io NATURE NEAR LONDON 



of rabbits, there must be pheasants somewhere ; but 

 nothing visible. Once only a whistling sound in the 

 air directs the glance upwards, it is a wood-pigeon 

 flying at full speed. There are no bees, for there are 

 no flowers. There are no butterflies. The black flies 

 are not numerous, and rarely require a fanning from 

 the ash spray carried to drive them off. 



Two large dragon-flies rush up and down, and cross the 

 lane, and rising suddenly almost to the tops of the oaks 

 swoop down again in bold sweeping curves. The broad, 

 deep ditch between the lane and the mound of the wood 

 is dry, but there are no short rustling sounds of mice. 



The only sound is the continuous singing of the grass- 

 hoppers, and the peculiar snapping noise they make 

 as they spring, leaping along the sward. The fierce sun 

 of the ripe wheat pours down a fiery glow scarcely to 

 be borne except under the boughs ; the hazel leaves 

 already have lost their green, the tips of the rushes are 

 shrivelling, the grass becoming brown; it is a scorched 

 and parched desert of wood. 



The finches have gone forth in troops to the stubble 

 where the wheat has been cut, and where they can 

 revel on the seeds of the weeds now ripe. Thrushes 

 and blackbirds have gone to the streams, to splash 

 and bathe, and to the mown meadows, where in the 

 short aftermath they can find their food. There they 

 will look out on the shady side of the hedge as the sun 

 declines, six or eight perhaps of them along the same 

 hedge, but all in the shadow, where the dew forms first 

 as the evening falls, where the grass feels cool and moist, 

 while still on the sunny side it is warm and dry. 



The bees are busy on the heaths and along the hill- 

 tops, where there are still flowers and honey, and the 

 butterflies are with them. So the woods are silent, still, 



