58 ^^MBLES OF A VOMINIS 



boughs. Wood and copse and moorland have each their 

 welcome guests. 



May is the most musical of all months, with many 

 birds at least, but he who would hear the singers at their 

 best must listen for them at sunrise or in the evening 

 twilight. The blackcap still sings early and late ; and 

 the three small dwellers in the tree tops who yet build 

 their nests upon the ground the woodwarbler, the chiff- 

 chaff, and the willow- wren, sing at all hours, all the live- 

 long day. The missel-thrush gave up long ago his wild 

 melodies, though he is prompt to lend his harsh alarm 

 note to the general clamour whenever a suspicious black- 

 bird contrives to set the woodland in an uproar. His 

 brood is fledged and flown, and it is quite upon the cards 

 that you may chance on one of the speckled-breasted 

 crew gazing from the hedgerow with wide dark eyes on 

 the wonders of the newly-discovered world. So intent 

 he is, and so wholly unaware of danger, that you may 

 nearly touch him with your hand before he flutters from 

 his perch to seek the company of his fellows, who are 

 scattered now over the country. 



The tide of green that every year fills this hollow 

 to the brim is nearly at the full. The smoke of distant 

 chimneys is black on the bark of its old beech trees, and 

 the feathery leafage of its birches is shaken by the wind 

 of passing trains. But there is no stain yet on the green 

 fans of its stately chestnuts; the noble foliage of its 

 sycamores is unpolluted still. In the warm May rain 

 and sunshine its trees have grown unchecked, unblighted, 

 and are wearing now those soft, pure tints that will 



