208 . The Copse. 



calling to each other is indescribable — the country 

 folk call it a ' charm,' meaning a noise made up of 

 innumerable lesser sounds, each interfering with the 

 other. The vastness of these flocks is hardly credi- 

 ble until seen ; in winter the bare trees on which 

 they alight become suddenl}' quite black. Once 

 or twice in the .summer starlings may be observed 

 hawking to and fro high in the air, as if imitating 

 the swallows in an awkward manner. Probably 

 some favorite insect is then on the wing, and they 

 resort to this unwonted method to capture it. 



Beyond the fir trees the copse runs up into a 

 corner, where hawthorn bushes, briar, and bramble, 

 succeed to the ash-stoles, and are in turn bordered 

 \)y some width of furze and brake fern. When this 

 fern is young and fresh the sunshine glistens on its 

 gloss}' green fronds, but on coming nearer the sheen 

 disappears. On a very hot sultry day towards the 

 end of summer there is occasionally a peculiar snap- 

 ping sound to be heard in the furze, as if some part 

 of the plant, perhaps the seed, were bursting. The 

 shocks of wheat, too, will crackle in the morning 

 sun. This corner, well sheltered by furze and brake, 

 is one of ' si}- Reynard's ' favorite haunts. The 

 stems of the furze, when they grow straight, are 

 occasionally' cut for walking-sticks. Wood-pigeons 

 visit the copse frequently — in the spring there are 

 several nests — and towards evening their hollow 

 notes are repeated at intervals. Though without the 

 slightest pretensions to a song, there is something 

 soothing in their call, pleasantly suggestive of wood- 

 land glades and deep shady dells. 



Just before the shooting season opens there is a 



