. 

 66 A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



Naturalist, and perhaps occasionally dishearten him, but why 

 should it be ? As Netta Syrett says, ' The world is not only 

 full, but even somewhat inconveniently crowded with a number 

 of things, and in our brief life of three score years and ten 

 we may be pardoned if we find some things a little over- 

 whelming and wide of the mark, which are only satisfactory so 

 far that they make the perfect happiness of kings. It is these 

 wonders of Nature which, as in art, compel us to love the 

 delicate, complete, and intimate, rather than the sublime, suggest- 

 ive, or remote. What we want is something for every day's 

 most quiet needs.' 



'April, with the soft breezes tempered with brilliant sunshine, 

 with Butterflies winging their zig-zag flight, white and yellow 

 ones together, as they now hover over the flickering lovers, now 

 rise swiftly in a cloud, now chase one another in curious curving 

 lines, fluttering, coquetting ceaselessly, their wings flashing like 

 sunlit snowflakes under a sky of dazzling blue,' is paradisiacal 

 indeed. 



Variety is pleasing, and on an April morning variety is to 

 be found everywhere. Each component part of Nature seems 

 to be fulfilling a set purpose, each has its allotted task, and 

 right well it is carried out. The cowslip-covered bank, the 

 impenetrable thicket, the hedgerows, the corn fields, the gardens 

 and lanes, byeways and pathways, trees and flowers, birds, 

 insects, and beasts of the field, fish in the bubbling brook and 

 the stagnant pool, all exhibit variety in a marked degree. And 

 what a wonderful contrast, as well as variety, there is in the 

 arena of Nature? The orchestra is composed of voices and 

 monotones of endless variety, the landscape is ever beautiful and 

 of a most varied and pleasing description. There are new 

 sights and sounds at every turn ; the gambol of Squirrels, the 

 drumming of a Woodpecker, the graceful figure of a lazy Cow, 

 while from the hill top we observe the village church, which 

 lifts its tapering spire as a witness to holier harvests than are 

 gathered from the fields around. 



Around the grey old church tower Jackdaws are discernible, 

 and distance lends enchantment to the scene. Snoozing, blinking 

 Owls haunt the tower also, and the Swift will soon be found 

 hereabouts. 



