10 NATUBE NEAR LONDON. 



concealed by endless thistles, on* the point of sending 

 forth clouds of thistledown, and to which presently 

 the goldfinches will be attracted. 



Occasionally a movement among the thistles betrays 

 the presence of a rabbit ; only occasionally, for though 

 the banks are drilled with buries, the lane is too hot 

 for them at midday. Particles of rabbits' fur lie on 

 the ground, and their runs are visible in every direc- 

 tion. But there are no birds. A solitary robin, 

 indeed, perches on an ash branch opposite, and re- 

 gards me thoughtfully. It is impossible to go any- 

 where in the open air without a robin ; they are the 

 very spies of the woods. But there are no thrushes., 

 no blackbirds, finches, nor even sparrows. 



In August it is true most birds cease to sing, but 

 sitting thus partially hidden and quiet, if there were 

 any about something would be heard of them. There 

 would be a rustling, a thrush would fly across the 

 lane, a blackbird would appear by the gateway yonder 

 in the shadow which he loves, a finch would settle in 

 the oaks. None of these incidents occur; none of the 

 lesser signs of life in the foliage, the tremulous spray, 

 the tap of a bill cleaned by striking first one side and 

 then the other against a bough, the rustle of a wing 

 nothing. 



There are woods, woods, woods; but no birds. 

 Yonder a drive goes straight into the ashpoles, it is 

 green above and green below, but a long watch will 

 reveal nothing living. The dry mounds must be full 

 of rabbits, there must be pheasants somewhere ; but 

 nothing visible. Once only a whistling sound in the 

 air directs the glance upwards, it is a wood-pigeon 



