a low barometer and the moist breath of south-westerly airs prevail, the old earth, not content with turning in her sleep, gives further signs of a premature awakening.
In such soft and kindly Januarys, bird-songs voice the general opinion that winter has this year dropped out of the calendar, and that, for those with a hopeful turn of mind, spring has fairly begun. So easy are the times that berries and hedge-row fruits hang long untouched, and few applicants make their appearance at the bird-table for the customary largesse of crumbs and kitchen-scraps. Day by day the thrushes pipe their matins and evensong, and some clear evening at sunset one catches a few mellow notes of accompaniment from the blackbird in the elm-top, though it is not till February that he takes his full part in the choir and in a chilly season may be voiceless until that month has half run its course. Much the same may be said of the chaffinch; a chance hour when the January sun, breaking through the clouds, sheds unwonted warmth, may set it singing, just as it may draw a burst of song from the first soaring skylark of the year. But these are early days; if colder weather ensues such impulses are no longer felt, and in any case the time of fuller and more constant song is yet to come.
Day by day the spring notes of the various tits are increasingly in evidence. Unless discouraged by snow
