238 BIRD LIFE THROUGHOUT THE YEAR 



pipistrelle is out on mild evenings almost up to Christ- 

 mas time, and memory recalls at least one December 

 butterfly. In the middle of the month the honey- 

 suckle begins to show its new leaves, and the gorse, in 

 the kindly climate of the west, breaks into a thousand 

 points of colour upon the bank where the rabbits sit 

 out, basking in the pale sunshine of the closing year. 



For " there are sunny days in winter after all," 

 days which come after rain and storm, when the level 

 beams strike on the ruddy trunks of the Scotch firs, 

 and brighten the hues of the dying bracken. There 

 are blue skies to light up the berried hollies, the red 

 twigs of the cornel, the spindle-tree's rosy fruit bursting 

 to show the orange-coated seed. And December's 

 sunsets, — the flying storm-rack rent to show the flaming 

 west, the deep orange afterglow which means frost — 

 will vie with those of any month in the year. Few 

 are the days when the naturalist in ordinary health 

 will fail to be abroad to taste the brisk air after the 

 morning's touch of frost, to see the leafless trees once 

 more displaying their symmetry of limb and twig, 

 and to note in the hedges, still hoary with masses of 

 feathery-seeded clematis, the empty nests of the 

 warblers, once so deep in tangled greenery and now 

 so plain to view. A short " nip " of frost, lasting three 

 or four days, has scarcely time to harden the surface 

 of the ground before the wind veers to the west and all 

 is soft again. 



