206 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



the waves and sunshine are at play, and the graceful cliffs, 

 towering high, are gleaming like silver in the bright light, 

 and from whose every crevice and cranny peep the golden 

 blossoms of the horned-poppy, viper' s-buglpss, thrift, sam- 

 phire, and eryngo. Many blossoms still enliven the grass on 

 the crest of the cliffs ; vervain with its pale flowerets ; agri- 

 mony with its long stalk of tiny blooms like threaded stars of 

 gold ; the glittering eyes of the pimpernel wide open to the 

 sun ; harebells, clustering together, make patches of blue like 

 " little bits of fallen sky"; here may be found other bell- 

 blossoms, for the downs are a favourite spot for several of the 

 Campanulact*. Sweet are the visions of vale and height, 

 their beauties changing hour by hour from earliest dawn, 

 when the pearly mists hang over the sea like a veil which is 

 drawn aside by hands invisible as soon as the first ray of the 

 rising sun gilds the ocean, pictures of Summer ever changing 

 until the end of light when the red orb in the west slips 

 beneath the sea, blotting out the scenes around as we wander 

 homewards by pastures and sea gardens, 



" Thro' buried paths where sleepy twilight dreams 

 The sunlight away." 



Even into the very heart of the city kind Nature sends 

 her pictures of Summer, from the happy world breathing 

 peace to the toiler who has not the means nor time to wander 

 afar. As I sit in the very heart of the great metropolis this 

 August day, I count half-a-dozen silver globes of thistle-down 

 floating in the air above the crowd, and one of them flying in 

 at the window frolics about the room. I wonder how many 

 miles the wind has borne this thistle-down along, and to how 

 many over whose heads it floats it has brought to mind some 



