8o My Wood. 



In the middle of my wood is a piece of water, fed by 

 numerous tiny rillets, with willows, wild bullaces, and 

 an ash or two, surrounding and hemming it in so 

 closely that, save in the very centre, and when the sun 

 is high, the water is dark and cold looking. But the 

 smaller water-lily grows in it, and irises — lovely in 

 their season — shoot up and supply provision for the 

 water-voles which have their homes here. The frog- 

 bit and the water-crowfoot in season gather and spread 

 there in drifts of snow, and the yellow ranunculus con- 

 tests with them the place of honour, looking forth with 

 its golden eye set as if in its very heart. The spot is 

 utterly lonely, seldom does a footstep pass that way ; 

 so lonely is it, indeed, that one might fancy it was just 

 such another spot as that in which Thurtell and Weare 

 threw their victim. 



A broken, ragged bit of hedge runs along the higher 

 side of this lonely pond, and the speedwell spreads 

 along it, and the white starwort looks forth pure, but 

 as if with inquiry, and the forget-me-not follows, and 

 white marguerites, and corn-flowers and poppies bloom 

 in their season with the richest effect, for it lies on the 

 side nearest to the corn-fields beyond, and draws some- 

 thing from them. 



If you ascend to the top of the slope here you catch 

 a glimpse of the distant church tower of Frating, 

 rising so nicely amidst its trees on the height — very 

 picturesque and beautiful. 



The tiny water-shrews, which you have to wait and 

 lie very silently even to see, are always active here- 

 about, whether you see them or not. Though gay and 

 playful, they are so cautious and shy, that, unless you 

 are very watchful indeed, you may never notice them, 

 even though looking on the banks or in the water 



