A Paradise of Birds. 71 



Ancient willows sentinel its banks ; dark alders bend 

 down over its waters. Along the shore the sedges 

 cluster thick. Here, is a tuft of pale willow herb ; 

 there, a belt of late-lingering forget-me nots. From 

 far up the stream comes the murmur of the mill. 

 Troops of cattle crowd to the shelter of the trees, or 

 stand knee-deep in the cool water. Here, in a quiet 

 nook, is the grey fisherman, waiting, silent and still, 

 for a trout or an eel to come within range of his 

 merciless bill. Here, on the sand, where the moorhen 

 and the water-rat have, left their light footprints, you 

 will find the broad track of the solitary heron. 



There are many birds as unsociable as he. We see 

 for the most part one kingfisher on the brook, a single 

 crow in the warren. 



Not the bird of the Laureate's stately verse, 



' The many- wintered crow that leads the clanging rookery home,' 



but the lover of carrion, who has nothing in common 

 with his orderly kinsmen. 



The crowy is an alien. He shuns even the society 

 of his kind. He and his mate, for, like many birds, 

 crows are thought to pair for life, build their great 

 nest high in the mighty elm no man can climb, in a 

 sequestered corner of the valley, or perhaps in the 

 heart of a gnarled and twisted thorn-tree on the fringe 

 of the moor. 



No bird will trust its homestead under the shadow 

 of those sombre wings, unless perchance it be a stout- 



