8 IN THE GREEN LEAF 



of the trees being brought out in fine relief by 

 the dark glittering green of the ivy-leaves. No 

 murdering axe has ever cut giant ivy cables 

 through at their roots in this district. In past 

 times they were wise in their generation, and 

 that wisdom lingers here yet. Hawthorn bloom, 

 primroses, all the keen odours of growing hedge- 

 tangle mingled, filled the air, causing one to feel 

 young once more, in spite of advancing years. 



Birds do not sing all at one time ; they have 

 their music ready, to be sung to perfection 

 when the hours draw near for it. Small birds 

 with their tender notes fill the great hedge- 

 rows with varied life and sound. Chere-e-if-e- 

 if-e-if-e, chee-che-che-if-e-twit-twit-ee, che-che- 

 twit-che-che-twit-ee all this, in a petulant, 

 minor key, comes from some tits that are 

 insect-catching, Then you hear, high up over- 

 head, as he flutters over the topmost shoots of 

 the trees, that plaintive hurried song of the 

 wood-wren ; and most strangely mixed up with 

 it, Cheny-cheny-cheny-chef-chef-chif-chef-chef 

 from the hay-builder, as they call him here, the 

 little chiff-chaff, or, least willow wren. 



Twink, twink, twink, then out rattles a short 

 joyous song, for on this glorious morning Beau 

 Chaffinch is full of singing. On one side of 



