52 Idylls of the Field. 



Some flowers there are whose colour lends but little 

 to the scene. Small, or few in number, or quiet in 

 their tone, the world will pass them by unnoticed. 



The ladies'-tresses that shyly lifts its fragrant spike 

 of green among the tall grasses on the hill, the orchis, 

 whose marvellous flowers cling to the stem like cluster- 

 ing bees, might almost 'look away and never be 

 missed ' save by the lover of Nature, who knows them 

 well. 



Other flowers again make themselves a part of the 

 very landscape. 



Such are even the daisies scattered broadcast over 

 the April fields, and gathering thick upon the slopes 

 like patches of drifted snow. Such are the bluebells 

 that make a purple cloud among the copses. Such, 

 too, the buttercups that tinge with gold the mowing 

 grass. Such the warm crocus blooms, that flush the 

 autumn meadows like a twilight mist touched with the 

 fire of sunset. 



As bold in colouring as any, and doubly welcome 

 now ere the full noon of spring, are ' the daffodils 

 that come before the swallow dares,' and with their 

 generous wealth set all the fields aflame. 



Now in countless thousands rise the pale green 

 leaves ; acres of broad pasture-land are glowing with 

 the yellow blooms. 



For centuries, no doubt, these meadows have worn 

 each year this crowning glory of the wild March weather. 



For centuries the children of the hamlet have 



