THE DARTFORD WARBLER 227 



a clergyman in it for over sixty years ; moreover 



he was, I was told, a keen naturalist, and though 



not a collector nor a writer of books, he knew every 



plant and every wild animal to be found in the 



parish. He better than another, I imagined, would 



be able to give me some authentic local information. 



I found him in his study a tall, handsome, 



white-haired old man, very feeble ; he rose, and 



supporting his steps with a long staff, led me out 



into the grounds and talked about nature. But his 



memory, like his strength, was failing ; he seemed, 



indeed, but the ruin of a man, although still of a 



very noble presence. What he called the vicarage 



gardens, where we strolled about among the trees, 



was a place without walks, all overgrown with grass 



and wildings ; for roses and dahlias he showed me 



fennel, goafs-beard, henbane, and common hound's 



tongue ; and when speaking of their nature he stroked 



their leaves and stems caressingly. He loved these 



better than the gardener's blooms, and so did I ; 



but I wanted to hear about the vanished birds of the 



district, particularly the furze wren, which had 



survived all the others that were gone. 



His dim eyes brightened for a moment with old 

 pleasant memories of days spent in observing these 

 birds ; and leading me to a spot among the trees, 



