40 VOICES FROM THE WOODLANDS. 



sant thought of far-off scenes, even in crowded cities. I re- 

 semble, among the -vegetable tribes, those half domesticated 

 species, the confiding sparrow and temple-haunting martlet, 

 which love the dwellings of men, and skim over thronged 

 streets, telling that spring flowers are seen in fields, and that 

 the cuckoo is already come. Bocks and ruins are my 

 native haunts, church walls, and ancient bridges, and yet I 

 often deck the cottage roof, or such rough fences as enclose 

 their gardens. The primitive wynch well, with its chain 

 and bucket, allures me also ; I grow thereon in company 

 with the small purple snapdragon and white nailwort, 

 looking down serenely on the clear cold mirror in which we 

 are reflected. 



You may find me in profusion on the walls of Greenwich 

 Park, though covered with dust in summer; and those 

 who like to associate memorial places with such plants as 

 grow among them, may think of the wall-rue in connec- 

 tion with Arthur's seat, near Edinburgh. That stern spot, 

 with its high rocks, fierce winds, and raging waters, was for 



