198 MY DEVON YEAR 



go swiftly down to the acres outspread below, where 

 peat lies drying, where water gleams, and the flowers 

 of the rush sweep a warm russet tone over the bogs 

 and lighten their prevailing green. The cuttings lie 

 black and broken in parallel lines. Their masses are 

 irregular ; and here is chaos of old, cut peat, neglected 

 and dropping to pieces ; and here, row on row, piled 

 one against the other, stand the slabs of new fuel 

 freshly delved and waiting for the sun to dry their 

 moisture. A great harmony of colours is blended 

 here, and the dark peat flashes out like scattered and 

 broken strings of black pearls in a case of green 

 and grey. Freshly carved by peat-knife and peat- 

 iron, the fuel ranges from black to yellow in streaks 

 and strata, and the last cotton-grass still waves its 

 tattered silver above it ; the dry old rubbish is crusted 

 with lichen and pale moss ; the whortle and heather 

 spring along each ridge ; scattered stones also lend 

 their colours to the blended wealth ; and the bracken — 

 blue by contrast with other verdant things — shines like 

 a mantle on the surrounding hills. In Spring marsh- 

 violets here spread their pale lavender abundantly, 

 and the red-rattle lifted rosy flowers above its lace- 

 work of leaves. Later came the most exquisite 

 blossom that orows wild in E norland, and the buck- 

 bean's fairy flowers ascended in little spires above 

 her trefoil foliage. Seen with naked eye, these 

 feathered stars shall never be forgotten, but under a 

 lens their magic startles the most indifferent observer. 

 Nature has indeed wrought herein a masterpiece, and 



