106 WOODLAND, MOOR, AND STREAM 



The heather and furze are in full bloom, while the 

 bramble and whortleberry shrubs, clothed in every 

 shade of green, russet, and crimson, are brought into 

 relief by the peculiar grey-green of the juniper trees. 

 Here and there are clumps of rank rushes with stems 

 of cotton grass, and a few bushes of black alder, the 

 gunpowder wood of the foresters. This patch of 

 treacherous ground, which is covered with verdure 

 and feels like a floating sponge when you step on it, 

 is where the wild ducks bring their young to feed 

 after they have hatched them among the heather. I 

 have known the cottagers drive them out of the springs, 

 where they have gone to fetch water, without molest- 

 ing them. 



A call-note sounds in the air. I look up ; birds 

 are passing over at the top of their speed, so as to 

 make the South downs before the light fades away. 

 The light creeps along the sloping hill-sides where 

 they will rest for the night before crossing the water. 

 I gather from their notes and their manner of flight 

 that they are nearly all finches. They keep passing 

 for about half an hour. Now is the time for looking 

 out for the ring-ouzels. They will soon begin to 

 roost up in the hilly portion of the moor. I am 

 among the juniper trees, most of which are covered 

 with berries. I generally eat a few of these in 



