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.  Anyhow, the persecutions continued, increasing in fury until they could not be borne, and the blackbird tried to escape by hiding in the bramble.  But he was not permitted to rest there; out he was soon driven and away into another bush, and again into still another further away, and finally he was hunted over the sheltering wall into the bleak wind on the other side.  Then the persecutor came back and settled himself on his old perch on the bramble, well satisfied at his victory over a bird so much bigger than himself.  All was again peace and harmony in the little social gathering, and the pleasant talkee-talkee went on as before.  About five minutes passed, then the hunted blackbird returned, and, going to the identical spot from which he had been driven, composed himself to rest; only now he sat facing his lively little enemy.