172 THE OPEN AIR. 



and full feeding, the sky blue as March between the 

 great masses of dry cloud floatmg over, the mist in 

 the distant valleys, the tinkle of traces as the plough 

 turns, and the silence of the woodland birds. The 

 lark calls as he rises from the earth, the swallows 

 still wheeling call as they go over, but the woodland 

 birds are mostly still, and the restless sparrows gone 

 forth in a cloud to the stubble. Dry clouds, because 

 they evidently contain no moisture that will fall as 

 rain here ; thick mists, condensed haze only, floating 

 on before the wind. The oaks were not yet yellow, 

 their leaves were half green, half brown; Time had 

 begun to invade them, but had not yet indented his 

 full mark. 



Of the year there are two most pleasurable seasons : 

 the spring, when the oak-leaves come russet-brown 

 on the great oaks ; the autumn, when the oak-leaves 

 begin' to turn. At the one, I enjoy the summer that 

 is coming ; at the other, the summer that is going. 

 At either, there is a freshness in the atmosphere, 

 a colour everywhere, a depth of blue in the sky, a 

 welcome in the woods. The redwings had not yet 

 come; the acorns were full, but still green; the 

 greedy rooks longed to see them riper. They 

 were very numerous, the oaks covered with them, 

 a crop for the greedy rooks, the greedier pigeons, the 

 pheasants, and the jays. 



One thing I missed — the corn. So quickly was the 

 harvest gathered, that those who delight in the colour 

 of the wheat had no time to enjoy it. If any painter 

 had been looking forward to August to enable him 

 to paint the corn, he must have been disappointed. 



