VOL. xm] THE LATE DR. J. WIG LES WORTH. 55 



suddenly, as we were admiring the beautiful basket nest with 

 the handles woven round the osier and meadowsweet, a cock 

 bird struck up his song and Wiglesworth was lost to the world. 

 On and on went the bird, flinging out carelessly that wonderful 

 song of his without rest or pause, minute after minute, until 

 we thought he would drop exhausted by his rapture. But on 

 and on went the song ; now it was Blackbird, now Thrush, 

 now Swallow, now Greenfinch, then other familiar strains, 

 stamped nevertheless mth a certain individuality which gave 

 them all an additional charm, and when at last the amazing 

 performance was over, we looked at each other in astonishment, 

 feeling that we were in the presence of a master singer. That 

 was the passion of Wiglesworth, as the writer knew him, to 

 be among his beloved birds. He wrote notes assiduously, 

 he hunted up records with unbounded energy, but first and 

 foremost he was a field-naturalist. Whether on some remote 

 island among the sea-fowl, or on sea-cliff, mountain or moor, 

 it was the truth about the bird inhabitants that he must 

 discover. No casual rumour was enough for a definite record ; 

 he must, if possible, be there to prove it with his own eyes and 

 ears, and in the very midst of this search for truth he met 

 his sudden death. F.L.B. 



