70 
COMMON LIFE IN SPRING.* 
F all spots the common, in my opinion, contains the 
greatest variety of life, and especially bird-life. The 
various kinds of trees and shrubs which are just burst- 
ing into leaf prove naturally great attractions to birds 
and cannot fail to arouse the interest of even the most casual 
observer. 
Strolling carelessly across the sward, which readily yields to 
your tread, you enter a large clump of trees, chiefly composed 
of oaks, although here and there interspersed with compact 
hawthorn bushes, just beginning to be clothed in a mass of 
white bloom. But listen ! A long, low whistle greets your 
ears, and before you can decide from what bird it proceeds, 
a burst of exquisite melody follows, which brings a hundred 
pleasant recollections to your mind, for in this song you recognise 
that sweetest of our songsters, the nightingale. Perhaps he (for 
the cocks precede the hens) has arrived only the night before ; 
but in that clump of bushes he will continue to sing for about 
a month, that is, until the pressing duty of providing for the 
nestlings demands all his attention, when his song will practi- 
cally cease. 
All the while you have been listening to the enchanting 
soloist, a squirrel has been busy at the foot of yon oak tree, 
collecting materials wherewith to complete his nursery. You 
advance a step and the little animal sits up and listens. On 
catching sight of you he wastes no time in deliberation, but 
scrambles up the tree, taking care to keep the trunk between 
himself and you. Knowing, as you do, that all the while he is 
mounting the trunk, you watch for his reappearance, and are 
rewarded by seeing him appear between the first forks about 
thirty feet from the ground. A moment later he mounts yet 
higher, scurries along a thick branch, leaps into a yew tree, and 
with an angry bark buries himself in his drey. 
On emerging from the clump of trees you come to an open 
piece of ground completely surrounded by bushes. Your appear- 
ance creates quite a disturbance, as the many tumps of grass 
were crowned with numerous bunnies which, like the squirrel, 
resenting your intrusion, seek safety in their holes, their white 
tails alone being visible as they pause for a moment to listen. 
On crossing this little patch you enter once more into the copse 
on the further side, and the first thing that greets you is the 
loud tap-tap of the woodpecker. After a short survey you see 
the handsome bird with his head far back, and then an im- 
patient tap follows, loosening the bark, which falls with a faint 
sound on to the dead leaves below. You leave him busy at his 
* [We have much pleasure in printing this sketch of a Surrey common from 
the pen of one who describes himseif as “ only a schoolboy.” — Iiu. N. rV.] 
