THE FAERY YEAR 



them to acclimatize themselves. I have tried to 

 persuade that odd, fleshly thing, the toothwort, to 

 settle under a hazel bush in my garden, but without 

 success, though the hazel is one of its favourite 

 hosts. 



The Marsh in January 



The marsh is a stark place in these days. Set 

 in the angle formed by the union of the two trout 

 streams, it is fruitful of life in many forms during 

 the summer. But, searched through and through 

 by a January east wind, it is the most inhospitable 

 place. Snipe, full and half alike, leave it during 

 the frost, though rough and rainy weather brings 

 them thither. Its peewit population, inspired by 

 the very spirit of wild song and dance in spring 

 and early summer, has left to a bird by autumn. 

 That wayward, far -flighted, green sandpiper 

 " martin-snipe " of the river villagers has not come 

 yet. The field-fares will gather in little parties on 

 the oaks that lie about the edge of the marsh, but 

 there is no food to tempt them to the dry or wet 

 parts of the marsh. A covey or two of partridges, 

 and here and there a reed-bunting, its plaintive 

 shrill cry going well with the east wind, seem to 

 be the only living creatures on the marsh. 



The terrible tangle of dried-up, beaten-down 

 sedges and coarse grasses and bents, which cover 

 all but its high-lying, turfy patches, baffles de- 

 scription a tangle of a thousand shades for which 

 there are no names. The sugar-plums of speech 

 6 



