Joy In The "Choir Invisible" Is To Him A Mere
Poetic Fancy, Or At Best A Rarefied Transcendentalism, Which
Fails To Sustain Him.
If altruism, or the religion of
humanity, is a living vigorous plant, and as some believe
flourishes more with the progress of the centuries, it must,
like other "soul-growths," have a deeper, tougher woodier root
in our soil.
Chapter Eight: A Gold Day At Silchester
It is little to a man's profit to go far afield if his chief
pleasure be in wild life, his main object to get nearer to the
creatures, to grow day by day more intimate with them, and to
see each day some new thing. Yet the distance has the same
fascination for him as for another - the call is as sweet and
persistent in his ears. If he is on a green level country
with blue hills on the horizon, then, especially in the early
morning, is the call sweetest, most irresistible. Come away
- come away: this blue world has better things than any in
that green, too familiar place. The startling scream of the
jay - you have heard it a thousand times. It is pretty to
watch the squirrel in his chestnut-red coat among the oaks in
their fresh green foliage, full of fun as a bright child,
eating his apple like a child, only it is an oak-apple,
shining white or white and rosy-red, in his little paws; but
you have seen it so many times - come away:
It was not this voice alone which made me forsake the green
oaks of Silchester and Pamber Forest, to ramble for a season
hither and thither in Wiltshire, Dorset, and Somerset; there
was something for me to do in those places, but the call
made me glad to go. And long weeks - months - went by in my
wanderings, mostly in open downland country, too often under
gloomy skies, chilled by cold winds and wetted by cold rains.
Then, having accomplished my purpose and discovered
incidentally that the call had mocked me again, as on so many
previous occasions, I returned once more to the old familiar
green place.
Crossing the common, I found that where it had been dry in
spring one might now sink to his knees in the bog; also that
the snipe which had vanished for a season were back at the old
spot where they used to breed. It was a bitter day near the
end of an unpleasant summer, with the wind back in the old
hateful north-east quarter; but the sun shone, the sky was
blue, and the flying clouds were of a dazzling whiteness.
Shivering, I remembered the south wall, and went there, since
to escape from the wind and bask like some half-frozen serpent
or lizard in the heat was the highest good one could look for
in such weather. To see anything new in wild life was not to
be hoped for.
That old grey, crumbling wall of ancient Calleva, crowned with
big oak and ash and thorn and holly, and draped with green
bramble and trailing ivy and creepers - how good a shelter it
is on a cold, rough day! Moving softly, so as not to disturb
any creature, I yet disturbed a ring snake lying close to the
wall, into which it quickly vanished; and then from their old
place among the stones a pair of blue stock-doves rushed out
with clatter of wings. The same blue doves which I had known
for three years at that spot! A few more steps and I came
upon as pretty a little scene in bird life as one could wish
for: twenty to twenty-five small birds of different species
- tits, wrens, dunnocks, thrushes, blackbirds, chaffinches,
yellowhammers - were congregated on the lower outside twigs of
a bramble bush and on the bare ground beside it close to the
foot of the wall. The sun shone full on that spot, and they
had met for warmth and for company. The tits and wrens were
moving quietly about in the bush; others were sitting idly or
preening their feathers on the twigs or the ground. Most of
them were making some kind of small sound - little exclamatory
chirps, and a variety of chirrupings, producing the effect of
a pleasant conversation going on among them. This was
suddenly suspended on my appearance, but the alarm was soon
over, and, seeing me seated on a fallen stone and, motionless,
they took no further notice of me. Two blackbirds were there,
sitting a little way apart on the bare ground; these were
silent, the raggedest, rustiest-looking members of that little
company; for they were moulting, and their drooping wings and
tails had many unsightly gaps in them where the old feathers
had dropped out before the new ones had grown. They were
suffering from that annual sickness with temporary loss of
their brightest faculties which all birds experience in some
degree; the unseasonable rains and cold winds had been bad for
them, and now they were having their sun-bath, their best
medicine and cure.
By and by a pert-looking, bright-feathered, dapper cock
chaffinch dropped down from the bush, and, advancing to one of
the two, the rustiest and most forlorn-looking, started
running round and round him as if to make a close inspection
of his figure, then began to tease him. At first I thought it
was all in fun - merely animal spirit which in birds often
discharges itself in this way in little pretended attacks and
fights. But the blackbird had no play and no fight in him, no
heart to defend himself; all he did was to try to avoid the
strokes aimed at him, and he could not always escape them.
His spiritlessness served to inspire the chaffinch with
greater boldness, and then it appeared that the gay little
creature was really and truly incensed, possibly because the
rusty, draggled, and listless appearance of the larger bird
was offensive to him.
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