Entering the Forest 205 



a narrow bank of stone and sand overgrown with sward ; 

 and, reclining there, the eye travels over the broad expanse 

 of water, almost level with it, as one might look along a 

 gun-barrel. Yonder the roan cattle are in the water up to 

 their knees ; the light air ripples the surface, and the sun- 

 shine playing on the wavelets glistens so brilliantly that 

 the eye can scarcely bear it ; and the cattle ponder 

 dreamily, standing in a flood of liquid gold. 



A path running from Wick across the fields to the 

 distant downs leads , to the forest. It would be quite 

 possible to pass by the edge without knowing that it was so 

 near, for a few scattered trees on the hill-side would hardly 

 attract attention. Nothing marks where the trees cease : 

 thin, wide apart, and irregularly placed, because planted by 

 nature, they look but a group on the down. There is in- 

 deed a boundary, but it is at a distance and concealed : it 

 is the trout-stream in the hollow far below, winding along 

 the narrow valley, and hidden by osier-beds and willow 

 pollards. 



Ascending the slope of the down towards the trees, 

 the brown-tinted grass feels slippery under foot : this wiry 

 grass always does feel so as autumn approaches. A suc- 

 cession of detached hawthorn bushes — like a hedge with 

 great gaps — grow in a line up the rising ground — the 

 dying vines of the bryony trail over them — one is showing 

 its pale greenish white flowers, while the rest bear heavy 

 bunches of berries. A last convolvulus, too, has a single 

 pink-streaked bell, though the bough to which it holds is 

 already partly bare of leaves. The touch of autumn is 

 capricious, and passes over many trees to fix on one which 

 stands out glowing with colour, while on the rest a dull 

 green lingers. Near the summit a few bunches of the 

 brake fern rise out of the grass ; then the foremost trees 



