124 



MY LIFE AS A NATURALIST 



I love the Sycamore's broad canopy, and its clusters of droop- 

 ing flowers ; the sweet scent of the Lime, and the monotone of 

 the busy Bees as they sip the nectar from the honeyed flowers, 

 make a strong appeal to my senses of sight, smell, and sound. 

 The sturdy Hornbeam, with its decorative catkins in Spring ; 

 the beauty of the Wild Cherry as it stands out in bridal 

 array from its woodland companions ; the stolid magnificence 



of the Evergreen Holly, and the 

 real old English personality of 

 the May ; the bunches of seeds 

 upon the spreading branches of 

 the Wych Elm ; the massive 

 grandeur of the old Willow 

 under which I dearly delight to 

 meander, and in whose fissured 

 bark Jenny Wren has this year 

 placed her home, these are all 

 my companions of sunshine and 

 shade. I make an open confes- 

 sion that I am a tree -worshipper 

 Winter and Summer, not for 

 the valuable timber which they 

 render, although realising such 

 importance, but for their elegance 

 and stateliness, for their useful- 

 ness to creatures of many kinds, 

 and the friendliness with which 

 they inspire all those who have 

 eyes to see, and hearts to under- 

 stand. 



My rambles among trees and flowers have brought untold joy 

 into my life, and I search, year by year, for the first golden disc 

 of the earliest sunflower of the Spring in the person of the Colts- 

 foot. I watch it craftily pushing its way through the cold clay 

 soil in which it flourishes, and, as the flower heads open one 

 by one, they decorate the bleak hillside, or the nearest railway 

 cutting, with a living raiment of gold. Later, I watch the fruiting 

 time, as the Coltsfoot first hangs its head, and then, all being in 

 readiness, it shoots upright, and discloses to view a silky-white 

 pappus. Later still, the Coltsfoot-shaped leaves appear, and, 

 by that time, Nature is all agog with life, and one hardly knows 

 which way to turn for fear of missing some hidden treasure. It 



FIG. 57. COLTSFOOT. 



