageous. +Birds which have been fed freely on these eggs become fastidious, and do +not care for much else, so that if the supply fails they fall off in +condition. If there are sufficient eggs to last the season, then a few +every day produce the best effect; if not they had better not have a +feast followed by a fast.</p> + +<p>The sense of having a roof overhead is felt in walking through a forest +of firs like this, because the branches are all at the top of the +trunks. The stems rise to the same height, and then the dark foliage +spreading forms a roof. As they are not very near together the eye can +see some distance between them, and as there is hardly any underwood or +bushes—nothing higher than the fern—there is a space open and unfilled +between the ground and the roof so far above.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>A vast hollow extends on every side, nor is it broken by the flitting of +birds or the rush of animals among the fern. The sudden note of a +wood-pigeon, hoarse and deep, calling from a fir-top, sounds still +louder and ruder in the spacious echoing vault beneath, so loud as at +first to resemble the baying of a hound. The call ceases, and another of +these watch-dogs of the woods takes it up afar off.</p> + +<p>There is an opening in the monotonous firs by some rising ground, and +the sunshine falls on young Spanish chestnuts and underwood, through +which is a little-used footpath. If firs are planted in wildernesses +with the view of ultimately covering the barren soil with fertile earth, +formed by the decay of vegetable matter, it is, perhaps, open to +discussion as to whether the best tree has been chosen. Under firs the +ground is generally dry, too dry for decay; the resinous emanations +rather tend to preserve anything that falls there.</p> + +<p>No underwood or plants and little grass grows under them; these, +therefore, which make soil quickest, are prevented from improving the +earth. The needles of firs lie for months without decay; they are, too, +very slender, and there are few branches to fall. Beneath any other +trees (such as the edible chestnut and birch, which seem to grow here), +there are the autumn leaves to decay, the twigs and branches which fall +off, while grasses and plants flourish, and brambles and underwood grow +freely. The earth remains moist, and all these soon cause an increase of +the fertility; so that, unless fir-tree timber is very valuable, and I +never heard that it was, I would rather plant a waste with any other +tree or brushwood, provided, of course, it would grow.</p> + +<p>It is a pleasure to explore this little dell by the side<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> of the rising +ground, creeping under green boughs which brush the shoulders, after the +empty space of the firs. Within there is a pond, where lank horsetails +grow thickly, rising from the water. Returning to the rising ground I +pursue the path, still under the shadow of the firs. There is no end to +them—the vast monotony has no visible limit. The brake fern—it is +early in July—has not yet reached its full height, but what that will +be is shown by these thick stems which rise smooth and straight, fully +three feet to the first frond.</p> + +<p>A woodpecker calls, and the gleam of his green and gold is visible for a +moment as he hastens away—the first bird, except the wood-pigeons, seen +for an hour, yet there are miles of firs around. After a time the ground +rises again, the tall firs cease, but are succeeded by younger firs. +These are more pleasant because they do not exclude the sky. The +sunshine lights the path, and the summer blue extends above. The fern, +too, ceases, and the white sand is now concealed by heath, with here and +there a dash of colour. Furze chats call, and flit to and fro; the hum +of bees is heard once more—there was not one under the vacant shadow; +and swallows pass overhead.</p> + +<p>At last emerging from the firs the open slope is covered with heath +only, but heath growing so thickly that even the narrow footpaths are +hidden by the overhanging bushes of it. Some small bushes of furze here +and there are dead and dry, but every prickly point appears perfect; +when struck with the walking-stick the bush crumbles to pieces. Beneath +and amid the heath what seems a species of lichen grows so profusely as +to give a grey undertone. In places it supplants the heath, the ground +is concealed by lichen only, which crunches under the foot like +hoar-frost. Each piece is branched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> not unlike a stag's antlers; gather +a handful and it crumbles to pieces in the fingers, dry and brittle.</p> + +<p>A quarry for sand has been dug down some eight or ten feet, so that +standing in it nothing else is visible. This steep scarp shows the +strata, yellow sand streaked with thin brown layers; at the top it is +fringed with heath in full flower, bunches of purple bloom overhanging +the edge, and behind this the azure of the sky.</p> + +<p>Here, where the ground slopes gradually, it is entirely covered with the +purple bells; a sheen and gleam of purple light plays upon it. A +fragrance of sweet honey floats up from the flowers where grey hive-bees +are busy. Ascending still higher and crossing the summit, the ground +almost suddenly falls away in a steep descent, and the entire hillside, +seen at a glance, is covered with heath, and heath alone. A bunch at the +very edge offers a purple cushion fit for a king; resting here a +delicious summer breeze, passing over miles and miles of fields and +woods yonder, comes straight from the distant hills. Along those hills +the lines of darker green are woods; there are woods to the south, and +west, and east, heath around, and in the rear the gaze travels over the +tops of the endless firs. But southwards is sweetest; below, beyond the +verge of the heath, the corn begins, and waves in the wind. It is the +breeze that makes the summer day so lovely.</p> + +<p>The eggs of the nighthawk are sometimes found at this season near by. +They are laid on the ground, on the barest spots, where there is no +herbage. At dusk, the nighthawk wheels with a soft yet quick flight over +the ferns and about the trees. Along the hedges bounding the heath +butcher-birds watch for their prey—sometimes on the furze, sometimes on +a branch of ash. Wood-sage grows plentifully on the banks by the roads; +it is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> plant somewhat resembling a lowly nettle; the leaves have a +hop-like scent, and so bitter and strong is the odour that immediately +after smelling them the mouth for a moment feels dry with a sense of +thirst.</p> + +<p>The angle of a field by the woods on the eastern side of the heath, the +entire corner, is blue in July with viper's bugloss. The stalks rise +some two feet, and are covered with minute brown dots; they are rough, +and the lower part prickly. Blue flowers in pairs, with pink stamens and +pink buds, bloom thickly round the top, and as each plant has several +stalks, it is very conspicuous where the grass is short.</p> + +<p>There are hundreds of these flowers in this corner, and along the edge +of the wood; a quarter of an acre is blue with them. So indifferent are +people to such things that men working in the same field, and who had +pulled up the plant and described its root as like that of a dock, did +not know its name. Yet they admired it. "It is an innocent-looking +flower," they said, that is, pleasant to look at.</p> + +<p>By the roadside I thought I saw something red under the long grass of +the mound, and, parting the blades, found half-a-dozen wild +strawberries. They were larger than usual, and just ripe. The wild +strawberry is a little more acid than the cultivated, and has more +flavour than would be supposed from its small size.</p> + +<p>Descending to the lower ground again, the brake fills every space +between the trees; it is so thick and tall that the cows which wander +about, grazing at their will, each wear a bell slung round the neck, +that their position may be discovered by sound. Otherwise it would be +difficult to find them in the fern or among the firs. There are many +swampy places here, which should be avoided by those who dislike snakes. +The common<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> harmless snakes are numerous in this part, and they always +keep near water. They often glide into a mole's "angle," or hole, if +found in the open.</p> + +<p>Adders are known to exist in the woods round about, but are never, or +very seldom, seen upon the heath itself. In the woods of the +neighbourhood they are not uncommon, and are sometimes killed for the +sake of the oil. The belief in the virtue of adder's fat, or oil, is +still firm; among other uses it is considered the best thing for +deafness, not, of course, resulting from organic defect. For deafness, +the oil should be applied by pouring a small quantity into the ear, +exactly in the same manner as in the play the poison is poured into the +ear of the sleeping king. Cures are declared to be effected by this oil +at the present day.</p> + +<p>It is procured by skinning the adder, taking the fat, and boiling it; +the result is a clear oil, which never thickens in the coldest weather. +One of these reptiles on being killed and cut open was found to contain +the body of a full-grown toad. The old belief that the young of the +viper enters its mouth for refuge still lingers. The existence of adders +in the woods here seems so undoubted that strangers should be a little +careful if they leave the track. Viper's bugloss, which grows so freely +by the heath, was so called because anciently it was thought to yield an +antidote to the adder's venom.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="THE_RIVER" id="THE_RIVER"></a>THE RIVER</h3> + + +<p>There is a slight but perceptible colour in the atmosphere of summer. It +is not visible close at hand, nor always where the light falls +strongest, and if looked at too long it sometimes fades away. But over +gorse and heath, in the warm hollows of wheatfield, and round about the +rising ground there is something more than air alone. It is not mist, +nor the hazy vapour of autumn, nor the blue tints that come over the +distant hills and woods.</p> + +<p>As there is a bloom upon the peach and grape, so this is the bloom of +summer. The air is ripe and rich, full of the emanations, the perfume, +from corn and flower and leafy tree. In strictness the term will not, of +course, be accurate, yet by what other word can this appearance in the +atmosphere be described but as a bloom? Upon a still and sunlit summer +afternoon it may be seen over the osier-covered islets in the Thames +immediately above Teddington Lock.</p> + +<p>It hovers over the level cornfields that stretch towards Richmond, and +along the ridge of the wooded hills that bound them. The bank by the +towing-path is steep and shadowless, being bare of trees or hedge; but +the grass is pleasant to rest on, and heat is always more supportable +near flowing water. In places the friable earth has crumbled away, and +there, where the soil and the stones are exposed, the stonecrop +flourishes. A narrow footpath<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> on the summit, raised high above the +water, skirts the corn, and is overhung with grass heavily laden by its +own seed.</p> + +<p>Sometimes in early June the bright trifolium, drooping with its weight +of flower, brushes against the passer-by—acre after acre of purple. +Occasionally the odour of beans in blossom floats out over the river. +Again, above the green wheat the larks rise, singing as they soar; or +later on the butterflies wander over the yellow ears. Or, as the law of +rotation dictates, the barley whitens under the sun. Still, whether in +the dry day, or under the dewy moonlight, the plain stretching from the +water to the hills is never without perfume, colour, or song.</p> + +<p>There stood, one summer not long since, in the corner of a barley field +close to the Lock, within a stone's throw, perfect shrubs of mallow, +rising to the shoulder, thick as a walking-stick, and hung with flower. +Poppies filled every interstice between the barley stalks, their scarlet +petals turned back in very languor of exuberant colour, as the awns, +drooping over, caressed them. Poppies, again, in the same fields formed +a scarlet ground from which the golden wheat sprang up, and among it +here and there shone the large blue rays of wild succory.</p> + +<p>The paths across the corn having no hedges, the wayfarer really walks +among the wheat, and can pluck with either hand. The ears rise above the +heads of children, who shout with joy as they rush along as though to +the arms of their mother.</p> + +<p>Beneath the towing-path, at the root of the willow bushes, which the +tow-ropes, so often drawn over them, have kept low, the water-docks lift +their thick stems and giant leaves. Bunches of rough-leaved comfrey grow +down to the water's edge—indeed, the coarse stems sometimes bear signs +of having been partially under water<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> when a freshet followed a storm. +The flowers are not so perfectly bell-shaped as those of some plants, +but are rather tubular. They appear in April, though then green, and may +be found all the summer months. Where the comfrey grows thickly the +white bells give some colour to the green of the bank, and would give +more were they not so often overshadowed by the leaves.</p> + +<p>Water betony, or persicaria, lifts its pink spikes everywhere, tiny +florets close together round the stem at the top; the leaves are +willow-shaped, and there is scarcely a hollow or break in the bank where +the earth has fallen which is not clothed with them. A mile or two up +the river the tansy is plentiful, bearing golden buttons, which, like +every fragment of the feathery foliage, if pressed in the fingers, +impart to them a peculiar scent. There, too, the yellow loosestrife +pushes up its tall slender stalks to the top of the low willow-bushes, +that the bright yellow flowers may emerge from the shadow.</p> + +<p>The river itself, the broad stream, ample and full, exhibits all its +glory in this reach; from One Tree to the Lock it is nearly straight, +and the river itself is everything. Between wooded hills, or where +divided by numerous islets, or where trees and hedges enclose the view, +the stream is but part of the scene. Here it is all. The long raised +bank without a hedge or fence, with the cornfields on its level, simply +guides the eye to the water. Those who are afloat upon it insensibly +yield to the influence of the open expanse.</p> + +<p>The boat whose varnished sides but now slipped so gently that the +cutwater did not even raise a wavelet, and every black rivet-head was +visible as a line of dots, begins to forge ahead. The oars are dipped +farther back, and as the blade feels the water holding it in the hollow, +the lissom wood bends to its work. Before the cutwater a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> wave rises, +and, repulsed, rushes outwards. At each stroke, as the weight swings +towards the prow, there is just the least faint depression at its stem +as the boat travels. Whirlpool after whirlpool glides from the oars, +revolving to the rear with a threefold motion, round and round, +backwards and outwards. The crew impart their own life to their boat; +the animate and inanimate become as one, the boat is no longer wooden +but alive.</p> + +<p>If there be a breeze a fleet of white sails comes round the +willow-hidden bend. But the Thames yachtsmen have no slight difficulties +to contend with. The capricious wind is nowhere so thoroughly capricious +as on the upper river. Along one mile there may be a spanking breeze, +the very next is calm, or with a fitful puff coming over a high hedge, +which flutters his pennant, but does not so much as shake the sail. Even +in the same mile the wind may take the water on one side, and scarcely +move a leaf on the other. But the current is always there, and the +vessel is certain to drift.</p> + +<p>When at last a good opportunity is obtained, just as the boat heels +over, and the rushing bubbles at the prow resound, she must be put +about, and the napping foresail almost brushes the osiers. If she does +not come round—if the movement has been put off a moment too long—the +keel grates, and she is aground immediately. It is nothing but tacking, +tacking, tacking—a kind of stitching the stream.</p> + +<p>Nor can one always choose the best day for the purpose; the exigencies +of business, perhaps, will not permit, and when free, the wind, which +has been scattering tiles and chimney-pots and snapping telegraph wires +in the City all the week, drops on the Saturday to nothing. He must +possess invincible patience, and at the same time be always ready to +advance his vessel even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> a foot, and his judgment must never fail him at +the critical time.</p> + +<p>But the few brief hours when the circumstances are favourable compensate +for delays and monotonous calms; the vessel, built on well-judged lines, +answers her helm and responds to his will with instant obedience, and +that sense of command is perhaps the great charm of sailing. There are +others who find a pleasure in the yacht. When at her moorings on a sunny +morning she is sometimes boarded by laughing girls, who have put off +from the lawn, and who proceed in the most sailor-like fashion to +overhaul the rigging and see that everything is shipshape. No position +shows off a well-poised figure to such advantage as when, in a +close-fitting costume, a lady's arms are held high above her head to +haul at a rope.</p> + +<p>So the river life flows by; skiffs, and four oars, canoes, solitary +scullers in outriggers, once now and then a swift eight, launches, a +bargee in a tublike dingey standing up and pushing his sculls instead of +pulling; gentlemen, with their shoulders in a halter, hauling like +horses and towing fair freights against the current; and punts poled +across to shady nooks. The splashing of oars, the staccato sound as a +blade feathered too low meets the wavelets, merry voices, sometimes a +song, and always a low undertone, which, as the wind accelerates it, +rises to a roar. It is the last leap of the river to the sea; the last +weir to whose piles the tide rises. On the bank of the weir where the +tide must moisten their roots grow dense masses of willow-herb, almost +as high as the shoulder, with trumpet-shaped pink flowers.</p> + +<p>Let us go back again to the bank by the cornfields, with the glorious +open stretch of stream. In the evening, the rosy or golden hues of the +sunset will be reflected on the surface from the clouds; then the bats<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +wheel to and fro, and once now and then a nighthawk will throw himself +through the air with uncertain flight, his motions scarcely to be +followed, as darkness falls. Am I mistaken, or are kingfishers less +numerous than they were only a few seasons since? Then I saw them, now I +do not. Long-continued and severe frosts are very fatal to these birds; +they die on the perch.</p> + +<p>And may I say a word for the Thames otter? The list of really wild +animals now existing in the home counties is so very, very short, that +the extermination of one of them seems a serious loss. Every effort is +made to exterminate the otter. No sooner does one venture down the river +than traps, gins, nets, dogs, prongs, brickbats, every species of +missile, all the artillery of vulgar destruction, are brought against +its devoted head. Unless my memory serves me wrong, one of these +creatures caught in a trap not long since was hammered to death with a +shovel or a pitchfork.</p> + +<p>Now the river fox is, we know, extremely destructive to fish, but what +are a basketful of "bait" compared to one otter? The latter will +certainly never be numerous, for the moment they become so, otter-hounds +would be employed, and then we should see some sport. Londoners, I +think, scarcely recognise the fact that the otter is one of the last +links between the wild past of ancient England and the present days of +high civilisation.</p> + +<p>The beaver is gone, but the otter remains, and comes so near the mighty +City as just the other side of the well-known Lock, the portal through +which a thousand boats at holiday time convey men and women to breathe +pure air. The porpoise, and even the seal, it is said, ventures to +Westminster sometimes; the otter to Kingston. Thus, the sea sends its +denizens past the vast multitude that surges over the City bridges, and +the last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> link with the olden time, the otter, still endeavours to live +near.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the river is sweetest to look on in spring time or early summer. +Seen from a distance the water seems at first sight, when the broad +stream fills the vision as a whole, to flow with smooth, even current +between meadow and cornfield. But, coming to the brink, that silvery +surface now appears exquisitely chased with ever-changing lines. The +light airs, wandering to and fro where high banks exclude the direct +influence of the breeze, flutter the ripples hither and thither, so +that, instead of rolling upon one lee shore, they meet and expend their +little force upon each other. A continuous rising and falling, without a +line of direction, thus breaks up the light, not with sparkle or +glitter, but with endless silvery facets.</p> + +<p>There is no pattern. The apparently intertangled tracing on a work of +art presently resolves itself into a design, which once seen is always +the same. These wavelets form no design; watch the sheeny maze as long +as one will, the eye cannot get at the clue, and so unwind the pattern.</p> + +<p>Each seems for a second exactly like its fellow, but varies while you +say "These two are the same," and the white reflected light upon the +wide stream is now strongest here, and instantly afterwards flickers +yonder.</p> + +<p>Where a gap in the willows admits a current of air a ripple starts to +rush straight across, but is met by another returning, which has been +repulsed from the bluff bow of a moored boat, and the two cross and run +through each other. As the level of the stream now slightly rises and +again falls, the jagged top of a large stone by the shore alternately +appears above, or is covered by the surface. The water as it retires +leaves for a moment a hollow in itself by the stone, and then swings +back to fill the vacuum.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>Long roots of willows and projecting branches cast their shadow upon the +shallow sandy bottom; the shadow of a branch can be traced slanting +downwards with the shelve of the sand till lost in the deeper water. Are +those little circlets of light enclosing a round umbra or slightly +darker spot, that move along the bottom as the bubbles drift above on +the surface, shadows or reflections?</p> + +<p>In still, dark places of the stream, where there seems no current, a +dust gathers on the water, falling from the trees, or borne thither by +the wind and dropping where its impulse ceases. Shadows of branches lie +here upon the surface itself, received by the greenish water dust. Round +the curve on the concave and lee side of the river, where the wind +drives the wavelets direct upon the strand, there are little beaches +formed by the undermining and fall of the bank.</p> + +<p>The tiny surge rolls up the incline; each wave differing in the height +to which it reaches, and none of them alike, washing with it minute +fragments of stone and gravel, mere specks which vibrate to and fro with +the ripple and even drift with the current. Will these fragments, after +a process of trituration, ultimately become sand? A groove runs athwart +the bottom, left recently by the keel of a skiff, recently only, for in +a few hours these specks of gravel, sand, and particles that sweep along +the bottom, fill up such depressions. The motion of these atoms is not +continuous, but intermittent; now they rise and are carried a few inches +and there sink, in a minute or two to rise again and proceed.</p> + +<p>Looking to windward there is a dark tint upon the water; but down the +stream, turning the other way, intensely brilliant points of light +appear and disappear. Behind a boat rowed against the current two +widening lines of wavelets, in the shape of an elongated V, stretch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +apart and glitter, and every dip of the oars and the slippery oar-blades +themselves, as they rise out of the water, reflect the sunshine. The +boat appears but to touch the surface, instead of sinking into it, for +the water is transparent, and the eye can see underneath the keel.</p> + +<p>Here, by some decaying piles, a deep eddy whirls slowly round and round; +they stand apart from the shore, for the eddy has cleared away the earth +around them. Now, walking behind the waves that roll away from you, dark +shadowy spots fluctuate to and fro in the trough of the water. Before a +glance can define its shape the shadow elongates itself from a spot to +an oval, the oval melts into another oval, and reappears afar off. When, +too, in flood time, the hurrying current seems to respond more +sensitively to the shape of the shallows and the banks beneath, there +boils up from below a ceaseless succession of irregular circles as if +the water there expanded from a centre, marking the verge of its outflow +with bubbles and raised lines upon the surface.</p> + +<p>By the side float tiny whirlpools, some rotating this way and some that, +sucking down and boring tubes into the stream. Longer lines wander past, +and as they go, curve round, till when about to make a spiral they +lengthen out and drift, and thus, perpetually coiling and uncoiling, +glide with the current. They somewhat resemble the conventional curved +strokes which, upon an Assyrian bas-relief, indicate water.</p> + +<p>Under the spring sunshine, the idle stream flows easily onward, yet +every part of the apparently even surface varies; and so, too, in a +larger way, the aspects of the succeeding reaches change. Upon one broad +bend the tints are green, for the river moves softly in a hollow, with +its back, as it were, to the wind.</p> + +<p>The green lawn sloping to the shore, and the dark<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> cedar's storeys of +flattened foliage, tier above tier; the green osiers of two eyots: the +light-leaved aspen; the tall elms, fresh and green; and the green +hawthorn bushes give their colour to the water, smooth as if polished, +in which they are reflected. A white swan floats in the still narrow +channel between the eyots, and there is a punt painted green moored in a +little inlet by the lawn, and scarce visible under drooping boughs. +Roofs of red tile and dormer windows rise behind the trees, the dull +yellow of the walls is almost hidden, and deep shadows lurk about the +shore.</p> + +<p>Opposite, across the stream, a wide green sward stretches beside the +towing-path, lit up with sunshine which touches the dandelions till they +glow in the grass. From time to time a nightingale sings in a hawthorn +unregarded, and in the elms of the park hard by a crowd of jackdaws +chatter. But a little way round a curve the whole stream opens to the +sunlight and becomes blue, reflecting the sky. Again, sweeping round +another curve with bounteous flow, the current meets the wind direct, a +cloud comes up, the breeze freshens, and the watery green waves are +tipped with foam.</p> + +<p>Rolling upon the strand, they leave a line like a tide marked by twigs +and fragments of dead wood, leaves, and the hop-like flowers of +Chichester elms which have been floated up and left. Over the stormy +waters a band of brown bank-martins wheel hastily to and fro, and from +the osiers the loud chirp of the sedge-reedling rises above the buffet +of the wind against the ear, and the splashing of the waves.</p> + +<p>Once more a change, where the stream darts along swiftly, after having +escaped from a weir, and still streaked with foam. The shore rises like +a sea beach, and on the pebbles men are patching and pitching old barges +which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> have been hauled up on the bank. A skiff partly drawn up on the +beach rocks as the current strives to work it loose, and up the varnish +of the side glides a flickering light reflected from the wavelets. A +fleet of such skiffs are waiting for hire by the bridge; the waterman +cleaning them with a parti-coloured mop spies me eyeing his vessels, and +before I know exactly what is going on, and whether I have yet made up +my mind, the sculls are ready, the cushions in; I take my seat, and am +shoved gently forth upon the stream.</p> + +<p>After I have gone under the arch, and am clear of all obstructions, I +lay the sculls aside, and reclining let the boat drift past a ballast +punt moored over the shallowest place, and with a rising load of gravel. +One man holds the pole steadying the scoop, while his mate turns a +windlass the chain from which drags it along the bottom, filling the bag +with pebbles, and finally hauls it to the surface, when the contents are +shot out in the punt.</p> + +<p>It is a floating box rather than a boat, square at each end, and built +for capacity instead of progress. There are others moored in various +places, and all hard at work. The men in this one, scarcely glancing at +my idle skiff, go steadily on, dropping the scoop, steadying the pole, +turning the crank, and emptying the pebbles with a rattle.</p> + +<p>Where do these pebbles come from? Like the stream itself there seems a +continual supply; if a bank be scooped away and punted to the shore +presently another bank forms. If a hollow be deepened, by-and-by it +fills up; if a channel be opened, after a while it shallows again. The +stony current flows along below, as the liquid current above. Yet in so +many centuries the strand has not been cleared of its gravel, nor has it +all been washed out from the banks.</p> + +<p>The skiff drifts again, at first slowly, till the current takes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> hold of +it and bears it onward. Soon it is evident that a barge-port is near—a +haven where barges discharge their cargoes. A by-way leads down to the +river where boats are lying for hire—a dozen narrow punts, waiting at +this anchorage till groundbait be lawful. The ends of varnished skiffs, +high and dry, are visible in a shed carefully covered with canvas; while +sheaves of oars and sculls lean against the wooden wall.</p> + +<p>Through the open doors of another shed there may be had a glimpse of +shavings and tools, and slight battens crossing the workshop in apparent +confusion, forming a curious framework. These are the boatbuilder's +struts and stays, and contrivances to keep the boat in rigid position, +that her lines may be true and delicate, strake upon strake of dull red +mahogany rising from the beechen keel, for the craftsman strings his +boat almost as a violinist strings his violin, with the greatest care +and heed, and with a right adjustment of curve and due proportion. There +is not much clinking, or sawing, or thumping; little noise, but much +skill.</p> + +<p>Gradually the scene opens. Far down a white bridge spans the river: on +the shore red-tiled and gabled houses crowd to the very edge; and behind +them a church tower stands out clear against the sky. There are barges +everywhere. By the towing-path colliers are waiting to be drawn up +stream, black as their freight, by the horses that are nibbling the +hawthorn hedge; while by the wharf, labourers are wheeling barrows over +bending planks from the barges to the carts upon the shore. A tug comes +under the bridge, panting, every puff re-echoed from the arches, +dragging by sheer force deeply laden flats behind it. The water in front +of their bluff bows rises in a wave nearly to the deck, and then swoops +in a sweeping curve to the rear.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>The current by the port runs back on the wharf side towards its source, +and the foam drifts up the river instead of down. Green flags on a +sandbank far out in the stream, their roots covered and their bent tips +only visible, now swing with the water and now heel over with the +breeze. The <i>Edwin and Angelina</i> lies at anchor, waiting to be warped +into her berth, her sails furled, her green painted water-barrel lashed +by the stern, her tiller idle after the long and toilsome voyage from +Rochester.</p> + +<p>For there are perils of the deep even to those who only go down to it in +barges. Barge as she is, she is not without a certain beauty, and a +certain interest, inseparable from all that has received the buffet of +the salt water, and over which the salt spray has flown. Barge too, as +she is, she bears her part in the commerce of the world. The very +architecture on the shore is old-fashioned where these bluff-bowed +vessels come, narrow streets and overhanging houses, boat anchors in the +windows, sails and tarry ropes; and is there not a Row Barge Inn +somewhere?</p> + +<p>"Hoy, ahoy!"</p> + +<p>The sudden shout startles me, and, glancing round, I find an empty black +barge, high out of the water, floating helplessly down upon me with the +stream. Noiselessly the great hulk had drifted upon me; as it came the +light glinted on the wavelets before the bow, quick points of brilliant +light. But two strokes with the sculls carried me out of the way.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="NUTTY_AUTUMN" id="NUTTY_AUTUMN"></a>NUTTY AUTUMN</h3> + + +<p>There is some honeysuckle still flowering at the tops of the hedges, +where in the morning gossamer lies like a dewy net. The gossamer is a +sign both of approaching autumn and, exactly at the opposite season of +the year, of approaching spring. It stretches from pole to pole, and +bough to bough, in the copses in February, as the lark sings. It covers +the furze, and lies along the hedge-tops in September, as the lark, +after a short or partial silence, occasionally sings again.</p> + +<p>But the honeysuckle does not flower so finely as the first time; there +is more red (the unopened petal) than white, and beneath, lower down the +stalk, are the red berries, the fruit of the former bloom. Yellow weed, +or ragwort, covers some fields almost as thickly as buttercups in +summer, but it lacks the rich colour of the buttercup. Some knotty +knapweeds stay in out-of-the-way places, where the scythe has not been; +some bunches of mayweed, too, are visible in the corners of the stubble.</p> + +<p>Silverweed lays its golden flower—like a buttercup without a +stalk—level on the ground; it has no protection, and any passing foot +may press it into the dust. A few white or pink flowers appear on the +brambles, and in waste places a little St. John's wort remains open, but +the seed vessels are for the most part forming. St. John's wort is the +flower of the harvest; the yellow petals appear as the wheat ripens, and +there are some to be found till<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> the sheaves are carted. Once now and +then a blue and slender bell-flower is lighted on; in Sussex the larger +varieties bloom till much later.</p> + +<p>By still ponds, to which the moorhens have now returned, tall spikes of +purple loosestrife rise in bunches. In the furze there is still much +yellow, and wherever heath grows it spreads in shimmering gleams of +purple between the birches; for these three, furze, heath, and birch are +usually together. The fields, therefore, are not yet flowerless, nor yet +without colour here and there, and the leaves, which stay on the trees +till late in the autumn, are more interesting now than they have been +since they lost their first fresh green.</p> + +<p>Oak, elm, beech, and birch, all have yellow spots, while retaining their +groundwork of green. Oaks are often much browner, but the moisture in +the atmosphere keeps the saps in the leaves. Even the birches are only +tinted in a few places, the elms very little, and the beeches not much +more: so it would seem that their hues will not be gone altogether till +November. Frosts have not yet bronzed the dogwood in the hedges, and the +hazel leaves are fairly firm. The hazel generally drops its leaves at a +touch about this time, and while you are nutting, if you shake a bough, +they come down all around.</p> + +<p>The rushes are but faintly yellow, and the slender tips still point +upwards. Dull purple burrs cover the burdock; the broad limes are +withering, but the leaves are thick, and the teazles are still +flowering. Looking upwards, the trees are tinted; lower, the hedges are +not without colour, and the field itself is speckled with blue and +yellow. The stubble is almost hidden in many fields by the growth of +weeds brought up by the rain; still the tops appear above and do not +allow it to be green. The stubble has a colour—white if barley, yellow +if wheat or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> oats. The meads are as verdant, even more so, than in the +spring, because of the rain, and the brooks crowded with green flags.</p> + +<p>Haws are very plentiful this year (1881), and exceptionally large, many +fully double the size commonly seen. So heavily are the branches laden +with bunches of the red fruit that they droop as apple trees do with a +more edible burden. Though so big, and to all appearance tempting to +birds, none have yet been eaten; and, indeed, haws seem to be resorted +to only as a change unless severe weather compels.</p> + +<p>Just as we vary our diet, so birds eat haws, and not many of them till +driven by frost and snow. If any stay on till the early months of next +year, wood-pigeons and missel-thrushes will then eat them; but at this +season they are untouched. Blackbirds will peck open the hips directly +the frost comes; the hips go long before the haws. There was a large +crop of mountain-ash berries, every one of which has been taken by +blackbirds and thrushes, which are almost as fond of them as of garden +fruit.</p> + +<p>Blackberries are thick, too—it is a berry year—and up in the +horse-chestnut the prickly-coated nuts hang up in bunches, as many as +eight in a stalk. Acorns are large, but not so singularly numerous as +the berries, nor are hazel-nuts. This provision of hedge fruit no more +indicates a severe winter than a damaged wheat harvest indicates a mild +one.</p> + +<p>There is something wrong with elm trees. In the early part of this +summer, not long after the leaves were fairly out upon them, here and +there a branch appeared as if it had been touched with red-hot iron and +burnt up, all the leaves withered and browned on the boughs. First one +tree was thus affected, then another,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> then a third, till, looking round +the fields, it seemed as if every fourth or fifth tree had thus been +burnt.</p> + +<p>It began with the leaves losing colour, much as they do in autumn, on +the particular bough; gradually they faded, and finally became brown and +of course dead. As they did not appear to shrivel up, it looked as if +the grub or insect, or whatever did the mischief, had attacked, not the +leaves, but the bough itself. Upon mentioning this I found that it had +been noticed in elm avenues and groups a hundred miles distant, so that +it is not a local circumstance.</p> + +<p>As far as yet appears, the elms do not seem materially injured, the +damage being outwardly confined to the bough attacked. These brown spots +looked very remarkable just after the trees had become green. They were +quite distinct from the damage caused by the snow of October 1880. The +boughs broken by the snow had leaves upon them which at once turned +brown, and in the case of the oak were visible, the following spring, as +brown spots among the green. These snapped boughs never bore leaf again. +It was the young fresh green leaves of the elms, those that appeared in +the spring of 1881, that withered as if scorched. The boughs upon which +they grew had not been injured; they were small boughs at the outside of +the tree. I hear that this scorching up of elm leaves has been noticed +in other districts for several seasons.</p> + +<p>The dewdrops of the morning, preserved by the mist, which the sun does +not disperse for some hours, linger on late in shaded corners, as under +trees, on drooping blades of grass and on the petals of flowers. Wild +bees and wasps may often be noticed on these blades of grass that are +still wet, as if they could suck some sustenance from the dew. Wasps +fight hard for their existence as the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> nights grow cold. Desperate and +ravenous, they will eat anything, but perish by hundreds as the warmth +declines.</p> + +<p>Dragon-flies of the larger size are now very busy rushing to and fro on +their double wings; those who go blackberrying or nutting cannot fail to +see them. Only a very few days since—it does not seem a week—there was +a chiffchaff calling in a copse as merrily as in the spring. This little +bird is the first, or very nearly the first, to come in the spring, and +one of the last to go as autumn approaches. It is curious that, though +singled out as a first sign of spring, the chiffchaff has never entered +into the home life of the people like the robin, the swallow, or even +the sparrow.</p> + +<p>There is nothing about it in the nursery rhymes or stories, no one goes +out to listen to it, children are not taught to recognise it, and +grown-up persons are often quite unaware of it. I never once heard a +countryman, a labourer, a farmer, or any one who was always out of +doors, so much as allude to it. They never noticed it, so much is every +one the product of habit.</p> + +<p>The first swallow they looked for, and never missed; but they neither +heard nor saw the chiffchaff. To those who make any study at all of +birds it is, of course, perfectly familiar; but to the bulk of people it +is unknown. Yet it is one of the commonest of migratory birds, and sings +in every copse and hedgerow, using loud, unmistakable notes. At last, in +the middle of September, the chiffchaff, too, is silent. The swallow +remains; but for the rest, the birds have flocked together, finches, +starlings, sparrows, and gone forth into the midst of the stubble far +from the place where their nests were built, and where they sang, and +chirped, and whistled so long.</p> + +<p>The swallows, too, are not without thought of going. They may be seen +twenty in a row, one above the other,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> or on the slanting ropes or guys +which hold up the masts of the rickcloths over the still unfinished +corn-ricks. They gather in rows on the ridges of the tiles, and wisely +take counsel of each other. Rooks are up at the acorns; they take them +from the bough, while the pheasants come underneath and pick up those +that have fallen.</p> + +<p>The partridge coveys are more numerous and larger than they have been +for several seasons, and though shooting has now been practised for more +than a fortnight, as many as twelve and seventeen are still to be +counted together. They have more cover than usual at this season, not +only because the harvest is still about, but because where cut the +stubble is so full of weeds that when crouching they are hidden. In some +fields the weeds are so thick that even a pheasant can hide.</p> + +<p>South of London the harvest commenced in the last week of July. The +stubble that was first cut still remains unploughed; it is difficult to +find a fresh furrow, and I have only once or twice heard the quick +strong puffing of the steam-plough. While the wheat was in shock it was +a sight to see the wood-pigeons at it. Flocks of hundreds came perching +on the sheaves, and visiting the same field day after day. The sparrows +have never had such a feast of grain as this year. Whole corners of +wheatfields—they work more at corners—were cleared out as clean by +them as if the wheat had been threshed as it stood.</p> + +<p>The sunshine of the autumn afternoons is faintly tawny, and the long +grass by the wayside takes from it a tawny undertone. Some other colour +than the green of each separate blade, if gathered, lies among the +bunches, a little, perhaps like the hue of the narrow pointed leaves of +the reeds. It is caught only for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> moment, and looked at steadily it +goes. Among the grass, the hawkweeds, one or two dandelions, and a stray +buttercup, all yellow, favour the illusion. By the bushes there is a +double row of pale buff bryony leaves; these, too, help to increase the +sense of a secondary colour.</p> + +<p>The atmosphere holds the beams, and abstracts from them their white +brilliance. They come slower with a drowsy light, which casts a less +defined shadow of the still oaks. The yellow and brown leaves in the +oaks, in the elms, and the beeches, in their turn affect the rays, and +retouch them with their own hue. An immaterial mist across the fields +looks like a cloud of light hovering on the stubble: the light itself +made visible.</p> + +<p>The tawniness is indistinct, it haunts the sunshine, and is not to be +fixed, any more than you can say where it begins and ends in the +complexion of a brunette. Almost too large for their cups, the acorns +have a shade of the same hue now before they become brown. As it +withers, the many-pointed leaf of the white bryony and the bine as it +shrivels, in like manner, do their part. The white thistle-down, which +stays on the bursting thistles because there is no wind to waft it away, +reflects it; the white is pushed aside by the colour that the stained +sunbeams bring.</p> + +<p>Pale yellow thatch on the wheat-ricks becomes a deeper yellow; broad +roofs of old red tiles smoulder under it. What can you call it but +tawniness?—the earth sunburnt once more at harvest time. Sunburnt and +brown—for it deepens into brown. Brown partridges, and pheasants, at a +distance brown, their long necks stretched in front and long tails +behind gleaming in the stubble. Brown thrushes just venturing to sing +again. Brown clover hayricks; the bloom on the third<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> crop yonder, which +was recently a bright colour, is fast turning brown, too.</p> + +<p>Here and there a thin layer of brown leaves rustles under foot. The +scaling bark on the lower part of the tree trunks is brown. Dry dock +stems, fallen branches, the very shadows, are not black, but brown. With +red hips and haws, red bryony and woodbine berries, these together cause +the sense rather than the actual existence of a tawny tint. It is +pleasant; but sunset comes so soon, and then after the trees are in +shadow beneath, the yellow spots at the tops of the elms still receive +the light from the west a few moments longer.</p> + +<p>There is something nutty in the short autumn day—shorter than its +duration as measured by hours, for the enjoyable day is between the +clearing of the mist and the darkening of the shadows. The nuts are +ripe, and with them is associated wine and fruit. They are hard but +tasteful; if you eat one, you want ten, and after ten, twenty. In the +wine there is a glow, a spot like tawny sunlight; it falls on your hand +as you lift the glass.</p> + +<p>They are never really nuts unless you gather them yourself. Put down the +gun a minute or two, and pull the boughs this way. One or two may drop +of themselves as the branch is shaken, one among the brambles, another +outwards into the stubble. The leaves rustle against hat and shoulders; +a thistle is crushed under foot, and the down at last released. Bines of +bryony hold the ankles, and hazel boughs are stiff and not ready to bend +to the will. This large brown nut must be cracked at once; the film +slips off the kernel, which is white underneath. It is sweet.</p> + +<p>The tinted sunshine comes through between the tall hazel rods; there is +a grasshopper calling in the sward on the other side of the mound. The +bird's nest in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> thorn-bush looks as perfect as if just made, instead +of having been left long long since—the young birds have flocked into +the stubbles. On the briar which holds the jacket the canker rose, which +was green in summer, is now rosy. No such nuts as those captured with +cunning search from the bough in the tinted sunlight and under the +changing leaf.</p> + +<p>The autumn itself is nutty, brown, hard, frosty, and sweet. Nuts are +hard, frosts are hard; but the one is sweet, and the other braces the +strong. Exercise often wearies in the spring, and in the summer heats is +scarcely to be faced; but in autumn, to those who are well, every step +is bracing and hardens the frame, as the sap is hardening in the trees.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="ROUND_A_LONDON_COPSE" id="ROUND_A_LONDON_COPSE"></a>ROUND A LONDON COPSE</h3> + + +<p>In October a party of wood-pigeons took up their residence in the little +copse which has been previously mentioned. It stands in the angle formed +by two suburban roads, and the trees in it overshadow some villa +gardens. This copse has always been a favourite with birds, and it is +not uncommon to see a pheasant about it, sometimes within gunshot of the +gardens, while the call of the partridges in the evening may now and +then be heard from the windows. But though frequently visited by +wood-pigeons, they did not seem to make any stay till now when this +party arrived.</p> + +<p>There were eight of them. During the day they made excursions into the +stubble fields, and in the evening returned to roost. They remained +through the winter, which will be remembered as the most severe for many +years. Even in the sharpest frost, if the sun shone out, they called to +each other now and then. On the first day of the year their hollow +cooing came from the copse at midday.</p> + +<p>During the deep snow which blocked the roads and covered the fields +almost a foot deep, they were silent, but were constantly observed +flying to and fro. Immediately it became milder they recommenced to coo, +so that at intervals the note of the wood-pigeon was heard in the +adjacent house from October, all through the winter, till the nesting +time in May. Sometimes towards<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> sunset in the early spring they all +perched together before finally retiring on the bare, slender tips of +the tall birch trees, exposed and clearly visible against the sky.</p> + +<p>Six once alighted in a row on a long birch branch, bending it down with +their weight like a heavy load of fruit. The stormy sunset flamed up, +tinting the fields with momentary red, and their hollow voices sounded +among the trees. By May they had paired off, and each couple had a part +of the copse to themselves. Instead of avoiding the house, they seemed, +on the contrary, to come much nearer, and two or three couples built +close to the garden.</p> + +<p>Just there, the wood being bare of undergrowth, there was nothing to +obstruct the sight but some few dead hanging branches, and the pigeons +or ringdoves could be seen continually flying up and down from the +ground to their nests. They were so near that the darker marking at the +end of the tail, as it was spread open to assist the upward flight to +the branch, was visible. Outside the garden gate, and not more than +twenty yards distant, there stood three young spruce firs, at the edge +of the copse, but without the boundary. To the largest of these one of +the pigeons came now and then; he was half inclined to choose it for his +nest.</p> + +<p>The noise of their wings as they rose and threshed their strong feathers +together over the tops of the trees was often heard, and while in the +garden one might be watched approaching from a distance, swift as the +wind, then suddenly half-closing his wings and shooting forwards, he +alighted among the boughs. Their coo is not in any sense tuneful; yet it +has a pleasant association; for the ringdove is pre-eminently the bird +of the woods and forests, and rightly named the wood-pigeon. Yet though +so associated with the deepest and most lonely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> woods, here they were +close to the house and garden, constantly heard, and almost always +visible; and London, too, so near. They seemed almost as familiar as the +sparrows and starlings.</p> + +<p>These pigeons were new inhabitants; but turtle-doves had built in the +copse since I knew it. They were late coming the last spring I watched +them; but, when they did, chose a spot much nearer the house than usual. +The turtle-dove has a way of gurgling the soft vowels "oo" in the +throat. Swallows do not make a summer, but when the turtle-dove coos +summer is certainly come. One afternoon one of the pair flew up into a +hornbeam which stood beside the garden not twenty yards at farthest. At +first he sat upright on the branch watching me below, then turned and +fluttered down to the nest beneath.</p> + +<p>While this nesting was going on I could hear five different birds at +once either in the garden or from any of the windows. The doves cooed, +and every now and then their gentle tones were overpowered by the loud +call of the wood-pigeons. A cuckoo called from the top of the tallest +birch, and a nightingale and a brook-sparrow (or sedge-reedling) were +audible together in the common on the opposite side of the road. It is +remarkable that one season there seems more of one kind of bird than the +next. The year alluded to, for instance, in this copse was the +wood-pigeons' year. But one season previously the copse seemed to belong +to the missel-thrushes.</p> + +<p>Early in the March mornings I used to wake as the workmen's trains went +rumbling by to the great City, to see on the ceiling by the window a +streak of sunlight, tinted orange by the vapour through which the level +beams had passed. Something in the sense of morning lifts the heart up +to the sun. The light, the air, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> waving branches speak; the earth +and life seem boundless at that moment. In this it is the same on the +verge of the artificial City as when the rays come streaming through the +pure atmosphere of the Downs. While thus thinking, suddenly there rang +out three clear, trumpet-like notes from a tree at the edge of the copse +by the garden. A softer song followed, and then again the same three +notes, whose wild sweetness echoed through the wood.</p> + +<p>The voice of the missel-thrush sounded not only close at hand and in the +room, but repeated itself as it floated away, as the bugle-call does. He +is the trumpeter of spring: Lord of March, his proud call challenges the +woods; there are none who can answer. Listen for the missel-thrush: when +he sings the snow may fall, the rain drift, but not for long; the +violets are near at hand. The nest was in a birch visible from the +garden, and that season seemed to be the missel-thrush's. Another year +the cuckoos had possession.</p> + +<p>There is a detached ash tree in the field by the copse; it stands apart, +and about sixty or seventy yards from the garden. A cuckoo came to this +ash every morning, and called there for an hour at a time, his notes +echoing along the building, one following the other as wavelets roll on +the summer sands. After awhile two more used to appear, and then there +was a chase round the copse, up to the tallest birch, and out to the ash +tree again. This went on day after day, and was repeated every evening. +Flying from the ash to the copse and returning, the birds were +constantly in sight; they sometimes passed over the house, and the call +became so familiar that it was not regarded any more than the chirp of a +sparrow. Till the very last the cuckoos remained there, and never ceased +to be heard till they left to cross the seas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was the cuckoos' season; next spring, they returned again, but much +later than usual, and did not call so much, nor were they seen so often +while they were there. One was calling in the copse on the evening of +the 6th of May as late as half-past eight, while the moon was shining. +But they were not so prominent; and as for the missel-thrushes, I did +not hear them at all in the copse. It was the wood-pigeons' year. Thus +the birds come in succession and reign by turns.</p> + +<p>Even the starlings vary, regular as they are by habit. This season +(1881) none have whistled on the house-top. In previous years they have +always come, and only the preceding spring a pair filled the gutter with +the materials of their nest. Long after they had finished a storm +descended, and the rain, thus dammed up and unable to escape, flooded +the corner. It cost half a sovereign to repair the damage, but it did +not matter; the starlings had been happy. It has been a disappointment +this year not to listen to their eager whistling and the flutter of +their wings as they vibrate them rapidly while hovering a moment before +entering their cavern. A pair of house-martins, too, built under the +eaves close to the starlings' nest, and they also disappointed me by not +returning this season, though the nest was not touched. Some fate, I +fear, overtook both starlings and house-martins.</p> + +<p>Another time it was the season of the lapwings. Towards the end of +November (1881), there appeared a large flock of peewits, or green +plovers, which flock passed most of the day in a broad, level ploughed +field of great extent. At this time I estimated their number as about +four hundred; far exceeding any flock I had previously seen in the +neighbourhood. Fresh parties joined the main body continually, until by +December<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> there could not have been less than a thousand. Still more and +more arrived, and by the first of January (1882) even this number was +doubled, and there were certainly fully two thousand there. It is the +habit of green plovers to all move at once, to rise from the ground +simultaneously, to turn in the air, or to descend—and all so regular +that their very wings seem to flap together. The effect of such a vast +body of white-breasted birds uprising as one from the dark ploughed +earth was very remarkable.</p> + +<p>When they passed overhead the air sang like the midsummer hum with the +shrill noise of beating wings. When they wheeled a light shot down +reflected from their white breasts, so that people involuntarily looked +up to see what it could be. The sun shone on them, so that at a distance +the flock resembled a cloud brilliantly illuminated. In an instant they +turned and the cloud was darkened. Such a great flock had not been seen +in that district in the memory of man.</p> + +<p>There did not seem any reason for their congregating in this manner, +unless it was the mildness of the winter, but winters had been mild +before without such a display. The birds as a mass rarely left this one +particular field—they voyaged round in the air and settled again in the +same place. Some few used to spend hours with the sheep in a meadow, +remaining there till dusk, till the mist hid them, and their cry sounded +afar in the gloom. They stayed all through the winter, breaking up as +the spring approached. By March the great flock had dispersed.</p> + +<p>The winter was very mild. There were buttercups, avens, and white +nettles in flower on December 31st. On January 7th, there were briar +buds opening into young leaf; on the 9th a dandelion in flower, and an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +arum up. A grey veronica was trying to open flower on the 11th, and +hawthorn buds were so far open that the green was visible on the 16th. +On February 14th a yellow-hammer sang, and brambles had put forth green +buds. Two wasps went by in the sunshine. The 14th is old Candlemas, +supposed to rule the weather for some time after. Old Candlemas was very +fine and sunny till night, when a little rain fell. The summer that +followed was cold and ungenial, with easterly winds, though fortunately +it brightened up somewhat for the harvest. A chaffinch sang on the 20th +of February: all these are very early dates.</p> + +<p>One morning while I was watching these plovers, a man with a gun got +over a gate into the road. Another followed, apparently without a +weapon, but as the first proceeded to take his gun to pieces, and put +the barrel in one pocket at the back of his coat, and the stock in a +second, it is possible that there was another gun concealed. The +coolness with which the fellow did this on the highway was astounding, +but his impudence was surpassed by his stupidity, for at the very moment +he hid the gun there was a rabbit out feeding within easy range, which +neither of these men observed.</p> + +<p>The boughs of a Scotch fir nearly reached to one window. If I recollect +rightly, the snow was on the ground in the early part of the year, when +a golden-crested wren came to it. He visited it two or three times a +week for some time; his golden crest distinctly seen among the dark +green needles of the fir.</p> + +<p>There are squirrels in the copse, and now and then one comes within +sight. In the summer there was one in the boughs of an oak close to the +garden. Once, and once only, a pair of them ventured into the garden +itself, deftly passing along the wooden palings and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> exploring a guelder +rose-bush. The pheasants which roost in the copse wander to it from +distant preserves. One morning in spring, before the corn was up, there +was one in a field by the copse calmly walking along the ridge of a +furrow so near that the ring round his neck was visible from the road.</p> + +<p>In the early part of last autumn, while the acorns were dropping from +the oaks and the berries ripe, I twice disturbed a pheasant from the +garden of a villa not far distant. There were some oaks hard by, and +from under these the bird had wandered into the quiet sequestered +garden. The oak in the copse on which the squirrel was last seen is +peculiar for bearing oak-apples earlier than any other of the +neighbourhood, and there are often half-a-dozen of them on the twigs on +the trunk before there is one anywhere else. The famous snowstorm of +October 1880 snapped off the leader or top of this oak.</p> + +<p>Jays often come, magpies more rarely, to the copse; as for the lesser +birds they all visit it. In the hornbeams at the verge blackcaps sing in +spring a sweet and cultured song, which does not last many seconds. They +visit a thick bunch of ivy in the garden. By these hornbeam trees a +streamlet flows out of the copse, crossed at the hedge by a pole, to +prevent cattle straying in. The pole is a robin's perch. He is always +there, or near; he was there all through the terrible winter, all the +summer, and he is there now.</p> + +<p>There are a few inches, a narrow strip of sand, beside the streamlet +under this pole. Whenever a wagtail dares to come to this sand the robin +immediately appears and drives him away. He will bear no intrusion. A +pair of butcher-birds built very near this spot one spring, but +afterwards appeared to remove to a place where there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> is more furze, but +beside the same hedge. The determination and fierce resolution of the +shrike, or butcherbird, despite his small size, is most marked. One day +a shrike darted down from a hedge just before me, not a yard in front, +and dashed a dandelion to the ground.</p> + +<p>His claws clasped the stalk, and the flower was crushed in a moment; he +came with such force as to partly lose his balance. His prey was +probably a humble-bee which had settled on the dandelion. The shrike's +head resembles that of the eagle in miniature. From his favourite branch +he surveys the grass, and in an instant pounces on his victim.</p> + +<p>There is a quiet lane leading out of one of the roads which have been +mentioned down into a wooded hollow, where there are two ponds, one on +each side of the lane. Standing here one morning in the early summer, +suddenly a kingfisher came shooting straight towards me, and swerving a +little passed within three yards; his blue wings, his ruddy front, the +white streak beside his neck, and long bill were visible for a moment; +then he was away, straight over the meadows, till he cleared a distant +hedge and disappeared. He was probably on his way to visit his nest, for +though living by the streams kingfishers often have their nest a +considerable way from water.</p> + +<p>Two years had gone by since I saw one here before, perched then on the +trunk of a willow which overhangs one of the ponds. After that came the +severe winters, and it seemed as if the kingfishers were killed off, for +they are often destroyed by frost, so that the bird came unexpectedly +from the shadow of the trees, across the lane, and out into the sunshine +over the field. It was a great pleasure to see a kingfisher again.</p> + +<p>This hollow is the very place of singing birds in June.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Up in the oaks +blackbirds whistle—you do not often see them, for they seek the leafy +top branches, but once now and then while fluttering across to another +perch. The blackbird's whistle is very human, like some one playing the +flute; an uncertain player now drawing forth a bar of a beautiful melody +and then losing it again. He does not know what quiver or what turn his +note will take before it ends; the note leads him and completes itself. +His music strives to express his keen appreciation of the loveliness of +the days, the golden glory of the meadow, the light, and the luxurious +shadows.</p> + +<p>Such thoughts can only be expressed in fragments, like a sculptor's +chips thrown off as the inspiration seizes him, not mechanically sawn to +a set line. Now and again the blackbird feels the beauty of the time, +the large white daisy stars, the grass with yellow-dusted tips, the air +which comes so softly unperceived by any precedent rustle of the hedge. +He feels the beauty of the time, and he must say it. His notes come like +wild flowers not sown in order. There is not an oak here in June without +a blackbird.</p> + +<p>Thrushes sing louder here than anywhere else; they really seem to sing +louder, and they are all around. Thrushes appear to vary their notes +with the period of the year, singing louder in the summer, and in the +mild days of October when the leaves lie brown and buff on the sward +under their perch more plaintively and delicately. Warblers and +willow-wrens sing in the hollow in June, all out of sight among the +trees—they are easily hidden by a leaf.</p> + +<p>At that time the ivy leaves which flourish up to the very tops of the +oaks are so smooth with enamelled surface, that high up, as the wind +moves them, they reflect the sunlight and scintillate. Greenfinches in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +the elms never cease love-making; and love-making needs much soft +talking. A nightingale in a bush sings so loud the hawthorn seems too +small for the vigour of the song. He will let you stand at the very +verge of the bough; but it is too near, his voice is sweeter across the +field.</p> + +<p>There are still, in October, a few red apples on the boughs of the trees +in a little orchard beside the same road. It is a natural orchard—left +to itself—therefore there is always something to see in it. The palings +by the road are falling, and are held up chiefly by the brambles about +them and the ivy that has climbed up. Trees stand on the right and trees +on the left; there is a tall spruce fir at the back.</p> + +<p>The apple trees are not set in straight lines: they were at first, but +some have died away and left an irregularity; the trees lean this way +and that, and they are scarred and marked as it were with lichen and +moss. It is the home of birds. A blackbird had its nest this spring in +the bushes on the left side, a nightingale another in the bushes on the +right, and there the nightingale sang under the shadow of a hornbeam for +hours every morning while "City" men were hurrying past to their train.</p> + +<p>The sharp relentless shrike that used to live by the copse moved up +here, and from that very hornbeam perpetually darted across the road +upon insects in the fern and furze opposite. He never entered the +orchard; it is often noticed that birds (and beasts of prey) do not +touch creatures that build near their own nests. Several thrushes reside +in the orchard; swallows frequently twittered from the tops of the apple +trees. As the grass is so safe from intrusion, one of the earliest +buttercups flowers here. Bennets—the flower of the grass—come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> up; the +first bennet is to green things what the first swallow is to the +breathing creatures of summer.</p> + +<p>On a bare bough, but lately scourged by the east wind, the apple bloom +appears, set about with the green of the hedges and the dark spruce +behind. White horse-chestnut blooms stand up in their stately way, +lighting the path which is strewn with the green moss-like flowers +fallen from the oaks. There is an early bush of May. When the young +apples take form and shape the grass is so high even the buttercups are +overtopped by it. Along the edge of the roadside footpath, where the +dandelions, plantains, and grasses are thick with seed, the greenfinches +come down and feed.</p> + +<p>Now the apples are red that are left, and they hang on boughs from which +the leaves are blown by every gust. But it does not matter when you +pass, summer or autumn, this little orchard has always something to +offer. It is not neglected—it is true attention to leave it to itself.</p> + +<p>Left to itself, so that the grass reaches its fullest height; so that +bryony vines trail over the bushes and stay till the berries fall of +their own ripeness; so that the brown leaves lie and are not swept away +unless the wind chooses; so that all things follow their own course and +bent. The hedge opposite in autumn, when reapers are busy with the +sheaves, is white with the large trumpet flowers of the great wild +convolvulus (or bindweed). The hedge there seems made of convolvulus +then; nothing but convolvulus, and nowhere else does the flower flourish +so strongly; the bines remain till the following spring.</p> + +<p>Without a path through it, without a border or parterre, unvisited, and +left alone, the orchard has acquired an atmosphere of peace and +stillness, such as grows up in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> woods and far-away lonely places. It is +so commonplace and unpretentious that passers-by do not notice it; it is +merely a corner of meadow dotted with apple trees—a place that needs +frequent glances and a dreamy mood to understand it as the birds +understand it. They are always there. In spring, thrushes move along, +rustling the fallen leaves as they search among the arum sheaths +unrolling beside the sheltering palings. There are nooks and corners +whence shy creatures can steal out from the shadow and be happy. There +is a loving streak of sunshine somewhere among the tree trunks.</p> + +<p>Though the copse is so much frequented the migrant birds (which have now +for the most part gone) next spring will not be seen nor heard there +first. With one exception, it is not the first place to find them. The +cuckoos which come to the copse do not call till some time after others +have been heard in the neighbourhood. There is another favourite copse a +mile distant, and the cuckoo can be heard near it quite a week earlier. +This last spring there were two days' difference—a marked interval.</p> + +<p>The nightingale that sings in the bushes on the common immediately +opposite the copse is late in the same manner. There is a mound about +half a mile farther, where a nightingale always sings first, before all +the others of the district. The one on the common began to sing last +spring a full week later. On the contrary, the sedge-reedling, which +chatters side by side with the nightingale, is the first of all his kind +to return to the neighbourhood. The same thing happens season after +season, so that when once you know these places you can always hear the +birds several days before other people.</p> + +<p>With flowers it is the same; the lesser celandine, the marsh marigold, +the silvery cardamine, appear first in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> one particular spot, and may be +gathered there before a petal has opened elsewhere. The first swallow in +this district generally appears round about a pond near some farm +buildings. Birds care nothing for appropriate surroundings. Hearing a +titlark singing his loudest, I found him perched on the rim of a tub +placed for horses to drink from.</p> + +<p>This very pond by which the first swallow appears is muddy enough, and +surrounded with poached mud, for a herd of cattle drink from and stand +in it. An elm overhangs it, and on the lower branches, which are dead, +the swallows perch and sing just over the muddy water. A sow lies in the +mire. But the sweet swallows sing on softly; they do not see the +wallowing animal, the mud, the brown water; they see only the sunshine, +the golden buttercups, and the blue sky of summer. This is the true way +to look at this beautiful earth.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="MAGPIE_FIELDS" id="MAGPIE_FIELDS"></a>MAGPIE FIELDS</h3> + + +<p>There were ten magpies together on the 9th of September 1881, in a field +of clover beside a road but twelve miles from Charing Cross. Ten magpies +would be a large number to see at once anywhere in the south, and not a +little remarkable so near town. The magpies were doubtless young birds +which had packed, and were bred in the nests in the numerous elms of the +hedgerows about there. At one time they were scattered over the field, +their white and black colours dotted everywhere, so that they seemed to +hold entire possession of it.</p> + +<p>Then a knot of them gathered together, more came up, and there they were +all ten fluttering and restlessly moving. After a while they passed on +into the next field, which was stubble, and, collected in a bunch, were +even more conspicuous there, as the stubble did not conceal them so much +as the clover. That was on the 9th of September; by the end of the month +weeds had grown so high that the stubble itself in that field had +disappeared, and from a distance it looked like pasture. In the stubble +the magpies remained till I could watch them no longer.</p> + +<p>A short time afterwards, on the 17th of September, looking over the +gateway of an adjacent field which had been wheat, then only recently +carried, a pheasant suddenly appeared rising up out of the stubble; and +then a second, and a third and fourth. So tall were the weeds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> that, in +a crouching posture, at the first glance they were not visible; then as +they fed, stretching their necks out, only the top of their backs could +be seen. Presently some more raised their heads in another part of the +field, then two more on the left side, and one under an oak by the +hedge, till seventeen were counted.</p> + +<p>These seventeen pheasants were evidently all young birds, which had +wandered from covers, some distance, too, for there is no preserve +within a mile at least. Seven or eight came near each other, forming a +flock, but just out of gunshot from the road. They were all extremely +busy feeding in the stubble. Next day half-a-dozen or so still remained, +but the rest had scattered; some had gone across to an acre of barley +yet standing in a corner; some had followed the dropping acorns along +the hedge into another piece of stubble; others went into a breadth of +turnips.</p> + +<p>Day by day their numbers diminished as they parted, till only three or +four could be seen. Such a sortie from cover is the standing risk of the +game-preserver. Towards the end of September, on passing a barley-field, +still partly uncut, and with some spread, there was a loud, confused, +murmuring sound up in the trees, like that caused by the immense flocks +of starlings which collect in winter. The sound, however, did not seem +quite the same, and upon investigation it turned out to be an incredible +number of sparrows, whose voices were audible across the field.</p> + +<p>They presently flew out from the hedge, and alighted on one of the rows +of cut barley, making it suddenly brown from one end to the other. There +must have been thousands; they continually flew up, swept round with a +whirring of wings, and settled, again darkening the spot they chose. +Now, as the sparrow eats from morning to night without ceasing, say for +about twelve hours, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> picks up a grain of corn in the twinkling of an +eye, it would be a moderate calculation to allow this vast flock two +sacks a week. Among them there was one white sparrow—his white wings +showed distinctly among the brown flock. In the most remote country I +never observed so great a number of these birds at once; the loss to the +farmers must be considerable.</p> + +<p>There were a few fine days at the end of the month. One afternoon there +rose up a flock of rooks out of a large oak tree standing separate in +the midst of an arable field which was then at last being ploughed. This +oak is a favourite with the rooks of the neighbourhood, and they have +been noticed to visit it more frequently than others. Up they went, +perhaps a hundred of them, rooks and jackdaws together cawing and +soaring round and round till they reached a great height. At that level, +as if they had attained their ballroom, they swept round and round on +outstretched wings, describing circles and ovals in the air. Caw-caw! +jack-juck-juck! Thus dancing in slow measure, they enjoyed the sunshine, +full from their feast of acorns.</p> + +<p>Often as one was sailing on another approached and interfered with his +course when they wheeled about each other. Soon one dived. Holding his +wings at full stretch and rigid, he dived headlong, rotating as he fell, +till his beak appeared as if it would be driven into the ground by the +violence of the descent. But within twenty feet of the earth he +recovered himself and rose again. Most of these dives, for they all +seemed to dive in turn, were made over the favourite oak, and they did +not rise till they had gone down to its branches. Many appeared about to +throw themselves against the boughs.</p> + +<p>Whether they wheeled round in circles, or whether they dived, or simply +sailed onward in the air, they did<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> it in pairs. As one was sweeping +round another came to him. As one sailed straight on a second closely +followed. After one had dived the other soon followed, or waited till he +had come up and rejoined him. They danced and played in couples as if +they were paired already. Some left the main body and steered right away +from their friends, but turned and came back, and in about half-an-hour +they all descended and settled in the oak from which they had risen. A +loud cawing and jack-juck-jucking accompanied this sally.</p> + +<p>The same day it could be noticed how the shadows of the elms cast by the +bright sunshine on the grass, which is singularly fresh and green this +autumn, had a velvety appearance. The dark shadow on the fresh green +looked soft as velvet. The waters of the brook had become darker now; +they flowed smooth, and at the brink reflected a yellow spray of +horse-chestnut. The sunshine made the greenfinches call, the chaffinches +utter their notes, and a few thrushes sing; but the latter were soon +silenced by frosts in the early morning, which turned the fern to so +deep a reddish brown as to approach copper.</p> + +<p>At the beginning of October a herd of cows and a small flock of sheep +were turned into the clover field to eat off the last crop, the +preceding crops having been mown. There were two or more magpies among +the sheep every day: magpies, starlings, rooks, crows, and wagtails +follow sheep about. The clover this year seems to have been the best +crop, though in the district alluded to it has not been without an +enemy. Early in July, after the first crop had been mown a short time, +there came up a few dull yellowish-looking stalks among it. These +increased so much that one field became yellowish all over, the stalks +overtopped the clover, and overcame its green.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was the lesser broom rape, and hardly a clover plant escaped this +parasitic growth. By carefully removing the earth with a pocket-knife +the two could be dug up together. From the roots of the clover a slender +filament passes underground to the somewhat bulbous root of the broom +rape, so that although they stand apart and appear separate plants, they +are connected under the surface. The stalk of the broom rape is clammy +to touch, and is an unwholesome greenish yellow, a dull undecided +colour; if cut, it is nearly the same texture throughout. There are +numerous dull purplish flowers at the top, but it has no leaves. It is +not a pleasant-looking plant—a strange and unusual growth.</p> + +<p>One particular field was completely covered with it, and scarcely a +clover field in the neighbourhood was perfectly free. But though drawing +the sap from the clover plants the latter grew so vigorously that little +damage was apparent. After a while the broom rape disappeared, but the +clover shot up and afforded good forage. So late as the beginning of +October a few poppies flowered in it, their bright scarlet contrasting +vividly with the green around, and the foliage above fast turning brown.</p> + +<p>The flight of the jay much resembles that of the magpie, the same +jaunty, uncertain style, so that at a distance from the flight alone it +would be difficult to distinguish them, though in fact the magpie's +longer tail and white and black colours always mark him. One morning in +July, standing for a moment in the shade beside a birch copse which +borders the same road, a jay flew up into the tree immediately overhead, +so near that the peculiar shape of the head and bill and all the plumage +was visible. He looked down twice, and then flew. Another morning there +was a jay on the ground,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> searching about, not five yards from the road, +nor twenty from a row of houses. It was at the corner of a copse which +adjoins them. If not so constantly shot at the jay would be anything but +wild.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding all these magpies and jays, the partridges are numerous +this year in the fields bordering the highway, and which are not watched +by keepers. Thinking of the partridges makes me notice the anthills. +There were comparatively few this season, but on the 4th of August, +which was a sunny day, I saw the inhabitants of a hill beside the road +bringing out the eggs into the sunshine. They could not do it fast +enough; some ran out with eggs, and placed them on the top of the little +mound, and others seized eggs that had been exposed sufficiently and +hurried with them into the interior.</p> + +<p>Woody nightshade grows in quantities along this road and, apparently, +all about the outskirts of the town. There is not a hedge without it, +and it creeps over the mounds of earth at the sides of the highways. +Some fumitory appeared this summer in a field of barley; till then I had +not observed any for some time in that district. This plant, once so +common, but now nearly eradicated by culture, has a soft pleasant green. +A cornflower, too, flowered in another field, quite a treasure to find +where these beautiful blue flowers are so scarce. The last day of August +there was a fierce combat on the footpath between a wasp and a brown +moth. They rolled over and struggled, now one, now the other uppermost, +and the wasp appeared to sting the moth repeatedly. The moth, however, +got away.</p> + +<p>There are so many jackdaws about the suburbs that, when a flock of rooks +passes over, the caw-cawing is quite equalled by the jack-jucking. The +daws are easily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> known by their lesser size and by their flight, for +they use their wings three times to the rook's once. Numbers of daws +build in the knot-holes and hollows of the horse-chestnut trees in +Bushey Park, and in the elms of the grounds of Hampton Court.</p> + +<p>To the left of the Diana Fountain there are a number of hawthorn trees, +which stand apart, and are aged like those often found on village greens +and commons. Upon some of these hawthorns mistletoe grows, not in such +quantities as on the apples in Gloucester and Hereford, but in small +pieces.</p> + +<p>As late in the spring as May-day I have seen some berries, then very +large, on the mistletoe here. Earlier in the year, when the adjoining +fountain was frozen and crowded with skaters, there were a number of +missel-thrushes in these hawthorns, but they appeared to be eating the +haws. At all events, they left some of the mistletoe berries, which were +on the plant months later.</p> + +<p>Just above Molesey Lock, in the meadows beside the towing-path, the blue +meadow geranium, or crane's-bill, flowers in large bunches in the +summer. It is one of the most beautiful flowers of the field, and after +having lost sight of it for some time, to see it again seemed to bring +the old familiar far-away fields close to London. Between Hampton Court +and Kingston the towing-path of the Thames is bordered by a broad green +sward, sufficiently wide to be worth mowing. One July I found a man at +work here in advance of the mowers, pulling up yarrow plants with might +and main.</p> + +<p>The herb grew in such quantities that it was necessary to remove it +first, or the hay would be too coarse. On conversing with him, he said +that a person came sometimes and took away a trap-load of yarrow; the +flowers were to be boiled and mixed with cayenne pepper, as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> remedy +for cold in the chest. In spring the dandelions here are pulled in +sackfuls, to be eaten as salad. These things have fallen so much into +disuse in the country that country people are surprised to find the +herbalists flourishing round the great city of progress.</p> + +<p>The continued dry weather in the early summer of the present year, which +was so favourable to partridges and game, was equally favourable to the +increase of several other kinds of birds, and among these the jays. +Their screeching is often heard in this district, quite as often as it +is in country woodlands. One day in the spring I saw six all screeching +and yelling together up and down a hedge near the road. Now in October +they are plentiful. One flew across overhead with an acorn in its beak, +and perched in an elm beside the highway. He pecked at the acorn on the +bough, then glanced down, saw me, and fled, dropping the acorn, which +fell tap tap from branch to branch till it reached the mound.</p> + +<p>Another jay actually flew up into a fir in the green, or lawn, before a +farm-house window, crossing the road to do so. Four together were +screeching in an elm close to the road, and since then I have seen +others with acorns, while walking there. Indeed, this autumn it is not +possible to go far without hearing their discordant and unmistakable +cry. They were never scarce here, but are unusually numerous this +season, and in the scattered trees of hedgerows their ways can be better +observed than in the close covert of copses and plantations, where you +hear them, but cannot see for the thick fir boughs.</p> + +<p>It is curious to note the number of creatures to whom the oak furnishes +food. The jays, for instance, are now visiting them for acorns; in the +summer they fluttered round the then green branches for the chafers, and +in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> the evenings the fern owls or goat-suckers wheeled about the verge +for these and for moths. Rooks come to the oaks in crowds for the +acorns; wood-pigeons are even more fond of them, and from their crops +quite a handful may sometimes be taken when shot in the trees.</p> + +<p>They will carry off at once as many acorns as old-fashioned economical +farmers used to walk about with in their pockets, "chucking" them one, +two, or three at a time to the pigs in the stye as a <i>bonne bouche</i> and +an encouragement to fatten well. Never was there such a bird to eat as +the wood-pigeon. Pheasants roam out from the preserves after the same +fruit, and no arts can retain them at acorn time. Swine are let run out +about the hedgerows to help themselves. Mice pick up the acorns that +fall, and hide them for winter use, and squirrels select the best.</p> + +<p>If there is a decaying bough, or, more particularly, one that has been +sawn off, it slowly decays into a hollow, and will remain in that state +for years, the resort of endless woodlice, snapped up by insect-eating +birds. Down from the branches in spring there descend long, slender +threads, like gossamer, with a caterpillar at the end of each—the +insect-eating birds decimate these. So that in various ways the oaks +give more food to the birds than any other tree. Where there are oaks +there are sure to be plenty of birds. Beeches come next. Is it possible +that the severe frosts we sometimes have split oak trees? Some may be +found split up the trunk, and yet not apparently otherwise injured, as +they probably would be if it had been done by lightning. Trees are said +to burst in America under frost, so that it is not impossible in this +country.</p> + +<p>There is a young oak beside the highway which in autumn was wreathed as +artistically as could have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> done by hand. A black bryony plant grew +up round it, rising in a spiral. The heart-shaped leaves have dropped +from the bine, leaving thick bunches of red and green berries clustering +about the greyish stem of the oak.</p> + +<p>Every one must have noticed that some trees have a much finer autumn +tint than others. This, it will often be found, is an annual occurrence, +and the same elm, or beech, or oak that has delighted the eye with its +hues this autumn, will do the same next year, and excel its neighbours +in colour. Oaks and beeches, perhaps, are the best examples of this, as +they are also the trees that present the most beautiful appearance in +autumn.</p> + +<p>There are oaks on villa lawns near London whose glory of russet foliage +in October or November is not to be surpassed in the parks of the +country. There are two or three such oaks in Long Ditton. All oaks do +not become russet, or buff; some never take those tints. An oak, for +instance, not far from those just mentioned never quite loses its green; +it cannot be said, indeed, to remain green, but there is a trace of it +somewhere; the leaves must, I suppose, be partly buff and partly green; +and the mixture of these colours in bright sunshine produces a tint for +which I know no accurate term.</p> + +<p>In the tops of the poplars, where most exposed, the leaves stay till the +last, those growing on the trunk below disappearing long before those on +the spire, which bends to every blast. The keys of the hornbeam come +twirling down: the hornbeam and the birch are characteristic trees of +the London landscape—the latter reaches a great height and never loses +its beauty, for when devoid of leaves the feathery spray-like branches +only come into view the more.</p> + +<p>The abundant bird life is again demonstrated as the evening approaches. +Along the hedgerows, at the corners<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> of the copses, wherever there is +the least cover, so soon as the sun sinks, the blackbirds announce their +presence by their calls. Their "ching-chinging" sounds everywhere; they +come out on the projecting branches and cry, then fly fifty yards +farther down the hedge, and cry again. During the day they may not have +been noticed, scattered as they were under the bushes, but the dusky +shadows darkening the fields send them to roost, and before finally +retiring, they "ching-ching" to each other.</p> + +<p>Then, almost immediately after the sun has gone down, looking to the +south-west the sky seen above the trees (which hide the yellow sunset) +becomes a delicate violet. Soon a speck of light gleams faintly through +it—the merest speck. The first appearance of a star is very beautiful; +the actual moment of first contact as it were of the ray with the eye is +always a surprise, however often you may have enjoyed it, and +notwithstanding that you are aware it will happen. Where there was only +the indefinite violet before, the most intense gaze into which could +discover nothing, suddenly, as if at that moment born, the point of +light arrives.</p> + +<p>So glorious is the night that not all London, with its glare and smoke, +can smother the sky; in the midst of the gas, and the roar and the +driving crowd, look up from the pavement, and there, straight above, are +the calm stars. I never forget them, not even in the restless Strand; +they face one coming down the hill of the Haymarket; in Trafalgar +Square, looking towards the high dark structure of the House at +Westminster, the clear bright steel silver of the planet Jupiter shines +unwearied, without sparkle or flicker.</p> + +<p>Apart from the grand atmospheric changes caused by a storm wave from the +Atlantic, or an anti-cyclone, London produces its own sky. Put a +shepherd on St.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> Paul's, allow him three months to get accustomed to the +local appearances and the deceptive smoke clouds, and he would then tell +what the weather of the day was going to be far more efficiently than +the very best instrument ever yet invented. He would not always be +right; but he would predict the local London weather with far more +accuracy than any one reading the returns from the barometers at +Valentia, Stornoway, Brest, or Christiansand.</p> + +<p>The reason is this—the barometer foretells the cloud in the sky, but +cannot tell where it will burst. The practised eye can judge with very +considerable accuracy where the discharge will take place. Some idea of +what the local weather of London will be for the next few hours may +often be obtained by observation on either of the bridges—Westminster, +Waterloo, or London Bridge: there is on the bridges something like a +horizon, the best to be got in the City itself, and the changes announce +themselves very clearly there. The difference in the definition is +really wonderful.</p> + +<p>From Waterloo Bridge the golden cross on St. Paul's and the dome at one +time stand out as if engraved upon the sky, clear and with a white +aspect. At the same time, the brick of the old buildings at the back of +the Strand is red and bright. The structures of the bridges appear +light, and do not press upon their arches. The yellow straw stacked on +the barges is bright, the copper-tinted sails bright, the white wall of +the Embankment clear, and the lions' heads distinct. Every trace of +colour, in short, is visible.</p> + +<p>At another time the dome is murky, the cross tarnished, the outline dim, +the red brick dull, the whiteness gone. In summer there is occasionally +a bluish haze about the distant buildings. These are the same changes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +presented by the Downs in the country, and betoken the state of the +atmosphere as clearly. The London atmosphere is, I should fancy, quite +as well adapted to the artist's uses as the changeless glare of the +Continent. The smoke itself is not without its interest.</p> + +<p>Sometimes upon Westminster Bridge at night the scene is very striking. +Vast rugged columns of vapour rise up behind and over the towers of the +House, hanging with threatening aspect; westward the sky is nearly +clear, with some relic of the sunset glow: the river itself, black or +illuminated with the electric light, imparting a silvery blue tint, +crossed again with the red lamps of the steamers. The aurora of dark +vapour, streamers extending from the thicker masses, slowly moves and +yet does not go away; it is just such a sky as a painter might give to +some tremendous historical event, a sky big with presage, gloom, +tragedy. How bright and clear, again, are the mornings in summer! I once +watched the sun rise on London Bridge, and never forgot it.</p> + +<p>In frosty weather, again, when the houses take hard, stern tints, when +the sky is clear over great part of its extent, but with heavy +thunderous-looking clouds in places—clouds full of snow—the sun +becomes of a red or orange hue, and reminds one of the lines of +Longfellow when Othere reached the North Cape—</p> + +<blockquote> +<p> +"Round in a fiery ring<br /> +Went the great sun, oh King!<br /> +With red and lurid light." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>The redness of the winter sun in London is, indeed, characteristic.</p> + +<p>A sunset in winter or early spring floods the streets with fiery glow. +It comes, for instance, down Piccadilly; it is reflected from the smooth +varnished roofs of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> endless carriages that roll to and fro like the +flicker of a mighty fire; it streaks the side of the street with +rosiness. The faces of those who are passing are lit up by it, all +unconscious as they are. The sky above London, indeed, is as full of +interest as above the hills. Lunar rainbows occasionally occur; two to +my knowledge were seen in the direction and apparently over the +metropolis recently.</p> + +<p>When a few minutes on the rail has carried you outside the hub as it +were of London, among the quiet tree-skirted villas, the night reigns as +completely as in the solitudes of the country. Perhaps even more so, for +the solitude is somehow more apparent. The last theatre-goer has +disappeared inside his hall door, the last dull roll of the brougham, +with its happy laughing load, has died away—there is not so much as a +single footfall. The cropped holly hedges, the leafless birches, the +limes and acacias are still and distinct in the moonlight. A few steps +farther out on the highway the copse or plantation sleeps in utter +silence.</p> + +<p>But the tall elms are the most striking; the length of the branches and +their height above brings them across the light, so that they stand out +even more shapely than when in leaf. The blue sky (not, of course, the +blue of day), the white moonlight, the bright stars—larger at midnight +and brilliant, in despite of the moon, which cannot overpower them in +winter as she does in summer evenings—all are as beautiful as on the +distant hills of old. By night, at least, even here, in the still +silence, Heaven has her own way.</p> + +<p>When the oak leaves first begin to turn buff, and the first acorns drop, +the redwings arrive, and their "kuk-kuk" sound in the hedges and the +shrubberies in the gardens of suburban villas. They seem to come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> very +early to the neighbourhood of London, and before the time of their +appearance in other districts. The note is heard before they are seen; +the foliage of the shrubberies, still thick, though changing colour, +concealing them. Presently, when the trees are bare, with the exception +of a few oaks, they have disappeared, passing on towards the west. The +fieldfares, too, as I have previously observed, do not stay. But +missel-thrushes seem more numerous near town than in the country.</p> + +<p>Every mild day in November the thrushes sing; there are meadows where +one may be certain to hear the song-thrush. In the dip or valley at Long +Ditton there are several meadows well timbered with elm, which are the +favourite resorts of thrushes, and their song may be heard just there in +the depth of winter, when it would be possible to go a long distance on +the higher ground without hearing one. If you hear the note of the +song-thrush during frost it is sure to rain within a few hours; it is +the first sign of the weather breaking up.</p> + +<p>Another autumn sign is the packing (in a sense) of the moorhens. During +the summer the numerous brooks and ponds about town are apparently +partially deserted by these birds; at least they are not to be seen by +casual wayfarers. But directly the winter gets colder they gather +together in the old familiar places, and five or six, or even more, come +out at once to feed in the meadows or on the lawns by the water.</p> + +<p>Green plovers, or peewits, come in small flocks to the fields recently +ploughed; sometimes scarcely a gunshot from the walls of the villas. The +tiny golden-crested wrens are comparatively numerous near town—the +heaths with their bramble thickets doubtless suit them; so soon as the +leaves fall they may often be seen.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="HERBS" id="HERBS"></a>HERBS</h3> + + +<p>A great green book, whose broad pages are illuminated with flowers, lies +open at the feet of Londoners. This volume, without further preface, +lies ever open at Kew Gardens, and is most easily accessible from every +part of the metropolis. A short walk from Kew station brings the visitor +to Cumberland Gate. Resting for a moment upon the first seat that +presents itself, it is hard to realise that London has but just been +quitted.</p> + +<p>Green foliage around, green grass beneath, a pleasant sensation—not +silence, but absence of jarring sound—blue sky overhead, streaks and +patches of sunshine where the branches admit the rays, wide, cool +shadows, and clear, sweet atmosphere. High in a lime tree, hidden from +view by the leaves, a chiffchaff sings continually, and from the +distance comes the softer note of a thrush. On the close-mown grass a +hedge-sparrow is searching about within a few yards, and idle insects +float to and fro, visible against the background of a dark yew +tree—they could not be seen in the glare of the sunshine. The peace of +green things reigns.</p> + +<p>It is not necessary to go farther in; this spot at the very entrance is +equally calm and still, for there is no margin of partial +disturbance—repose begins at the edge. Perhaps it is best to be at once +content, and to move no farther; to remain, like the lime tree, in one +spot, with the sunshine and the sky, to close the eyes and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> listen to +the thrush. Something, however, urges exploration.</p> + +<p>The majority of visitors naturally follow the path, and go round into +the general expanse; but I will turn from here sharply to the right, and +crossing the sward there is, after a few steps only, another enclosing +wall. Within this enclosure, called the Herbaceous Ground, heedlessly +passed and perhaps never heard of by the thousands who go to see the +Palm Houses, lies to me the real and truest interest of Kew. For here is +a living dictionary of English wild flowers.</p> + +<p>The meadow and the cornfield, the river, the mountain and the woodland, +the seashore, the very waste place by the roadside, each has sent its +peculiar representatives, and glancing for the moment, at large, over +the beds, noting their number and extent, remembering that the specimens +are not in the mass but individual, the first conclusion is that our own +country is the true Flowery Land.</p> + +<p>But the immediate value of this wonderful garden is in the clue it gives +to the most ignorant, enabling any one, no matter how unlearned, to +identify the flower that delighted him or her, it may be, years ago, in +faraway field or copse. Walking up and down the green paths between the +beds, you are sure to come upon it presently, with its scientific name +duly attached and its natural order labelled at the end of the patch.</p> + +<p>Had I only known of this place in former days, how gladly I would have +walked the hundred miles hither! For the old folk, aged men and +countrywomen, have for the most part forgotten, if they ever knew, the +plants and herbs in the hedges they had frequented from childhood. Some +few, of course, they can tell you; but the majority are as unknown to +them, except by sight, as, the ferns of New Zealand or the heaths of the +Cape.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> Since books came about, since the railways and science destroyed +superstition, the lore of herbs has in great measure decayed and been +lost. The names of many of the commonest herbs are quite forgotten—they +are weeds, and nothing more. But here these things are preserved; in +London, the centre of civilisation and science, is a garden which +restores the ancient knowledge of the monks and the witches of the +villages.</p> + +<p>Thus, on entering to-day, the first plant which I observed is +hellebore—a not very common wild herb perhaps, but found in places, and +a traditionary use of which is still talked of in the country, a use +which I must forbear to mention. What would the sturdy mowers whom I +once watched cutting their way steadily through the tall grass in June +say, could they see here the black knapweed cultivated as a garden +treasure? Its hard woody head with purple florets lifted high above the +ground, was greatly disliked by them, as, too, the blue scabious, and +indeed most other flowers. The stalks of such plants were so much harder +to mow than the grass.</p> + +<p>Feathery yarrow sprays, which spring up by the wayside and wherever the +foot of man passes, as at the gateway, are here. White and lilac-tinted +yarrow flowers grow so thickly along the roads round London as often to +form a border between the footpath and the bushes of the hedge. +Dandelions lift their yellow heads, classified and cultivated—the same +dandelions whose brilliant colour is admired and imitated by artists, +and whose prepared roots are still in use in country places to improve +the flavour of coffee.</p> + +<p>Groundsel, despised groundsel—the weed which cumbers the garden patch, +and is hastily destroyed, is here fully recognised. These +harebells—they have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> flowered a little earlier than in their wild +state—how many scenes they recall to memory! We found them on the tops +of the glorious Downs when the wheat was ripe in the plains and the +earth beneath seemed all golden. Some, too, concealed themselves on the +pastures behind those bunches of tough grass the cattle left untouched. +And even in cold November, when the mist lifted, while the dewdrops +clustered thickly on the grass, one or two hung their heads under the +furze.</p> + +<p>Hawkweeds, which many mistake for dandelions; cowslips, in seed now, and +primroses, with foreign primulas around them and enclosed by small +hurdles, foxgloves, some with white and some with red flowers, all these +have their story and are intensely English. Rough-leaved comfrey of the +side of the river and brook, one species of which is so much talked of +as better forage than grass, is here, its bells opening.</p> + +<p>Borage, whose leaves float in the claret-cup ladled out to thirsty +travellers at the London railway stations in the hot weather; knotted +figwort, common in ditches; Aaron's rod, found in old gardens; lovely +veronicas; mints and calamints whose leaves, if touched, scent the +fingers, and which grow everywhere by cornfield and hedgerow.</p> + +<p>This bunch of wild thyme once again calls up a vision of the Downs; it +is not so thick and strong, and it lacks that cushion of herbage which +so often marks the site of its growth on the noble slopes of the hills, +and along the sward-grown fosse of ancient earthworks, but it is wild +thyme, and that is enough. From this bed of varieties of thyme there +rises up a pleasant odour which attracts the bees. Bees and humble-bees, +indeed, buzz everywhere, but they are much too busily occupied to notice +you or me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>Is there any difference in the taste of London honey and in that of the +country? From the immense quantity of garden flowers about the +metropolis it would seem possible for a distinct flavour, not perhaps +preferable, to be imparted. Lavender, of which old housewives were so +fond, and which is still the best of preservatives, comes next, and +self-heal is just coming out in flower; the reapers have, I believe, +forgotten its former use in curing the gashes sometimes inflicted by the +reap-hook. The reaping-machine has banished such memories from the +stubble. Nightshades border on the potato, the flowers of both almost +exactly alike; poison and food growing side by side and of the same +species.</p> + +<p>There are tales still told in the villages of this deadly and enchanted +mandragora; the lads sometimes go to the churchyards to search for it. +Plantains and docks, wild spurge, hops climbing up a dead fir tree, a +well-chosen pole for them—nothing is omitted. Even the silver weed, the +dusty-looking foliage which is thrust aside as you walk on the footpath +by the road, is here labelled with truth as "cosmopolitan" of habit.</p> + +<p>Bird's-foot lotus, another Downside plant, lights up the stones put to +represent rockwork with its yellow. Saxifrage, and stone-crop and +house-leek are here in variety. Buttercups occupy a whole patch—a +little garden to themselves. What would the haymakers say to such a +sight? Little, too, does the mower reck of the number, variety, and +beauty of the grasses in a single armful of swathe, such as he gathers +up to cover his jar of ale with and keep it cool by the hedge. The +bennets, the flower of the grass, on their tall stalks, go down in +numbers as countless as the sand of the seashore before his scythe.</p> + +<p>But here the bennets are watched and tended, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> weeds removed from +around them, and all the grasses of the field cultivated as +affectionately as the finest rose. There is something cool and pleasant +in this green after the colours of the herbs in flower, though each +grass is but a bunch, yet it has with it something of the sweetness of +the meadows by the brooks. Juncus, the rush, is here, a sign often +welcome to cattle, for they know that water must be near; the bunch is +cut down, and the white pith shows, but it will speedily be up again; +horse-tails, too, so thick in marshy places—one small species is +abundant in the ploughed fields of Surrey, and must be a great trouble +to the farmers, for the land is sometimes quite hidden by it.</p> + +<p>In the adjoining water tank are the principal flowers and plants which +flourish in brook, river, and pond. This yellow iris flowers in many +streams about London, and the water-parsnip's pale green foliage waves +at the very bottom, for it will grow with the current right over it as +well as at the side. Water-plantain grows in every pond near the +metropolis; there is some just outside these gardens, in a wet ha-ha.</p> + +<p>The huge water-docks in the centre here flourish at the verge of the +adjacent Thames; the marsh marigold, now in seed, blooms in April in the +damp furrows of meadows close up to town. But in this flower-pot, sunk +so as to be in the water, and yet so that the rim may prevent it from +spreading and coating the entire tank with green, is the strangest of +all, actually duckweed. The still ponds always found close to cattle +yards, are in summer green from end to end with this weed. I recommend +all country folk who come up to town in summer time to run down here +just to see duckweed cultivated once in their lives.</p> + +<p>In front of an ivy-grown museum there is a kind of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> bowling-green, sunk +somewhat below the general surface, where in similar beds may be found +the most of those curious old herbs which, for seasoning or salad, or +some use of superstition, were famous in ancient English households. Not +one of them but has its associations. "There's rue for you," to begin +with; we all know who that herb is for ever connected with.</p> + +<p>There is marjoram and sage, clary, spearmint, peppermint, salsify, +elecampane, tansy, assafœtida, coriander, angelica, caper spurge, +lamb's lettuce, and sorrel. Mugwort, southernwood, and wormwood are +still to be found in old gardens: they stand here side by side. +Monkshood, horehound, henbane, vervain (good against the spells of +witches), feverfew, dog's mercury, bistort, woad, and so on, all seem +like relics of the days of black-letter books. All the while +greenfinches are singing happily in the trees without the wall.</p> + +<p>This is but the briefest résumé; for many long summer afternoons would +be needed even to glance at all the wild flowers that bloom in June. +Then you must come once at least a month, from March to September, as +the flowers succeed each other, to read the place aright. It is an index +to every meadow and cornfield, wood, heath, and river in the country, +and by means of the plants of the same species to the flowers of the +world. Therefore, the Herbaceous Ground seems to me a place that should +on no account be passed by. And the next place is the Wilderness—that +is, the Forest.</p> + +<p>On the way thither an old-fashioned yew hedge may be seen round about a +vast glasshouse. Outside, on the sward, there are fewer wild flowers +growing wild than might perhaps be expected, owing in some degree, no +doubt, to the frequent mowing, except under the trees, where again the +constant shadow does not suit all. By<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> the ponds, in the midst of trees, +and near the river, there is a little grass, however, left to itself, in +which in June there were some bird's-foot lotus, veronica, hawkweeds, +ox-eye daisy, knapweed, and buttercups. Standing by these ponds, I heard +a cuckoo call, and saw a rook sail over them; there was no other sound +but that of the birds and the merry laugh of children rolling down the +slopes.</p> + +<p>The midsummer hum was audible above; the honey-dew glistened on the +leaves of the limes. There is a sense of repose in the mere aspect of +large trees in groups and masses of quiet foliage. Their breadth of form +steadies the roving eye; the rounded slopes, the wide sweeping outline +of these hills of green boughs, induce an inclination, like them, to +rest. To recline upon the grass and with half-closed eyes gaze upon them +is enough.</p> + +<p>The delicious silence is not the silence of night, of lifelessness; it +is the lack of jarring, mechanical noise; it is not silence but the +sound of leaf and grass gently stroked by the soft and tender touch of +the summer air. It is the sound of happy finches, of the slow buzz of +humble-bees, of the occasional splash of a fish, or the call of a +moorhen. Invisible in the brilliant beams above, vast legions of insects +crowd the sky, but the product of their restless motion is a slumberous +hum.</p> + +<p>These sounds are the real silence; just as a tiny ripple of the water +and the swinging of the shadows as the boughs stoop are the real +stillness. If they were absent, if it was the soundlessness and +stillness of stone, the mind would crave for something. But these fill +and content it. Thus reclining, the storm and stress of life +dissolve—there is no thought, no care, no desire. Somewhat of the +Nirvana of the earth beneath—the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> earth which for ever produces and +receives back again and yet is for ever at rest—enters into and soothes +the heart.</p> + +<p>The time slips by, a rook emerges from yonder mass of foliage, and idly +floats across, and is hidden in another tree. A whitethroat rises from a +bush and nervously discourses, gesticulating with wings and tail, for a +few moments. But this is not possible for long; the immense magnetism of +London, as I have said before, is too near. There comes the quick short +beat of a steam launch shooting down the river hard by, and the dream is +over. I rise and go on again.</p> + +<p>Already one of the willows planted about the pond is showing the yellow +leaf, before midsummer. It reminds me of the inevitable autumn. In +October these ponds, now apparently deserted, will be full of moorhens. +I have seen and heard but one to-day, but as the autumn comes on they +will be here again, feeding about the island, or searching on the sward +by the shore. Then, too, among the beeches that lead from hence towards +the fanciful pagoda the squirrels will be busy. There are numbers of +them, and their motions may be watched with ease. I turn down by the +river; in the ditch at the foot of the ha-ha wall is plenty of duckweed, +the Lemna of the tank.</p> + +<p>A little distance away, and almost on the shore, as it seems, of the +Thames, is a really noble horse-chestnut, whose boughs, untouched by +cattle, come sweeping down to the ground, and then, continuing, seem to +lie on and extend themselves along it, yards beyond their contact. +Underneath, it reminds one of sketches of encampments in Hindostan +beneath banyan trees, where white tent cloths are stretched from branch +to branch. Tent cloths might be stretched here in similar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> manner, and +would enclose a goodly space. Or in the boughs above, a savage's +tree-hut might be built, and yet scarcely be seen.</p> + +<p>My roaming and uncertain steps next bring me under a plane, and I am +forced to admire it; I do not like planes, but this is so straight of +trunk, so vast of size, and so immense of height that I cannot choose +but look up into it. A jackdaw, perched on an upper bough, makes off as +I glance up. But the trees constantly afford unexpected pleasure; you +wander among the timber of the world, now under the shadow of the trees +which the Red Indian haunts, now by those which grow on Himalayan +slopes. The interest lies in the fact that they are trees, not shrubs or +mere saplings, but timber trees which cast a broad shadow.</p> + +<p>So great is their variety and number that it is not always easy to find +an oak or an elm; there are plenty, but they are often lost in the +foreign forest. Yet every English shrub and bush is here; the hawthorn, +the dogwood, the wayfaring tree, gorse and broom, and here is a round +plot of heather. Weary at last, I rest again near the Herbaceous Ground, +as the sun declines and the shadows lengthen.</p> + +<p>As evening draws on, the whistling of blackbirds and the song of +thrushes seem to come from everywhere around. The trees are full of +them. Every few moments a blackbird passes over, flying at some height, +from the villa gardens and the orchards without. The song increases; the +mellow whistling is without intermission; but the shadow has nearly +reached the wall, and I must go.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="TREES_ABOUT_TOWN" id="TREES_ABOUT_TOWN"></a>TREES ABOUT TOWN</h3> + + +<p>Just outside London there is a circle of fine, large houses, each +standing in its own grounds, highly rented, and furnished with every +convenience money can supply. If any one will look at the trees and +shrubs growing in the grounds about such a house, chosen at random for +an example, and make a list of them, he may then go round the entire +circumference of Greater London, mile after mile, many days' journey, +and find the list ceaselessly repeated.</p> + +<p>There are acacias, sumachs, cedar deodaras, araucarias, laurels, planes, +beds of rhododendrons, and so on. There are various other foreign shrubs +and trees whose names have not become familiar, and then the next +grounds contain exactly the same, somewhat differently arranged. Had +they all been planted by Act of Parliament, the result could scarcely +have been more uniform.</p> + +<p>If, again, search were made in these enclosures for English trees and +English shrubs, it would be found that none have been introduced. The +English trees, timber trees, that are there, grew before the house was +built; for the rest, the products of English woods and hedgerows have +been carefully excluded. The law is, "Plant planes, laurels, and +rhododendrons; root up everything natural to this country."</p> + +<p>To those who have any affection for our own wood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>lands this is a pitiful +spectacle, produced, too, by the expenditure of large sums of money. +Will no one break through the practice, and try the effect of English +trees? There is no lack of them, and they far excel anything yet +imported in beauty and grandeur.</p> + +<p>Though such suburban grounds mimic the isolation and retirement of +ancient country-houses surrounded with parks, the distinctive feature of +the ancient houses is omitted. There are no massed bodies, as it were, +of our own trees to give a substance to the view. Are young oaks ever +seen in those grounds so often described as park-like? Some time since +it was customary for the builder to carefully cut down every piece of +timber on the property before putting in the foundations.</p> + +<p>Fortunately, the influence of a better taste now preserves such trees as +chance to be growing on the site at the moment it is purchased. These +remain, but no others are planted. A young oak is not to be seen. The +oaks that are there drop their acorns in vain, for if one takes root it +is at once cut off; it would spoil the laurels. It is the same with +elms; the old elms are decaying, and no successors are provided.</p> + +<p>As for ash, it is doubtful if a young ash is anywhere to be found; if so +it is an accident. The ash is even rarer than the rest. In their places +are put more laurels, cedar deodaras, various evergreens, rhododendrons, +planes. How tame and insignificant are these compared with the oak! +Thrice a year the oaks become beautiful in a different way.</p> + +<p>In spring the opening buds give the tree a ruddy hue; in summer the +great head of green is not to be surpassed; in autumn, with the falling +leaf and acorn, they appear buff and brown. The nobility of the oak +casts the pitiful laurel into utter insignificance. With elms it is the +same;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> they are reddish with flower and bud very early in the year, the +fresh leaf is a tender green; in autumn they are sometimes one mass of +yellow.</p> + +<p>Ashes change from almost black to a light green, then a deeper green, +and again light green and yellow. Where is the foreign evergreen in the +competition? Put side by side, competition is out of the question; you +have only to get an artist to paint the oak in its three phases to see +this. There is less to be said against the deodara than the rest, as it +is a graceful tree; but it is not English in any sense.</p> + +<p>The point, however, is that the foreigners oust the English altogether. +Let the cedar and the laurel, and the whole host of invading evergreens, +be put aside by themselves, in a separate and detached shrubbery, +maintained for the purpose of exhibiting strange growths. Let them not +crowd the lovely English trees out of the place. Planes are much planted +now, with ill effect; the blotches where the bark peels, the leaves +which lie on the sward like brown leather, the branches wide apart and +giving no shelter to birds—in short, the whole ensemble of the plane is +unfit for our country.</p> + +<p>It was selected for London plantations, as the Thames Embankment, +because its peeling bark was believed to protect it against the deposit +of sooty particles, and because it grows quickly. For use in London +itself it may be preferable: for semi-country seats, as the modern +houses surrounded with their own grounds assume to be, it is unsightly. +It has no association. No one has seen a plane in a hedgerow, or a wood, +or a copse. There are no fragments of English history clinging to it as +there are to the oak.</p> + +<p>If trees of the plane class be desirable, sycamores may be planted, as +they have in a measure become acclima<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>tised. If trees that grow fast are +required, there are limes and horse-chestnuts; the lime will run a race +with any tree. The lime, too, has a pale yellow blossom, to which bees +resort in numbers, making a pleasant hum, which seems the natural +accompaniment of summer sunshine. Its leaves are put forth early.</p> + +<p>Horse-chestnuts, too, grow quickly and without any attention, the bloom +is familiar, and acknowledged to be fine, and in autumn the large sprays +of leaves take orange and even scarlet tints. The plane is not to be +mentioned beside either of them. Other trees as well as the plane would +have flourished on the Thames Embankment, in consequence of the current +of fresh air caused by the river. Imagine the Embankment with double +rows of oaks, elms, or beeches; or, if not, even with limes or +horse-chestnuts! To these certainly birds would have resorted—possibly +rooks, which do not fear cities. On such a site the experiment would +have been worth making.</p> + +<p>If in the semi-country seats fast-growing trees are needed, there are, +as I have observed, the lime and horse-chestnut; and if more variety be +desired, add the Spanish chestnut and the walnut. The Spanish chestnut +is a very fine tree; the walnut, it is true, grows slowly. If as many +beeches as cedar deodaras and laurels and planes were planted in these +grounds, in due course of time the tap of the woodpecker would be heard: +a sound truly worth ten thousand laurels. At Kew, far closer to town +than many of the semi-country seats are now, all our trees flourish in +perfection.</p> + +<p>Hardy birches, too, will grow in thin soil. Just compare the delicate +drooping boughs of birch—they could not have been more delicate if +sketched with a pencil—compare these with the gaunt planes!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Of all the foreign shrubs that have been brought to these shores, there +is not one that presents us with so beautiful a spectacle as the bloom +of the common old English hawthorn in May. The mass of blossom, the +pleasant fragrance, its divided and elegant leaf, place it far above any +of the importations. Besides which, the traditions and associations of +the May give it a human interest.</p> + +<p>The hawthorn is a part of natural English life—country life. It stands +side by side with the Englishman, as the palm tree is pictured side by +side with the Arab. You cannot pick up an old play, or book of the time +when old English life was in the prime, without finding some reference +to the hawthorn. There is nothing of this in the laurel, or any shrub +whatever that may be thrust in with a ticket to tell you its name; it +has a ticket because it has no interest, or else you would know it.</p> + +<p>For use there is nothing like hawthorn; it will trim into a thick hedge, +defending the enclosure from trespassers, and warding off the bitter +winds; or it will grow into a tree. Again, the old hedge-crab—the +common, despised crab-apple—in spring is covered with blossom, such a +mass of blossom that it may be distinguished a mile. Did any one ever +see a plane or a laurel look like that?</p> + +<p>How pleasant, too, to see the clear white flower of the blackthorn come +out in the midst of the bitter easterly breezes! It is like a white +handkerchief beckoning to the sun to come. There will not be much more +frost; if the wind is bitter to-day, the sun is rapidly gaining power. +Probably, if a blackthorn bush were by any chance discovered in the +semi-parks or enclosures alluded to, it would at once be rooted out as +an accursed thing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> The very brambles are superior; there is the flower, +the sweet berry, and afterwards the crimson leaves—three things in +succession.</p> + +<p>What can the world produce equal to the June rose? The common briar, the +commonest of all, offers a flower which, whether in itself, or the +moment of its appearance at the juncture of all sweet summer things, or +its history and associations, is not to be approached by anything a +millionaire could purchase. The labourer casually gathers it as he goes +to his work in the field, and yet none of the rich families whose names +are synonymous with wealth can get anything to equal it if they ransack +the earth.</p> + +<p>After these, fill every nook and corner with hazel, and make filbert +walks. Up and down such walks men strolled with rapiers by their sides +while our admirals were hammering at the Spaniards with culverin and +demi-cannon, and looked at the sun-dial and adjourned for a game at +bowls, wishing that they only had a chance to bowl shot instead of +peaceful wood. Fill in the corners with nut-trees, then, and make +filbert walks. All these are like old story books, and the old stories +are always best.</p> + +<p>Still, there are others for variety, as the wild guelder rose, which +produces heavy bunches of red berries; dogwood, whose leaves when +frost-touched take deep colours; barberry, yielding a pleasantly acid +fruit; the wayfaring tree; not even forgetting the elder, but putting it +at the outside, because, though flowering, the scent is heavy, and +because the elder was believed of old time to possess some of the virtue +now attributed to the blue gum, and to neutralise malaria by its own +odour.</p> + +<p>For colour add the wild broom and some furze. Those who have seen broom +in full flower, golden to the tip of every slender bough, cannot need +any persuasion, surely,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> to introduce it. Furze is specked with yellow +when the skies are dark and the storms sweep around, besides its prime +display. Let wild clematis climb wherever it will. Then laurels may come +after these, put somewhere by themselves, with their thick changeless +leaves, unpleasant to the touch; no one ever gathers a spray.</p> + +<p>Rhododendrons it is unkind to attack, for in themselves they afford a +rich flower. It is not the rhododendron, but the abuse of it, which must +be protested against. Whether the soil suits or not—and, for the most +part, it does not suit—rhododendrons are thrust in everywhere. Just +walk in amongst them—behind the show—and look at the spindly, crooked +stems, straggling how they may, and then look at the earth under them, +where not a weed even will grow. The rhododendron is admirable in its +place, but it is often overdone and a failure, and has no right to +exclude those shrubs that are fitter. Most of the foreign shrubs about +these semi-country seats look exactly like the stiff and painted little +wooden trees that are sold for children's toys, and, like the toys, are +the same colour all the year round.</p> + +<p>Now, if you enter a copse in spring the eye is delighted with cowslips +on the banks where the sunlight comes, with blue-bells, or earlier with +anemones and violets, while later the ferns rise. But enter the +semi-parks of the semi-country seat, with its affected assumption of +countryness, and there is not one of these. The fern is actually +purposely eradicated—just think! Purposely! Though indeed they would +not grow, one would think, under rhododendrons and laurels, cold-blooded +laurels. They will grow under hawthorn, ash, or beside the bramble +bushes.</p> + +<p>If there chance to be a little pond or "fountain," there is no such +thing as a reed, or a flag, or a rush. How<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> the rushes would be hastily +hauled out and hurled away with execrations!</p> + +<p>Besides the greater beauty of English trees, shrubs, and plants, they +also attract the birds, without which the grandest plantation is a +vacancy, and another interest, too, arises from watching the progress of +their growth and the advance of the season. Our own trees and shrubs +literally keep pace with the stars which shine in our northern skies. An +astronomical floral almanack might almost be constructed, showing how, +as the constellations marched on by night, the buds and leaves and +flowers appeared by day.</p> + +<p>The lower that brilliant Sirius sinks in the western sky after ruling +the winter heavens, and the higher that red Arcturus rises, so the buds +thicken, open, and bloom. When the Pleiades begin to rise in the early +evening, the leaves are turning colour, and the seed vessels of the +flowers take the place of the petals. The coincidences of floral and +bird life, and of these with the movements of the heavens, impart a +sense of breadth to their observation.</p> + +<p>It is not only the violet or the anemone, there are the birds coming +from immense distances to enjoy the summer with us; there are the stars +appearing in succession, so that the most distant of objects seems +brought into connection with the nearest, and the world is made one. The +sharp distinction, the line artificially drawn between things, quite +disappears when they are thus associated.</p> + +<p>Birds, as just remarked, are attracted by our own trees and shrubs. Oaks +are favourites with rooks and wood-pigeons; blackbirds whistle in them +in spring; if there is a pheasant about in autumn he is sure to come +under the oak; jays visit them. Elms are resorted to by most of the +larger birds. Ash plantations attract wood-pigeons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> and turtle-doves. +Thrushes are fond of the ash, and sing much on its boughs. The beech is +the woodpecker's tree so soon as it grows old—birch one of the +missel-thrush's.</p> + +<p>In blackthorn the long-tailed tit builds the domed nest every one +admires. Under the cover of brambles white-throats build. Nightingales +love hawthorn, and so does every bird. Plant hawthorn, and almost every +bird will come to it, from the wood-pigeon down to the wren. Do not +clear away the fallen branches and brown leaves, sweeping the plantation +as if it were the floor of a ballroom, for it is just the tangle and the +wilderness that brings the birds, and they like the disarray.</p> + +<p>If evergreens are wanted, there are the yew, the box, and holly—all +three well sanctioned by old custom. Thrushes will come for the yew +berries, and birds are fond of building in the thick cover of high box +hedges. Notwithstanding the prickly leaves, they slip in and out of the +holly easily. A few bunches of rushes and sedges, with some weeds and +aquatic grasses, allowed to grow about a pond, will presently bring +moorhens. Bare stones—perhaps concrete—will bring nothing.</p> + +<p>If a bough falls into the water, let it stay; sparrows will perch on it +to drink. If a sandy drinking-place can be made for them the number of +birds that will come in the course of the day will be surprising.</p> + +<p>Kind-hearted people, when winter is approaching, should have two posts +sunk in their grounds, with planks across at the top; a raised platform +with the edges projecting beyond the posts, so that cats cannot climb +up, and of course higher than a cat can spring. The crumbs cast out upon +this platform would gather crowds of birds; they will come to feel at +home, and in spring time will return to build and sing.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> +<h3><a name="TO_BRIGHTON" id="TO_BRIGHTON"></a>TO BRIGHTON</h3> + + +<p>The smooth express to Brighton has scarcely, as it seems, left the +metropolis when the banks of the railway become coloured with wild +flowers. Seen for a moment in swiftly passing, they border the line like +a continuous garden. Driven from the fields by plough and hoe, cast out +from the pleasure-grounds of modern houses, pulled up and hurled over +the wall to wither as accursed things, they have taken refuge on the +embankment and the cutting.</p> + +<p>There they can flourish and ripen their seeds, little harassed even by +the scythe and never by grazing cattle. So it happens that, extremes +meeting, the wild flower, with its old-world associations, often grows +most freely within a few feet of the wheels of the locomotive. Purple +heathbells gleam from shrub-like bunches dotted along the slope; purple +knapweeds lower down in the grass; blue scabious, yellow hawkweeds where +the soil is thinner, and harebells on the very summit; these are but a +few upon which the eye lights while gliding by.</p> + +<p>Glossy thistledown, heedless whither it goes, comes in at the open +window. Between thickets of broom there is a glimpse down into a meadow +shadowed by the trees of a wood. It is bordered with the cool green of +brake fern, from which a rabbit has come forth to feed, and a pheasant +strolls along with a mind, perhaps, to the barley yonder. Or a foxglove +lifts its purple spire; or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> woodbine crowns the bushes. The sickle has +gone over, and the poppies which grew so thick a while ago in the corn +no longer glow like a scarlet cloak thrown on the ground. But red spots +in waste places and by the ways are where they have escaped the steel.</p> + +<p>A wood-pigeon keeps pace with the train—his vigorous pinions can race +against an engine, but cannot elude the hawk. He stops presently among +the trees. How pleasant it is from the height of the embankment to look +down upon the tops of the oaks! The stubbles stretch away, crossed with +bands of green roots where the partridges are hiding. Among flags and +weeds the moorhens feed fearlessly as we roll over the stream: then +comes a cutting, and more heath and hawkweed, harebell, and bramble +bushes red with unripe berries.</p> + +<p>Flowers grow high up the sides of the quarries; flowers cling to the +dry, crumbling chalk of the cliff-like cutting; flowers bloom on the +verge above, against the line of the sky, and over the dark arch of the +tunnel. This, it is true, is summer; but it is the same in spring. +Before a dandelion has shown in the meadow, the banks of the railway are +yellow with coltsfoot. After a time the gorse flowers everywhere along +them; but the golden broom overtops all, perfect thickets of broom +glowing in the sunlight.</p> + +<p>Presently the copses are azure with bluebells, among which the brake is +thrusting itself up; others, again, are red with ragged robins, and the +fields adjacent fill the eye with the gaudy glare of yellow charlock. +The note of the cuckoo sounds above the rushing of the train, and the +larks may be seen, if not heard, rising high over the wheat. Some birds, +indeed, find the bushes by the railway the quietest place in which to +build their nests.</p> + +<p>Butcher-birds or shrikes are frequently found on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> telegraph wires; +from that elevation they pounce down on their prey, and return again to +the wire. There were two pairs of shrikes using the telegraph wires for +this purpose one spring only a short distance beyond noisy Clapham +Junction. Another pair came back several seasons to a particular part of +the wires, near a bridge, and I have seen a hawk perched on the wire +equally near London.</p> + +<p>The haze hangs over the wide, dark plain, which, soon after passing +Redhill, stretches away on the right. It seems to us in the train to +extend from the foot of a great bluff there to the first rampart of the +still distant South Downs. In the evening that haze will be changed to a +flood of purple light veiling the horizon. Fitful glances at the +newspaper or the novel pass the time; but now I can read no longer, for +I know, without any marks or tangible evidence, that the hills are +drawing near. There is always hope in the hills.</p> + +<p>The dust of London fills the eyes and blurs the vision; but it +penetrates deeper than that. There is a dust that chokes the spirit, and +it is this that makes the streets so long, the stones so stony, the desk +so wooden; the very rustiness of the iron railings about the offices +sets the teeth on edge, the sooty blackened walls (yet without shadow) +thrust back the sympathies which are ever trying to cling to the +inanimate things around us. A breeze comes in at the carriage window—a +wild puff, disturbing the heated stillness of the summer day. It is easy +to tell where that came from—silently the Downs have stolen into sight.</p> + +<p>So easy is the outline of the ridge, so broad and flowing are the +slopes, that those who have not mounted them cannot grasp the idea of +their real height and steepness. The copse upon the summit yonder looks +but a short<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> stroll distant; how much you would be deceived did you +attempt to walk thither! The ascent here in front seems nothing, but you +must rest before you have reached a third of the way up. Ditchling +Beacon there, on the left, is the very highest above the sea of the +whole mighty range, but so great is the mass of the hill that the glance +does not realise it.</p> + +<p>Hope dwells there, somewhere, mayhap, in the breeze, in the sward, or +the pale cups of the harebells. Now, having gazed at these, we can lean +back on the cushions and wait patiently for the sea. There is nothing +else, except the noble sycamores on the left hand just before the train +draws into the station.</p> + +<p>The clean dry brick pavements are scarcely less crowded than those of +London, but as you drive through the town, now and then there is a +glimpse of a greenish mist afar off between the houses. The green mist +thickens in one spot almost at the horizon; or is it the dark nebulous +sails of a vessel? Then the foam suddenly appears close at hand—a white +streak seems to run from house to house, reflecting the sunlight: and +this is Brighton.</p> + +<p>"How different the sea looks away from the pier!" It is a new pleasure +to those who have been full of gaiety to see, for once, the sea itself. +Westwards, a mile beyond Hove, beyond the coastguard cottages, turn +aside from the road, and go up on the rough path along the ridge of +shingle. The hills are away on the right, the sea on the left; the yards +of the ships in the basin slant across the sky in front.</p> + +<p>With a quick, sudden heave the summer sea, calm and gleaming, runs a +little way up the side of the groyne, and again retires. There is scarce +a gurgle or a bubble, but the solid timbers are polished and smooth +where the storms have worn them with pebbles. From a grassy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> spot ahead +a bird rises, marked with white, and another follows it; they are +wheatears; they frequent the land by the low beach in the autumn.</p> + +<p>A shrill but feeble pipe is the cry of the sandpiper, disturbed on his +moist feeding-ground. Among the stones by the waste places there are +pale-green wrinkled leaves, and the large yellow petals of the +sea-poppy. The bright colour is pleasant, but it is a flower best left +ungathered, for its odour is not sweet. On the wiry sward the light pink +of the sea-daisies (or thrift) is dotted here and there: of these gather +as you will. The presence even of such simple flowers, of such +well-known birds, distinguishes the solitary from the trodden beach. The +pier is in view, but the sea is different here.</p> + +<p>Drive eastwards along the cliffs to the rough steps cut down to the +beach, descend to the shingle, and stroll along the shore to +Rottingdean. The buttresses of chalk shut out the town if you go to +them, and rest near the large pebbles heaped at the foot. There is +nothing but the white cliff, the green sea, the sky, and the slow ships +that scarcely stir.</p> + +<p>In the spring, a starling comes to his nest in a cleft of the cliff +above; he shoots over from the dizzy edge, spreads his wings, borne up +by the ascending air, and in an instant is landed in his cave. On the +sward above, in the autumn, the yellow lip of the toad-flax, spotted +with orange, peers from the grass as you rest and gaze—how far?—out +upon the glorious plain.</p> + +<p>Or go up on the hill by the race-course, the highest part near the sea, +and sit down there on the turf. If the west or south wind blow ever so +slightly the low roar of the surge floats up, mingling with the rustle +of the corn stacked in shocks on the slope. There inhale unrestrained +the breeze, the sunlight, and the subtle essence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> which emanates from +the ocean. For the loneliest of places are on the borders of a gay +crowd, and thus in Brighton—the by-name for all that is crowded and +London-like—it is possible to dream on the sward and on the shore.</p> + +<p>In the midst, too, of this most modern of cities, with its swift, +luxurious service of Pullman cars, its piers, and social pleasures, +there exists a collection which, in a few strokes, as it were, sketches +the ways and habits and thoughts of old rural England. It is not easy to +realise in these days of quick transit and still quicker communication +that old England was mostly rural.</p> + +<p>There were towns, of course, seventy years ago, but even the towns were +penetrated with what, for want of a better word, may be called country +sentiment. Just the reverse is now the case; the most distant hamlet +which the wanderer in his autumn ramblings may visit, is now more or +less permeated with the feelings and sentiment of the city. No written +history has preserved the daily life of the men who ploughed the Weald +behind the hills there, or tended the sheep on the Downs, before our +beautiful land was crossed with iron roads; while news, even from the +field of Waterloo, had to travel slowly. And, after all, written history +is but words, and words are not tangible.</p> + +<p>But in this collection of old English jugs, and mugs, and bowls, and +cups, and so forth, exhibited in the Museum, there is the real +presentment of old rural England. Feeble pottery has ever borne the +impress of man more vividly than marble. From these they quenched their +thirst, over these they laughed and joked, and gossiped, and sang old +hunting songs till the rafters rang, and the dogs under the table got up +and barked. Cannot you see them? The stubbles are ready now once more +for the sportsmen.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>With long-barrelled flint-lock guns they ranged over that wonderful map +of the land which lies spread out at your feet as you look down from the +Dyke. There are already yellowing leaves; they will be brown after a +while, and the covers will be ready once more for the visit of the +hounds. The toast upon this mug would be very gladly drunk by the +agriculturist of to-day in his silk hat and black coat. It is just what +he has been wishing these many seasons.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Here's to thee, mine honest friend,<br /> +Wishing these hard times to mend." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>Hard times, then, are nothing new.</p> + +<p>"It is good ale," is the inscription on another jug; that jug would be +very welcome if so filled in many a field this very day. "Better luck +still" is a jug motto which every one who reads it will secretly respond +to. Cock-fighting has gone by, but we are even more than ever on the +side of fair play, and in that sense can endorse the motto, "May the +best cock win." A cup desires that fate should give</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Money to him who has spirit to use it,<br /> +And life to him who has courage to lose it." +</p></blockquote> + +<p>A mug is moderate of wishes and somewhat cynical:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"A little health, a little wealth,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little house, and freedom;</span><br /> +And at the end a little friend,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And little cause to need him."</span> +</p></blockquote> + +<p>The toper, if he drank too deep, sometimes found a frog or newt at the +bottom (in china)—a hint not to be too greedy. There seem to have been +sad dogs about in those days from the picture on this piece—one +sniffing regretfully at the bunghole of an empty barrel:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"This cask when stored with gin I loved to taste,<br /> +But now a smell, alas! must break my fast." +</p></blockquote> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Upon a cup a somewhat Chinese arrangement of words is found:—</p> + +<table summary=""> +<tr><td>More</td><td>beer</td><td>score</td><td>Clarke</td></tr> +<tr><td>for</td><td>my</td><td>the</td><td>his</td></tr> +<tr><td>do</td><td>trust</td><td>pay</td><td>sent</td></tr> +<tr><td>I</td><td>I</td><td>must</td><td>has</td></tr> +<tr><td>shall</td><td>if</td><td>you</td><td>maltster</td></tr> +<tr><td>what</td><td>for</td><td>and</td><td>the</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>These parallel columns can be deciphered by beginning at the last word, +"the," on the right hand, and reading up. With rude and sometimes grim +humour our forefathers seem to have been delighted. The teapots of our +great grandmothers are even more amusingly inscribed and illustrated. At +Gretna Green the blacksmith is performing a "Red-Hot Marriage," using +his anvil for the altar.</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"Oh! Mr. Blacksmith, ease our pains,<br/> +And tie us fast in wedlock's chains."</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The china decorated with vessels and alluding to naval matters shows how +popular was the navy, and how deeply everything concerning Nelson's men +had sunk into the minds of the people. Some of the line of battleships +here represented are most cleverly executed—every sail and rope and gun +brought out with a clearness which the best draughtsman could hardly +excel. It is a little hard, however, to preserve the time-honoured +imputation upon Jack's constancy in this way on a jug:—</p> + +<blockquote><p> +"A sailor's life's a pleasant life,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He freely roams from shore to shore;</span><br /> +In every port he finds a wife—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What can a sailor wish for more?"</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Some enamoured potter having produced a masterpiece as a present to his +lady destroyed the design, so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> that the service he gave her might be +unique. After gazing at these curious old pieces, with dates of 1754, +1728, and so forth, the mind becomes attuned to such times, and the jug +with the inscription, "Claret, 1652," seems quite an easy and natural +transition.</p> + +<p>From the Brighton of to-day it is centuries back to 1754; but from 1754 +to 1652 is but a year or two. And after studying these shelves, and +getting, as it were, so deep down in the past, it is with a kind of Rip +Van Winkle feeling that you enter again into the sunshine of the day. +The fair upon the beach does not seem quite real for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>Before the autumn is too far advanced and the skies are uncertain, a few +hours should be given to that massive Down which fronts the traveller +from London, Ditchling Beacon, the highest above the sea-level. It is +easy of access, the train carries you to Hassock's Gate—the station is +almost in a copse—and an omnibus runs from it to a comfortable inn in +the centre of Ditchling village. Thence to the Down itself the road is +straight and the walk no longer than is always welcome after riding.</p> + +<p>After leaving the cottages and gardens, the road soon becomes enclosed +with hedges and trees, a mere country lane; and how pleasant are the +trees after the bare shore and barren sea! The hand of autumn has +browned the oaks, and has passed over the hedge, reddening the haws. The +north wind rustles the dry hollow stalks of plants upon the mound, and +there is a sense of hardihood in the touch of its breath.</p> + +<p>The light is brown, for a vapour conceals the sun—it is not like a +cloud, for it has no end or outline, and it is high above where the +summer blue was lately. Or is it the buff leaves, the grey stalks, the +dun grasses, the ripe fruit, the mist which hides the distance that +makes the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> day so brown? But the ditches below are yet green with +brooklime and rushes. By a gateway stands a tall campanula or +bell-flower, two feet high or nearly, with great bells of blue.</p> + +<p>A passing shepherd, without his sheep, but walking with his crook as a +staff, stays and turns a brown face towards me when I ask him the way. +He points with his iron crook at a narrow line which winds up the Down +by some chalk-pits; it is a footpath from the corner of the road. Just +by the corner the hedge is grey with silky flocks of clematis; the +hawthorn is hidden by it. Near by there is a bush, made up of branches +from five different shrubs and plants.</p> + +<p>First hazel, from which the yellow leaves are fast dropping; among this +dogwood, with leaves darkening; between these a bramble bearing berries, +some red and some ripe, and yet a pink flower or two left. Thrusting +itself into the tangle, long woody bines of bittersweet hang their +clusters of red berries, and above and over all the hoary clematis +spreads its beard, whitening to meet the winter. These five are all +intermixed and bound up together, flourishing in a mass; nuts and edible +berries, semi-poisonous fruit, flowers, creepers; and hazel, with +markings under its outer bark like a gun-barrel.</p> + +<p>This is the last of the plain. Now every step exposes the climber to the +force of the unchecked wind. The harebells swing before it, the bennets +whistle, but the sward springs to the foot, and the heart grows lighter +as the height increases. The ancient hill is alone with the wind. The +broad summit is left to scattered furze and fern cowering under its +shelter. A sunken fosse and earthwork have slipped together. So lowly +are they now after these fourteen hundred years that in places the long +rough grass covers and conceals them altogether.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> + +<p>Down in the hollow the breeze does not come, and the bennets do not +whistle, yet gazing upwards at the vapour in the sky I fancy I can hear +the mass, as it were, of the wind going over. Standing presently at the +edge of the steep descent looking into the Weald, it seems as if the +mighty blast rising from that vast plain and glancing up the slope like +an arrow from a tree could lift me up and bear me as it bears a hawk +with outspread wings.</p> + +<p>A mist which does not roll along or move is drawn across the immense +stage below like a curtain. There is indeed, a brown wood beneath; but +nothing more is visible. The plain is the vaster for its vague +uncertainty. From the north comes down the wind, out of the brown autumn +light, from the woods below and twenty miles of stubble. Its stratum and +current is eight hundred feet deep.</p> + +<p>Against my chest, coming up from the plough down there (the old plough, +with the shaft moving on a framework with wheels), it hurls itself +against the green ramparts, and bounds up savagely at delay. The ears +are filled with a continuous sense of something rushing past; the +shoulders go back square; an iron-like feeling enters into the sinews. +The air goes through my coat as if it were gauze, and strokes the skin +like a brush.</p> + +<p>The tide of the wind, like the tide of the sea, swirls about, and its +cold push at the first causes a lifting feeling in the chest—a gulp and +pant—as if it were too keen and strong to be borne. Then the blood +meets it, and every fibre and nerve is filled with new vigour. I cannot +drink enough of it. This is the north wind.</p> + +<p>High as is the hill, there are larks yonder singing higher still, +suspended in the brown light. Turning away at last and tracing the +fosse, there is at the point<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> where it is deepest and where there is +some trifling shelter, a flat hawthorn bush. It has grown as flat as a +hurdle, as if trained espalierwise or against a wall—the effect, no +doubt, of the winds. Into and between its gnarled branches, dry and +leafless, furze boughs have been woven in and out, so as to form a +shield against the breeze. On the lee of this natural hurdle there are +black charcoal fragments and ashes, where a fire has burnt itself out; +the stick still leans over on which was hung the vessel used at this +wild bivouac.</p> + +<p>Descending again by the footpath, the spur of the hill yonder looks +larger and steeper and more ponderous in the mist; it seems higher than +this, a not unusual appearance when the difference in altitude is not +very great. The level we are on seems to us beneath the level in the +distance, as the future is higher than the present. In the hedge or +scattered bushes, half-way down by the chalk-pit, there grows a +spreading shrub—the wayfaring tree—bearing large, broad, downy leaves +and clusters of berries, some red and some black, flattened at their +sides. There are nuts, too, here, and large sloes or wild bullace. This +Ditchling Beacon is, I think, the nearest and the most accessible of the +southern Alps from London; it is so near it may almost be said to be in +the environs of the capital. But it is alone with the wind.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'> +<a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="THE_SOUTHDOWN_SHEPHERD" id="THE_SOUTHDOWN_SHEPHERD"></a>THE SOUTHDOWN SHEPHERD</h3> + + +<p>The shepherd came down the hill carrying his greatcoat slung at his back +upon his crook, and balanced by the long handle projecting in front. He +was very ready and pleased to show his crook, which, however, was not so +symmetrical in shape as those which are represented upon canvas. Nor was +the handle straight; it was a rough stick—the first, evidently, that +had come to hand.</p> + +<p>As there were no hedges or copses near his walks, he had to be content +with this bent wand till he could get a better. The iron crook itself he +said was made by a blacksmith in a village below. A good crook was often +made from the barrel of an old single-barrel gun, such as in their +decadence are turned over to the bird-keepers.</p> + +<p>About a foot of the barrel being sawn off at the muzzle end, there was a +tube at once to fit the staff into, while the crook was formed by +hammering the tough metal into a curve upon the anvil. So the gun—the +very symbol of destruction—was beaten into the pastoral crook, the +emblem and implement of peace. These crooks of village workmanship are +now subject to competition from the numbers offered for sale at the +shops at the market towns, where scores of them are hung up on show, all +exactly alike, made to pattern, as if stamped out by machinery.</p> + +<p>Each village-made crook had an individuality, that of the +blacksmith—somewhat rude, perhaps, but distinctive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>—the hand shown in +the iron. While talking, a wheatear flew past, and alighted near the +path—a place they frequent. The opinion seems general that wheatears +are not so numerous as they used to be. You can always see two or three +on the Downs in autumn, but the shepherd said years ago he had heard of +one man catching seventy dozen in a day.</p> + +<p>Perhaps such wholesale catches were the cause of the comparative +deficiency at the present day, not only by actual diminution of numbers, +but in partially diverting the stream of migration. Tradition is very +strong in birds (and all animated creatures); they return annually in +the face of terrible destruction, and the individuals do not seem to +comprehend the danger. But by degrees the race at large becomes aware of +and acknowledges the mistake, and slowly the original tracks are +deserted. This is the case with water-fowl, and even, some think, with +sea-fish.</p> + +<p>There was not so much game on the part of the hills he frequented as he +had known when he was young, and with the decrease of the game the foxes +had become less numerous. There was less cover as the furze was ploughed +up. It paid, of course, better to plough it up, and as much as an +additional two hundred acres on a single farm had been brought under the +plough in his time. Partridges had much decreased, but there were still +plenty of hares: he had known the harriers sometimes kill two dozen a +day.</p> + +<p>Plenty of rabbits still remained in places. The foxes' earths were in +their burrows or sometimes under a hollow tree, and when the word was +sent round the shepherds stopped them for the hunt very early in the +morning. Foxes used to be almost thick. He had seen as many as six +(doubtless the vixen and cubs) sunning themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> on the cliffs at +Beachy Head, lying on ledges before their inaccessible breeding-places, +in the face of the chalk.</p> + +<p>At present he did not think there were more than two there. They +ascended and descended the cliff with ease, though not, of course, the +straight wall or precipice. He had known them fall over and be dashed to +pieces, as when fighting on the edge, or in winter by the snow giving +way under them. As the snow came drifting along the summit of the Down +it gradually formed a projecting eave or cornice, projecting the length +of the arm, and frozen.</p> + +<p>Something like this may occasionally be seen on houses when the +partially melted snow has frozen again before it could quite slide off. +Walking on this at night, when the whole ground was white with snow, and +no part could be distinguished, the weight of the fox as he passed a +weak place caused it to give way, and he could not save himself. Last +winter he had had two lambs, each a month old, killed by a fox which ate +the heads and left the bodies; the fox always eating the head first, +severing it, whether of a hare, rabbit, duck, or the tender lamb, and +"covering"—digging a hole and burying—that which he cannot finish. To +the buried carcase the fox returns the next night before he kills again.</p> + +<p>His dog was a cross with a collie: the old sheep-dogs were shaggier and +darker. Most of the sheep-dogs now used were crossed with the collie, +either with Scotch or French, and were very fast—too fast in some +respects. He was careful not to send them much after the flock, +especially after feeding, when, in his own words, the sheep had "best +walk slow then, like folk"—like human beings, who are not to be +hastened after a meal. If he wished his dog to fetch the flock, he +pointed his arm in the direction he wished the dog to go, and said, +"Put<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> her back." Often it was to keep the sheep out of turnips or wheat, +there being no fences. But he made it a practice to walk himself on the +side where care was needed, so as not to employ the dog unless +necessary.</p> + +<p>There is something almost Australian in the wide expanse of South Down +sheepwalks, and in the number of the flocks, to those who have been +accustomed to the small sheltered meadows of the vales, where forty or +fifty sheep are about the extent of the stock on many farms. The land, +too, is rented at colonial prices, but a few shillings per acre, so +different from the heavy meadow rents. But, then, the sheep-farmer has +to occupy a certain proportion of arable land as well as pasture, and +here his heavy losses mainly occur.</p> + +<p>There is nothing, in fact, in this country so carefully provided against +as the possibility of an English farmer becoming wealthy. Much downland +is covered with furze; some seems to produce a grass too coarse, so that +the rent is really proportional. A sheep to an acre is roughly the +allowance.</p> + +<p>From all directions along the roads the bleating flocks concentrate at +the right time upon the hillside where the sheep-fair is held. You can +go nowhere in the adjacent town except uphill, and it needs no hand-post +to the fair to those who know a farmer when they see him, the stream of +folk tender thither so plainly. It rains, as the shepherd said it would; +the houses keep off the drift somewhat in the town, but when this +shelter is left behind, the sward of the hilltop seems among the clouds.</p> + +<p>The descending vapours close in the view on every side. The actual field +underfoot, the actual site of the fair, is visible, but the surrounding +valleys and the Downs beyond them are hidden with vast masses of grey +mist. For a moment, perhaps, a portion may lift as the breeze<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> drives it +along, and the bold, sweeping curves of a distant hill appear, but +immediately the rain falls again and the outline vanishes. The glance +can only penetrate a few hundred yards; all beyond that becomes +indistinct, and some cattle standing higher up the hill are vague and +shadowy.</p> + +<p>Like a dew, the thin rain deposits a layer of tiny globules on the coat; +the grass is white with them hurdles, flakes, everything is as it were +the eighth of an inch deep in water. Thus on the hillside, surrounded by +the clouds, the fair seems isolated and afar off. A great cart-horse is +being trotted out before the little street of booths to make him show +his paces; they flourish the first thing at hand—a pole with a red flag +at the end—and the huge frightened animal plunges hither and thither in +clumsy terror. You must look out for yourself and keep an eye over your +shoulder, except among the sheep-pens.</p> + +<p>There are thousands of sheep, all standing with their heads uphill. At +the corner of each pen the shepherd plants his crook upright: some of +them have long brown handles, and these are of hazel with the bark on; +others are ash, and one of willow. At the corners, too, just outside, +the dogs are chained, and, in addition, there is a whole row of dogs +fastened to the tent pegs. The majority of the dogs thus collected +together from many miles of the Downs are either collies, or show a very +decided trace of the collie.</p> + +<p>One old shepherd, an ancient of the ancients, grey and bent, has spent +so many years among his sheep that he has lost all notice and +observation—there is no "speculation in his eye" for anything but his +sheep. In his blue smock frock, with his brown umbrella, which he has +had no time or thought to open, he stands listen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>ing, all intent, to the +conversation of the gentlemen who are examining his pens. He leads a +young restless collie by a chain; the links are polished to a silvery +brightness by continual motion; the collie cannot keep still; now he +runs one side, now the other, bumping the old man, who is unconscious of +everything but the sheep.</p> + +<p>At the verge of the pens there stand four oxen with their yokes, and the +long slender guiding-rod of hazel placed lightly across the necks of the +two foremost. They are quite motionless, except their eyes, and the +slender rod, so lightly laid across, will remain without falling. After +traversing the whole field, if you return you will find them exactly in +the same position. Some black cattle are scattered about on the high +ground in the mist, which thickens beyond them, and fills up the immense +hollow of the valley.</p> + +<p>In the street of booths there are the roundabouts, the swings, the rifle +galleries—like shooting into the mouth of a great trumpet—the shows, +the cakes and brown nuts and gingerbread, the ale-barrels in a row, the +rude forms and trestle tables; just the same, the very same, we saw at +our first fair five-and-twenty years ago, and a hundred miles away. It +is just the same this year as last, like the ploughs and hurdles, and +the sheep themselves. There is nothing new to tempt the ploughboy's +pennies—nothing fresh to stare at.</p> + +<p>The same thing year after year, and the same sounds—the dismal barrel +organs, and brazen instruments, and pipes, wailing, droning, booming. +How melancholy the inexpressible noise when the fair is left behind, and +the wet vapours are settling and thickening around it! But the +melancholy is not in the fair—the ploughboy likes it; it is in +ourselves, in the thought that thus, though the years go by, so much of +human life remains<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> the same—the same blatant discord, the same +monotonous roundabout, the same poor gingerbread.</p> + +<p>The ploughs are at work, travelling slowly at the ox's pace up and down +the hillside. The South Down plough could scarcely have been invented; +it must have been put together bit by bit in the slow years—slower than +the ox; it is the completed structure of long experience. It is made of +many pieces, chiefly wood, fitted and shaped and worked, as it were, +together, well seasoned first, built up, like a ship, by cunning of +hand.</p> + +<p>None of these were struck out—a hundred a minute—by irresistible +machinery ponderously impressing its will on iron as a seal on wax—a +hundred a minute, and all exactly alike. These separate pieces which +compose the plough were cut, chosen, and shaped in the wheelwright's +workshop, chosen by the eye, guided in its turn by long knowledge of +wood, and shaped by the living though hardened hand of man. So +complicated a structure could no more have been struck out on paper in a +deliberate and single plan than those separate pieces could have been +produced by a single blow.</p> + +<p>There are no machine lines—no lines filed out in iron or cut by the +lathe to the draughtsman's design, drawn with straight-edge and ruler on +paper. The thing has been put together bit by bit: how many thousand, +thousand clods must have been turned in the furrows before the idea +arose, and the curve to be given to this or that part grew upon the mind +as the branch grows on the tree! There is not a sharp edge or sharp +corner in it; it is all bevelled and smoothed and fluted as if it had +been patiently carved with a knife, so that, touch it where you will, it +handles pleasantly.</p> + +<p>In these curved lines and smoothness, in this perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> adaptability of +means to end, there is the spirit of art showing itself, not with colour +or crayon, but working in tangible material substance. The makers of +this plough—not the designer—the various makers, who gradually put it +together, had many things to consider. The fields where it had to work +were, for the most part, on a slope, often thickly strewn with stones +which jar and fracture iron.</p> + +<p>The soil was thin, scarce enough on the upper part to turn a furrow, +deepening to nine inches or so at the bottom. So quickly does the rain +sink in, and so quickly does it dry, that the teams work in almost every +weather, while those in the vale are enforced to idleness. Drain furrows +were not needed, nor was it desirable that the ground should be thrown +up in "lands," rising in the centre. Oxen were the draught animals, +patient enough, but certainly not nimble. The share had to be set for +various depths of soil.</p> + +<p>All these are met by the wheel plough, and in addition it fulfils the +indefinite and indefinable condition of handiness. A machine may be +apparently perfect, a boat may seem on paper, and examined on +principles, the precise build, and yet when the one is set to work and +the other floated they may fail. But the wheel plough, having grown up, +as it were, out of the soil, fulfils the condition of handiness.</p> + +<p>This handiness, in fact, embraces a number of minor conditions which can +scarcely be reduced to writing, but which constantly occur in practice, +and by which the component parts of the plough were doubtless +unconsciously suggested to the makers. Each has its proper name. The +framework, on wheels in front—the distinctive characteristic of the +plough—is called collectively "tacks," and the shafts of the plough +rest on it loosely,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> so that they swing or work almost independently, +not unlike a field-gun limbered up.</p> + +<p>The pillars of the framework have numerous holes, so that the plough can +be raised or lowered, that the share may dig deep or shallow. Then there +is the "cock-pin," the "road-bat" (a crooked piece of wood), the +"sherve-wright" (so pronounced)—shelvewright (?)—the "rist," and +spindle, besides, of course, the usual coulter and share. When the oxen +arrive at the top of the field, and the first furrow is completed, they +stop, well knowing their duty, while the ploughman moves the iron rist, +and the spindle which keeps it in position, to the other side, and moves +the road-bat so as to push the coulter aside. These operations are done +in a minute, and correspond in some degree to turning the rudder of a +ship. The object is that the plough, which has been turning the earth +one way, shall now (as it is reversed to go downhill) continue to turn +it that way. If the change were not effected when the plough was swung +round, the furrow would be made opposite. Next he leans heavily on the +handles, still standing on the same spot; this lifts the plough, so that +it turns easily as if on a pivot.</p> + +<p>Then the oxen "jack round"—that is, walk round—so as to face downhill, +the framework in front turning like the fore-wheels of a carriage. So +soon as they face downhill and the plough is turned, they commence work +and make the second furrow side by side with the first. The same +operation is repeated at the bottom, and thus the plough travels +straight up and down, always turning the furrow the same way, instead +of, as in the valleys, making a short circuit at each end, and throwing +the earth in opposite directions. The result is a perfectly level field, +which, though not designed for it, must suit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> the reaping-machine better +than the drain furrows and raised "lands" of the valley system.</p> + +<p>It is somewhat curious that the steam plough, the most remarkable +application of machinery to agriculture, in this respect resembles the +village-made wheel plough. The plough drawn by steam power in like +manner turns the second furrow side by side into the first, always +throwing the earth the same way, and leaving the ground level. This is +one of its defects on heavy, wet land, as it does not drain the surface. +But upon the slopes of the Downs no drains or raised "lands" are needed, +and the wheel plough answers perfectly.</p> + +<p>So perfectly, indeed, does it answer that no iron plough has yet been +invented that can beat it, and while the valleys and plains are now +almost wholly worked with factory-made ploughs, the South Downs are +cultivated with the ploughs made in the villages by the wheelwrights. A +wheelwright is generally regularly employed by two or three farms, which +keep him in constant work. There is not, perhaps, another home-made +implement of old English agriculture left in use; certainly, none at +once so curious and interesting, and, when drawn by oxen, so thoroughly +characteristic.</p> + +<p>Under the September sun, flowers may still be found in sheltered places, +as at the side of furze, on the highest of the Downs. Wild thyme +continues to bloom—the shepherd's thyme—wild mignonette, blue +scabious, white dropwort, yellow bedstraw, and the large purple blooms +of greater knapweed. Here and there a blue field gentian is still in +flower; "eggs and bacon" grow beside the waggon tracks. Grasshoppers hop +among the short dry grass; bees and humble-bees are buzzing about, and +there are places quite bright with yellow hawkweeds.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> + +<p>The furze is everywhere full of finches, troops of them; and there are +many more swallows than were flying here a month since. No doubt they +are on their way southwards, and stay, as it were, on the edge of the +sea while yet the sun shines. As the evening falls the sheep come slowly +home to the fold. When the flock is penned some stand panting, and the +whole body at each pant moves to and fro lengthways; some press against +the flakes till the wood creaks; some paw the dry and crumbling ground +(arable), making a hollow in which to lie down.</p> + +<p>Rooks are fond of the places where sheep have been folded, and perhaps +that is one of the causes why they so continually visit certain spots in +particular fields to the neglect of the rest.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> + +<h3><a name="THE_BREEZE_ON_BEACHY_HEAD" id="THE_BREEZE_ON_BEACHY_HEAD"></a>THE BREEZE ON BEACHY HEAD</h3> + + +<p>The waves coming round the promontory before the west wind still give +the idea of a flowing stream, as they did in Homer's days. Here beneath +the cliff, standing where beach and sand meet, it is still; the wind +passes six hundred feet overhead. But yonder, every larger wave rolling +before the breeze breaks over the rocks; a white line of spray rushes +along them, gleaming in the sunshine; for a moment the dark rock-wall +disappears, till the spray sinks.</p> + +<p>The sea seems higher than the spot where I stand, its surface on a +higher level—raised like a green mound—as if it could burst in and +occupy the space up to the foot of the cliff in a moment. It will not do +so, I know; but there is an infinite possibility about the sea; it may +do what it is not recorded to have done. It is not to be ordered, it may +overleap the bounds human observation has fixed for it. It has a potency +unfathomable. There is still something in it not quite grasped and +understood—something still to be discovered—a mystery.</p> + +<p>So the white spray rushes along the low broken wall of rocks, the sun +gleams on the flying fragments of the wave, again it sinks and the +rhythmic motion holds the mind, as an invisible force holds back the +tide. A faith of expectancy, a sense that something may drift up from +the unknown, a large belief in the unseen resources of the endless space +out yonder, soothes the mind with dreamy hope.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> + +<p>The little rules and little experiences, all the petty ways of narrow +life, are shut off behind by the ponderous and impassable cliff; as if +we had dwelt in the dim light of a cave, but coming out at last to look +at the sun, a great stone had fallen and closed the entrance, so that +there was no return to the shadow. The impassable precipice shuts off +our former selves of yesterday, forcing us to look out over the sea +only, or up to the deeper heaven.</p> + +<p>These breadths draw out the soul; we feel that we have wider thoughts +than we knew; the soul has been living, as it were, in a nutshell, all +unaware of its own power, and now suddenly finds freedom in the sun and +the sky. Straight, as if sawn down from turf to beach, the cliff shuts +off the human world, for the sea knows no time and no era; you cannot +tell what century it is from the face of the sea. A Roman trireme +suddenly rounding the white edge-line of chalk, borne on wind and oar +from the Isle of Wight towards the gray castle at Pevensey (already old +in olden days), would not seem strange. What wonder could surprise us +coming from the wonderful sea?</p> + +<p>The little rills winding through the sand have made an islet of a +detached rock by the beach; limpets cover it, adhering like rivet-heads. +In the stillness here, under the roof of the wind so high above, the +sound of the sand draining itself is audible. From the cliff blocks of +chalk have fallen, leaving hollows as when a knot drops from a beam. +They lie crushed together at the base, and on the point of this jagged +ridge a wheatear perches.</p> + +<p>There are ledges three hundred feet above, and from these now and then a +jackdaw glides out and returns again to his place, where, when still and +with folded wings, he is but a speck of black. A spire of chalk still +higher stands out from the wall, but the rains have got behind it and +will cut the crevice deeper and deeper<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> into its foundation. Water, too, +has carried the soil from under the turf at the summit over the verge, +forming brown streaks.</p> + +<p>Upon the beach lies a piece of timber, part of a wreck; the wood is torn +and the fibres rent where it was battered against the dull edge of the +rocks. The heat of the sun burns, thrown back by the dazzling chalk; the +river of ocean flows ceaselessly, casting the spray over the stones; the +unchanged sky is blue.</p> + +<p>Let us go back and mount the steps at the Gap, and rest on the sward +there. I feel that I want the presence of grass. The sky is a softer +blue, and the sun genial now the eye and the mind alike are +relieved—the one of the strain of too great solitude (not the solitude +of the woods), the other of too brilliant and hard a contrast of +colours. Touch but the grass and the harmony returns; it is repose after +exaltation.</p> + +<p>A vessel comes round the promontory; it is not a trireme of old Rome, +nor the "fair and stately galley" Count Arnaldus hailed with its seamen +singing the mystery of the sea. It is but a brig in ballast, high out of +the water, black of hull and dingy of sail: still it is a ship, and +there is always an interest about a ship. She is so near, running along +but just outside the reef, that the deck is visible. Up rises her stern +as the billows come fast and roll under; then her bow lifts, and +immediately she rolls, and, loosely swaying with the sea, drives along.</p> + +<p>The slope of the billow now behind her is white with the bubbles of her +passage, rising, too, from her rudder. Steering athwart with a widening +angle from the land, she is laid to clear the distant point of +Dungeness. Next, a steamer glides forth, unseen till she passed the +cliff; and thus each vessel that comes from the westward has the charm +of the unexpected. Eastward there is many a sail working slowly into the +wind, and as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> approach, talking in the language of flags with the +watch on the summit of the Head.</p> + +<p>Once now and then the great <i>Orient</i> pauses on her outward route to +Australia, slowing her engines: the immense length of her hull contains +every adjunct of modern life; science, skill, and civilisation are +there. She starts, and is lost sight of round the cliff, gone straight +away for the very ends of the world. The incident is forgotten, when one +morning, as you turn over the newspaper, there is the <i>Orient</i> announced +to start again. It is like a tale of enchantment; it seems but yesterday +that the Head hid her from view; you have scarcely moved, attending to +the daily routine of life, and scarce recognise that time has passed at +all. In so few hours has the earth been encompassed.</p> + +<p>The sea-gulls as they settle on the surface ride high out of the water, +like the mediæval caravals, with their sterns almost as tall as the +masts. Their unconcerned flight, with crooked wings unbent, as if it +were no matter to them whether they flew or floated, in its peculiar +jerking motion somewhat reminds one of the lapwing—the heron has it, +too, a little—as if aquatic or water-side birds had a common and +distinct action of the wing.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a porpoise comes along, but just beyond the reef; looking down +on him from the verge of the cliff, his course can be watched. His dark +body, wet and oily, appears on the surface for two seconds; and then, +throwing up his tail like the fluke of an anchor, down he goes. Now look +forward, along the waves, some fifty yards or so, and he will come up, +the sunshine gleaming on the water as it runs off his back, to again +dive, and reappear after a similar interval. Even when the eye can no +longer distinguish the form, the spot where he rises is visible, from +the slight change in the surface.</p> + +<p>The hill receding in hollows leaves a narrow plain be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>tween the foot of +the sward and the cliff; it is ploughed, and the teams come to the +footpath which follows the edge; and thus those who plough the sea and +those who plough the land look upon each other. The one sees the vessel +change her tack, the other notes the plough turning at the end of the +furrow. Bramble bushes project over the dangerous wall of chalk, and +grasses fill up the interstices, a hedge suspended in air; but be +careful not to reach too far for the blackberries.</p> + +<p>The green sea is on the one hand, the yellow stubble on the other. The +porpoise dives along beneath, the sheep graze above. Green seaweed lines +the reef over which the white spray flies, blue lucerne dots the field. +The pebbles of the beach seen from the height mingle in a faint blue +tint, as if the distance ground them into coloured sand. Leaving the +footpath now, and crossing the stubble to "France," as the wide open +hollow in the down is called by the shepherds, it is no easy matter in +dry summer weather to climb the steep turf to the furze line above.</p> + +<p>Dry grass is as slippery as if it were hair, and the sheep have fed it +too close for a grip of the hand. Under the furze (still far from the +summit) they have worn a path—a narrow ledge, cut by their cloven +feet—through the sward. It is time to rest; and already, looking back, +the sea has extended to an indefinite horizon. This climb of a few +hundred feet opens a view of so many miles more. But the ships lose +their individuality and human character; they are so far, so very far, +away, they do not take hold of the sympathies; they seem like +sketches—cunningly executed, but only sketches—on the immense canvas +of the ocean. There is something unreal about them.</p> + +<p>On a calm day, when the surface is smooth as if the brimming ocean had +been straked—the rod passed across the top of the measure, thrusting +off the irregularities of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> wave; when the distant green from long +simmering under the sun becomes pale; when the sky, without cloud, but +with some slight haze in it, likewise loses its hue, and the two so +commingle in the pallor of heat that they cannot be separated—then the +still ships appear suspended in space. They are as much held from above +as upborne from beneath.</p> + +<p>They are motionless, midway in space—whether it is sea or air is not to +be known. They neither float nor fly; they are suspended. There is no +force in the flat sail, the mast is lifeless, the hull without impetus. +For hours they linger, changeless as the constellations, still, silent, +motionless, phantom vessels on a void sea.</p> + +<p>Another climb up from the sheep path, and it is not far then to the +terrible edge of that tremendous cliff which rises straighter than a +ship's side out of the sea, six hundred feet above the detached rock +below, where the limpets cling like rivet heads, and the sand rills run +around it. But it is not possible to look down to it—the glance of +necessity falls outwards, as a raindrop from the eaves is deflected by +the wind, because it <i>is</i> the edge where the mould crumbles; the +rootlets of the grass are exposed; the chalk is about to break away in +flakes.</p> + +<p>You cannot lean over as over a parapet, lest such a flake should detach +itself—lest a mere trifle should begin to fall, awakening a dread and +dormant inclination to slide and finally plunge like it. Stand back; the +sea there goes out and out, to the left and to the right, and how far is +it to the blue overhead? The eye must stay here a long period, and drink +in these distances, before it can adjust the measure, and know exactly +what it sees.</p> + +<p>The vastness conceals itself, giving us no landmark or milestone. The +fleck of cloud yonder, does it part it in two, or is it but a third of +the way? The world is an immense cauldron, the ocean fills it, and we +are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> merely on the rim—this narrow land is but a ribbon to the +limitlessness yonder. The wind rushes out upon it with wild joy; +springing from the edge of the earth, it leaps out over the ocean. Let +us go back a few steps and recline on the warm dry turf.</p> + +<p>It is pleasant to look back upon the green slope and the hollows and +narrow ridges, with sheep and stubble and some low hedges, and oxen, and +that old, old sloth—the plough—creeping in his path. The sun is bright +on the stubble and the corners of furze; there are bees humming yonder, +no doubt, and flowers, and hares crouching—the dew dried from around +them long since, and waiting for it to fall again; partridges, too, +corn-ricks, and the roof of a farmhouse by them. Lit with sunlight are +the fields, warm autumn garnering all that is dear to the heart of man, +blue heaven above—how sweet the wind comes from these!—the sweeter for +the knowledge of the profound abyss behind.</p> + +<p>Here, reclining on the grass—the verge of the cliff rising a little, +shuts out the actual sea—the glance goes forth into the hollow +unsupported. It is sweeter towards the corn-ricks, and yet the mind will +not be satisfied, but ever turns to the unknown. The edge and the abyss +recall us; the boundless plain, for it appears solid as the waves are +levelled by distance, demands the gaze. But with use it becomes easier, +and the eye labours less. There is a promontory standing out from the +main wall, whence you can see the side of the cliff, getting a flank +view, as from a tower.</p> + +<p>The jackdaws occasionally floating out from the ledge are as mere specks +from above, as they were from below. The reef running out from the +beach, though now covered by the tide, is visible as you look down on it +through the water; the seaweed, which lay matted and half dry on the +rocks, is now under the wave. Boats have come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> round, and are beached; +how helplessly little they seem beneath the cliff by the sea!</p> + +<p>On returning homewards towards Eastbourne stay awhile by the tumulus on +the slope. There are others hidden among the furze; butterflies flutter +over them, and the bees hum round by day; by night the nighthawk passes, +coming up from the fields and even skirting the sheds and houses below. +The rains beat on them, and the storm drives the dead leaves over their +low green domes; the waves boom on the shore far down.</p> + +<p>How many times has the morning star shone yonder in the East? All the +mystery of the sun and of the stars centres around these lowly mounds.</p> + +<p>But the glory of these glorious Downs is the breeze. The air in the +valleys immediately beneath them is pure and pleasant; but the least +climb, even a hundred feet, puts you on a plane with the atmosphere +itself, uninterrupted by so much as the tree-tops. It is air without +admixture. If it comes from the south, the waves refine it; if inland, +the wheat and flowers and grass distil it. The great headland and the +whole rib of the promontory is wind-swept and washed with air; the +billows of the atmosphere roll over it.</p> + +<p>The sun searches out every crevice amongst the grass, nor is there the +smallest fragment of surface which is not sweetened by air and light. +Underneath, the chalk itself is pure, and the turf thus washed by wind +and rain, sun-dried and dew-scented, is a couch prepared with thyme to +rest on. Discover some excuse to be up there always, to search for stray +mushrooms—they will be stray, for the crop is gathered extremely early +in the morning—or to make a list of flowers and grasses; to do +anything, and, if not, go always without any pretext. Lands of gold have +been found, and lands of spices and precious merchandise; but this is +the land of health.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> + +<p>There is the sea below to bathe in, the air of the sky up hither to +breathe, the sun to infuse the invisible magnetism of his beams. These +are the three potent medicines of nature, and they are medicines that by +degrees strengthen not only the body but the unquiet mind. It is not +necessary to always look out over the sea. By strolling along the slopes +of the ridge a little way inland there is another scene where hills roll +on after hills till the last and largest hides those that succeed behind +it.</p> + +<p>Vast cloud-shadows darken one, and lift their veil from another; like +the sea, their tint varies with the hue of the sky over them. Deep +narrow valleys—lanes in the hills—draw the footsteps downwards into +their solitude, but there is always the delicious air, turn whither you +will, and there is always the grass, the touch of which refreshes. +Though not in sight, it is pleasant to know that the sea is close at +hand, and that you have only to mount to the ridge to view it. At sunset +the curves of the shore westward are filled with a luminous mist.</p> + +<p>Or if it should be calm, and you should like to look at the massive +headland from the level of the sea, row out a mile from the beach. +Eastwards a bank of red vapour shuts in the sea, the wavelets—no larger +than those raised by the oar—on that side are purple as if wine had +been spilt upon them, but westwards the ripples shimmer with palest +gold.</p> + +<p>The sun sinks behind the summit of the Downs, and slender streaks of +purple are drawn along above them. A shadow comes forth from the cliff; +a duskiness dwells on the water; something tempts the eye upwards, and +near the zenith there is a star. +<br /> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="center"> +Printed by <span class="smcap">Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.</span> +<br /> +Edinburgh & London +<br /> +<br /> +<hr /></div> +<div class="center">END OF "NATURE NEAR LONDON", BY RICHARD JEFFERIES.</div> +<hr /> +<p> +[Transcriber's note: The inconsistent hyphenation of the original has +been retained in this etext.] +</p> +<hr /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Nature Near London, by Richard Jefferies + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NATURE NEAR LONDON *** + +***** This file should be named 18629-h.htm or 18629-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/6/2/18629/ + +Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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