182 OUR WOODLAND TREES. 
brake which crowds the forest glades, and bathing 
in silvery light the noble Treetops. The stream- 
let is our guide, for it accompanies us along the 
course we are pursuing; now hidden from sight 
by densely-crowding Alders, and now by giant 
forms of bracken which fringe the streamside 
path—but always musical, with a gentle, dreamy, 
trickling sound, for its volume has been reduced 
by the summer drought. Now we pass through 
a sea of brake, pressing our way amongst tall 
fronds, seven and eight feet high, whose graceful 
curling tops touch the lowermost of the drooping 
Beech boughs. Anon, the bracken stand away, 
forming a hedge on each side of us, whilst our 
pathway is soft with spongy turf. The birds are 
still musical in the great Trees, and have resumed 
their suspended concert—for the oppressive heat 
of mid-day summer is felt by birds as well as by 
ourselves, and often tends to hush their notes. 
For fragrance we have the sweet hay scent which 
rises from the greensward, and the delicious per- 
fume of the climbing Honeysuckle; for colour 
the blush of the dog-rose, the gold of the butter- 
cup, and the empurpling fox-glove; for sparkle 
