good plumage as for any of the other birds. The price was not grudged, for they were fine specimens. My own opinion is, that they are visitors from the Continent, where, under favourable circumstances, they have developed to their utmost limit. The fact that they are to a certain extent local strengthens this theory. The line of the Southern counties. seems to be their limit, and the extent of their travelling, beyond which boundary I have never found them. It is to be hoped that in time the migrations of our most common birds will be more systematically worked out than they are at present. Amongst those birds who cross the sea are thrushes, larks, finches, and the tiny goldcrest, so tender that it dies if you hold it in your hand too long. The fishermen of the North Sea and of different parts of our dangerous coasts tell of birds taking shelter on and about their vessels when the weather is rough. They are left unmolested, and continue their journey as soon as the storm is over. The bramble-finch, very like the chaffinch in shape, though more sturdily built, is a bird of a more Northern clime. In severe winters it migrates southwards in vast flocks, and is often seen associated with the chaffinch in the beech-woods, where the mast is his chief food. The winter plumage of the bramble-finch, or brambling, is coloured with shades of orange, brown, black, yellow and white, with here and there a touch of grey. His appearance in the country is very uncertain, his visits depending probably on the food to be got. Though the bramble-finches eat insects and seeds, their favourite food seems to be the beech-mast, and, as there is not a full crop of these every year, their visits are consequently irregular. Unlike the schoolboy, who hunts for beechnuts when they first fall, the brambling waits until they have lain under the leaves for a month or two, when the outer covering has softened. I have known numbers of these birds visit the neighbourhood of Dorking and the Tillingbourne, and especially the woods of Wotton. Of late years they have become scarcer. I kept a pair once, to observe their change of plumage in breeding-time. It was remarkable, the head and back of the cock bird turning jet-black. They were birds of a somewhat unpleasant disposition, so after a time I gave them their liberty. The finches are bright and intelligent birds, very useful in their proper home, the woods and the fields; but those who value a full crop-or, in some cases, any crop at all-will be careful to exclude them from the garden. 532 BALLADE OF THE OLIVE. THE solemn throbbing of the drum, The battle's wild delirium, The scent of carnage in the air, The rifle's crack, the cannon's boom, The rolling smoke, the lurid glare, The lightning flash of sabres bareWhere, though you search the world, is found Delight that may with this compare? Yet I-well, pass the olives round. To die for altar, country, home, To live and wear a cross or star, To win, perhaps, a florid tomb, A doubtful bust, or, yet more rare, When thus the warrior's toil is crowned, Yet I-well, pass the olives round. ENVOI. 'The crust is best,' so you declare, Whose jaw is strong, whose teeth are sound. Take it; the crumb shall be my share, For I-well, pass the olives round. THE whole vast plain of Gascony and of Languedoc is an arid and profitless expanse in winter, save where the swift-flowing Adour and her snow-fed tributaries, the Louts, the Oloron and the Pau, run down to the sea of Biscay. South of the Adour the jagged line of mountains which fringe the sky-line send out long granite claws, running down into the lowlands and dividing them into 'gaves' or stretches of valley. Hillocks grow into hills, and hills into mountains, each range overlying its neighbour, until they soar up in the giant chain which raises its spotless and untrodden peaks, white and dazzling, against the pale blue wintry sky. A quiet land is this a land where the slow-moving Basque, with his flat biretta-cap, his red sash and his hempen sandals, tills his scanty farm or drives his lean flock to their hill-side pastures. It is the country of the wolf and the isard, of the brown bear and the mountain-goat, a land of bare rock and of rushing water. Yet here it was that the will of a great prince had now assembled a gallant army; so that from the Adour to the passes of Navarre the barren valleys and wind-swept wastes were populous with soldiers and loud with the shouting of orders and the neighing of horses. For the banners of war had been flung to the wind once more, and over those glistening peaks was the highway along which Honour pointed in an age when men had chosen her as their guide. And now all was ready for the enterprise. From Dax to St. Jean Pied-du-Port the country was mottled with the white tents of Gascons, Aquitanians and English, all eager for the advance. From all sides the free companions had trooped in, until not less than 12,000 of these veteran troops were cantoned along the frontiers of Navarre. From England had arrived the prince's brother, the Duke of Lancaster, with 400 knights in his train and a strong company of archers. Above all, an heir to the throne. had been born in Bordeaux, and the prince might leave his spouse with an easy mind, for all was well with mother and with child. The keys of the mountain passes still lay in the hands of the shifty and ignoble Charles of Navarre, who had chaffered and bargained both with the English and with the Spanish, taking money from the one side to hold them open and from the other to keep them sealed. The mallet hand of Edward, however, had shattered all the schemes and wiles of the plotter. Neither entreaty nor courtly remonstrance came from the English prince; but Sir Hugh Calverley passed silently over the border with his company, and the blazing walls of the two cities of Miranda and Puenta della Reyna warned the unfaithful monarch that there were other metals besides gold, and that he was dealing with a man to whom it was unsafe to lie. His price was paid, his objections silenced, and the mountain gorges lay open to the invaders. From the Feast of the Epiphany there was mustering and massing, until, in the first week of February-three days after the White Company joined the army-the word was given for a general advance through the defile of Roncesvalles. At five in the cold winter's morning the bugles were blowing in the hamlet of St. Jean Pied-du-Port, and by six Sir Nigel's Company, 300 strong, were on their way for the defile, pushing swiftly in the dim light up the steep curving road; for it was the prince's order that they should be the first to pass through, and that they should remain on guard at the further end until the whole army had emerged from the mountains. Day was already breaking in the east, and the summits of the great peaks had turned rosy red, while the valleys still lay in the shadow, when they found themselves with the cliffs on either hand and the long rugged pass stretching away before them. Sir Nigel rode his great black war-horse at the head of his archers, dressed in full armour, with Black Simon bearing his banner behind him, while Alleyne at his bridle-arm carried his blazoned shield and his well-steeled ashen spear. A proud and happy man was the knight, and many a time he turned in his saddle to look at the long column of bowmen who swung swiftly along behind him. 6 By Saint Paul! Alleyne,' said he, 'this pass is a very perilous place, and I would that the King of Navarre had held it against us, for it would have been a very honourable venture had it fallen to us to win a passage. I have heard the minstrels sing of one Sir Roland who was slain by the infidels in these very parts.' 'If it please you, my fair lord,' said Black Simon, 'I know something of these parts, for I have twice served a term with the King of Navarre. There is a hospice of monks yonder, where you may see the roof among the trees, and there it was that Sir Roland was slain. The village upon the left is Orbaiceta, and I know a house therein where the right wine of Jurançon is to be bought, if it would please you to quaff a morning cup.' 'There is smoke yonder upon the right.' 'That is a village named Les Aldudes, and I know a hostel there also where the wine is of the best. It is said that the innkeeper hath a buried treasure, and I doubt not, my fair lord, that if you grant me leave I could prevail upon him to tell us where he hath hid it.' 6 'Nay, nay, Simon,' said Sir Nigel curtly, 'I pray you to forget these free companion tricks. Ha! Edricson, I see that you stare about you, and in good sooth these mountains must seem wondrous indeed to one who hath but seen Butser or the Portsdown hill.' The broken and rugged road had wound along the crests of low hills, with wooded ridges on either side of it, over which peeped the loftier mountains, the distant Peak of the South and the vast Altabisca, which towered high above them and cast its black shadow from left to right across the valley. From where they now stood they could look forward down a long vista of beech woods and jagged rock-strewn wilderness, all white with snow, to where the pass opened out upon the uplands beyond. Behind them they could still catch a glimpse of the grey plains of Gascony, and could see her rivers gleaming like coils of silver in the sunshine. As far as eye could see from among the rocky gorges and the bristles of the pine woods there came the quick twinkle and glitter of steel, while the wind brought with it sudden distant bursts of martial music from the great host which rolled by every road and by-path towards the narrow pass of Roncesvalles. the cliffs on either side might also be seen the flash of arms and the waving of pennons where the force of Navarre looked down upon the army of strangers who passed through their territories. 'By Saint Paul!' said Sir Nigel, blinking up at them, ‘I think that we have much to hope for from these cavaliers, for they |