152 A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



flowers when we come to examine them. Have we not in 

 June, too, the Periwinkle, Yellow Rattle, Bird's Foot Trefoil, 

 the flowering Groundsel and Thistles, Goosegrass, Red and 

 White Clover, Bladder Campion, Water Violet, Arum or Cuckoo 

 Pint, Blue Borage, the Holly blossom, and then in the gardens 

 the Pink, Red, and White May, Laburnum, Mountain Ash, 

 Guelder Rose, Chestnut (Red and White), Pinks, Wall-flowers, 

 Pansies, Canterbury Bells, Geraniums, and on and on? 



Nearer the river, Marsh Mallows and Dandelions ; large flaring 

 Buttercups, Yellow Iris, and many coloured Rushes and Sedges, 

 and porcelain petals of the Water Lilies floating on the surface of 

 the lazy stream 1 There are no half hinges in Nature ! But 

 the birds, we are forgetting them in our love for flower-land. 

 Right up in the sullen green branches of the tardy oak, or in 

 amongst the pale lemon of the ash or the burnished red of 

 the beech, the Chaffinch sings, and on the lower branch a Yellow 

 Bunting utters his love song. June is famous for three bird 

 sounds, the ''bleating" of the Snipe, the "trill" of the Grass- 

 hopper Warbler, and the "purr" of the Nightjar. 



In our illustration of the Corncrake will be seen both parent 

 birds crouching in the herbage, as well as the nest, a broken 

 egg, and two or three of the fluffy little fledglings. 



From the farmyard in the distance comes the screaming of 

 a Guinea Fowl, and flying round tumbling in the sunlight 

 we notice a score of Pigeons. Our friend who is with us has 

 never seen that curious Beetle spit blood, when the insect itself 

 is spat upon, and as we light upon one by the roadside we 

 illustrate our meaning. He is dumfounded almost 1 



Miles away from the town or village are we now, but scam- 

 pering up a chestnut tree by the wayside a large black Cat is 

 seen. He is poaching, and many of the feathered tribe fall 

 preys to his mauling claws. If the keeper spots him I would 

 not give much for his life. Cats do more harm to young birds 

 than most people imagine, especially London cats. 



Passing on, we notice that it will be a good Nut year. The 

 stems are loaded; the Field Convolvulus peeps out here and 

 there and meets our gaze. We come across a great sprawling 

 Cuckoo in a Hedge Sparrow's nest. The big-little bird has 

 ejected the little-little birds with his rump, which is well-shaped 



