MARCH 69 



bottom and a tiny vibrant squeak tell that the shrew 

 is abroad. On the first mild evening one may watch 

 once more the wavering flight of the small bat or 

 pipistrelle. Curled up amongst dead fern on the 

 heath, the adder, very sluggish as yet, suns its scaly 

 coils, and on warm banks the lizard basks. From the 

 pond comes the smothered " croc, croc " of spawning 

 toads. • Half -awakened woOd-ants cluster in masses 

 about the entrance to their nest. The yellow-catkined 

 sallows are humming with ,bees. Across the meadow, 

 above the heads of the dancing daffodils, races one of 

 their number which has taken to itself wings — the 

 first brimstone butterfly. It is a wintry March which 

 does not bring forth at least one butterfly. The first 

 adventurer is often the peacock or small tortoiseshell. 

 There is nothing strange in their appearance as, like 

 the brimstone, they have been sleeping since last 

 autumn, waiting for the few sunny hours which call 

 them, sometimes all too soon, to fresh life. Even the 

 banded hedge-snails, making their appearance at the 

 first shower, are welcome as the damper and milder 

 air which brings them forth. 



A change of this sort, a kindly breath from the 

 south-west after a long spell of east winds, has a marked 

 effect upon the feathered choir. The early morning 

 concert of blackbirds and thrushes recommences with 

 new vigour. Skylarks and chaffinches, long delaying, 

 burst at length into full song. For song in its begin- 



