THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST. 159 



song-birds have their appointed times, and the perfume 

 of flower and leaf changes with the march of the sun. 



Full of pleasant memories, and gay with anticipa- 

 tions of the morrow, we two old foresters flung open 

 our window to the utmost, so as to be lulled to sleep by 

 the owl and the silence, and to be awakened by the 

 merry songs of the morning birds. We awoke at the 

 intended hour, but heard no birds, nothing but a rush- 

 ing sound as of rain on leaves. Horror ! the sky is of 

 one uniform leaden tinge, and the rain is pouring in 

 steady perpendicular torrents, as if a second deluge 

 were impending. What shall we do for the next few 

 hours, while the household is asleep within and the rain 

 pouring without? Let us brave the storm, accept a 

 thorough soaking as an inevitable fact, and sally boldly 

 into the forest just to see its aspect after a wet night 

 and during a heavy rain. 



A few minutes served to encase ourselves in the 

 very oldest habiliments that our wardrobe could furnish, 

 and to see us on our way. Twenty yards sufficed to 

 drench our clothing as effectually as if we had just 

 emerged from the depths of a river, and from that 

 moment we became delightfully indifferent to the rain ; 

 having a kind of wild exultation in the feeling that we 

 could walk about in the midst of the watery torrent 

 without seeking shelter or needing an umbrella. I have 

 seldom enjoyed a walk more than that saunter in the 

 forest glades, with the noisy patter of the rain-drops on 

 the leaves overhead, the pleasant smell of the crushed 



