164 
NATURE NOTES 
not seek to harmonise one with another, nor to find in Nature 
the expression of a preconceived theory or philosophy ; and this 
is very characteristic of the man. It would be hard to say that 
Shakespeare had any definite philosophy of life ; he was too 
cosmopolitan, too many-sided. For the most part it is only 
those — by far the greater number of men — who have some 
dominant tone of mind that are able to form philosophies and 
theories, to see all sides but one — if they see more than one 
at all — in such a light that they can subordinate them to that 
one. Shakespeare would seem to have seen all in an equal 
light, but — and herein lies his peculiar greatness in which Byron, 
to whom we likened him, has no share — seeing all to have kept 
his mind wholesome, well-balanced, sane, not fearing to give 
just expression to each in its time and season in spite of all 
apparent contradictions, and not seeking with any premature 
synthesis to explain “ this unintelligible world.” 
J. M. K. 
A FORETELLING. 
HE following case of “foretelling” is possibly only 
a coincidence ; but, if so, the occurrence is certainly 
both curious and beautiful. Last spring a pair of 
house-martins built a nest under the eaves of an out- 
building in our sunny yard. The villagers expressed surprise 
that the swallows should build on any part of our pretty new-old 
home, where they had never been known to build before. We 
were new tenants ourselves, and we ascribed the honour con- 
ferred on “ Cherry Barton ” to our custom of placing much 
water about the garden in stone basins or shallow troughs for 
thirsty birds throughout the summer. 
Whatever the cause, the swallows came, inspected the site, 
and after a great deal of twittering, and clinging to the sunny 
wall, the -wonderful clay construction was completed, and the 
nest and its inhabitants were amongst our dearest summer 
possessions. As soon as the autumn winds swept the leaves 
from the trees, and the swallows to sunnier climes, we carefully 
fitted a white wooden box over the precious nest that no harm 
might come to it before the return of the birds the following 
spring. 
In this somewhat out of the way Kentish village, all signs 
of spring come to us quite a fortnight later than they appear 
to some of the places in our neighbourhood ; and it was this 
law of Nature, added to the unusually backward spring we are 
passing through, which kept us from uncovering our swallow's 
nest, though we felt w r e must be on the look-out, once April gave 
place to May. But there was no word of returning swallows, 
and no sign of them, and, to me, spring seemed to lack her best 
credentials because they came not. 
And now for my story : On the night of May 3 I dreamt that 
