386 



THE REED BUNTING. 



are common here I see ; so is that robust bird flying low over 

 the corn field with its legs dangling down ; there it alights on 

 the hedge again, and begins to skirl — it is the common corn 

 bunting, bigger than the lark, and stouter formed. That little 

 brown bird moving so stealthily in the hedge is the hedge- 

 sparrow — a shy, gentle bird, the very opposite of the pert house- 

 sparrow I left yelluping on the dyke in Market Street. These 

 black-coated, parson-like rooks over in that field have better 

 memories than some human ones, in search of the first law of 

 life — money or grubs, for they never forget to search for their 

 varied food at each particular time of the year ; and these three 

 thieving kaes (jackdaws) are no doubt on their way to join 

 them. That handsome bird singing so sweetly on the tree 

 above the hedge is the willow wren, come to breed and brood 

 and spend the winter with us. Croak, Croak, there goes the 

 hoarse cry of the carrion crow. I know they breed in that 

 strip of tall larch and Scotch firs (now cut down), for I have got 

 their nests with eggs and young, along with those of sparrow- 

 hawks, kestrels, and long-eared owls (nearly all gone now, for 

 the gamekeepers are shooting and poisoning all they can). 

 When I got to Kinaldy the keeper told me it was nearly all his 

 work, the destruction of such vermin (he called them) as hawks, 

 owls, magpies, and carrion crows ; he was paid for it, so 

 searched and shot incessantly. Having found one of their 

 nests, he allowed all the eggs to be laid, then shot the old birds 

 and broke the eggs. I picked up two poisoned eggs and some 

 dead crows. Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. The first time I have 

 heard the one-noted ' stranger of the grove ' this year, ' the 

 plain-song cuckoo grey,' as Shakespeare calls it ; he is not 

 plentiful about St Andrews. As I entered Kinaldy wood I was 

 welcomed with cheeka, cheeka, chee, in a loud shrill tone from 

 the little cole-tit, one of our smallest true vermin destroyers ; 

 there it flits from tree to tree, running up the trunk or hanging 

 back downwards on the horizontal branches, in untiring search 

 of insects and their eggs, like a tiny carrion crow, or the paid 

 keeper himself — a lively little fellow, with a loud pipe for such 

 a wee bird. From the proud hop and merry twinkle of that 

 black-eyed robin, I see his family are not far off ; nor, possibly, 

 is that blackbird's skulking amongst the whins ; he likes to be 

 out of sight that fellow, except at early dawn or dewy eve, 

 then, perched upon some high tree, you may hear his loud 

 fearless whistle ; but through the day he is shy and retiring, 

 like that bonny speckled mavis I see running, cowering along 



