CHAPTER X 



Wild Exmoor 



It is sweet at times, when the heart is 

 fretted and wearied by the strain and stress 

 of town-life, to seek solace for even a few 

 fleeting days with Nature in her rugged 

 beauty. 



Moved by the burning desire to quit for a 

 brief while the whirl and glare of the city, 

 I went down in the spring to wander on 

 Exmoor. It was April, and the woods and 

 hedges were growing tenderly verdant. The 

 cuckoo's note was not yet heard ; while 

 the nightingale, for some mysterious reason, 

 never goes so far west. But thrushes and 

 blackbirds were singing as they never seem 

 to sing later on ; and a host of small birds 

 swelled the chorus, amongst them the 



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