151 
To complete a plan similar to what I have here indicated would require 
many years of close and undivided observation to the subject, to say nothing 
of the active co-operation of others. At present, therefore, it would be immature 
to present it, but yet I think a few popular sketches might be roughly thrown otf 
as studies which, if incomplete in their filling up, might not be altogether unin¬ 
teresting, either to the scientific proficient or the enthusiastic and inquiring stu¬ 
dent of the most pleasing pursuit under the canopy of heaven, whether health, 
recreation, observation, or deep and close research, be the object in view. I 
shall, therefore, commence this series of out-door “ pencillings by the way” with 
a sketch of 
The First Day of Summer. 
A light rain has fallen, and there is a haziness about the distant landscape ; 
but the deep blue hills, half obscured amid the rolling vapours, now throw off their 
dishabille, and the huge clouds roll lazily about as if uncertain of their next design, 
and indisposed for any exertion. But there will be no more rain, for the white, 
starry Chickweed has unfolded its stainless petals, the Swallows and Martins are 
darting high in the air, and the white Cabbage Butterfly (Pontia brassicce) is 
careering to and fro. 
We will proceed by the river, then, whose red waters now totally obscure the 
long green tresses and snowy blossoms of the Water Crowfoot (Ranunculus pan- 
tothriv , Dec.)* that so lately adorned the green shallows. And now that we have 
a mellowed gleam of sunshine through the light veil of the friendly clouds, what 
a pleasing scene presents itself to the eye. The rolling river, the green and 
golden meadows, the trees fresh in their leafy foliage, as if just created, the more 
distant groves passing into deep shadow, and the distant but noble line of moun¬ 
tain, neither blue nor green, but partaking of both, unscatched as yet by the 
fierce suns of maturer summer, diversified with rock and dingle, and yet so melt¬ 
ing into the aerial distance as if formed of the unsubstantial vapours whose gigan¬ 
tic but evanescent masses overshadow it. But let us view the scene more in de¬ 
tail, while the note of the Cuckoo, whose hoarseness has not yet attacked her, 
sounds pleasingly upon the ear. 
The Hawthorn has shed its snowy loveliness, except here and there, where, 
in retired recesses, a white bush of beauty, emblematical of lingering joys hoarded 
up to the last possible moment, still gleams amid the deep shadows of the over- 
bowering elms. The trees have now nearly attained their perfection of leafiness, 
and rustle their magnificent mantles in stately pride; while the lighter green of 
* This elegant plant, whose long stem quivering with the current, sometimes the 
length of twenty-four feet, appears to me quite distinct from R. ciquatilis. The latter 
flowers in April, but R. pantothrix seldom before the first week in June, and, evanescent as 
a vapour, vanishes from the sight with the first rise of the waters. 
