IN SUNNY GLOUCESTERSHIRE 
87 
Away, over the other side of the brook, lay a cornfield, and 
beyond that stretched a wide, gently-rising common — part of 
the common which is described so charmingly by Mrs. Craik — 
the Enderley Flats beloved of John Halifax. Here flocks of 
squabbling geese, their harsh noise softened by distance, and one 
or two sober-minded, sombre-coated donkeys, were generally to 
be seen wandering whither they listed, to be gathered together 
again anon, with much shouting and gesticulating on the part 
of a small urchin flourishing a stout stick in his hand. 
And occasionally, on a bright afternoon, one might also see 
a couple or so of white-robed, black-hatted friars from the 
Priory, slowly wending their way across the common, thus 
enhancing the old-world air of peace that lingered round that 
pleasant scene. 
The garden was ever full of life, for plant, feathered, and 
insect life flourished like the green bay-tree. Many were the 
butterflies that visited there— tortoiseshells in abundance, and 
occasionally an emperor, a splendid fellow, whom I longed to 
catch, but never could. 
One species of butterfly that I particularly remember, and 
have never seen since, was a small blue one — bright blue, it 
was, the blue of the cornflow'er — over which I frequently saw 
it hovering, until its being seemed merged in the flowers them- 
selves, so perfectly did it harmonise in colouring. There was 
also another butterfly of exactly similar size and description, 
only it was bright yellow instead of blue. 
This lower garden was in strange contrast with the trim 
upper one, for little or no attempt was made at cultivation ; 
fruit, flowers and weeds (especially the latter) grew in wild and 
luxurious profusion. Archways of unkempt but picturesque 
honeysuckle covered part of the pathway leading down to the 
water’s edge, where, along the side of the brook, was a long 
row of red, white and black currant bushes — currants of the 
largest size and most delicate flavour. Here, too, grew the 
wild convolvulus, twining its loving but treacherous embrace 
round currant and gooseberry-bushes. Often it was cut away, 
and as often it sprang up with renewed vigour. 
Here, again, gently kissing the water as it rippled softly by, 
grew in abundance the shy forget-me-not, whose blue was only 
rivalled by the slender-formed, delicate-winged may-flies, whicla 
flitted their brief lives away up and down in search of the 
minute insects that frequented the surface of the water. I have 
often caught these may-flies, but their exquisite blue was only 
retained for a short time after death, fading then to a dull, 
nondescript colour. 
In this same spot, on a still, drowsy afternoon, a kingfisher 
would skim lightly over, almost touching the water, then dive 
suddenly, fly upwards again, and come to rest for a few seconds 
on the branch of a low overhanging tree with a small fish in its 
beak. 
