the first fortnight in June, they are living in May. We are to bear in mind that all shall thus be gaining 
instead of losing, by the impertinence of any breath, but that of heaven, attempting to force spring into 
summer, even in name alone/ 5 
It seems fitting thus to introduce the following passages, and invite the reader to proceed with the 
author, and take a bird’s eye view of the season. 
Spring may now be considered as employed in completing her toilet, and, for the first weeks of this [ 
month, putting on those last finishing touches which an accomplished beauty never trusts to any hand but , 
her own. In the woods and groves also, she is still clothing some of her noblest and proudest attendants I 
with their new annual attire. The oak until now has been nearly bare; and, of whatever age, has been 
looking old all the winter and spring, on account of its crumpled branches and wrinkled rind. Now, of j 
whatever age, it looks young, in virtue of its new green, lighter than all the rest of the grove. Now, also, 
the stately walnut (standing singly or in pairs in the fore-court of ancient manor-houses, or in the home 
corner of the pretty park-like paddock at the back of some modern Italian villa, whose white dome it saw 
rise beneath it the other day, and mistakes for a mushroom,) puts forth its smooth leaves slowly, as “sage 
grave men ” do their thoughts ; and which over-caution reconciles one to the beating it receives in the 
autumn, as the best means of at once compassing its present fruit, and making it bear more ; as its said ! 
prototypes in animated nature are obliged to have their brains cudgelled, before any good can be got j 
from them. 
These appearances appertain exclusively to the spring. Let us now (however reluctantly) take a final | 
leave of that lovely season, and at once step forward into the glowing presence of summer — contenting 
ourselves, however, to touch the hem of her rich garments, and not attempting to look into her heart, till 
she lays that open to us herself next month: for whatever schoolboys’ calendar-makers may say to the con- 
trary, Midsummer never happens in England till July. 
To saunter at mid June, beneath the shade of some old forest, situated in the neighbourhood of a ! 
great town, so that paths are worn through it, and you can make your way with ease in any direction, 
gives one the idea of being transferred, by some strange magic, from the surface of the earth to the bottom 
of the sea ! (I say it gives one this idea; for I cannot answer for more, in matters of so arbitrary a nature 
as the association of ideas.) Over head, and round about, you hear the sighing, the whispering, or the 
roaring (as the wind pleases) of a thousand billows ; and looking upwards, you see the light of heaven 
transmitted faintly, as if through a mass of green waters. Hither and thither, as you move along, strange 
forms flit swiftly about you, which may, for any thing you can see or hear to the contrary, be exclusive 
natives of the new world in which your fancy chooses to find itself : they may b e fishes, if that pleases ; for 
they are as mute as such, and glide through the liquid element as swiftly. Now and then, indeed, one of 
larger growth, and less lubricated movements, lumbers up from beside your path, and cluttering noisily 
away to a little distance, may chance to scare for a moment your submarine reverie. Your palate too may 
perhaps here step in, and try to persuade you that the cause of interruption was not a fish but a pheasant. 
But in fact, if your fancy is one of those which are disposed to “listen to reason,” it will not be able to 
lead you into spots of the above kind without your gun in your hand, — one report of which will put all 
fancies to flight in a moment, as well as every thing else that has wings. To return, therefore, to our walk, 
— what do all these strange objects look like, that stand silently about us in the dim twilight, some spring 
straight up, and tapering as they ascend, till they lose themselves in the green waters above — some 
shattered and splintered, leaning against each other for support, or lying heavily on the floor, as if they 
had lain dead there for ages, and become incorporate with if? what do all these seem, but wrecks and 
fragments of some mighty vessel, that has sunk down here from above, and lain weltering and wasting 
away, till these are all that is left of it! Even the floor itself on which we stand, and the vegetation it 
puts forth, are unlike those of any other portion of the earth’s surface, and may well recall, by their strange 
appearance in the half light, the fancies that have come upon us when we have read or dreamt of those 
gifted beings, who like Ladurlad in Kehama, could walk on the floor of the sea, without waiting, as the 
visiters at watering-places are obliged to do, for the tide to go out. 
Stepping forth into the open fields, what a bright pageant of summer beauty is spread out before us ! 
— Everywhere about our feet flocks of wild flowers 
“ Do paint the meadow with delight.” 
The woods and groves, and the single forest trees that rise here and there from out the bounding 
hedge-rows, are now in full foliage ; all, however, presenting a somewhat sombre, because monotonous, hue, 
wanting all the tender newness of the spring, and all the rich variety of the autumn. And this is the more 
observable, because the numerous plots of cultivated land, divided from each other by hedge-rows, and 
looking, at this distance, like beds in a garden divided by box, are nearly all still invested with the same 
green mantle ; for the wheat, the oats, the barley, and even the early rye, though now in full flower, have 
not yet become tinged with their harvest hues. They are all alike green ; and the only change that can be 
seen in their appearance is that caused by the different lights into which each is thrown, as the wind passes 
over them. The patches of purple or of white clover that intervene here and there, and are now in flower, 
offer striking exceptions to the above, and at the same time load the air with their sweetness. Nothing 
can be more rich and beautiful in its effect on a distant prospect at this season, than a great patch of pur- 
ple clover lying apparently motionless on a sunny upland, encompassed by a whole sea of green com, 
waving and shifting about at every breath that blows. 
