218 A VISIT TO REFLEY WOOD. 



Let us leave this happy party, and, crossing the adjoining field, seek 

 nature undisturbed. The gamekeeper is lord there; but fear not, we are 

 privileged, and he dares not to molest us. How often has the naturalist 

 to regret the existence of such a functionary as the gamekeeper; just at 

 the time when he should be most active, the Pheasants are laying, and 

 he is shut out from his favourite haunts; even the botanist is prevented 

 from searching for his flowery treasures, lest he should disturb the Phea- 

 sants; and Butterfly, Moth, and Beetle share the same holiday. The 

 gamekeeper, too, is often, not always, an ignorant prejudiced fellow, caring 

 for nothing, and mercilessly destroying everything as S'ermin' which he 

 imagines molests his dear game; it is useless trying to argue with him, 

 what he has believed he will believe, "and there 's an end on 't." A friend 

 of the writer, an enthusiastic naturalist, was busily searching for a Short- 

 eared Owl which he had just lost sight of, when he met a man, in 

 whom his eagerness to get another sight of the Owl prevented his recog- 

 nising the dreadful keeper, and he anxiously asked, "Did you see a Short- 

 eared Owl just now?" "Yes." "Oh, which way did it go?" "I can see 

 it now," said the man. Thinking he had discovered a clue to the missing 

 bird, he lost no time in asking "Where?" when the keeper replied in a 

 surly tone, pointing at the same time to our friend. "There it stands!" 



But here we are at the low wood; what a solemn stillness reigns! it is 

 almost oppressive; the ground is covered with thousands of flowers, which 

 fill the air with their perfume, and delight the eye with their varied and 

 beautiful colours. Listen to the melancholy 'coo, coo,' of the Ring Dove, 

 and now the distant 'caw' of the watchful Rook steals over the ear; our 

 presence seems to have awaked the whole place to life; the Woodpecker 

 laughs as it flies from yon old ash tree, the Jay screams harsh and 

 discordant, and the Blackbird starts with frightened note from the thicket. 

 How graceful is that Fern, rearing its pale green fronds from the earth, 

 and those beautiful Foxgloves; and see that gorgeous mass of yellow Broom! 

 Who does not feel the influence of a scene like this? How dead must 

 be the heart which throbs not with delight and awe! awe for that Great 

 Being who framed everything with such perfection and beauty. The more 

 minutely we investigate His works, the more shall we be impressed with 

 their beauty and perfection. 



"Not a tree, 



A plant, a leaf, a blossom, but contains 



A folio volume; we may read, and read. 



And read again, and still find something new. 



Something to please, and something to instruct. 



E'en in the noisome weed." 



We are now passing through the Whin cover, where there is very 

 little timber, only an oak here and there; the ground is covered with 



