ow flow over
us with little ceasing, as the sea-hoofs beat on the beach. Let us not
look at ourselves but onwards, and take strength from the leaf and the
signs of the field. He is indeed despicable who cannot look onwards to
the ideal life of man. Not to do so is to deny our birthright of mind.

The long grass flowing towards the hedge has reared in a wave against it.
Along the hedge it is higher and greener, and rustles into the very
bushes. There is a mark only now where the footpath was; it passed close
to the hedge, but its place is traceable only as a groove in the sorrel
and seed-tops. Though it has quite filled the path, the grass there
cannot send its tops so high; it has left a winding crease. By the hedge
here stands a moss-grown willow, and its slender branches extend over the
sward. Beyond it is an oak, just apart from the bushes; then the ground
gently rises, and an ancient pollard ash, hollow and black inside, guards
an open gateway like a low tower. The different tone of green shows that
the hedge is there of nut-trees; but one great hawthorn spreads out in a
semicircle, roofing the grass which is yet more verdant in the still pool
(as it were) under it. Next a corner, more oaks, and a chestnut in
bloom. Returning to this spot an old apple tree stands right out in the
meadow like an island. There seemed just now the tiniest twinkle of
movement by the rushes, but it was lost among the hedge parsley. Among
the grey leaves of the willow there is another flit of motion; and
visible now against the sky there is a little brown bird, not to be
distinguished at the moment from the many other little brown birds that
are known to be about. He got up into the willow from the hedge parsley
somehow, without being seen to climb or fly. Suddenly he crosses to the
tops of the hawthorn and immediately flings himself up into the air a
yard or two, his wings and ruffled crest making a ragged outline; jerk,
jerk, jerk, as if it were with the utmost difficulty he could keep even
at that height. He scolds, and twitters, and chirps, and all at once
sinks like a stone into the hedge and out of sight as a stone into a
pond. It is a whitethroat; his nest is deep in the parsley and nettles.
Presently he will go out to the island apple tree and back again in a
minute or two; the pair of them are so fond of each other's affectionate
company, they cannot remain apart.

Watching the line of the hedge, about every two m