2&^K NATURE NEAR LONDON 



brambles and beneath the golden bloom of the furze, 

 the pale anemones flower. 



When the June roses open their petals on the 

 briars, and the scent of new-mown hay is wafted 

 over the hedge from the meadows, the lane seems 

 to wind through a continuous wood. The oaks 

 and chestnuts, though too young to form a com- 

 plete arch, cross their green branches, and cast a 

 delicious shadow. For it is in the shadow that we 

 enjoy the summer, looking forth from the gateway 

 upon the mowing-grass where the glowing sun 

 pours down his fiercest beams. 



Tall bennets and red sorrel rise above the grass, 

 white ox-eye daisies chequer it below ; the distant 

 hedge quivers as the air, set in motion by the in- 

 tense heat, runs along. The sweet murmuring 

 coo of the turtledove comes from the copse, and 

 the rich notes of the blackbird from the oak into 

 which he has mounted to deliver them. 



Slight movements in the hawthorn, or in the 

 depths of the tall hedge grasses, movements too 

 quick for the glance to catch their cause, are where 

 some tiny bird is passing from spray to spray. It 

 may be a whitethroat creeping among the nettles 

 after his wont, or a wren. The spot where he 

 was but a second since may be traced by the trem- 

 bling of the leaves, but the keenest attention may 

 fail to detect where he is now. That slight 

 6 



