BRITISH BUTTERFLIES 



It is this seclusion that often makes the lower part 

 of the railway embankment, screened by a splendid 

 hawthorn hedge, such an excellent spot in summer. 

 There are stiles and footpaths close to, perhaps along- 

 side, these hedges, but the railway ground remains 

 absolutely private. The trains above take nothing 

 from the privacy of the place : lying on the slope or 

 walking among the June grass and ox-eye daisies by 

 the hedgeside, one sees hardly anything of them. 

 Their noise does not distress us ; the grand thunder 

 and the shake of trains at these close quarters is 

 good rather than otherwise. I doubt whether it jars 

 even on sensitive nerves. Besides, we can grow accus- 

 tomed to this sound so soon that, after a short experi- 

 ence, train after train may roar by without our noticing 

 them. It may be the same with wild animals. The 

 pipit or yellow-hammer perched on the telegraph wire 

 does not stir for the fastest, loudest express. I have 

 seen the beautiful little merlin equally unconcerned. 

 Is he conscious, indeed, of its passing ? 



I have heard that nightingales haunting wooded 

 places by railway lines will sing persistently all night, 

 and I seem to have noticed how long and choicely the 

 railway nightingales sing in Kent. A friend says he 

 thinks it is because they cannot sleep through the noise 

 of the goods trains crashing and thundering all night. 

 Noise is a stimulant to song with birds, and I have 



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