SCIENCE-GOSSIP. 



77 



A J U N E RAMBL E. 

 By Alfred H. Bastin. 



\ X J E are up early this morning, and out into the 

 already glaring sunshine, on our way down 

 the dusty road towards the railway station The 

 mist shrouding the hills across the valley speaks 

 eloquently, to those who care to notice, of the 

 exceedingly hot day before us. Just at present, 

 however, the sun's ardent rays produce none save 

 pleasurable sensations. There is the freshness of 

 morning in the air, the heavy dew is still undried 

 upon the grass, and the leaves of the elms and 

 lime-trees by the road-side shine in the light as 

 though they had just completed their morning 

 toilet. The sunshine penetrates to the gloom of 

 the station, and the polished copper and brasswork 

 of the locomotive-engine catch the beams of light 

 and reflect them with a dazzling brilliancy. Even 

 the grimy, stuffy carriages look less uninviting than 

 on a dull day. 



Almost before we are aware of it, we have left 

 the town, and are flashing past banks bright with 

 a profusion of summer blossoms. The air coming 

 in through the open window is laden with the 

 sweet perfume of the grass and flowers. Would 

 that we were capable of resolving this scent to its 

 \'arious origins — so that our minds might name 

 each and realize the thousand and one odours 

 which the flowers are for ever distilling into the 

 atmosphere. The wild-roses are in full bloom, 

 great bushes covered with the delicate pink and 

 white blossoms, interspersed here and there by 

 elder-bushes with flat trusses of tiny white flowers. 

 The commonest blossoms on the banks are the 

 moon-daises, which form quite a " milky-way," 

 dotted with bright dabs of scarlet which we know, 

 as we speed along, to be poppies. An endless series 

 of country sights flash past us. Green wheat-fields, 

 variegated with great patches of yellow charlock, 

 meadows crimson with sorrel or white with daisies. 

 Occasionally a shorn hay-field, with the lines of 

 dry grass browned by the heat of the sun. Here 

 the workers lean on their great wooden rakes to 

 gaze at the passing train, and the touches of colour 

 supplied by the women's dresses lend life to the 

 picture 



Thus the panorama trails behind until we reach 

 the wayside station at which we alight I 

 out through the white gates oi ihe level cr 

 and down the little village street, with its irregular 

 cottages and " Ked Lion " Inn, w) in the 



lanes and on our way to tl I 



which are the object of this 



ramble being to nccure a few specimens ol the 

 greasy U Hillary butterfly. On our left, 



I, shady ditch, containing a 



supply of water. Here, magnificent examples of 

 water-dock are growing : great plants, four feet 

 and even five feet high, with broad, dark-green, 

 cool-locking leaves, which rest the eyes after the 

 stretch of white, dusty road over which we have 

 just passed. Let us stop to rest a moment on the 

 bridge spanning the mill-stream. Long streamers 

 of the water-buttercup trail in the current, the little 

 white blossoms studding the surface. Amongst 

 these flowers dark-blue dragonflies dance heavily, 

 seeming in momentary danger of a watery grave, 

 yet always reaching a place of safety just as their 

 wings appear to be giving out. Then to the top of 

 the steep hill where is a common. The golden 

 glare of the gorse, which some weeks ago made 

 this spot such a glorious sight, is now past ; some 

 small clumps of heath are already in flower, and 

 the pink patches enliven the darker tints of the 

 the flowerless gorse. 



The path across the common leads us to a pine 

 wood where Scotch firs, growing close together, 

 form a most grateful shade The air too is sweet 

 and health-giving with the smell of the resin. 

 High up, where the sunlight streams through the 

 boughs, hundreds of small moths are dancing. 

 Occasionally one comes down close to the ground, 

 and this enables us to ascertain that they are 

 bordered- white moths — a common species in fir 

 woods. Underfoot is a thick carpet of dry brown 

 fir needles, springy to the tread. Very little 

 vegetation grows under the firs — probably more 

 from the fact that little sunlight penetrates 

 to the ground than from any directly harmful 

 influences exercised by the trees themselves, 

 as has sometimes been suggested. One plant, 

 however, grows here in some profusion : this 

 is the whortleberry, great patches of which 

 are on every side, the green of their foliage 

 heightened in vividness because of the dark tints 

 all around. The path leads us out once more into 

 the sunlight, and on down a rough, steep little lane 

 with high hedges on either side. At the bottom of 

 the hill is a tiny stream, spanned by a very rustic 

 foot-bridge. Here the lane has dwindled into a 

 mere path, and a few yards further on it ends 

 i her at a rough stile, over which are our 

 water-meadows. These fields lie very low, between 

 wooded hills, and, sheltered as they are from the 

 winds, yet exposed to the full glare of I lie sun, 

 form. a. it were, a natural li"i house, highly pro- 

 ductive -i - etabli life, and 'hen insei I a al 1 



Keeping alone the edge of the fields, under ihe 

 alder coppici and b thi hedges, bo thai w< may 

 not harm the tall mowing-grass, we rig our nets 



