172 
NATURE NOTES. 
by the way, that the nightingale is not the only bird that “ sings 
darkling.” We have several times heard the cuckoo at midnight, 
though whether this occurred normally, or only in the case of 
some obfuscated cuckoo who had mistaken the moonlight for the 
rays of early dawn, is more than we can say. 
Besides the cuckoo and nightingale the hedge-sparrow and 
red-backed shrike have a special association with spring. The 
former (pedantically styled the “ hedge accentor ”) has only one 
note — in sound like the scissors of a hair-cutter in 3’s and 2’s — 
a persistent “ tweet — tweet — tweet ” that gets more and more 
vehement as it goes on, and reminds one of an angry tirade by 
some scolding housewife. The latter (the “ butcher-bird ”) 
utters a loud aggressive call, suggestive of his bloodthirsty 
instincts. He is the very tamerlane of the feathered world. 
June is by far the best month for the birds’ song, as it is in 
other respects the most lovely month of summer. How people 
can deliberately spend this golden time in a smoky town is one 
of the mysteries of civilization. Every June day spent in a 
garden is a delight beyond words, and adds a precious pearl to 
the store-house of the memory. By the end of this month the 
birds’ music is practically over. During July a few snatches of 
melody are occasionally heard, but in August, when the silly 
townspeople at last flock down to the country, even these are 
hushed. The glory of the roses is fled, the days are shortening, 
and the Londoner, if he have any soul, must think regretfully 
that another June — the queen of months — has come and gone, 
and that he has not shared in its pleasures. 
Birds, we must confess, commit sad havoc amongst fruit. 
This is their one defect. We will not attempt to excuse it, 
merely remarking that human beings also have their bad 
qualities. Of course, there is no doubt that the birds, if only 
they could understand the true state of affairs, would soon mend 
their ways. If they could once be brought to see that goose- 
berries and currants are not grown for their exclusive benefit, 
but also in some measure for those who cultivate them, they 
would leave us some of the fruit — say a third part — but until 
education has been brought within their reach, they will continue 
to help themselves, when they can, to the whole. To protect 
our strawberries and other small fruit from depredations we last 
year had a large cage constructed. The sides were of one inch 
mesh wire netting, six feet high, and the top, which was 
movable, was of fine string netting. We found it answer 
admirably as regards the strawberries and gooseberries. The 
big burglars, silch as thrushes and blackbirds, could not get in, 
and we had the satisfaction of picking our strawberries at leisure, 
while the baffled thieves — so we imagined — ground their beaks 
with rage and disappointment. To our disgust, however, the 
cage did not suffice to keep out the throng of petty criminals. 
Tiny white-throats, tits, and finches, squeezed themselves 
through the yielding string meshes (not through the wire 
