upland pasture, the eye cannot choose but acknowledge it. So, too, with
charlock, and with hill sides purple with heath, or where the woodlands
are azure with bluebells for a hundred yards together. Learning from
this, those who would transplant wild flowers to their garden should
arrange to have as many as possible of the same species close together.

The bluebells in this hedge are unseen, except by the rabbits. The
latter have a large burrow, and until the grass is too tall, or after it
is cut or grazed, can be watched from the highway. In this hedge the
first nightingale of the year sings, beginning some two or three days
before the bird which comes to the bushes in the gorse, which will
presently be mentioned.

It is, or rather was, a favourite meadow with the partridges; one summer
there was, I think, a nest in or near it, for I saw the birds there
daily. But the next year they were absent. One afternoon a brace of
partridges came over the hedge within a few inches of my head; they had
been flushed and frightened at some distance, and came with the wind at
a tremendous pace. It is a habit with partridges to fly low, but just
skimming the tops of the hedges, and certainly, had they been three
inches lower, they must have taken my hat off. The knowledge that
partridges were often about there, made me always glance into this field
on passing it, long after the nesting season was over.

In October, as I looked as usual, a hawk flew between the elms, and out
into the centre of the meadow, with a large object in his talons. He
alighted in the middle, so as to be as far as possible from either
hedge, and no doubt prepared to enjoy his quarry, when something
startled him, and he rose again. Then, as I got a better view, I saw it
was a rat he was carrying. The long body of the animal was distinctly