54 AFOOT THROUGH THE 



iris patch like the cheery little butterflies and twittering 

 birds that kept up a continuous chorus of " good 

 mornings " from the near bushes. What a world of 

 colour it was! The sheer gaudiness would have 

 frightened a painter, who would never have found 

 spectators sufficiently credulous to put faith in his 

 portrait. The sun poured threads of light into every 

 purple bloom and glossy leaf, till they vied with the 

 gold-shot robes of the saints in the early Italian pictures. 

 Hillside, rushing stream, shady trees, all quivered with 

 light and life; even the sad-featured labourers relaxed 

 and stopped their work for a little talk, while their 

 womenkind, usually so silent and reserved, questioned 

 me as to my destination and doings, and held up pretty 

 dimpled babies, clad in red caps and insufficient shirts, 

 for me to praise and admire. A low range of hills had 

 to be crossed, and the heat made the path slipper} 7 and 

 tiring, but the descent was cheaply bought at the price 

 of a little fatigue and some rough walking. In a few 

 minutes I had passed from a gaudy flower carpet of 

 crimson roses, yellow berberis, violet iris, to a world 

 in white, Kashmir in her spring wedding garment, 

 veiled in snowy blossoms, to a whiteness turned to 

 silver by the sunny glow, a veritable Easter garden, 

 full of sweet perfumes, an altogether unforgettable 

 vision of loveliness. Hawthorns, a white viburnum, 

 guelder roses, cluster roses, soft, loose peonies, spikes 

 of eremurus, a small honeysuckle (Lonicera spinosa), 

 and a drapery of clematis montana were answerable 

 for the taller masses. Beneath, a carpet of tiny 

 treasures, white arabis, strawberry flowers, shepherd's 

 purse, and oxalis was spread out, while graceful Solo- 

 mon's seals and a white comfrey filled all spaces between 



