Woodside. 3 



" Ere a leaf is on the bush, 

 In the time before the thrush 

 Has a thought about its nest," 



and which the poet tell us comes 



"With half a call, 

 Spreading out thy glossy breast 

 Like a careless prodigal, 

 Telling tales about the sun 

 "When we've little warmth or none." 



Glossy indeed are the brilliant petals of the Lesser Celan- 

 dine (Fig. 1), although the buttercup by its profusion makes 

 a much more effective show. 



Soon we are between deep-cut banks with broad thick 

 hedge-rows and miniature coppices, thickly studded with 

 thorn and holly, ash and spindle, whilst bramble and 

 clematis weave a mantle over them in many places, their 

 long trailing branches, which hang down from the higher 

 bushes, making a drapery of exquisite loveliness. From the 

 thick- set bushes the thrush and greenfinch steal quietly 

 away ; the blackbird, with its loud, frightened clutter, flies 

 off hastily ; whilst other denizens of the hedge-row carefully 

 hop some distance through the thick leafy screen before 

 showing themselves, in order to distract the attention of the 

 passer-by from their nests and the treasures they contain. 



Soon a rich perfume falls upon our senses 



" Like the sweet south 

 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 

 Stealing and giving odour." 



It appears to come from a narrow belt of ground lying by 

 the side of the road, and a few moments' search reveals a bed 

 of sweet-scented violets. These appear to be rather remark- 

 able, for the greater number of these richly scented flowers 



