FOOTPATHS 



" ALWAYS get over a stile," is the one rule that should 

 ever be borne in mind by those who wish to see the 

 land as it really is that is to say, never omit to 

 explore a footpath, for never was there a footpath yet 

 which did not pass something of interest. 



In the meadows, everything comes pressing lovingly 

 up to the path. The small-leaved clover can scarce 

 be driven back by frequent footsteps from endeavour- 

 ing to cover the bare earth of the centre. Tall 

 buttercups, round whose stalks the cattle have care- 

 fully grazed, stand in ranks ; strong ox-eye daisies, 

 with broad white disks and torn leaves, form with the 

 grass the tricolour of the pasture white, green, and 

 gold. 



When the path enters the mowing grass, ripe for the 

 scythe, the simplicity of these cardinal hues is lost 

 in the multitude of shades and the addition of other 

 colours. The surface of mowing grass is indeed made 

 up of so many tints that at the first glance it is con- 

 fusing ; and hence, perhaps, it is that hardly ever has 

 an artist succeeded in getting the effect upon canvas. 

 Of the million blades of grass no two are of the same 

 shade. 



Pluck a handful and spread them out side by side 

 and this is at once evident. Nor is any single blade the 

 same shade all the way up. There may be a faint yellow 



