ON A SUMMER MORNING 279 



probe amongst the mud for food ; others are 

 eating young grass-shoots on the margin of a 

 meadow. Over the deeper water the breeze con- 

 verts the surface into ripples that sparkle like 

 silver. From the little copse across the narrow 

 strip of marsh land, the wild strains of Nature's 

 songsters reach the ear. There the Blackcap is 

 pouring forth his wild song, and the chiming 

 Willow- Wrens can also be heard. Flowers begin 

 to open on the banks of the Broad ; and although 

 the sun has not long been above the horizon, a 

 swallow-tail butterfly flies past, and settles on a 

 piece of ragged-robin to bathe its wings in the 

 sunshine. Coots with their young are venturing 

 out from the cover of the reeds ; and above all 

 these is the Lark, which, rejoicing in the return of 

 summer, sings its song of praise. 



Everything appears to be happy; the whole 

 earth is welcoming the new-born day, and all we 

 look upon has the charm of summer associated 

 with it. We see Nature in her most attractive 

 aspect clothed in different shades of green. Each 

 blade of grass or sedge, with the dew still hanging 

 upon it, seems to be set with jewels. The merry 

 sedge-birds are still chatting as they were during 

 the night ; and it may even puzzle one to know 

 when they actually sleep. From the fir-trees in 



