THE DARTFORD WARBLER 227 



a clergyman in it for over sixty years ; moreover 

 he was, I was told, a keen naturalist, and though 

 not a collector nor a writer of books, he knew every 

 plant and every wild animal to be found in the 

 parish. He better than another, I imagined, would 

 be able to give me some authentic local information. 



I found him in his study — a tall, handsome, 

 white-haired old man, very feeble ; he rose, and 

 supporting his steps with a long staff, led me out 

 into the grounds and talked about nature. But his 

 memory, like his strength, was failing ; he seemed, 

 indeed, but the ruin of a man, although still of a 

 very noble presence. What he called the vicarage 

 gardens, where we strolled about among the trees, 

 was a place without walks, all overgrown with grass 

 and wildings ; for roses and dahlias he showed me 

 fennel, goat's-beard, henbane, and common hound's 

 tongue ; and when speaking of their nature he stroked 

 their leaves and stems caressingly. He loved these 

 better than the gardener's blooms, and so did I • 

 but I wanted to hear about the vanished birds of the 

 district, particularly the furze wren, which had 

 survived all the others that were gone. 



His dim eyes brightened for a moment with old 

 pleasant memories of days spent in observing these 

 birds ; and leading me to a spot among the trees, 



