234 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



fire, amid the clumps of Michaelmas daisies crowned with 

 gold and pale purple stars. 



In the early dawn, when grey clouds hang motionless over 

 golden fields, rise flocks of awakened birds, looking olive- 

 brown with the morning tint, dark against the horizon, and 

 the only sound that breaks the stillness is the pleasant whirr 

 of their wings. 



