i68 WE ARE LEFT WONDERING 



But they do not all go; a great many individuals 

 of the species that cross the Channel and travel on 

 to the Mediterranean, and even to Africa, remain to 

 winter in southern England. 



Again, in October and November I have watched 

 the winter visitants coming in from the North Sea, 

 as a rule early in the morning in serene weather. 

 Hooded crows travelling laboriously as if tired, bird 

 following bird, or in small companies and at short 

 distances apart; and at intervals redwings and field- 

 fares, flock succeeding flock, tired travellers too, all 

 keeping to the same line or route. 



This then is what we see of migration in England, 

 which leaves us still wondering what the impulse 

 may be in its origin and nature, the compelling force 

 which takes the bird — plucks it, we may say, out of 

 its familiar haunt, its home and place in which it 

 knows just where to find its food, to seek a shelter 

 from wind and storm, its sure refuge from sudden 

 danger and its safe roosting-place at night. Outside 

 of this familiar place all is a strange and hostile 

 region. Only those who have made a close study of 

 the habits of wild birds know how strong this attach- 

 ment to locality is, especially in the small birds, 

 the species that spend six months of each year scat- 

 tered all over the continent of Africa, to reappear 

 with us in April, every bird in its old haunt, the 

 homestead, the copse, the hedge, the field or common 

 it lived in, to sing and build again in the same tree, 

 the same bush, as in former years. We wonder and 

 still ask with the poet : 



