THE GUN 125 



hunting, love-making, rivalry, battle, toilet, preparation 

 for roost, this trim, jolly little creature is ever singing. 

 His are the sprightliest lyrics. They are as the little 

 songs in Shakespeare. Two wrens in neighbouring 

 bushes in the autumn dusk will sing a dozen ditties 

 against each other, and an odd feature is that often 

 they will not interrupt each other; one ditty done, 

 another begins after a pause of a second or so. 



The blackbird's part in the duet between itself 

 and pheasant seems to strike the note of excited 

 protest against some unseen enemies, now and then 

 turning to absolute terror. The protest is in the 

 chink-chink-chinking note, sharp, metallic ; the terror, 

 when suddenly this is changed to cackling. The 

 chinking is made when the blackbird is perched, 

 though restless ; the cackle, for which it is often 

 exchanged, is, I think, uttered when the blackbird 

 hustles out of the bush and takes to flight. The 

 stimulus of quick motion seems to be required for 

 the cackle. Chinking is common to song thrushes 

 though I think they do not often make a notable 

 trio of this evening duet and blackbirds ; the cackle 

 is the blackbird's own. 



Just as of old even more than of old all my 

 thoughts of shooting in these woods and the common 

 are mingled with thoughts of landscape and wild 

 life. I find there is no separating them. The scene, 

 the home feeling, count so much. A curious union 

 between contemplation and action this seems. It 



