6 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



A thrush travelling along the hedgerow just outside 

 goes by the gateway within a yard. . Bees come upon 

 the light wind, gliding with it, but with their bodies 

 aslant across the line of current. Butterflies flutter 

 over the mowing grass, hardly clearing the bennets. 

 Many-coloured insects creep up the sorrel stems and 

 take wing from the summit. 



Everything gives forth a sound of life. The twitter- 

 ing of swallows from above, the song of greenfinches 

 in the trees, the rustle of hawthorn sprays moving 

 under the weight of tiny creatures, the buzz upon the 

 breeze ; the very flutter of the butterflies' wings, 

 noiseless as it is, and the wavy movement of the 

 heated air across the field cause a sense of motion 

 and of music. 



The leaves are enlarging, and the sap rising, and the 

 hard trunks of the trees swelling with its flow ; the grass 

 blades pushing upwards; the seeds completing their 

 shape ; the tinted petals uncurling. Dreamily listening, 

 leaning on the gate, all these are audible to the inner 

 senses, while the ear follows the midsummer hum, now 

 sinking, now sonorously increasing over the oaks. An 

 effulgence fills the southern boughs, which the eye 

 cannot sustain, but which it knows is there. 



The sun at its meridian pours forth his light, forget- 

 ting, in all the inspiration of his strength and glory, that 

 without an altar-screen of green his love must scorch. 

 Joy in life; joy in life. The ears listen, and want 

 more : the eyes are gratified with gazing, and desire yet 

 further; the nostrils are filled with the sweet odours 

 of flower and sap. The touch, too, has its pleasures, 

 dallying with leaf and flower. Can you not almost 

 grasp the odour-laden air and hold it in the hollow of 

 the hand ? 



