DECEMBER 241 



the gulls of the open sea par excellence, close inshore 

 and making the best of the partial protection afforded 

 by the harbour-pier. In continued rough weather 

 many of them are drowned, beaten down into the sea 

 by the gale. Bewildered by the darkness and driven 

 before the tempest, disabled sea-birds, — gannet, shear- 

 water or petrel, — are often picked up far inland when 

 the gale has spent itself. Thus we hear of a puffin 

 found fluttering on the roof of a midland church, just 

 as we have known a water-rail to go astray on migra- 

 tion and turn up in a boot-and-shoe shop. Overhead 

 wires in large cities are often fatal to such storm-driven 

 wanderers, while platelayers and others who are much 

 about the railway line know what a toll the telegraph 

 wires exact. 



Given a fine morning even the December sun may 

 for an hour or two make a brave show and give us light 

 sufficient to see what business is forward in copse and 

 hedge-row. We follow the wide, grassy track, nearly 

 disused at the present day, of the old Roman road, 

 deserted now by the summer birds which found cover 

 in its ample edging of briers and brambles. A kestrel 

 climbs the air with easy sweep, then stands for a 

 moment against the breeze. The fourfold combination 

 of sparrows, chaffinches, greenfinches and yellow- 

 hammers greets us from every hedge. As we come 

 to a dry ditch we hear the squeal of a rabbit and, 

 pulling aside the bushes, see it giving its last convulsive 



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