MEMORIES 83 



with no designs on eggs or young, feels shame to 

 have approached so dear a spot. 



A little black-pated bird whips out from under the 

 bank and flits ahead. He perches on a bit of 

 waving rush, raising his top-knot, and seeming to — ^^lec^^Sw^ 

 defy the world ; but as we approach he. flies off, to 

 settle again some few yards further on. He will do 

 this a dozen times or more. The bird is the reed- 

 bunting, and this is his own little manoeuvre for the 

 safety of his nest. 



Do you see that little grey-brown, bright-eyed 

 bird, slipping mouse-like about the sloes ? It is 

 the sedge-warbler. It seems almost incredible that 

 from so small a throat could come such a torrent 

 of sound ! Yet so it is. For a song which, without 

 being strictly music, is indeed a joyful noise, 

 commend me to the sedge-bird. All day long he 

 sings, and often far into the night, and though he 

 should have settled into sleep a sudden noise will 

 wake him into song again. 



Be silent now, for we are nearing sacred ground. 

 Here the stream divides, to join again at a point 

 a little higher up. But, so circling, it closes in a 

 fair round island, known this many a day as " The 

 Swan's Nest " — a good name, for it lies indeed like 



