BRITAIN'S BIRDS AND THEIR NESTS. 217 



fancifulness ! Yet it is but to substitute a story which, 

 if marred by some prosaic details, has the merit that such 

 beauties as it sets forth— and these are not trifling — may 

 be actually observed and enjoyed. 



The scene is not the open sea, however calm, but the 

 side of some ' babbling brook,' very likely in the English 

 lowlands. The fertile countiy is fully cultivated, but yet 

 a few yards of 'waste' ground have been spared on both 

 sides of the little stream. The sloping banks are thickly 

 covered with luxuriant herbage and thick imdergrowth, 

 while here and there arise willows and alders, stretching 

 out over the stream. A gentle breeze stirs their upper 

 leaves, and causes a constant changing of the simshine 

 patterns that sparkle on the dancing waters. In such a 

 place we may, with good fortune, find a Kingfisher, and 

 from safe concealment study his royal methods of secui'ing 



his prey. 



'There he is, grasping the splint with his tiny red 

 feet, his bright-blue back glistening in the sunshine, his 

 ruddy breast reflected from the pool beneath, his long 

 dagger-like bill pointed downwards, and his eye intent on 

 the minnows that swarm among the roots of the old tree 

 that project into the water from the crumbling bank. He 

 stoops, opens his wings a little, shoots downwards, plunges 

 headlong into the water, reappears in a moment, flutters, 

 sweeps off" in a curved line, wheels round, and returns to 

 his post. The minnow in his bill he beats against the 

 decayed stump until it is dead ; then, tossing up his head, 

 swallows it, and resumes his ordinary posture as if nothing 

 had happened. Swarms of insects flutter and gambol 

 around, but he heeds them not. A painted buttei-fly at 

 length comes up, fluttering in its desultory flight, and as 

 it hovers over the hyacinths, unsuspicious of danger, the 

 Kingfisher springs from his perch, and pursues it, but 



2b 



