JUNE. 169 



Redbreast appears, and gives us a right royal welcome. Then we 

 hear the plaintive cry of "Cuckoo" quite close at hand; notice the 

 rustic bridge near the far end of the pool; a Pied Wagtail disports 

 himself on our left, and a Chaffinch keeps on rattling up and down 

 the scale. The Redbreast utters now and again its winch-like note, 

 whilst the Hedge Sparrow, in his sober dress of grey and brown, perched 

 on the pliant branches of a Larch Fir, pours out his pretty little 

 warble. We rise and go under the shelter of the trees, in Nature's 

 own arbour. How enjoyable to sit on the rustic seat and watch the 

 Tree Pipit through the opening in the trees. We cannot fish; new 

 sights and sounds are continually cropping up which attract our 

 attention, and we pack up our angling paraphernalia with a light 

 heart; not because of the fish we have secured, but for the rural and 

 sylvan scenes and sweet country associations it has been our privilege 

 to enjoy 



