THE PAGEANT OF THE SEASONS 83 



the flowers and leaves of all -conquering spring. 

 These may well fascinate us in a way not to be 

 described. Look on the scene spreading before us. 

 A blackcap is on a spray of blossom ; he hops to 

 another branch, and knocks some petals down on his 

 short journey ; these float slowly down, and find a 

 resting-place on the ground. If we look up the rows 

 of trees there is a continual shower of these petals, 

 and birds cause myriads of them to fall. The black- 

 cap sings, with raised crest, and after the notes he 

 snatches a caterpillar here, then " hawks " for a fly, 

 and sings merrily again. The blackcap is to the 

 woods by day what the nightingale is to them at 

 night. His loud, wild notes seem in perfect harmony 

 with spring sunshine and the may-blossom growing 

 in such profusion over the rippling brook. There is 

 a sweetness in his song which speaks of brightness, 

 and the day seems gayest when he is singing. At 

 evening the nightingale gives out his passionate 

 song, and we love to listen amongst such still, dark 

 surroundings ; a wood without a nightingale would 

 be like a meadow bare of flowers. But give me the 

 blackcap by day, his song seems to be so altogether 

 associated with sunshine and flowers. Imagine a 

 spring without a blackcap's song, or the hawthorn 

 bushes white with may without the warblers, each 

 would have a chief charm missing. 



From the orchard I go to the meadows ; for there 



