THE TEMPLES OF THE HILLS 271 



into the hedge to wrest a sparrow from its perch, and 

 when just touching the surface of the thorny tangle 

 the flight is arrested and he skims on a few yards, to 

 mount again and repeat his feint. And at every down- 

 ward dash a simultaneous cry of terror is uttered by 

 the small birds — a strange sound, that cry of thousands 

 extending the whole length of the hedge, yet like one 

 cry ! If you then walk by the hedge-side and peer 

 into it, you will see the small birds crowded together 

 on branchlets and twigs as near the middle of the hedge 

 as they can get, each particular bird perched erect, 

 stiff and motionless, like a little wooden dummy bird 

 refusing to stir even when you stand within arm's 

 reach of him. For though they fear and fly from the 

 human form, the feeling is overmastered and almost 

 vanishes in their extreme terror of the sharp-winged 

 figure of the little feathered tyrant hovering above 

 them. 



Undoubtedly it is a fine spectacle — one that lives 

 in the memory though less beautiful than that of the 

 peregrine or other high-flying hawk in its chase and 

 conquest of its quarry at a great height in the air ; 

 but in this matter of hawks and their fascinating ex- 

 hibitions we have long come to the day of small things. 



Something remains to be said of the owls — or rather 

 of the long-eared owl, this being the only species I have 

 met with in the temples of the hills. Strange as it may 

 seem to readers who are not intimately acquainted with 

 this bird, I was able to see it even more clearly than 

 the sparrow-hawk in the full blaze of noonday. The 



