SUMMER PICTURES. 
295 
through its long plumy ears. The pendulous oats quiver 
and tremble in the dancing sunlight, and the wheat gets 
whiter and fatter day by day. The mole-hills on the 
common are purple with the clumps of wild thyme, and 
a drowsy, overpowering fragrance comes from the blos¬ 
soming bean-field, “ reminding us of Proserpine and her 
fallen flowers.” The hedges are covered with the foam¬ 
like cymes of the wayside elder, and woven in a network 
of the wild convolvulus and the white bryony, which 
throw their glossy trails in all directions. 
But we leave the land of flowers, and, led on by the 
witchery of the clear sunshine and the deep blue sky, 
studded with masses of cloud as bright as molten silver, 
tumble over the brink of a little hollow, scooped like 
that of Cowper, by Kilwick^s echoing wood. There is a 
small mud-walled cottage, partially white-washed, stand¬ 
ing upon a little plot of chalky ground, partly fenced, 
and planted with cabbages and potatoes; and just at the 
foot of a tall perpendicular cliff, on a small round grassy 
hill, lies an ill-favoured mongrel, fast asleep. The upper 
edge of the cliff is fringed with coppice wood, and a 
straggling hazel hangs carelessly over the brink, the 
shadows of which, as it sways to and fro in the wind, 
dance like grim spectres on the white chalky ramparts, 
and hold a sort of demon dance with the light steamy 
smoke which curls gracefully upward from the little 
hovel below. Beyond the young coppice rises a rich 
plantation of Scotch firs, and their tall grey stems swing 
mournfully and change places with each other, alter¬ 
nately forming long and regular vistas, at the end of 
which you catch enchanting glimpses of the blue sky. 
