UNDER GREEN LEAVES 
'You like rough ground,' said one of my friends one 
day, ' so I think you would find something to suit 
you in the Long Valley Moor. You can go just 
where you please, and if you like to catch a brace of 
trout to paint from, you are quite welcome to them.' 
Thick warm mists shroud all things as I leave my 
home for a six miles' walk, wishing to see the said 
valley lit up by the morning sun. Only those who 
have walked through the woodlands in all their fresh 
tender greenery, when the dewdrops are glistening 
like diamonds on the foliage, and the grasses nod 
over the narrow track, bowed down by the clear beads 
of moisture that cling to their edges, can form any idea 
of the beauty, the calmness, and the good knowledge 
that are to be found under green leaves. 
The rough weather has gone, winter shifts are a 
thing of the past, and the birds sing, for it is their 
nesting time. Man himself, in spite of all his cares, 
brightens up and looks for better times. The Combe 
