232 WILD LIFE IN A SOUTHERN COUNTY. 



hazy with colour ; and in the evening, if the level beams 

 of the red sun can reach them, here and there a streak 

 of imperial purple plays upon the azure. Woodbine 

 coils round the tall, straight poles, and wild hops, 

 whose bloom emits a pleasant smell if crushed in the 

 fingers. On the upper and clearer branches of the 

 hawthorn the nightingale sings more sweetly, I think, 

 in the freshness of the spring morning than at night. 

 Resting quietly on an ash stole, with the scent of 

 flowers, and the odour of green buds and leaves, a 

 ray of sunlight yonder lighting up the lichen and the 

 moss on the oak trunk, a gentle air stirring in the 

 branches above, giving glimpses of fleecy clouds 

 sailing in the ether, there comes into the mind a feel- 

 ing of intense joy in the simple fact of living. 



The nightingale shows no timidity while all is still, 

 but sings on the bough in full sight, hardly three yards 

 away, so that you can see the throat swell as the notes 

 are poured forth now in intricate trills, now a low, 

 sweet -call, then a liquid " jug-jug-jug ! " To me it 

 sounds richer in the morning sunlight, flowers, and 

 the rustle of green leaves seem the natural accompani- 

 ment ; and the distant chorus of other birds affords 

 a contrast and relief an orchestra filling up the 

 pauses and supporting the solo singer. 



Passing deeper into the wood, it is well to be a little 

 careful while stepping across the narrow watercourse 

 that winds between the stoles. Rushes grow thickly 

 by the side, and the slender stream seems to ooze 

 rather than run, trickling slowly down to the brook 



