A JOURNAL KEPT IN THE COUNTRY. 239 



garden, sanctified by childish recollections, shone 

 richly among the autumnal aspects tiger-lilies un- 

 curling the volutes of their petals before they fall, 

 the rampant twine of the convolvulus carrying its 

 purple trumpets unfaded until noon. The Autumn 

 crocus Hesper of the year, as his yellow brother of 

 March is Phosphor stands in leafless tufts of clear 

 pink-purple, one of the most satisfying pure colours 

 that we know. 



Sitting under the holly hedge, I looked over all 

 the valley to the Downs ; the chimneys of the village, 

 the grey spire against the dark mass of its neighbour 

 yews a very portrait of peace. There was no sound 

 but the whistle of birds about the garden, and the 

 mellow, mournful changes of the bells across the 

 south-west wind bells which clash merrily enough 

 about the village street, but at this distance always 

 have a penetrating melancholy. They cease ; then, 

 scarcely heard, the quick shrill ting-tang calls in 

 the belated worshippers ; and the moment after, Morn- 

 ing Prayer has begun. Sitting still in perfect idleness, 

 I find a pleasure in merely leaving the mind open to 

 the least things that move about me : to note the 

 wagtail making his short quick runs on the lawn ; 

 the young swallows trying their wings in circles from 



