NATURE NEAR LONDON 



through a little meadow, barely an acre, with a 

 pollard oak in the centre, the rising ground on two 

 sides shutting out all but the sky, and on the third 

 another wood. Such a dreamy hollow might be 

 painted for a glade in the Forest of Arden, and 

 there on the sward and leaning against the ancient 

 oak one might read the play through without being 

 disturbed by a single passer-by. A few steps 

 further and the stile opens on a road. 



There the teams travel with rows of brazen 

 spangles down their necks, some with a wheat-sheaf 

 for design, some with a swan. The road itself, if 

 you follow it, dips into a valley where the horses 

 must splash through the water of a brook spread 

 out some fifteen or twenty yards wide ; for, after 

 the primitive Surrey fashion, there is no bridge for 

 waggons. A narrow wooden structure bears foot- 

 passengers ; you cannot but linger half across and 

 look down into its clear stream. Up the current 

 where it issues from the fields and falls over a slight 

 obstacle the sunlight plays and glances. 



A great hawthorn bush grows on the bank : in 

 spring, white with may ; in autumn, red with 

 haws or peggles. To the shallow shore of the 

 brook, where it washes the flints and moistens the 

 dust, the house-martins come for mortar. A con- 

 stant succession of birds arrive all day long to 

 drink at the clear stream, often alighting on the 

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