A BIRD-LOVED SUBURB. 
203 
“ Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! close bosom friend of the maturing sun 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless with fruit the vines that round the 
thatch-eaves run.” 
This is autumn, gorgeous with colours of closing foliage, and 
the manifold beauties of fruit-gathering and harvest. But to me 
the season dearest of all is the spring. Then, every avenue to 
Richmond is a mass of floral blossom, the admiration of every 
visitor. Then we look for the return from the palm-groves of 
Africa of the migrant birds ; then we listen for the voice of the 
cuckoo, the turr-turr of the turtle, the song of the nightingale ; 
then we watch for the skimming flight of the swallow ; and then, 
too, with the great bird-loving poet we say that 
“Once more the heavenly power makes all things new; 
And domes the red-plowed hills with loving blue ; 
The blackbirds have their wills, the thrushes, too ; 
Opens a door in heaven, from skies of glass, 
A Jacob’s ladder falls, on greening grass ; 
And o’er the mountain walls young angels pass.” 
Though Richmond is ever pleasant, it is to me pleasantest 
in spring; and then, especially, it is most delightful in the 
awakening of the bird-life that always forms a world of de- 
light. In this region, one may be ready to admit that 
“ Even winter bleak has charms for me, when winds howl through the naked tree ; 
When frosts on hill-top, bush and lea, are hoary grey, 
And blinding mists wild, furious flee, darkening the day.” 
Then it is that some aspects of bird-life may be observed with 
the deepest interest. Then it is that the birds that brave with 
us the cold, and the fogs, and the storms, will become to a bird- 
lover strangely familiar. Then the hard-pressed thrushes, or 
rooks, or starlings will gladly welcome the smallest bit of food 
that you may accord to them, will come with joy to the well- 
remembered feeding-place, and will, by-and-by, almost take 
therefrom the food out of your hand. Then the little robin, or 
wren, or hedge-warbler, who retains his song all through the 
winter, will gladden your heart by seeming to thank you for 
the grateful food by singing you his modest little song. 
As we walk round in autumn, we may note how the trees 
and shrubs that embellish spring-tide now present beauties of 
berries and fruits that furnish, in winter, food for the birds. 
The hawthorn that forms the glory of May is now laden with 
haws ; the briar-rose with hips, which always go first ; the ivy 
with its black berries, which ripen last of all, and then furnish 
luscious fruits, sought like grapes by all the thrush tribe ; and 
the rowan or mountain-ash, with red berries, which are eaten by 
the birds in winter long before the haws. The quality of these 
fruits varies, even more than the size. Among the trees near 
Ham Gate there is a hawthorn which, I observe, is always 
cleared first. But of all trees none furnishes birds with so much 
food as that pride of Richmond Park, the oak. In summer, the 
blackcap and other small birds pick from oaks the caterpillars 
