Houses 9$ Gardens i 



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reach. There he is, quite close to you as you sit 

 under the yew-trees at the bottom of the garden. 

 Nor is he afraid to stand on his tail and indulge in 

 a tug of war with that worm, although he has had 

 a good look at you, and his nest of young is a few 

 paces behind you, in the unkempt growth of honey- 

 suckle and wild roses which border the pond 

 where the moorhens flirt their white tails, and 

 wend their way amongst the Aponogeton and water- 

 lilies, whose leaves are clustering upon the water's 

 surface. 



And you may think the spotted flycatcher, which 

 has taken up its position on a croquet-hoop hard by, 

 is more confiding still, for there is much to be said 

 for him, in spite of his lack of song and dulness 

 of plumage. His shape is so graceful, his flight still 

 more so ; and he is such an old, old friend. Why, 

 it seems as if he has been there all my life, ever since 

 I began to roam the garden on legs of not two years' 

 standing. That little lithe brown bird with the 

 finely speckled breast, every May finds him home 

 again. He has come so silently, without a moment's 

 warning. Yesterday he wasn't there, and to-day there 

 he is, sitting on the railings that divide the lawn 

 from the rougher grass of the park, just as if he had 

 never gone away at all, darting to catch a passing 

 fly and back again. Let us put out the croquet 

 hoops and sticks, if only to see our little flycatcher 

 alight upon them during one more summer, a summer 

 that is glorious and beautiful with scents of roses and 

 sweet verbena, lilies, mignonette, and carnations, as 



