290 The Face of the Wilderness 



At all times of the year the life of these surviving 

 fenlands is in striking contrast to that of the newer 

 world outside. In hard winter weather, when all 

 the wilderness of russet sedge-drifts is tagged with 

 brittle ice-crusts and sprinkled with foggy rime, 

 there is a sullen grandeur in the profound inertia 

 of the landscape. Even when April is passing into 

 May, and the meadows and copses of regenerated 

 soil are full of quick life and fruitful promise, there 

 are still but few signs of awakening from winter 

 desolation on the faded face of the fen. The verdure 

 of spring comes late to all water-sides and oozy 

 places ; and, except for the occasional fire of the 

 kingcup in the open swamp, or the golden boughs 

 of the sallow vividly gleaming on the loamy islets, 

 there are few of the year's new leaves and blossoms 

 until May is far advanced. Then, when the boughs 

 of the lonely hawthorn shine white with blossom 

 far across the levels, the saturated earth, at last 

 warmed by the increasing sun of spring, teems into 

 profusion of life. The pale green spears of the 

 reed shoot dense among the dry, down- beat en 

 canes ; by midsummer they are bowing from 

 green to grey under the stroke of the wind. Green 

 bur-reeds and sceptred golden iris make a dense 

 undergrowth round the hidden pools, where the 

 turquoise forget-me-not lays an even cloak across 

 the ooze, and the huge leaves of the water- 

 dock unfurl above the tepid water. Still wholly 

 given over to wild native life, the fen is as re- 

 mote in its July luxuriance from the landscapes 

 of the surrounding countryside as in the depth 



