the thrush. The birds
were not in the firs, but in the ash-trees along the course of the
rill.

The voice of the thrush is the most 'cultivated,' so to speak, of all
our birds: the trills, the runs, the variations, are so numerous and
contrasted. Not even the nightingale can equal it: the nightingale has
not nearly such command: the thrush seems to know no limit. I own I
love the blackbird best, but in excellence of varied music the thrush
surpasses all. Few birds, except those that are formed for swimming,
come to a still pond. They like a clear running stream; they visit the
sweet running water for drinking and bathing. Dreaming away the time,
listening to the rush of the water bubbling about the stones, I did
not notice that the sky had become overcast, till suddenly a clap of
thunder near at hand awakened me. Some heavy drops of rain fell; I
looked up and saw the dead branch of the fir on the hill stretched out
like a withered arm across a black cloud.

Hastening back to the ice-house, I had barely entered the doorway when
the lightning, visible at noonday, flashed red and threatening, the
thunder crackled and snapped overhead, and the rain fell in a white
sheet of water. There were but two of these overpowering discharges
with their peculiar crack and snap; the electricity passed on quickly,
and the next clap roared over the woods. But the rain was heavier than
before, the fall increased after every flash, however distant, and the
surface of the pond was threshed by the drops which bore down with
them many leaves weakened by blight.

Doubtless the mowers in the meadows had hidden the blades of their
scythes under the swathe, and the haymakers had placed their prongs in
the ditches: nothing is so likely to attract a shock of lightning as a
prong carried on the shoulder with the bright steel points upwards. In
the farmhouses the old folk would cover up the looking-glasses lest
the quicksilver should draw the electric fluid. The haymakers will
tell you that sometimes when they have been standing under a hedge out
of a storm a flash of lightning has gone by with a distinct sound like
'swish,' and immediately afterwards the wet ground has sent forth a
vapour, or, as they say, smoked.

Woodpigeons and many other birds seem to come home to woods and copses
before and during a storm. The woodpigeon is one of the freest of
birds to all appearance: he passes over the highest trees and goes
straight away for miles. Yet,