114 A HUNT FOR THE NIGHTINGALE. 



bend in the road, a few minutes' walk in advance of 

 me. At ten o'clock I reached Liphook. I expected 

 and half hoped the inn would turn its back upon me 

 again, in which case I proposed to make for Wolmer 

 Forest, a few miles distant, but it did not. Before 

 going to bed, I took a short and hasty walk down a 

 promising-looking lane, and again met a couple who 

 had heard nightingales. " It was a nightingale, was 

 it not, Charley ? " 



If all the people of whom I inquired for nightin- 

 gales in England could have been together and com- 

 pared notes, they probably would not have been long 

 in deciding that there was at least one crazy Ameri- 

 can abroad. 



I proposed to be up and off at five o'clock in the 

 morning, which seemed greatly to puzzle mine host. 

 At first he thought it could not be done, but finally 

 saw his way out of the dilemma, and said he would 

 get up and undo the door for me himself. The 

 morning was cloudy and misty, though the previous 

 night had been of the fairest. There is one thing 

 they do not have in England that we can boast of at 

 home, and that is a good masculine type of weather ; 

 it is not even feminine; it is childish and puerile, 

 though I am told that occasionally there is a full- 

 grown storm. But I saw nothing but petulant little 

 showers and prolonged juvenile sulks. The clouds 

 have no reserve, no dignity ; if there is a drop of 

 Water in them (and there generally are several drops), 

 out it comes. The prettiest little showers march 



