152 COUNTRY RAMBLES. 



The Oats are well out, but the crops look thin. Has the reader 

 ever looked at a field of waving-blades of corn at this season through 

 a field-glass? The effect is very striking. 



There are any amount of Wild Cherries about. The Nuts can 

 just be seen, and the trailing Black Bryony (the leaves and flower buds 

 knotted like rope), is well worth noticing now. 



What a variety of small Beetles cross the path of the rambler, 

 like dark little jewels darting about in the sunlight. There are many 

 hairy caterpillars about, too. Cannot they move at a rate? How they 

 curl up into the ball of protection ! 



How often the Note-book comes out at this season. Walking along, 

 I make half a dozen notes, one after another, then place it back in 

 my pocket (a fairly large one, by the way, in case of anything which 

 requires taking home), but it has hardly had time to settle down before 

 a new sight or sound requires noting. This is a busy season for the 

 Naturalist. 



The bunches of keys on the Ash are like so many birds nests at 

 a distance. 



How the Rabbits scamper into the cover as the rambler walks up 

 by the side of a wood 1 



Several nests found to-day, chiefly Greater Whitethroats, Hedge 

 Sparrows, Song Thrushes, Blackbirds, Ring Doves, and Chaffinches. 

 One nest of young Blackbirds interested me very much, as one of the 

 fledglings (almost ready to leave the nest) was perched on the side of 

 the nest keeping guard. It was a young cock; and he did not in the 

 least resent my acting as Paul Pry, seeming to be quite interested in 

 my inquisitiveness. How innocent they look! They as yet know little 

 of the outer world, of its hardships and trials, and the cunning ingenu- 

 ity of man. There were only three eggs in the Chaffinches' nest, but 

 the female permitted me to touch her before she would get off. and 

 the male bird was perched by her side. How a bird's eyes glisten 

 when an intruder appears; the little feathered being trembles, and 

 knows not whether to leave the precious charge or remain sitting, 

 trusting that the rambler is a friend and not a foe. 



I had a good sight of the Willow Warbler in the woods to-day. 

 He was tripping along the pliant branches of the Firs opening his 

 wings as he went, after the manner of the Pelican when strutting 

 along; the delicate yellow breast was quite noticeable. 



