102 A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. 



that climate, he soon grew tired of the chase. At 

 one point we skirted the grounds of a large house, as 

 thickly planted with trees and shrubs as a forest ; 

 many birds were singing there, and for a moment 

 my guide made me believe that among them he 

 recognized the notes of the nightingale. Failing in 

 this, he coolly assured me that the swallow that 

 skimmed along the road in front of us was the night- 

 ingale ! We presently left the highway and took a 

 foot-path. It led along the margin of a large plowed 

 field, shut in by rows of noble trees, the soil of which 

 looked as if it might have been a garden of untold 

 generations. Then the path led through a wicket, 

 and down the side of a wooded hill to a large stream 

 and to the hamlet of Easing. A boy fishing said 

 indifferently that he had heard nightingales there 

 that morning. He had caught a little fish which he 

 said was a gudgeon. " Yes,'* said my companion in 

 response to a remark of mine, " they 's little ; but you 

 can eat they if they is little." Then we went to- 

 ward Shackerford church. The road, like most 

 roads in the south of England, was a deep trench. 

 The banks on either side rose fifteen feet, covered 

 with ivy, moss, wild flowers, and the roots of trees. 

 England's best defense against an invading foe is her 

 sunken roads. Whole armies might be ambushed 

 in these trenches, while an enemy moving across the 

 open plain would very often find himself plunging 

 headlong into these hidden pitfalls. Indeed, between 

 the subterranean character of the roads in some 



