5.7 



CHAPTER IV. 



41 Dear Nature is the kindest mother still, 



Though always changing in her aspect mild-, 

 From her bare bosom let me take my fill. 

 * * * * 



Oh! she is fairest in her features wild." 



Childe Harold, c. ii. v. 37. 



The summer is come at last, and daily some new face peeps up to 

 greet and assure us of bright warm days, and happy hours. 



"It is delightful amidst the early dew 

 To be a wanderer! When the morning hours 

 Bear on their wings the perfume of all flowers; 

 When from the green earth to the heaven's blue 

 Ascends the song of birds." 



To a person accustomed to English country life and scenery, the 

 vegetation of Australia presents rather a sombre appearance, and 

 he misses the varied tints of the elm, the oak, and the splendid 

 blossoming spikes of the chestnut, and, later still, the ash, of which 

 Tennyson makes mention:— 



"Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, 



Delaying as the tender ash delays 



To clothe herself, when all the woods are green?" 



ani he misses the beautiful notes of our less gaudily-coloured song 

 birds — the clear liquid voice of the speckled throstle — the mellow 

 voice of the blackbird, 



"Bird of the jetty wing and golden bill;" 



the exquisite love notes of the blackcap, 



" Glad as the sunshine and the laughiug sky." 



