relationship, or rather, perhaps, they do not rouse the sense of reserve
which a single unknown person might. Still, the impulse is not to be
analysed; these are mere notes acknowledging its power. The hills and
vales, and meads and woods are like the ocean upon which Sindbad sailed;
but coming too near the loadstone of London, the ship wends thither,
whether or no.

At least it is so with me, and I often go to London without any object
whatever, but just because I must, and, arriving there, wander
whithersoever the hurrying throng carries me.




FLOCKS OF BIRDS


A certain road leading outwards from a suburb, enters at once among
fields. It soon passes a thick hedge dividing a meadow from a cornfield,
in which hedge is a spot where some bluebells may be found in spring.
Wild flowers are best seen when in masses, a few scattered along a bank
much concealed by grass and foliage are lost, except indeed, upon those
who love them for their own sake.

This meadow in June, for instance, when the buttercups are high, is one
broad expanse of burnished gold. The most careless passer-by can hardly
fail to cast a glance over acres of rich yellow. The furze, again,
especially after a shower has refreshed its tint, must be seen by all.
Where broom grows thickly, lifting its colour well into view, or where
the bird's-foot lotus in full summer overruns the thin grass of some