72 A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



move on our part and underneath it goes, only to rise again 

 a few yards away; then it dives once more and finally lands 

 on the opposite bank. Put the field glass to your eyes and 

 watch the Lapwings on the fallows in the distance ; now falling, 

 now sweeping, now flying majestically around. Bring also within 

 range the agricultural village which nestles in the distance, and 

 the old farmstead. 



Let us move on a bit, taking care to pry into the bushes as we 

 go. In this old thorn bush a male Blackbird is sitting on three 

 or four eggs and almost allows us to touch him before he will 

 be off. How wonderfully compact his nest is may best be 

 imagined by a glance at our illustration on the previous page. 

 What a picture he is, with his fine golden dagger poking over 

 the side of the nest, and those glistening eyesl A fine old tree 

 stands by the river's side, and round it for years past we have 

 known that clinging Ivy bower. Looking round the other side 

 of it, we find a snugly-made nest of the Common Wren, almost 

 complete ; a little more workmanship inside and it will be ready 

 for the freckled eggs. Perched on the branches, the male bird 

 sits pouring out his love song. There he sits conscious of our 

 presence, but undisturbed. The closer we get, the louder and 

 more beautifully he sings. Hardly a yard above, a Thrush's nest 

 is found, containing three eggs as blue as the sky overhead. 



All around Skylarks are singing, and a score of Ring Doves 

 fly over as straight as an arrow. Rambling on, we come to a 

 bend in the river, just by the old bridge, and meet the angler 

 landing a fine speckled Trout which turns the scale at close 

 on three pounds. It gives us an appetite for our breakfast, 

 as we gaze upon its silver and golden-red hues. In the holes 

 by the old bridge, the Kingfisher will probably nest again as 

 we have known it to do for years past, and, underneath, that 

 pair of Swallows we know so well, will surely find the old loved 

 spot once more. 



Another Wren takes up his station and sings a truly 

 remarkable song; so rich and strong are the notes, and of 

 such a trilling character, we almost fancy we are listening to 

 the Tree Pipit. But look at those moving yellow creatures on 

 the banks in the distance 1 Looking through our glasses we are 

 delighted to observe that a dozen Yellow Wagtails have just 



