A low thick hawthorn hedge runs along some distance below the earthwork just at the foot of the steepest part of the hill. It divides the greensward of the down from the ploughed land of the plain, which stretches two or three miles wide, across to another range opposite. A few stunted ash trees grow at intervals among the bushes, which are the favourite resort of finches and birds that feed upon the seeds and insects they find in the cultivated fields. Most of these cornfields being separated only by a shallow trench and a bank bare of underwood, the birds naturally flock to the few hedges they can find. So that, although but low and small in comparison with the copse-like hedges of the vale, the hawthorn here is often alive with birds: chaffinches and sparrows perhaps in the greatest numbers, also yellowhammers. The colour of the yellowhammer appears brighter in spring and early summer: the bird is aglow with a beautiful and brilliant yet soft yellow, pleasantly shaded with brown. He perches on the upper boughs of the hawthorn or on a rail, coming up from the corn as if to look around him--for he feeds chiefly on the ground--and uttering two or three short notes. His plumage gives a life and tint to the hedge, contrasting so brightly with the vegetation and with other birds. His song is but a few bars repeated, yet it has a pleasing and soothing effect in the drowsy warmth of summer. Yellowhammers haunt the cornfields principally, though they are not absent from the meadows. To this hedge the hill-magpie comes: some magpies seem to keep almost entirely to the downs, while others range the vale, though there is no apparent difference between them. His peculiar uneven and, so to say, flickering flight, marks him at a distance as he jauntily journeys along beside the slope. He visits every fir copse and beech clump on his way, spending some time, too, in and about the hawthorn hedge, which is a favourite spot. Sometimes in the spring, while the corn is yet short and green, if you glance carefully through an opening in the bushes or round the side of the gateway, you may see him busy on the ground. His restless excitable nature betrays itself in every motion: he walks now to the right a couple of yards, now to the left in a quick zigzag, so working across the field towards you; then with a long rush he makes a lengthy traverse at the top of his speed, turns and darts away again at right angles, and presently up goes his tail and he throws his head down with a jerk of the whole body as if he would thrust his beak deep into the earth. This habit of searching the field apparently for some favourite grub is evidence in his favour that he is not so entirely guilty as he has been represented of innocent blood: no bird could be approached in that way. All is done in a jerky, nervous manner. As he turns sideways the white feathers show with a flash above the green corn; another movement, and he looks all black.