^S! NATURE NEAR LONDON 



Heat comes down from above; heat comes up 

 from beneath, from the dry, white earth, from the 

 rows of stubble, as if emitted by the endless tubes 

 of cut stalks pointing upwards. Wheat is a plant 

 of the sun : it loves the heat, and heat crackles in 

 the rustle of the straw. The pimpernels above 

 which the hook passed are wide open : the larger 

 white convolvulus trumpets droop languidly on the 

 low hedge : the distant hills are dim with the va- 

 pour of heat ; the very clouds which stay motion- 

 less in the sky reflect a yet more brilliant light from 

 their white edges. Is there no shadow ? 



There is no tree in the field, and the low hedge 

 can shelter nothing; but bordering the next, on 

 rather higher ground, is an ash copse, with some 

 few spruce firs. Resting on a rail in the shadow 

 of these firs, a light air now and again draws along 

 beside the nut-tree bushes of the hedge ; the cooler 

 atmosphere of the shadow, perhaps, causes it. Faint 

 as it is, it sways the heavy-laden brome grass, but 

 is not strong enough to lift a ball of thistledown 

 from the bennets among which it is entangled. 



How swiftly the much-desired summer comes 

 upon us ! Even with the reapers at work before 

 one it is difficult to realise that it has not only 

 come, but will soon be passing away. Sweet sum- 

 mer is but just long enough for the happy loves 

 of the larks. It seems but yesterday, it is really 

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