Birds. 365 1 



from the incessant noise and din of the great metropolis, to enjoy my- 

 self in scenes far more congenial to my mind. Avoiding as much as 

 possible the dusty roads, I struck across the Lewisham road at the pa- 

 rish boundary-post, over the hilly fields, to Lady Well and Lewisham 

 Church ; again across the Tonbridge road, up the long lane by Hither 

 Green, then into the great road again near Southend ; continuing on 

 the road until I crossed some fields to the left hand, I arrived at a 

 beautiful meadow, bounded on two sides by a thick tangled wood, in 

 a rather wild part of the country between Bromley and Chiselhurst, 

 Kent. The grass had been cut, and the hay made into large heaps or 

 cocks, ready for carrying. By the time I had reached this place, the 

 sun had gone down in all its glorious splendour. Not caring about 

 returning to town the same night, and there being no place nearer than 

 Bromley where I could lodge, and besides, being unwilling to enter a 

 public-house, I determined on passing the night in the field where I 

 was. Night came on apace, and I had seen no human face since I 

 entered the meadow ; so I set to work and made two of the hay-cocks 

 into one large heap, at a short distance from the wood-side ; and then, 

 mole-like, burrowed into the middle of the hay, just leaving my head 

 outside for a little fresh air, and free for any observations I might have 

 occasion to make, as well as to watch the course of the moon, which 

 had risen in unclouded beauty. Here then was a soft, warm, and de- 

 liciously sweet-scented bed, made in quick time ; and I had not rested 

 long before I found it necessary to throw off a layer or two of my fra- 

 grant covering, for I began to get too hot : at length sleep overcame 

 me, but how long I had remained in that state when I awoke, I can- 

 not say; — 1 had a confused idea of elves, sprites, fairies, and such-like 

 imaginary beings haunting me in my sleep. 



I had not long been again settled on my grassy couch, reflecting 

 upon my wild fantastic dream, with all its attendant revelry, when my 

 attention was drawn to the singular, wild, ringing strain of the fern- 

 owl ; it resembled at times the whirring rapid rotation of a wheel, now 

 swelling, now diminishing, the sounds intermixed with curring and 

 croaking notes, some of the sounds having a ventriloquial effect: there 

 was now and then a sharp, unearthly kind of shriek ; presently there 

 were the same sounds issuing from other quarters of the wood, until 

 the whole place was ringing with the wild nocturnal notes. As day- 

 break advanced, I could see the fern-owls (there were at least from 

 four to six birds) hawking for moths, chasing and pursuing each other, 

 and sweeping along with surprising sudden turns and tumblings. As 

 I sat motionless, with my head just above the surface of the hay-cock, 



