210 THE LOG OF THE SUN 



analyse ! We huddle close to the ground and shut 

 our eyes. Then little by little we open them and 

 set our senses of sight and hearing at keenest 

 pitch. Even so, how handicapped are we com- 

 pared to the wild creatures. A tiny voice becomes 

 audible, then dies away, — entering for a moment 

 the narrow range of our coarse hearing, — and 

 finishing its message of invitation or challenge in 

 vibrations too fine for our ears. 



AVere we crouched by a dense yew hedge, bor- 

 dering an English country lane, a nightingale 

 might delight us, — a melody of day, softened, 

 adapted, to the night. If the air about us was 

 heavy with the scent of orange blossoms of some 

 covert in our own southland, the glorious harmony 

 of a mocking-bird might surge through the gloom, 

 — assuaging the ear as do the blossoms another 

 sense. 



But sitting still in our own home tangle let us 

 listen, — listen. Our eyes have slipped the scales 

 of our listless civilised life and pierce the dark- 

 ness with the acuteness of our primeval fore- 

 fathers ; our ears tingle and strain. 



A slender tongue of sound arises from the bush 

 before us. Again and again it comes, muffled but 

 increasing in volume. A tiny ball of feathers is 

 perched in the centre of the tangle, with beak 



