106 NATURE NEAR LONDON. 



hawthorn hedge. The first frosts, on the other hand,, 

 shrivel the bines of white bryony, which part and 

 hang separated, and in the spring a fresh bine pushes 

 up with greyish green leaves, and tendrils feeling for 

 support. It is often observed that the tendrils of this 

 bryony coil both ways, with and against the sun. 



But it must be remembered in looking for this that 

 it is the same tendril which should be examined, and 

 not two different ones. It will then be seen that the 

 tendril, after forming a spiral one way, lengthens 

 out like a tiny green wax taper, and afterwards turns 

 the other. Sometimes it resumes the original turn 

 before reaching a branch to cling to, and may thus 

 be said to have revolved in three directions. The 

 dusty celandine grows under the bushes; and its 

 light green leaves seem to retain the white dust 

 from the road. Ground ivy creeps everywhere over 

 the banks, and covers the barest spot. In April 

 its flowers, though much concealed by leaves, dot 

 the sides of the ditches with colour, like the purple 

 tint that lurks in the amethyst. 



A small black patch marks the site of one of those 

 gorse fires which are so common in Surrey. This 

 was extinguished before it could spread beyond a few 

 bushes. The crooked stems remain black as char- 

 coal, too much burnt to recover, and in the centre a 

 young birch, scorched by the flames stands leafless. 

 This barren birch, bare of foliage and apparently 

 unattractive, is the favourite resort of yellow-hammers. 

 Perching on a branch towards evening a yellow- 

 hammer will often sit and sing by the hour together,, 

 as if preferring to be clear of leafy sprays. 



