230 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



As we turn to empty fields and emptying hedges, a 

 thought comes back, even among the Autumn glory of 

 what has the beauty of the fields chiefly consisted in ? And 

 in our retrospect let us turn to some lines of Ruskin's : " The 

 fields ! . . . Consider what we owe to the meadow-grass, to 

 the covering of the dark ground by that glorious enamel, by 

 the companies of those soft, countless, and peaceful spears. 

 The fields ! Follow but forth for a little time the thought 

 of all that we ought to recognise in those words. All Spring 

 and Summer is in them the walks by silent scented paths, 

 the rests in noonday heat, the joy of herds and flocks, the 

 power of all shepherd life and meditation, the life of sunlight 

 upon the world, falling in emerald streaks, and soft blue 

 shadows, where else it would have struck on the dark mould 

 or scorching dust, pastures beside the pacing brooks, soft 

 banks and knolls of lowly hills, thymy slopes of down over- 

 looked by the blue line of lifted sea, crisp lawns all dim with 

 early dew, or smooth in evening warmth of barred sunshine, 

 dinted by happy feet, and softening in their fall the sound of 

 loving voices." 



