NATURE NEAR LONDON s=^S 



robin ; they are the very spies of the woods. But 

 there are no thrushes, no blackbirds, finches, nor 

 even sparrows. 



In August it is true most birds cease to sing, but 

 sitting thus partially hidden and quiet, if there were 

 any about something would be heard of them. 

 There would be a rustling, a thrush would fly 

 across the lane, a blackbird would appear by the 

 gateway yonder in the shadow which he loves, a 

 finch would settle in the oaks. None of these 

 incidents occur; none of the lesser signs of life in 

 the foliage, the tremulous spray, the tap of a bill 

 cleaned by striking first one side and then the other 

 against a bough, the rustle of a wing nothing. 



There are woods, woods, woods ; but no birds. 

 Yonder a drive goes straight into the ash poles, it is 

 green above and green below, but a long watch will 

 reveal nothing living. The dry mounds must be 

 full of rabbits, there must be pheasants somewhere ; 

 but nothing visible. Once only a whistling sound 

 in the air directs the glance upwards ; it is a wood- 

 pigeon flying at full speed. There are no bees, 

 for there are no flowers. There are no butterflies. 

 The black flies are not numerous, and rarely require 

 a fanning from the ash spray carried to drive 

 them off! 



Two large dragon-flies rush up and down, and 

 cross the lane, and rising suddenly almost to the 



