296 FROM A MIDDLESEX GARDEN 



about the garden, ofttimes uttering a faint, frail note. From 

 the heart of a near copse, mist-enveloped, there comes ringing 

 the note of the blackbird : and how it cheers one while walk- 

 ing through the mist, the gift of these drear December 

 days. Dearly the blackbird loves the leafless coppice, when, in 

 some less severe day of Winter, the sun is wooed to shine and 

 warm, but faintly, the mist ; then it is he there delights to 

 whistle his notes are but a poor pretence at singing, yet they 

 tell us of the clear, rich songs that he will sing when Spring 

 puts forth new leaf again. 



