THE BUTTERCUP 89 
Just at the period when the buttercup is blooming, the 
daisy and the blackthorn, the cowslip and the primrose, 
are putting on their spring attire. The hedges are full 
of leaves, and there is a scent of the violet in every green 
lane. One species of buttercup or another decks the 
meadow through the summer, and the same spot furnishes 
us with numerous other floral attractions. The blue of 
the various little speedwells or germanders (Veronica) is 
deep and clear as the sky above them ; the several species 
of the wild cranesbill (Geranium) are remarkable both for 
the bright pink and clear lilac tints of their blossoms and 
for the elegant forms and arrangements of their round or 
lobed leaves; while the white and yellow blossoms of the 
bedstraw (Galium) are like small stars thrown among the 
grasses. The clover perfumes the air; the wild succory, 
one of the gayest of our summer flowers, with its brilliant 
blue rays ; the twining convolvulus, and the drooping blue- 
bell, and the scabious, spring up in beauty and profusion. 
The hedges are filled with privet and foxglove, and briar- 
roses, and honeysuckles; and these all render the seques- 
tered meadow one of the most delightful haunts of the 
summer. The decrease of energy which is experienced 
during the warmer months of the year, serves so greatly 
to enhance the pleasure of the quiet scenes of the country, 
that even those who are accustomed to the more artificial 
life of a town are glad to retire for a season to the rural 
villa or cottage; while those who have spent their days 
chiefly amid country scenes feel a peculiar longing to 
return to them. In the large city, whatever may be the 
season of the year or the time of day, the active pursuits 
of life are proceeding with ardour. Almost every pas- 
senger in the .street is eager and intent; the perpetual 
whirl of carriages and the noise of a large population 
passing to and fro dispel every idea of leisure, and are 
never felt to be so wearisome to those who in other days 
were accustomed to the country, as now, when the occa- 
sional sight of a tree covered with foliage, or the breath 
of soft summer air, or the song of an imprisoned bird, 
brings before the mind the rural pleasures of the past. 
vStretched upon the meadow bank, the thoughtful may 
consider, and the idle may dream ; the poet may indulge 
reveries which shall another dav be embodied in numbers. 
