they arrive, or as when the nesting is over. At the time of
their arrival, anyone can walk up within a short distance; so,
again, in autumn. During the nesting-time the wheatear perches on a
molehill, or a large flint, or any slight elevation above the open
surface of the downs, and allows no one to come closer than fifty
yards.

The hedge-sparrows, that creep about the bushes of the hedgerow as
mice creep about the banks, are early in spring joined by the
whitethroats, almost the first hedge-birds to return. The thicker
the undergrowth of nettles and wild parsley, rushes and rough
grasses, the more the whitethroat likes the spot. Amongst this
tangled mass he lives and feeds, slipping about under the brambles
and ferns as rapidly as if the way was clear. Loudest of all, the
chiff-chaff sings in the ash woods, bare and leafless, while yet the
sharp winds rush between the poles, rattling them together, and
bringing down the dead twigs to the earth. The violets are difficult
to find, few, and scattered; but his clear note rings in the hushes
of the eastern breeze, encouraging the flowers. It is very pleasant
indeed to hear him. One's hands are dry, and the skin rough with the
east wind; the trunks of the trees look dry, and the lichens have
shrivelled on the bark; the brook looks dark; grey dust rises and
drifts, and the grey clouds hurry over; but the chiff-chaff sings,
and it is certainly spring. The first green leaves which the elder
put forth in January have been burned up by frost, and the woodbine,
which looked as if it would soon be entirely green then, has been
checked, and remains a promise only. The chiff-chaff tells the buds
of the coming April rains and the sweet soft intervals of warm sun.
He is a sure forerunner. He defies the bitter wind; his little heart
is as true as steel. He is one of the birds in which I feel a
personal interest, as if I could converse with him. The willow-wren,
his friend, comes later, and has a gentler, plaintive song.

Meadow-pipits are not migrants in the sense that the swallows are;
but they move about and so change their localities that when they
come back they have much of the interest of a spring-bird. They rise
from the ground and sing in the air like larks, but not at such a
height, nor is the song so beautiful. These, too, are early birds.
They often frequent very exposed places, as the side of a hill where
the air is keen, and where one would not expect to meet with so
li