12 FIELD AND HEDGEROW. 



toad, moved about under the gorse of the garden hedge 

 one morning, half hidden by the stalks of old grasses. 

 By-and-by it hopped out — the last thrush, so distended 

 with puffed feathers against the frost as to be almost 

 shapeless. He searched about hopelessly round the 

 stones and in the nooks, all hard and frostbound ; there 

 was the shell of a snail, dry and whitened and empty, as 

 was apparent enough even at a distance. His keen eye 

 must have told him that it was empty ; yet such was his 

 hunger and despair that he took it and dashed it to 

 pieces against a stone. Like a human being, his imagi- 

 nation was stronger than his experience ; he tried to 

 persuade himself that there might be something there ; 

 hoping against hope. Mind, you see, working in the 

 bird's brain, and overlooking facts. A mere mechanism 

 would have left the empty and useless shell untouched — 

 would have accepted facts at once, however bitter, just 

 as the balance on the heaviest side declines immediately, 

 obeying the fact of an extra grain of weight. The bird's 

 brain was not mechanical, and therefore he was not 

 wholly mastered by experience. It was a purely human 

 action — just what we do ourselves. Next he came across 

 to the door to see if a stray berry still remained on a 

 creeper. He saw me at the window, and he came to the 

 window — right to it — and stopped and looked full at me 

 some minutes, within touch almost, saying as plainly as 

 could be said, ' I am starving — help me.' I never before 

 knew a thrush make so unmistakable an appeal for assist- 

 ance, or deliberately approach so near (unless previously 

 encouraged). We tried to feed him, but we fear little of 

 the food reached him. The wonder of the incident was 

 that a thrush should still be left — there had not been one 

 in the garden for two months. Berries all gone, ground 

 hard and foodless, streams frozen, snow lying for weeks, 



