132 A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



the tall trees are birds of every description, patiently waiting 

 for the break of day. Very contented they seem to be, a 

 most peaceful community. 



A Pheasant is startled by us and utters its alarm cry, which 

 contrasts very strangely with the croaking of a Frog in the 

 undergrowth, or the chirping of a Cricket. The scene is beautiful 

 by reason of its solemnity and stillness. 



Amongst the reeds and willows the Sedge Warbler may be 

 heard, and possesses the art of mimicry in a wonderful degree, 

 and suspended in mid-air, even at this hour, the Woodlark 

 utters its anthem of praise. 



The air is redolent with the sweet aroma of Primroses and 

 Hyacinths, Cowslips and Lilies of the Valley, but we dare not 

 venture on to the dewy mead for the reason that the Adder 

 may find us unprepared to encounter him, a dangerous customer 

 to deal with even in the daylight. 



Philomel, with his dark, lustrous eyes, is creeping about in 

 the thick Bramble bush which will soon be covered with pliant 

 branches of Dog-Roses to reach which we climb the moss-covered 

 bank, bespattered and bejewelled with gorgeous Dog- Violets, 

 which glisten brightly in the moonlight. 



Then all is still for a time until some proud cock in the 

 farmyard takes time by the forelock and starts crowing. Perhaps 

 it was awakened by the closing of a lattice-gate by some 

 returning lover, or, perhaps again, he is very anxious for 

 daylight and has become restless. 



Darkness steals on apace, and Nature assumes the robe 

 of night; the surroundings become quieter every moment; 

 all creatures are safely harboured in their respective dwell- 

 ing places, and we turn our footsteps homeward. The solemn- 

 ity has made its impression upon us; our voices sound very 

 weird and out of place in the dewy stillness, and then no 

 sound is heard, 



*Save where the beetle wheels its droning flight, 

 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.' 



