1 92 A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



many regard this hand-rearing as a tame affair, a keeper of 

 much experience tells me that birds are getting wilder than 

 ever and more difficult to shoot. One of the Pheasants has 

 got entangled in the wire netting, let us liberate it. 



We halt at the keeper's cottage. He is rearing 500 chickens, 

 and thinks nothing of it. What a grand run they have in the 

 surrounding fields, and how strong and well they look. Three 

 or four beautiful smooth and curly coated Black Retrievers make 

 great friends with us, but we are not particularly anxious to make 

 friends with sixteen Ferrets all wallowing in amongst a dead 

 chicken and rabbit but what interesting animals they are ! 

 Talking of them reminds me that there are a good many Badgers 

 in this beautiful Home County through which we are traversing, 

 and Stoats are by no means uncommon. We must, of course, 

 look at the well-fed and groomed Nag in the stable, and the 

 Fowls sitting in a dozen nest boxes. How contented they seem, 

 how intent upon the task allotted to them, and how cross they 

 look at being disturbed 1 



Through the wood we meet, on turning the corner, the 

 woodmen at their work. Piles of bark, faggots, and huge 

 branches are stacked up, and oak posts and pailings are being 

 sawn off. Four posts and a piece of tarpaulin flung over the 

 top serves as a mess-house for them, and they invite us inside. 

 A happier and more contented set of men never existed than 

 the woodmen, with their pipe and gallon jar they are never 

 ill at ease. In the park we have the good fortune to observe 

 some Shetland Sheep, and these we have illustrated on the 

 previous page. 



The Spotted Flycatcher is still with us, and we stop to watch 

 its quick and studied movements, whilst Ring Doves flutter out 

 of the tree tops at almost every step. They are still breeding. 



We are by the water again now. Here it is just like Spring 

 so fresh and green far different to the sun-scorched paths and 

 stubbles we traversed earlier in the day. By the old stone 

 bridge a Wagtail's nest is shewn to us in which a young Cuckoo 

 was reared, and from here up the hillside we have a fine view 

 of the Beech trees, under which two or three hundred Deer are 

 resting. 



The keeper tells us he has never yet found a Jackdaw's 



