t distances, they
perish like this in myriads annually; flying to and from us they are
blown away by death like sere autumn leaves, "the pestilence-stricken
multitudes" whirled away by the wind! They die in myriads: that is not
strange; the strange, the astonishing thing is the fact of death; what
can they tell us of it--the wise men who live or have ever lived on the
earth--what can they say now of the bright intelligent spirit, the dear
little emotional soul, that had so fit a tenement and so fitly expressed
itself in motions of such exquisite grace, in melody so sweet! Did it go
out like the glow-worm's lamp, the life and sweetness of the flower?
Was its destiny not like that of the soul, specialized in a different
direction, of the saint or poet or philosopher! Alas, they can tell us
nothing!

I could not go away leaving it in that exposed place on the turf, to be
found a little later by a magpie or carrion crow or fox, and devoured.
Close by there was a small round hillock, an old forsaken nest of the
little brown ants, green and soft with moss and small creeping herbs--a
suitable grave for a wheatear. Cutting out a round piece of turf from
the side, I made a hole with my stick and put the dead bird in and
replacing the turf left it neatly buried.

It was not that I had or have any quarrel with the creatures I have
named, or would have them other than they are--carrion-eaters and
scavengers, Nature's balance-keepers and purifiers. The only creatures
on earth I loathe and hate are the gourmets, the carrion-crows and foxes
of the human kind who devour wheatears and skylarks at their tables.

Chapter Thirteen: Bath and Wells Revisited

'Tis so easy to get from London to Bath, by merely stepping into a
railway carriage which takes you smoothly without a stop in two short
hours from Paddington, that I was amazed at myself in having allowed
five full years to pass since my previous visit. The question was
much in my mind as I strolled about noting the old-remembered names of
streets and squares and crescents. Quiet Street was the name inscribed
on one; it was, to me, the secret name of them all. The old impressions
were renewed, an old feeling partially recovered. The wide, clean ways;
the solid, stone-built houses with their dignified aspect; the large
distances, terrace beyond terrace; mansions and vast green lawns and
parks and gardens; avenues and groups of stately trees, especially that
unmatched clump o