292 
BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 
It is glorious now, as Thomas Miller hath it, to wander 
“ through green lanes which lead nowhere,” into dreary 
old woods, where little hillocks of red leaves spin round 
and round in a giddy dance with the “ wild west wind,” 
and where crisped leaves overhang the pathway, and 
where you get into the thick underwood, and are so 
shut in from the sky and the country round, that you 
despair of ever finding the path again, and would fain 
pass the rest of your days in such a dark green covert— 
to drink from the crystal spring, eat the water-cresses 
that check its course, recline in happy abandonment on 
the mosses and tormentil blossoms, and talk to the 
thrushes that come there to drink. 
Up from the broad corn-fields green hills arise, whose 
boundary fills the sky, and the white patches here and 
there upon the upland horizon show the villages which 
nestle there; and as these landmarks fade from the 
sight, and become again visible, you can tell when a thick 
cloud is passing over, even at that distance, and if you 
watch, you will see the sombre shadow gliding noise¬ 
lessly along towards you. It passes over the meadows, 
changes the line of the river, and at last glides over 
your own head, and you feel a few drops of rain while 
Jie gloom lasts, and, gazing on it as it recedes towards 
the opposite horizon, you see the shower growing 
steadily, until its watery vastness fills the landscape 
round. Then, as it gathers strength, the suit's rays fall 
upon the dropping cloud, and the majestic arch of many 
colours spans the scene from one horizon to the other. 
Lovely, indeed, are the little sheets of water, which 
seem only made for the frogs and toads and yellow flags 
