190 OUR WOODLAND TREES. 
our chin almost touches our knees. Anon, in the 
same thicket, we pass under sheltering twigs of 
Maple, and though we are immersed in cool 
shadows the quivering leaves in the foliage above 
us are silvered by the penetrating sunrays. With 
the motion of the breeze which stirs the cluster- 
ing foliage there reaches us the sweet odour of 
Honeysuckle, and looking up we can see a mass of 
cream-coloured blossoms, and from out the 
overgrowth of shrubbery, amongst which the 
Honeysuckle flowers are growing, hang the large 
succulent leaves, green, but blossomless, of a 
Guelder Rose. 
Presently our path comes out by the shallow 
bed of the Lymington River, and, from a pool by 
the bank, a trout, surprised by the unwelcome 
interruption, skims away to mid-stream. Leaving 
the stream-side for a moment we press on, follow- 
ing our narrow path through a thicket, so dense— 
of Blackthorn and Elder, Ash, brake, and Haw- 
thorn, Holly, blackberry, and giant forms of gorse 
—that our progress is almost stopped, and we 
have at times almost to crawl on our knees to get 
under the tangled mass of shrubbery, in the 
