136 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



waving branches speak ; the earth and life seem bound- 

 less at that moment. In this it is the same on the verge 

 of the artificial City as when the rays come streaming 

 through the pure atmosphere of the Downs. While thus 

 thinking, suddenly there rang out three clear, trumpet- 

 like notes from a tree at the edge of the copse by the 

 garden. A softer song followed, and then again the 

 same three notes, whose wild sweetness echoed through 

 the wood. 



The voice of the missel-thrush sounded not only close 

 at hand and in the room, but repeated itself as it floated 

 away, as the bugle-call does. He is the trumpeter of 

 spring : Lord of March, his proud call challenges the 

 woods; there are none who can answer. Listen for 

 the missel-thrush : when he sings the snow may fall, the 

 rain drift, but not for long ; the violets are near at hand. 

 The nest was in a birch visible from the garden, and 

 that season seemed to be the missel-thrush's. Another 

 year the cuckoos had possession. 



There is a detached ash tree in the field by the copse ; 

 it stands apart, and about sixty or seventy yards from 

 the garden. A cuckoo came to this ash every morning, 

 and called there for an hour at a time, his notes echoing 

 along the building, one following the other as wavelets 

 roll on the summer sands. After awhile two more used 

 to appear, and then there was a chase round the copse, 

 up to the tallest birch, and out to the ash tree again. 

 This went on day after day, and was repeated every even- 

 ing. Flying from the ash to the copse and returning, the 

 birds were constantly in sight; they sometimes passed 

 over the house, and the call became so familiar that it 

 was not regarded any more than the chirp of a sparrow. 

 Till the very last the cuckoos remained there, and never 

 ceased to be heard till they left to cross the seas. 



