WHE ATFIELDS 



its former blue became translucent, and an inner 

 and ethereal light of colour was shown. As the 

 sun rises higher the brilliance of his rays over- 

 powers it, and even at midsummer it is but rarely 

 seen. 



The morning sky is often, too, charged with 

 saffron, or the blue is clear, but pale, and the sun- 

 rise might be watched for many mornings without 

 the appearance of this exquisite hue. Once seen, 

 it will ever be remembered. Upon the Downs in 

 early autumn, as the vapours clear away, the same 

 colour occasionally gleams from the narrow open- 

 ings of blue sky. But at midsummer, above the 

 opening wheatears, the heaven from the east to 

 the zenith is flushed with it. 



At noonday, as the light breeze comes over, the 

 wheat rustles the more because the stalks are 

 stiffening and swing from side to side from the 

 root instead of yielding up the stem. Stay now at 

 every gateway and lean over while the midsummer 

 hum sounds above. It is a peculiar sound, not 

 like the querulous buzz of the honey, nor the 

 drone of the humble-bee, but a sharp ringing reso- 

 nance like that of a tuning-fork. Sometimes, in 

 the far-away country where it is often much louder, 

 the folk think it has a threatening note. 



Here the barley has taken a different tint now 

 the beard is out ; here the oats are straggling forth 



