i 4 2 NATURE NEAR LONDON 



Up in the oaks blackbirds whistle you do not often see 

 them, for they seek the leafy top branches, but once now 

 and then while fluttering across to another perch. The 

 blackbird's whistle is very human, like some one playing 

 the flute ; an uncertain player now drawing forth a bar 

 of a beautiful melody and then losing it again. He does 

 not know what quiver or what turn his note will take 

 before it ends \ the note leads him and completes itself. 

 His music strives to express his keen appreciation of the 

 loveliness of the days, the golden glory of the meadow, 

 the light, and the luxurious shadows. 



Such thoughts can only be expressed in fragments, 

 like a sculptor's chips thrown off as the inspiration seizes 

 him, not mechanically sawn to a set line. Now and 

 again the blackbird feels the beauty of the time, the large 

 white daisy stars, the grass with yellow-dusted tips, the 

 air which comes so softly unperceived by any precedent 

 rustle of the hedge. He feels the beauty of the time, 

 and he must say it. His notes come like wild flowers 

 not sown in order. There is not an oak here in June 

 without a blackbird. 



Thrushes sing louder here than anywhere else ; they 

 really seem to sing louder, and they are all around. 

 Thrushes appear to vary their notes with the period of the 

 year, singing louder in the summer, and in the mild days 

 of October when the leaves lie brown and buff on the 

 sward under their perch more plaintively -and delicately. 

 Warblers and willow-wrens sing in the hollow in June, 

 all out of sight among the trees they are easily hidden 

 by a leaf. 



At that time the ivy leaves which flourish up to the 

 very tops of the oaks are so smooth with enamelled 

 surface, that high up, as the wind moves them, they 

 reflect the sunlight and scintillate. Greenfinches in 



