Three generations

BIRD-NESTING 247
from primrose to maize, while the lilies changed from
the deep cup of the wild single daffodil to the full
skirts of its double sister, abhorred by pronounced dis-
ciples of the last school of sestheticism. There were
many roses — cabbage, blush, York and Lancaster —
and the moss-rose which loved such a peaceful home.
Among the more modern roses was a clustering
noisette rose, which clothed an iron railing, and
blossomed, not by hundreds, but by thousands.
The whole place was a revelation and delight to me.
On holiday afternoons in early summer I would go
bird-nesting like a schoolboy (as a girl the only nests
I had seen were those of larks and swallows), and I
would find a dozen nests of blackbirds, thrushes, hedge-
sparrows, and finches, in one expedition. But, as the
grounds were unfortunately open to the schoolboy
proper, the nests were frequently " harried," and left
empty within the next twenty-four hours. The entire
place was very attractive in three out of the four
seasons of the year. It was only in the depth of autumn
that there was a sense of oppression and dampness
brooding over the heaps of fallen leaves, which could
not be swept away quickly enough, as they threatened
to choke and bury us, while uncanny fungi, in the
shape of " dead men's fingers," thrust out ghastly
tokens to grasp us.
Winter, like summer, had its embarras de richesses.
In winter, if it was moonlight, there was a new world —
a fairy world — to investigate. We used to liken it to
the bed of the sea with the snow-draped trees and
bushes standing like irregular white coral reefs. In
the daytime and in the sunshine, when gossamer
webs hung from bough to bough, and the red berries
of the many hollies stood out against the dark