A HUNT FOB THE NIGHTINGALE. 101 



In a field I saw for the first time a new species of 

 clover, much grown in parts of England as green fod- 

 der for horses. The farmers call it trefolium, proba- 

 bly trefolium incarnatum. The head is two or three 

 inches long, and as red as blood. A field of it under 

 the sunlight presents a most brilliant appearance. As 

 we walked along, I got also my first view ' of the 

 British blue-jay, a slightly larger bird than ours, 

 with a hoarser voice and much duller plumage. Blue, 

 the tint of the sky, is not so common, and is not 

 found in any such perfection among the British birds 

 as among the American. My boy companion was 

 worthy of observation also. He was a curious speci- 

 men, ready and officious, but, as one soon found out, 

 full of duplicity. I questioned him about himself. 

 " I helps he, sir ; sometimes I shows people about, 

 and sometimes I does errands. I gets three a week, 

 sir, and lunch and tea. I lives with my grandmother, 

 but I calls her mother, sir. The master and the 

 rector they gives me a character, says I am a good, 

 honest boy, and that it is well I went to school in my 

 youth. I am ten, sir. Last year I had the measles, 

 sir, and I thought I should die ; but I got hold of a 

 bottle of medicine, and it tasted like honey, and 

 I takes the whole of it, and it made me well, sir. 

 I never lies, sir. It is good to tell the truth." And 

 yet he would slide off into a lie as if the track in 

 that direction was always greased. Indeed, there 

 was a kind of fluent, unctuous, obsequious effrontery 

 in all he said and did. As the day was warm for 



