THE WILDERNESS 197 



The casual visitor would, of necessity, stand spellbound when 

 one of the stately trees, bushes, or shrubs, now festooned with 

 a wealth of gracious blossom, came into view, but the Nature 

 worshipper must needs obey the command which comes to him 

 to go down on bended knee, so as to serve the double purpose of 

 seeing the flowers to better advantage, silhouetted against the 

 blue of a cloudless sky, and to utter silent supplication for the 

 privilege of witnessing such a sight in rural England in the merry 

 month of May. 



The grasses are studded with the faint lilac of departing 

 Cuckoo flowers, which are here discovered in various gradations 

 of colour. In the cool shade of the Horace garden, which is 

 entirely canopied with green, the blossoms of this plant are all 

 silver- white , as Shakespeare pictured them. Out in the open 

 the colour, although subdued, is more noticeable. Over the 

 surface of the silent pool in this secluded retreat, guarded by the 

 time-worn statues which Bulwer Lytton erected and epitaphed, 

 whole regiments of airy insects coquet in a shaft of sunlight, 

 which glints through an opening in the trees, and even the faint 

 wind that is stirring is sufficient to change their course, first this 

 way, and then that. 



Fish are sunning themselves near the surface, startling the way- 

 farer with their sudden splash, and a sedate Robin utters its 

 plaintive dirge from the sturdy limb of an aged Oak overhanging 

 the water. 



The sweet-scented Poet's Narcissus peoples the wilderness 

 with graceful dignity and matchless beauty, replacing the golden 

 glory of the curtseying Daffodil, which flourishes here in large 

 numbers earlier in the year, but now only traceable by its masses 

 of green, sword-shaped leaves. The pure white blossoms of the 

 Wild Strawberry strike the eye as cool and refreshing in the 

 torrid heat of this glorious May day, and the bright blue of the 

 Bugle adds a touch of colour to the ground, where, by its presence, 

 one is made aware of the dampness of the surroundings. A 

 patch of blue Speedwell anchored hard by might well have fallen 

 from the sky above, so matchless is its purity and comeliness. 



In a dense colony of Rose bushes, which promise well for the 

 crowning of the Queen of Flowers in leafy June, a lyrical Black- 

 cap and his solicitous consort have placed their fragile cradle. 

 It is deftly suspended among the maze of prickly branches, and, 

 as we peer into the tangled growth, the female bird slips silently 

 off her nst, whilst the male, revelling in the pleasant anticipa- 



