186 THE OPEN AIR. 



of his own unsurpassed England. The oak was there 

 then, young and strong ; it is here now, ancient, but 

 sturdy. Barely do you see an oak fall of itself. It 

 decays to the last stump ; it does not fall. The 

 sounds are the same the tap as a ripe acorn drops, 

 the rustle of a leaf which comes down slowly, the 

 quick rushes of mice playing in the fern. A move- 

 ment at one side attracts the glance, and there is a 

 squirrel darting about. There is another at the very 

 top of the beech yonder out on the boughs, nibbling 

 the nuts. A brown spot a long distance down the 

 glade suddenly moves, and thereby shows itself to 

 be a rabbit. The bellowing sound that comes now 

 and then is from the stags, which are preparing to 

 fight. The swine snort, and the mast and leaves 

 rustle as they thrust them aside. So little is changed : 

 these are the same sounds and the same movements, 

 just as in the olden time. 



The soft autumn sunshine, shorn of summer glare, 

 lights up with colour the fern, the fronds of which 

 are yellow and brown, the leaves, the gray grass, 

 and hawthorn sprays already turned. It seems as 

 if the early morning's mists have the power of tinting 

 leaf and fern, for so soon as they commence the 

 green hues begin to disappear. There are swathes 

 of fern yonder, cut down like grass or corn, the 

 harvest of the forest. It will be used for litter 

 and for thatching sheds. The yellow stalks the 

 stubble will turn brown and wither through the 

 winter, till the strong spring shoot comes up and 

 the anemones flower. Though the sunbeams reach 

 the ground here, half the green glade is in shadow, 



