Abstract

When the weather is fair, it is the custom of the writer to take a walk across the common which abuts on to his house and garden. This morning he observed the fresh green of the spring grass, and at the same time heard from an adjacent hawthorn bush the cheerful song of the thrush. As he proceeded, the scent of burning brushwood in a clearing near by was smelt. He picked up a stick lying on the grass and used it as a staff. Within a few minutes he had enjoyed sense experience through eyes, ears, nose and hands. In the autumn he hopes to gather from the bushes a handful of blackberries, as he has done in many previous years, and enjoy their luscious taste.