BY THE RIVER. 



IN no place are the buds bursting so beautifully and fresh 

 as on the bushes and trees by the river. 



Nothing is more interesting and varying at this season than 

 a ramble by some quiet stream, new sights and sounds crop 

 up every minute, and the change from the lanes and woods is 

 decidedly captivating. No sooner have we reached the margin 

 of the silvery stream than we see for the first time a dozen 

 Swallows and Martins skimming along and toying in the air, 

 apparently glad to get back to dear old England once more. 

 Notice, too, the well marked rufous tinge on the breasts of 

 the former ; when they have been in the smoky old chimney a 

 little later on they will probably lose much of this beautiful 

 lustre. How marked, too, is the slate-coloured back, upon 

 which the sunlight throws its brilliant beams. 



The river is being cleared out for the angler; on the mud 

 by the bank-side more than one variety of bird is to be 

 observed. We may well sit down on the opposite bank, by 

 the side of an old thorn bush, perhaps, and watch the antics 

 of three or four Pied Wagtails. We hear their shrill call-notes, 

 and although we have seen their " wagging" tails hundreds 

 of times, we still admire their curious ways and mannerisms. 



One of the party flits on to the top of a time-worn post, and 

 what a picture he looks in his black and white livery 1 The 

 Wagtails are a most interesting family, and we should indeed 

 miss them were they not present here. They are joined pre- 

 sently by a couple of male Reed Buntings. These latter are 

 too much engaged searching for food amongst the mud-heaps to 

 notice us. How pleasingly the black head and white ringlet 

 harmonises with the rich red colour of the mud and the blades 

 of pure green grass which are springing up out of the rich 

 river soil 1 Suddenly a Water Vole comes out of its hole right at 

 our feet, and, not seeing us, basks in the sunlight. A slight 



