U NATURE NEAR LONDON, 



FOOTPATHS, 



'* Always get over a stile," is the one rule that should 

 ever be borne in mind by those who wish to see the 

 land as it really is — that is to say, never omit to 

 explore a footpath, for never was there a footpath yet 

 which did not pass something of interest. 



In the meadows, everything comes pressing lovingly 

 up to the path. The small-leaved clover can scarce 

 be driven back by frequent footsteps from endeavour- 

 ing to cover the bare earth of the centre. Tall 

 buttercups, round whose stalks the cattle have care- 

 fully grazed, stand in ranks; strong ox-eye daisies, 

 with broad white disks and torn leaves, form with the 

 grass the tricolour of the pasture — white, green, and 

 gold. 



When the path enters the mowing-grass, ripe for 

 the scythe, the simplicity of these cardinal hues is 

 lost in the multitude of shades and the addition of 

 other colours. The surface .of mowing-grass is indeed 

 made up of so many tints that at the first glance it is 

 confusing ; and hence, perhaps, it is that hardly ever 

 has an artist succeeded in getting the effect upon 

 canvas. Of the million blades of grass no two are of 

 the same shade. 



