SUMMER PICTURES. 
291 
which clings to the last plank by the willow-tree, and 
hangs down into the slow current, as if it had nothing 
to do but dream of water sprites and fairy grots, will 
wake up some morning and find that it had been 
clinging to a forlorn hope, and must get out of the rub¬ 
bish and masses of rotten timber the best way it can, or 
perish amid the ruins of its lost home. 
Well! swing round a bit over the common, and get 
upon the hillock of gravel; and now look all around 
upon the rich masses of waving fern, and the glittering 
light which plays amid the cool green of the oak leaves; 
see the winding river, like a clear silver line, cutting its 
way through green oases of willows aud tall reeds; look 
further on over the heath-covered hill, sheltering the sweet 
village in the valley at its feet; look at the strange play 
of the sunshine, as the huge clouds go sailing along like 
mighty spirits in the vast abyss. Here is the broad 
highway, dotted here and there with moving figures and 
stately clumps of pines, and the sun shines upon thr 
white sandy road, as if it would blind the very hedges 
which stand along the pathway to hide the fields from 
wayfarers. Down yonder lies a broad reedy marsh, and 
the clouds hang above it to see their faces reflected in 
the waters which look so blue and cool, and which go 
lurking here and there beneath rank sedges and osiers 
and tall rushes, where a heedless footstep might lead to 
our entanglement in a muddy sepulchre. See the ten 
red kine, and the five long-tailed plough-horses, leading 
an amphibious life there in the shady corners, and envy 
them their freedom and companionship in the dense 
shade and delightfully cool mire. 
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