64 <I(A{MBLES OF A VOMINIS 



hazel, and their red coats show now and then through 

 the thick growth of green. 



The birds are silent. Only the corncrake's cry comes 

 up at intervals from distant fields, and there is a yellow- 

 hammer on the hedge that sings at times a sleepy tune. 



The only creatures stirring are the insects. Myriads 

 of flies, that seem to revel in the heat, mock the poor 

 shelter of the stunted trees, and care nothing for the 

 sweep of brandished fern-leaves. Butterflies in brown 

 and blue, in white and yellow, float from flower to 

 flower, and burnet moths flit leisurely along, sunning 

 for the first time, some of them, the black and crimson 

 of their silken wings. Among the larches on the hill 

 crest higher up, the wind at times is sounding like the 

 sea, and when it dies away, is heard that strange, 

 persistent hum so characteristic of a summer noon the 

 noise of innumerable wings, the hum of clouds of flies 

 that poise above the resinous branches. 



Poor as is the pasture of this dry hill-side, its slopes 

 are glowing like an eastern carpet. Hawkweed and 

 cistus flame like gold among the grass. The ground is 

 strewn with oxeye daisies, crimson clover, and brown 

 seeds of burnet. White flowers of mountain meadow- 

 sweet, tipped with the crimson of unopened buds, toss 

 in the wind their little clouds of foam. Tall spikes of 

 mignonette show here and there like pallid flames. Grace 

 and beauty they possess but not the fragrance of their 

 sweet sisters of the garden. The fairy flax, whose slen- 

 der stems are waving everywhere along the slope, bears 

 easily the rude handling of the wind, but as if shrinking 



