ii8 NATURE'S STORY OF THE YEAR 



eyes and neck, and one finally holding the other 

 down and trying to kill him outright, we abandon 

 the idea of peaceable poets, and realise that the 

 creatures are little murderers, and nothing else. 



And it is often the seemingly most harmless birds 

 that do this thing. We see the wee wren mount 

 a hedge and sing his sprightly strain, which seems 

 to be the spontaneous outpouring of joy. Farther 

 along the fence another wren mounts to the top, 

 perks his tail, and utters a similar lively tune. 

 Number one flies a little way towards number two, 

 and sings again. Here, then, is a pleasing sylvan 

 duetto ! Number two comes nearer ; and soon the 

 birds meet and fight furiously. Clinging to each 

 other and pecking their hardest, they tumble to 

 the bottom of the hedge, still holding on, and 

 rolling over and over on the ground, lucky, indeed, 

 to be watched by a man and not by a cat. But 

 through the disturbance can be heard little 

 snatches of song. You stoop to pick up the 

 birds ; and then they separate ; but only to the 

 distance of a yard or two ; and then each sings as 

 loudly as he can. He seems to sing exactly the 

 same song that you so often hear in the spring 



