50 A MILD WINTER 



every still corner is dancing with winged insects. A 

 few days since the garden bees were busy in the snow- 

 drop bells, and over a bed of wallflower there was a 

 sound of summer wings. The question of commissariat 

 therefore causes no anxiety, and the minds of beast and 

 bird are turning lightly and prematurely to thoughts of 

 love. The blackbirds, for instance, are behaving in 

 quite a delirious way; the hen birds looking out for 

 felicitous nesting-places, and some of the males in full 

 song. This is very exceptional at this season. Thrushes 

 an odd one here and there are always ready to tune 

 up after a week of warm weather, but the merle is much 

 less easily beguiled into amatory expression. Never till 

 this year did I hear the song of a blackbird on January 

 2nd ; since that day, when he was decidedly staccato, he 

 has practised incessantly, and now accomplishes the 

 whole vernal operetta, while others near him are also 

 taking up the strain. 



Evidently they have been thrown out of their reckon- 

 ing. The blackbird's song is purely hymeneal; the 

 prudent pere de famille exhorts his wife betimes : ' Look 

 here, this has been a season of plenty ; there are very few 

 families in mourning, and it will be difficult to get a 

 house for the season unless you set about it soon. Just 

 you look about you, will you ? and 1 11 sit and sing while 

 you are busy.' There is some excuse for this confusion 

 of dates ; to-day (February 3rd) I saw hollyhocks, mari- 

 golds, and scarlet geranium in bloom in the open. 



Many of the time-honoured prognostications of a hard 

 winter have been discredited this year. There was a 



