BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 29 



I am not in the way?" it seems to ask, as it hops quickly 

 out from under the shrubs, and as suddenly stops. "May I? 

 Thanks." And out it hops a little further, and again stops. 

 But why describe so well-known a favourite ? Tennyson 

 has put words to its song, and the better one knows the 

 bird's song, the more admirable the poet's words appear. 



And the thrush sings alike, with constantly changing 

 cadences but with always equal melody, when the wind is 

 blowing bitterly over the tree-tops, when rain is falling, when 

 the night is dark. In winter the poor bird, diffident of its 

 welcome, seldom comes to the door for alms when others 

 come in crowds. So if you have a wish to be kind to it in 

 its days of pinching want, scatter some food farther from the 

 house, out of sight of it, and there, if you go cautiously, you 

 may always see the starved thrushes gratefully accepting 

 their little dues of crumb and meat. 



