FROM WEIR TO MILL. 77 



for centuries clung to them, like their own feathers, 

 have at last fallen from them, thanks to the plead- 

 ings of many a naturalist. 



Bird-music sounds above and around us, for this 

 has not been a forward season ; the weather has 

 for the time of year been damp and chill. Now 

 that there is every appearance of fine settled 

 weather, the feathered songsters seem to know it, 

 and the river-side rings with the songs of black- 

 birds, thrushes, and blackcaps. The chatter of 

 the sedge-warblers comes in between. The music 

 floats up and down and over the water, like the 

 films of mist that yet rise from it ; larks ring out 

 their glad notes as they circle round far above 

 us ; while the tree-pipit, not willing to be out of 

 it all, rises from his twig, mounts up, and comes 

 to it again, singing merrily as he floats down. In 

 between — for there is not a break — you hear the 

 notes of other songsters, — the bright little song of 

 the chaffinch, also the scolding of whitethroats, 

 and the soft little song of the willow-wrens ; whilst 

 ever and anon the greenfinches call " breeze — 

 breeze." 



This favoured bit of woodland river is one of 



