232 ADVENTURES AMONG BIRDS 



might very well tempt any living creature with spring 

 in its blood, moving uneasily among the roots, to come 

 forth to sun itself. The ground is scantily clothed 

 with pale dead grass mixed with old fallen leaves and 

 here and there a few tufts of dead ragwort and thistle. 

 But in a long hour's watching I see nothing ; — not a 

 rabbit, nor even a woodmouse, or a field or bank vole, 

 where at other season I have seen them come out, two 

 or three at a time, and scamper over the rustling leaves 

 in pursuit of each other. Nor do I hear anything; 

 not a bird nor an insect, and no sound but the whish 

 and murmur of the wind in the stiff holly leaves and 

 the naked grey and brown and purple branches. I 

 remember that on my very last visit this same small 

 thicket teemed with life, visible and audible ; it was 

 in its spring foliage, exquisitely fresh and green, spark- 

 ling with dewdrops and bright with flowers about 

 the roots — aground ivy, anemone, primrose, and violet. 

 I listened to the birds until the nightingale burst into 

 song and I could thereafter attend to no other. For 

 he was newly arrived, and although we have him with 

 us every year, invariably on the first occasion of hearing 

 him in spring, the strain affects us as something wholly 

 new in our experience, a fresh revelation of nature's 

 infinite richness and beauty. 



I know that in a few weeks' time he will be back at 

 the same spot; in this case we do not say ''barring 

 accidents"; they are not impossible, but are too rare 

 to be taken into consideration. Yet it is a strange 

 thing ! He ceased singing about June 20, nearly 



