n in the
neighbourhood. Fresh parties joined the main body continually, until by
December there could not have been less than a thousand. Still more and
more arrived, and by the first of January (1882) even this number was
doubled, and there were certainly fully two thousand there. It is the
habit of green plovers to all move at once, to rise from the ground
simultaneously, to turn in the air, or to descend--and all so regular
that their very wings seem to flap together. The effect of such a vast
body of white-breasted birds uprising as one from the dark ploughed
earth was very remarkable.

When they passed overhead the air sang like the midsummer hum with the
shrill noise of beating wings. When they wheeled a light shot down
reflected from their white breasts, so that people involuntarily looked
up to see what it could be. The sun shone on them, so that at a distance
the flock resembled a cloud brilliantly illuminated. In an instant they
turned and the cloud was darkened. Such a great flock had not been seen
in that district in the memory of man.

There did not seem any reason for their congregating in this manner,
unless it was the mildness of the winter, but winters had been mild
before without such a display. The birds as a mass rarely left this one
particular field--they voyaged round in the air and settled again in the
same place. Some few used to spend hours with the sheep in a meadow,
remaining there till dusk, till the mist hid them, and their cry sounded
afar in the gloom. They stayed all through the winter, breaking up as
the spring approached. By March the great flock had dispersed.

The winter was very mild. There were buttercups, avens, and white
nettles in flower on December 31st. On January 7th, there were briar
buds opening into young leaf; on the 9th a dandelion in flower, and an
arum up. A grey veronica was trying to open flower on the 11th, and
hawthorn buds were so far open that the green was visible on the 16th.
On February 14th a yellow-hammer sang, and brambles had put forth green
buds. Two wasps went by in the sunshine. The 14th is old Candlemas,
supposed to rule the weather for some time after. Old Candlemas was very
fine and sunny till night, when a little rain fell. The summer that
followed was cold and ungenial, with easterly winds, though fortunately
it brightened up somewhat for the harvest. A chaffinch sang on the 20th
of February: all these are very early dates.

One morning while I