300 
BRAMBLES AND BAY LEAVES. 
and get once more into the broadlands and the field 
paths. The moment we leave the skirts of the wood, we 
encounter a picture of surpassing loveliness; there is a 
broad footpath leading over a wide common, and a sweet 
little river wends its way silently along under the shadows 
of stately trees, circling like a silver line around the foot 
of the furze-covered hill, till it vanishes like an evening 
cloud in the distance. There are lambs and sheep scat¬ 
tered among the bushes, and the musical jingling of 
their bells comes floating on the soft air like the music 
of a dream. There are glorious hillocks of purple heather 
and wild thyme, haunted all day long by humming bees; 
and down in yonder green valley lie the cattle chewing 
the cud, and almost buried among the grass and flowers; 
while out afar lies the little village, with its cracked and 
tattered windmill, and its white cottages and clumps of 
tall trees, looming upon the blue horizon like an island 
floating in the sky. 
Who would not leave the crowded city, with its 
eternal dust and din, and black walls and sooty atmo¬ 
sphere, for such lovely scenes as these? Who would 
not -leave the stiff forests of chimney-pots for the green 
w r aving forests of beech and oak, and to lie idly by the 
banks of singing streams?—to see the hawk poised 
motionless in the air, the timid hare bound through the 
green fern, and to hear the ring-dove cooing ? A walled 
city is a prison for the human heart; and to shut our¬ 
selves up from beholding the beauty with which the 
hand of God has clothed the earth, is like choosing the 
apples of Sodom, while luscious fruits hang tempting on 
the bough. 
