n8 THE DOWNS 



gone, would sadden the spirit of Mr. Newton. 

 Partridges do not seem to care to follow the wheatfields 

 that came straggling up into the wastes, for cover 

 in the way of root-crops is scarce and poor. But 

 when meteorological science telegraphs a coming gale, 

 then you may see those infallible storm prophets, the 

 sea-fowl, go floating inland over your head, croaking 

 impotent defiance to the storm they fly before. In the 

 way of small birds, the downs, like their watering-places, 

 have a teeming population resident and migratory. 

 Chief of them are those captivating wheatears, the 

 favourites of Gilbert White, which, when they are 

 served to you with bread-crumbs, and the appetite 

 given by their native air, will rank to all time, with 

 ortolans and beccaficos, among sunny memories carried 

 away by the cultivated stranger. 



