WHINCHAT. 235 



sprawling crimson stems, and its pink flowers ; and 

 here the ubiquitous chickweed, with snowy stars. And 

 what is this ? Surely one of the bed-straws, as you 

 may see by its spiny-edged leaves, set in many-rayed 

 whorls, and by its fourfold blossom ; but this latter, 

 which is almost microscopically small, is of a decided 

 lilac hue. And here, prettiest and tiniest of all, is the 

 early scorpion-grass or hill forget-me-not, its slender 

 stalks set with successive blossoms, all of which have 

 the hues common to this bright-eyed and ever-wel- 

 come tribe, azure-blue with a yellow centre, except 

 the terminal flower, and that is wholly yellow. 



There is the whinchat! listen to his simple but 

 sweet song ; and yonder I see him perched on the 

 uppermost twig of that furze-bush; the highest we 

 can see. You may easily recognise him by his speckled 

 back and wings of bright brown and black, his breast 

 of bay, and the white band over his eye. He seems 

 pouring out his soul in song ; doubtless his nest is at 

 the foot of that bush, or not far off ; where, perhaps, 

 his mate is cowering, listening to his music, and 

 thinking it . sweeter than that of all the nightingales 

 in the world. Now, as if his spirit were too buoyant 

 for his body, he springs into the air, and, hovering on 

 expanded wings over the sacred spot, finishes his 

 strain. Sweet bird, sing on ! thou shalt not be 

 molested by me. 



Here we are at the summit, much to the relief of 

 the aching muscles of our legs, and we stand at the 

 very edge of a cliff certainly not much less than four 



