JULY. 185 



Then shall these scenes elysian 



Bright in thy spirit burn, 

 And each summer thought and vision 



Be thine till I return. 



W. H. 



Field Paths are at this season particularly 

 attractive. I love our real old English foot- 

 paths. I love those rustic and picturesque 

 stiles opening their pleasant escapes from fre- 

 quented places and dusty highways into the 

 solitudes of nature. It is delightful to catch a 

 glimpse of one on the old village-green ; under 

 the old elder-tree by some ancient cottage, or 

 half hidden by the overhanging boughs of a 

 wood. I love to see the smooth, dry track, 

 winding away in easy curves, along some green 

 slope to the church-yard — to the forest-grange 

 — or to the embowered cottage. It is to me an 

 object of certain inspiration. It seems to in- 

 vite one from noise and publicity into the heart 

 of solitude, and of rural delight. It beckons 

 the imagination on through green and whisper- 

 ing corn-fields, through the short but verdant 

 pasture ; the flowering mowing-grass ; the odour- 

 ous and sunny hay-field; the festivity of harvest ; 

 from lonely farm to farm, from village to village ; 

 by clear and messy wells ; by tinkling brooks and 

 deep wood-skirted streams, to crofts where the 

 daffodil is rejoicing in spring, or meadows where 



