14 By Stream and Sea. 



but, like the poet's primrose, " it is nothing more ; " to the 

 careful observer, who has time to lean over a five-barred 

 gate and look into the wheat a cornfield is a glorious garden 

 of wild flowers. 



On this July day the wild flowers shone in their full glory. 

 What the fields lacked the hedges supplied. They were 

 drawn up on either side of the road like troops at a review, 

 as if for the sole purpose of gratifying me, who drove slowly 

 between the lines, inspecting their many-coloured uniforms 

 and accoutrements. It is said that there are no fewer than 

 twenty varieties of wild rose in these islands, and there were 

 a good many representatives in this Hertfordshire hedge, in 

 different stages of bloom and in every shade of delicate 

 colouring, from the blush that is almost white to the blush 

 that is almost red. There, too, exquisitely beautiful as it 

 always is, was the bonny woodbine, climbing always from 

 left to right, and the white convolvulus obeying the same 

 law. The cream-coloured and odorous elder blossoms were 

 there in large masses, and the common bramble with its red 

 stems and manifold flower-spangles held its own right 

 bravely. 



" Though woodbines flaunt and roses glow 

 O'er all the fragrant bowers, 

 Thou need'st not be ashamed to show 

 Thy satin-threaded flowers." 



But we must drive onwards would we not lose caste in 

 the eyes of the driver, who does not understand why his 

 horse should be held in when the road is good and the 

 steed willing. Luckily, he is one of those drivers who, 

 while not chatting too much, is desirous of telling his 

 customers many interesting things about the country — how, 

 for example, the splendid mansion behind the cedars yonder 

 was built by So-and-so, the great tobacconist, who owns the 



