Country Life
The number and variety of strange events in what is sometimes called " field observation " have accumulated to a formidable sum this January. The old diarists, a number of whom have left valuable records in natural history, were particularly fond of peering after " indications of spring." They found them—so spring-like is England as early, or late, as November. This January, in spite of its tumultuous excesses, would have enchanted them. Pigeons have laid eggs and rabbits have many young. We pick delightful little bunches, valuable out of all relation to their size, of violets, polyanthus, primrose, pansy, and as much aubretia as we want. The bees come buzzing out of the hive and the butterflies—chiefly the lesser tortoiseshell—out of hibernation. The worms (whose seasonal activities were always recorded by Gilbert White) have ploughed up our lawns, and by their presence stirred the moles to a most baneful activity. The warm air has been sweet, almost noisy, with songs of robin, thrush and lark. The clamour of the rooks has suggested the break-up of an elementary school. The precocious yeastiness of the soil, that is driving the sap up tree and bush, and forcing green shoots out of herbaceous plants, is increased by the restoration in general of moisture to subsoil. For the first time the chalk streams are really full, and the wells within a few inches of their winter norm.
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