122 WOODLANDERS AND FIELD FOLK 



where. An absorbing impulse leads them on, as it 

 has led innumerable generations of goldcrests since 

 goldcrests were. From northland wastes of pine and 

 spruce and fir they come in countless flocks, laying 

 up no store of food, with no husbanding of strength ; 

 nothing but a longing to reach that far-off they 

 know not what. The mists rise from the sea. 

 Norwegian heights begin to don white caps, and 

 insect food is fast disappearing beneath tunnelled 

 bark for its long winter sleep. The tiny wings 

 grow restless, and wait only now for the night. And 

 this, maybe, is the strangest thing of all. When 

 darkness has fallen, when winds are high and con- 

 trary, when the waterways of the fjords are boiling 

 with foam then it is that these frail creatures 

 launch themselves on the storm and into the black- 

 ness of night. " From the land of snow and sleet 

 they seek a southern lea." 



In a Norwegian barque I am tossing off the Dogger 

 Bank, between that and the Galloper Lightship. 

 The crosstrees and companion-ladder are covered 

 with wheat-ears, titlarks, ring-dotterels, redstarts, 

 a single blue-throated warbler, and hundreds of 

 goldcrests. Thousands of the last are coming and 

 going, and others are beating out their little lives 

 against the light. Vast flocks pass all through the 

 night until dawn, when only stragglers blindly 

 follow the same lines. . . . 



