S3 
NATURE NOTES. 
tender little cups to catch the sunlight, and violets add their 
purple gleams to the picture. The graceful melic grass is wav- 
ing its tiny purplish brown plume out of masses of rich green 
leaves, which as Keats so aptly says are growing “lush in juicy 
stalks.” The bryony is climbing resolutely above the rest, 
hinging out long tendrils everywhere, making friends with all 
its neighbours and getting from each a little help in its upward 
course. 
Now from the beech wood I am looking out upon a soft 
dreamy landscape, slopes of tender grass, masses of rounded 
foliage of all shades of colour; yet each tree has its own distinc- 
tive tone, walnuts looking almost crimson against the vivid green 
of the forward beeches which are already in leaf ; others again, 
the later ones, still showing their golden brown buds, thrown up 
by the dark funereal yews, which abound here and give such 
richness and depth to the landscape. 
There is no sound to break the silence save the notes of 
birds, they have it all their own way, no discords here ; no hum 
and bustle of busy man can reach this favoured spot, a nightin- 
gale is pouring forth gushes of song, a blackcap and robin are 
singing against each other, and a little wren peeping at me from 
behind a mossy stem is warbling after her usual hurried fashion, 
as if she had not another minute to live. Happy birds, to dwell 
in such a peaceful spot ! 
Turning to the left, where a great yew tree makes a mass of 
shade, I see a lovely shower of pure white buds, as though a 
snow storm had been petrified as it fell ; it is a white beam 
tree growing by the yew, its slender twigs are not seen, only 
the snowy buds glisten and sparkle in the bright sunbeams, 
giving promise of the abundant leafage, which is ready to unfold 
from those silvery caskets. Just where the sunlight falls on a 
clear space of stony ground, a gem-like insect has lighted down, 
and rests there basking in the warmth, a vivid spot of emerald ; 
at length it moves, colour flashes from its wings, away it flits 
into a mossy hollow, leaving the momentary impression of a 
trail of brilliancy behind. The brake fern is sending up every- 
where its crozier-like stems, brown-haired and curled, keeping 
for awhile its future wealth of leafy-shade in a firm grasp, till 
the warmth of summer sunbeams shall woo it to unfold into its 
full beauty, and form a mimic forest, wherein grey furred 
rabbits may frolic to their heart’s content, and bronze-winged 
pheasants steal in and out, with wary step and lowered head, 
ever on the listen, lest some of their many enemies may be 
lurking near. 
As I gather a fern frond something springs from the ground 
and disappears as if the wind had suddenly caught up a red 
brown feather, but, peering furtively from behind a tree, I see 
a pair of black eyes and pointed little ears. They remain per- 
fectly motionless for many minutes, then a sudden spring reveals 
a lithe young squirrel. Soon it is perched upon a branch, 
