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This young orchard adjoined the Great Western Railway, and one day
when pruning there I saw a remarkable sight, and I have never found
any one with a similar experience. The telegraph wires were magnified
into stout ropes by a coating of white rime, and I could see a
distinct series of waves approximating to the dots and dashes of the
Morse code running along them. The movement would run for a time up
towards London, cease for a moment, and then run downwards towards
Evesham, and so on almost continuously. I thought it might be caused
by the passage of electricity, but I cannot get a satisfactory
explanation. No trains were passing, there was no wind, the rime was
not thawing or falling off, and apparently there was nothing to
agitate either poles or wires.
This orchard was not a lucky one; it was too low, having only one flat
meadow between it and the brook, and therefore very liable to spring
frosts. I have seen the trees well past the blossoming stage, with
young plums as large as peas, which after two nights' sharp frost
turned black and fell off to such an extent that there was scarcely a
plum left; but I had a few very good crops which gave employment to a
number of additional hands besides my regular people.
A season came when the plum-trees in my new orchard were badly
attacked by the caterpillars of the winter-moth, but the cuckoos soon
found them out, and I could see half a dozen at once enjoying a
bountiful feast.
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