NATURE NEAR LONDON 



stem at the top ; the leaves are willow-shaped, and 

 there is scarcely a hollow or break in the bank 

 where the earth has fallen which is not clothed 

 with them. A mile or two up the river the tansy 

 is plentiful, bearing golden buttons, which, like 

 every fragment of the feathery foliage, if pressed 

 in the fingers, impart to them a peculiar scent. 

 There, too, the yellow loose-strife pushes up its 

 tall slender stalks to the top of the low willow 

 bushes, that the bright yellow flowers may emerge 

 from the shadow. 



The river itself, the broad stream, ample and 

 full, exhibits all its glory in this reach ; from One 

 Tree to the Lock it is nearly straight, and the 

 river itself is everything. Between wooded hills, 

 or where divided by numerous islets, or where 

 trees and hedges enclose the view, the stream is 

 but part of the scene. Here it is all. The long 

 raised bank without a hedge or fence, with the 

 cornfields on its level, simply guides the eye to the 

 water. Those who are afloat upon it insensibly 

 yield to the influence of the open expanse. 



The boat whose varnished sides but now slipped 

 so gently that the cutwater did not even raise a 

 wavelet, and every black rivet head was visible as 

 a line of dots, begins to forge ahead. The oars 

 are dipped farther back, and as the blade feels the 

 water holding it in the hollow, the lissom wood 

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