ST. VALENTINE'S DAY 41 



ently as harmlessly as a lady strikes with a fan, 

 but, as a matter of fact, the blow is no mean one. 

 The wing has hard knuckles, and can bruise almost 

 like the pads of a hare when he boxes for the right 

 to make a doe his own. 



See the meek moor-hen that walks so mincingly 

 on those long, green toes that seem as soft as the 

 cooked feet we still sometimes meet with in a hash 

 of fowl. To-day, the cock moor-hen hunches his 

 shoulders, thrusts out his beak, and runs most 

 truculently after another that dares to invade itis 

 territory. The other knows the weight of a moor- 

 hen's weapons and makes such haste to get away 

 that he violates a year-long tradition and takes 

 to his wings. The hunch-backed one follows, over- 

 takes him on the water, and forces him to a naval 

 engagement. The two birds face one another, 

 sitting well back in the water. Then they fly up 

 like barn-door cocks, each striving for the upper 

 hand, and each clawing at the other with those 

 long, limp -looking, but really hurtful feet. There 

 is plenty of spring-time courage in this bird, and 

 the battle is fought out many times at intervals 

 of hours and days before the marriages of the year 

 are arranged. 



There is a never-failing comedy in progress on 

 the piece of water called the Dingle at the foot 

 of the fall out of the Serpentine. This is by far 

 a more suitable and aesthetic nesting site for the 

 mallard than any other in the Park. Below the 

 fall there is a little creek gently winding through 



