THROUGH THE YEAR 45 



last summer, wandered in African woods for seven 

 months, then slipped back those thousands of miles 

 to the very tree in the very belt where I stopped 

 and listened to it a year ago. 



What a map in the brain of my wood warbler, 

 might I but unroll it ! 



Off to Africa, back to England, a journey it 

 may never have done before there were thousands 

 of wood warblers that did the journey for the first 

 time in their little lives last year. First, a great 

 blind journey away from home ; next the return 

 journey to the same spinney, to the same tree it sped 

 from seven months ago. The wood warbler started 

 for Africa in September, but it did not matter, to 

 a hundred miles or five hundred miles, where it alit 

 there ; whereas it did matter where it finally alit on 

 the return journey ; it must come back to a par- 

 ticular tree among millions of trees in England. 



Assume that what we call to escape from a 

 difficulty " instinct," blindfold instinct, took it 

 to Africa, surely we may assume that something 

 besides blindfold instinct brought it back to the 

 particular birch tree. When it reached England, 

 I think it may by memory of this landmark and that 

 river, wood, city, hill, and plain have worked 

 its way back to this particular tree. Memory did 

 not guide it through the trackless air in the dark 

 (for in the dark it must have flown at least some of 

 its thousands of miles) ; it had some other guide 

 for that part of its travels. But once in England, 

 and near ing the journey's close, memory, I suppose, 



